#like little gnats all over my head

[strongermonster]

now that i’m kiiinda sorta a little bit maaaybe stepping back into working with children again, i forgot how fuuucking annoying parents are in general, but specifically the abled parents of disabled kids. like i don’t have a lot of authority to speak here bc the only things ‘wrong’ with me are Brain and the fact that i’m partially deaf (honestly, an asset sometimes working in a room full of squealing excited children) but a lot of parents will be like “this is my special-wecial little babe who can’t do [long list of things]” and like. 

99% of the time it’s not ‘can’t do’ it’s “has to do it differently in a way that’s either not something i get, or is too time consuming for me to bother with, or with no malicious intent simply did not occur to me to try doing it X way.” most of the kids can do all the exact same things!! sometimes even the amount of accessibility needed is like... basically nothing?

i’m not saying “take a kid in a wheelchair to the bottom of the stairs and say ‘good luck’” or exhaust a kid trying 900 things bc sometimes You Just Can’t. i’m like...

say we get a kid who’s autistic and can’t read or follow verbal instructions. ok! so that’s My Little Helper for the day and we do whatever it is we’re doing physically together, and most of the time they learn by doing just fine. how much “effort” did that take? how much time did i lose? literally none. not an ounce. and also even if i did, who cares? literally who cares?? were we having fun? did we learn something? cool!

and also tons of people learn in tons of different ways, which is why there’s always a print out of what i’m saying for kids who learn by reading (that’s me!) to follow along as i say it out loud for the kids who learn by listening (that’s very much not me!), and then we all actually do the thing together hands on, for the kids who learn that way (partially me!)

“my daughter doesn’t like nature walks. she’s in a wheelchair and it’s too hard for her. also the chair is very expensive and i don’t want it getting wrecked.” -cool! so we’ll get her a wagon. it’s low tech as hell but if she’s comfortable in it and you approve, that’s it! we’ll guilt the city into paying for it by going “oh my god, you don’t want a little girl in a wheelchair to go on this nature hike? is that what you’re saying?? woooow”

i think they (the parents) just get so caught up in being like “here’s the 203843 scenarios in which my child can be harmed mentally, physically, and/or emotionally, i must prepare for and avoid each and every one” which i GET, but also you reach a point where all that extra padding just becomes suffocating. you’re holding them back and doing harm, even unintentionally.

i also hate when they pile on these excuses and restrictions in front of the child. like goddamn, you’re just packing in the negativity to this impressionable little brain aren’t you? how many of those “well little timmy here can’t do X” has little timmy internalized and decided “well i might as well not do anything” then???? do you know how many times i’ve heard “oh i can’t do that” to which i ask if there’s a reason, and the answer is just “well my mom said...” (especially little girls, oh my god. “my mom says i can’t get dirty/run/be loud/climb trees/play with cars” it’s INFURIATING) 

worst case scenario maybe they really can’t do something. and again; so what? not being able to do something isn’t a negative feature (full stop but also) exclusive to people with disabilities. you tried, you failed, you move on! find a new thing. literally all humans who have ever existed are doing this exact same thing. but you have to let them try for their own damned selves.

also when people ask me for a super detailed lesson plan down to all this pointless minutia LMAO. i’ll give you the outline, the tools we use, the little pamphlet that comes with the class that’s going to answer 99.9% of the questions you’re about to ask me (if you bother to read it), the stuff we’re reading, the safety based stuff, but otherwise it’s sort of a vibe dudes.  it’s just Thoughts i’m having. like >talking about butterflies >mention milkweed >remember a cool fact about milk >remember a fact about the dairy industry >talk about the economy >remember that 7 year olds don't know what the economy is >forget what i’m doing >restart train of thought i’m going with the flow here!! it’s all improv based on a bunch of different factors, some of which are mysteries best left to the universe. it’s gonna be fun! it’s gonna be informative! and that’s really all i can say.

#also let's be honest. half these kids are only here because you want free babysitting. the learning is purely accidental benefits #ALSO I'M DOING THIS FOR FREE IN WHAT PRECIOUS LITTLE TIME I HAVE OFF FROM MY FULL TIME JOB SO CUT ME A LITTLE SLACK HERE #sorry for Wall of Text it's just i have really strong opinions about everything all the time #and you guys have NO IDEA how lucky you are that i keep 99% of them to myself #could you imagine if i was a fandom blog?? who talked about my fandom opinions on here?? there'd be a post of this size like every 8 minute #fortunately for u i keep that to harassing my friends on discord #anyways i'm getting distracted. there's just So Many Thoughts up in here #like little gnats all over my head #jj stuff #long post

[wasawattpadkid]

OMG YOU’RE WRITING IS SO EFFING GOOD I can’t stop coming back to your page. Can you possibly do a poly ghost face x fem reader⚠️ prompt being something like “do you think they can hear us through the tent?” Friend group going camping. I think it would be a dangerous situation but exciting.

Thank you so much you're too sweet! I hope I did your request justice! 💕 Thanks for the ask!

Voices Carry

Summary: A camping trip can be stressful and painful. With Billy being the mule of the group his back ached. You and Stu were just the ones to help with that.

Pairing: Poly!ghostface x fem!reader

Warnings: ⚠️smut 18+⚠️ explicit boyxboy, unsafe sex, slight degrading, slight praise, rough sex, tears, cum, p in v, oral (male receiving), after care, vulgar language, threesome, power dynamics

"I hate fucking bugs." Billy said as he swatted the gnats away from his face. "How do you get their little legs apart?" Stu laughed at his own joke earning silence from the kids around him. "Lighten up guys. This'll be fun, we're going to have s'mores tonight!" It seemed you and Sydney were the only ones happy about the camping trip. "Yeah, we'll sit around the campfire and tell scary stories. You're good at that, aren't you babe?" You looked at Billy and Stu letting them know you were talking about both of them. "Damn right I am." Stu threw his arm over your shoulder. You hadn't told your friends about dating the two boys, it was only official with Stu. However they all knew about your sleeping habits.

"This is exactly how Friday the 13th started. If this were a movie we'd be doomed." Randy exclaimed as he held Sydney's hand. "I'm the only single one here I'm already doomed." Tatum took a swig of her almost empty soda bottle. "James Dean back there is single. Ask him out." Randy pointed towards Billy who wore a plain t-shirt paired with distressed blue jeans. Tatum looked at the boy with something close to disbelief. Billy shot her a tight lipped smile with raised eyebrows as he shrugged his shoulders. "He's not exactly my type." Stu laughed pointing at your shared boyfriend. "Ooh burn!"

"Since when did you get picky about boys?" Randy asked earning a slap to the back of the head. "Ow you know that actually really hurt." Billy smiled looking at his boots as they crunched the greenery beneath them. "You deserved that one bud." Tatum nodded agreeing with you. Sydney checked her map making sure you were walking in the right direction. "Can we keep moving my back is killing me?" Billy complained looking at the lousy tour guide. "I'll take it from you buddy." Stu reached out touching his partner's shoulder. You and the group were walking ahead when you heard Stu yelp behind you. Everyone turned seeing Stu hold his hand in pain as Billy chuckled to himself. "He bit me!"

Eventually you and the gang found a decent place to set up camp. "Does anyone here know how to set up a tent?" Randy asked having no clue where to start. "Does anyone know how to set up a tent?" Stu mocked the boy earning a laugh from the girls. "No dipshit, we all just walked miles with tents on our back to use as fire wood. Of course we know how to set up a tent, we're actually men." Stu flexed his arm showing off the muscle. "Does your masculine overcompensation ever get embarrassing?" Tatum quipped making Stu's face drop. "Jokes on you I don't know what that means." He stuck out his tounge making her scoff.

"Think fast Stu." Billy called pitching his bag to Stu. "Who's sleeping where?" Tatum asked noticing the two unmade tents. "Y/n's crashing with us. So I guess that leaves you, Sydney, and twiddle dumb." Randy nodded used to Stu's obnoxious jokes. "Real cute Macher." Stu framed his face with his hands showing off his teeth. "I try!" You rolled your eyes heading over to Billy helping him with the tent. "Awful big hammer you've got there." You bumped his shoulder as your friends continued their bickering. Billy shook his head with a laugh. "You and him are just alike." He said referring to Stu.

"I'd like to think I'm a little hotter." You said sitting down on the ground. Billy raised up stretching his back. He used the back of his forearm to swipe the sweat from his forehead. You were caught up in watching him when a loud crash grabbed your attention. "Are you okay Randy?" His girlfriend asked as he lay beneath the crumpled tent. "I'm fine!" He called out as Stu hit the ground laughing. After about 30 minutes or so both tents were set up. You and Tatum could've helped but watching the boys argue over who could do what was better.

Sydney started on the fire as it began to get dark. "I'll get sticks for s'mores!" You jumped up going on a hunt for skewers. "Ew I'm not putting that in or around my food." Tatum said thinking her friends were crazy. "If you're worried about germs the fire kills almost any bacteria on your food." Billy pinched the bridge of his nose. "How do you think they did it back in the old days Tate?" Stu asked sitting next to the girl. "I don't know doofus I wasn't around back then." You came back handing each person their own stick. The night continued with everyone having a drink or two and eating s'mores. Billy chased Randy around with a stick on fire as Stu cheered him on and Sydney told him to stop.

"Is this thing safe to sleep in?" Tatum asked as she looked inside of the tent Randy put up. "Yes it's safe to sleep in." Randy said aggravated that his work was thought so little of. "It looks great." Sydney kissed his cheek making his sour mood fade. "Alright well we're going to get some sleep." Billy smacked the tops of his thighs as he stood up. "If the tent starts a-rockin don't come a-knockin." Stu stuck his tongue out at the teenagers causing everyone including you make a face. "Get your ass in the tent." You smacked his arm making him laugh. You and Billy laid down pillows and blankets trying to figure out how to make the sleeping arrangement comfortable.

"I call dibs on the middle." Stu threw himself down wincing once he realized you could still very much feel the earth underneath the tent. "In your fucking dreams, she always gets middle." Billy kicked his partner trying to get him to move. "It's not that big of a deal I can sleep anywhere." You shrugged making both boys huff out a laugh. "Yeah we know. You slept the whole way up here." That was true. Traveling long distances always made you drowsy. "That just means I'm not tired now." Billy immediately looked at Stu who was grinning up at you. You turned around grabbing your backpack off the ground. The bright red pack of cards revealed itself as you pulled them from the bag. "I brought uno!" You said happily as Stu groaned and Billy couldn't help but laugh.

"I win again. Are you colorblind or something?" Billy shuffled the cards like a dealer in Vegas. You carefully watched his hands as they played with the cards. "Take a picture it'll last longer." Billy smirked seeing you staring out of the corner of his eye. "Oh sorry." You fixed your posture out of embarrassment. "It's all good." Billy's voice was low trying to stay quiet but it made you want to scream. "Are we playing another round or what?" Billy's question made Stu throw his head back with a whine. "I rather cover myself in peanut butter and go running out there than play another game of this shit." Normally you'd snap at him for complaining but all you could do was look at him. His head was tilted back showing off his neck while his tank top let your eyes run down the obvious veins on his arms. "Is anybody else hot in here?" You pinched your shirt shaking the fabric hoping to cool yourself off.

Stu perked up as Billy put away the cards. "You could take of your clothes off." Billy looked at Stu letting him know not to be pushy. "What! I'm just trying to help my girlfriend." Stu put his hand over his heart trying to seem genuine. While the boys bickered you pulled your top off showing off your black sports bra. "I didn't think you'd actually do it." Stu bit his lip as he scanned the new skin on display. "Relax I'm just getting ready for bed." The way your head was running with wild thoughts you needed the sleep. You stripped off down to your underwear knowing how hot it gets sleeping in between Billy and Stu. "It's supposed to get down in the 40s tonight." Billy warned taking off his jeans and switching them to sweatpants.

"We'll keep you warm babe." Stu kissed your neck looking at Billy as if to say "shut the fuck up." Billy shook his head peeling the white shirt from his torso. The muscles in his back contracted as he rolled his shoulders. All day he had been tense. He wasn't sure if it was the constant social interaction or the 50 pound backpack he had to hike with. Stu left you sitting on the sleeping mat as he switched out of his clothes. "Billy come here." You waved him over seeing he was uncomfortable. He walked over to you not knowing what you wanted. "Sit down I'm going to see if I can help you." Stu scoffed as Billy sat with his back towards you. "He needs more help than you can give him."

Billy flipped off his friend as Stu continued to change. "Is it your shoulders or what?" Billy leaned his head over trying to stretch out his neck. "It's mostly my neck and my shoulders. They've been bothering me all damn day." You placed your hands on his shoulders slowly rubbing out the tension with your thumbs. Billy's eyes closed in hopes the dark would make the pain a little more bearable. Stu was left in nothing but his boxers as he watched his partners. "Is that helping at all?" You wanted to make sure you weren't hurting him. "Yeah." He moaned in pain. Both you and Stu immediately looked at each other knowing how that sounded. With a nod Stu asked you to do it again.

You repeated the pattern on his shoulder pressing down on a certain spot. Another groan left Billy's lips. Billy wasn't aware of the effect he was having on you and Stu. The short haired boy walked over sitting in front of his boyfriend. Billy opened one eye looking at Stu with suspicion. "What are you doing?" He didn't trust Stu when he had that sort of hellish gleam in his eyes. "Me? Oh nothing." Stu responded as you continued to massage Billy's shoulders. "I doubt that- ah!" He exclaimed his head lulling back in pain. You didn't know if it was wrong that his pain turned you on but you were glad you weren't the only one. You pressed a kiss to Billy's neck which brought a smile to his face.

Stu's movement however wasn't as innocent. His hand rubbed against the crotch of Billy's sweatpants making the boy between you two sigh. "We can't do this right now. They'll hear us." Billy said making no move to stop either of you. You had given up trying to suppress the hunger that had consumed you all day. Billy's breath was ragged as Stu continued to rub his growing erection. You smiled against Billy's skin before whispering next to his ear. "Are you telling me you can't be quiet?" Stu tugged at Billy's waistband signaling the boy to raise his hips. Once he did Stu tugged his pants down his legs and off to the side of the tent. "I can be quiet but I know you can't." Billy bit back as his eyes closed tight trying to figure out how he could gain some control. "Who said anything about me?" You whispered as Stu pulled Billy's cock from his uncomfortably tight briefs. "Fuck..." Billy groaned knowing he lost whatever game you two were playing.

You went back to kissing and biting Billy's neck as Stu began to slide his hand up and down the boy's cock. Stu looked at you with a sense of astonishment in his eyes. Billy was a control freak in and out of the bedroom. He was always on top barking orders unless you physically tied him down. So for this to be happening was like lighting in a bottle. Stu scooted down licking a stipe up the boy's shaft. Billy's abs contracted as his hips rolled upwards. You watched happily as Stu's tongue swirled around the tip of Billy cock smearing the bead of precum around his skin. A small gasp could be heard coming from the man under your touch.

His knuckles were white as they gripped the sheets beneath him. It took every ounce of strength not to throat fuck the man who continuously teased him. Stu sat up leaving Billy needy but he'd die before he begged. "Lay back." Stu said making you move out of the way. Billy's back hit the mat as he looked up at the both of you. That little red tint on his cheeks made him look insanely attractive. "Well are you two assholes going to do anything or do I need to get myself off?" The smirk on Billy's face somehow made his words endearing. Stu leaned over whispering instructions in your ear. With wide eyes you looked up at the man. "Go ahead."

You pulled off your underwear leaving them where they dropped. Billy quickly ridded himself off his underwear leaving himself completely naked in front of you and Stu. You walked over to the man on the ground straddling his hips. Your lips connected with his greedily. Billy grabbed his cock running the tip up and down your folds making you moan into his mouth. Without a warning he slipped the tip into your entrance. You sat up properly lining him up before slowly sinking down on his cock. Billy let out what could only be described as a growl through gritted teeth. You started to rock your hips back and forth letting your clit rub against his skin.

Stu walked over helping you out of your bra as you continued your movements. Leaning down he pressed a kiss to your lips before he got rid of his own underwear. Billy watched as you pumped Stu's cock with one hand, the other rested on Billy's abdomen keeping your balance. Your lips wrapped around the tip of Stu's cock, your tongue running flat against the slit. The warmth from your cunt and the sight in front of him almost made Billy cum. "I need you to move." Billy spoke, his voice deep and worn.

You pulled your mouth off of Stu's length with a pop. "What's the magic word?" You teased. "Fuck you." Billy spat appalled you thought that'd work on him. You squeezed around his cock making a slight whimper leave his lips. "Say please." Your eyes hardened waiting to hear the word come from him. "You're a fucking bitch." He sighed in defeat. "Please." His voice was shaky only making his plea hotter. "Good boy." You tapped his cheek making his nostrils flare in anger. His fingers dug into your thigh sure to leave bruises. You started to bounce as Stu shoved his cock back in your mouth. With a grip on your hair he paced himself. Moans were loud against the tent as your thighs started to burn.

"Just like that." Stu moaned as you hollowed out your cheeks. Tears began to well up in your eyes making the world around you blurry. You looked up at Stu seeing him smile down at you. "You're so beautiful with my cock in your mouth." He complimented as Billy thrusted his hips upward. You moaned around Stu not being able to suppress your volume. "Shh." Stu wiped the tear that fell from your eye. His head lulled back with a silent moan. Billy shook beneath you needing to cum. "Stu.. I- I need her to move." His voice cracked as his restraint faltered. "Give me a damn minute." Stu had a habit of getting cocky. In a normal setting Billy would've immediately put an end to it. He'd didn't tolerate what he considered "bitchy behavior."

Stu continued to use your mouth however he pleased. "Y/n baby..." Billy softly spoke making you pull away from Stu. "Fuck!" Stu whisper yelled at the loss of your lips. Billy grabbed your waist easily pulling you off of him. He kissed your lips before he stood up. "Get on your fucking knees." Billy spat at Stu more than upset. Stu being smarter than he looked dropped to his knees in front of his boyfriend. Billy grabbed the mans face roughly squishing the delicate skin beneath his fingers. "Open. Tongue out." Stu obeyed his tongue hanging out allowing Billy's cock to easily slid in. Your fingers found your clit quickly circling the bud.

Billy was always more aggressive with Stu knowing he could and loved to take it. Billy's thighs trembled as he got close. "Y-Y/n come here please..." The willing politeness made you even hotter than before. You crawled over next to Stu sitting back on your heels. Billy pulled out from Stu's mouth letting you know exactly what he was doing. You opened your mouth with your tongue out much like your boyfriend next to you. Billy pumped his cock till ropes of cum hit both you and Stu.

He milked his orgasm till there was nothing left. Quickly you swallowed what hit your tongue not thinking of the taste. Stu seemed to have a mouth full as he swallowed. "That would be way easier with a chaser." Stu joked wiping his mouth off with the back of his hand. "Shut up." Billy said with a smile trying to clear the fog from his mind. Stu pressed his lips yours as he slowly pushed you back on the mat. Both of you had yet to finish and he was going to fix that.

His cock seemed to slam into you making your breath leave your body. He sat up holding your legs still. Stu's pace was quick and brutal making your moans come out in fractions. One of his hands fell between your legs playing with you clit. His thrusts never faltered as you slowly felt that familiar pressure build. Your face contorted in pleasure signaling you were close. Stu's free hand covered your mouth knowing how loud you could get. That band seemed to snap within you making chills cover your body. You cried out into his palm as he continued his thrusts. Once your orgasm had passed he pulled out finishing over your stomach.

Stu gasped for air not being able to breathe. He fell over on the mat trying to catch his breath. It'd be awhile since he had an orgasm so strong. Billy went into his backpack pulling out the wet wipes he had brought. The cloth was freezing against your warm skin. A small wince left your lips as he cleaned up the mess his partner made. "I know baby..." He whispered. Billy pitched the cloth to the corner of the tent telling himself he'd get it in the morning. Billy fell between you and Stu before pulling a blanket to cover you and him. "That was fucking awesome." Stu exclaimed finally getting ahold of the air he urgently needed. "You okay?" Billy asked you seeing the permanent smile plastered on your face. "I think we broke her Macher." He smiled glad everyone enjoyed themselves. Stu curled up next to Billy pulling the blanket over his lower half.

"Do you hear that?" You asked the boys listening to the soft sound of grunting. "Holy shit." Billy said as Stu giggled. "Here I was worried they could hear us." You said laughing. Your head rested on Billy's chest listening to his heartbeat. The three in the other tent went at it for another 5 minutes making you and your boyfriends laugh. Stu was the first to fall asleep, softly snoring into his pillow. "That was okay wasn't it?" Billy asked again. He could be really assertive and aggressive during sex but afterwards he'd make sure everyone was okay. You pressed a kiss to his cheek. "It was great. I'm just a little sore." Stu wasn't a careful person. He could be extremely rough but he never meant to be. You knew tomorrow he'd be carrying you around saying he was sorry for being so careless.

"Do you need anything before I fall asleep?" His voice became deep with sleep. "No I don't think so." He kissed the top of your head before getting comfortable. Within 10 minutes you were both fast asleep.

The morning sun was unforgiving. The tent did little to nothing when it came to shielding you from the light. "Morning sunshine!" Stu said looking down at your naked body. "Good morning pervert." He leaned down pressing a kiss to your lips. "Sydney made coffee if you want some." You looked to your left noticing the lack of Billy. Stu noticed your concern. "He's already up. Tatum and Randy are still sleeping." He laughed thinking of last night. You nodded letting Stu leave before you got dressed.

"Good morning." Sydney said both of you shared a moment of silent acknowledgment. "Morning." She handed you a cup of coffee which you thanked her for. Tatum erupted from the tent ready to fight anyone who said something. "Did you have a good night last night?" Stu asked making Billy look at the ground with a smile. "Suck a dick Stu. Oh wait, you did." Tatum said almost making you choke on your drink. Billy couldn't help but laugh with Sydney. "That wasn't even that funny." Stu said disappointed in his friends. Randy was the next to leave the tent earning a high five from Stu. "Randy my man!" You rolled your eyes sipping on your drink.

The day dragged on with everyone going swimming and later eating hot dogs. By the end of the day everyone was on good terms even laughing about the night previous. Sydney snapped some photos of the group making sure everyone had atleast one polaroid to take home. Billy looked down at the picture in his hand. Everyone was smiling and having fun. He hated to say it but he might just go camping again.

#scream #billy loomis #ghostface #scream 1996 #ghostface x reader #scream fanfic #billy loomis x reader #stu macher #billy loomis ghostface #billy loomis x stu matcher #billy loomis smut #billy loomis x reader smut #stu macher imagine #stu ghostface #stu macher x reader #stu macher x female reader #stu macher x y/n #stu macher x fem!reader #stu macher smut #scream smut #scream x reader #scream fanfiction #billy loomis fanfiction #skeet ulrich #matthew lillard #poly ghostface smut #poly!ghostface x reader #poly ghostface #poly!ghostface #ghostface x female reader

[dilfl0v3rss]

mini me

summary: dad!ony and his mini me

cw: suggestive towards the end

word count: 1.1k

part 2

── ⋅⋅⋅ ────꒰ ୨ ♡ ୧ ꒱───────

your son was only eight years old, but because of his father he acted way older. whether it be how he talked or how he would handle different situations it was easy to tell that he was “ony’s kid”.

it was a satuday morning. you had just finished up breakfast, making finishing touches on your son omari’s plate before you saw him and his father walk in. you had to cover your mouth to contain your laughter when you got a look at what they were wearing. ony had on his dark grey durag, black tank top fitting snug on his broad chest with his black and white plaid pajama pants hanging low on his hips. white dry fit socks covering his feet in his resin yeezy slides. over the years he’s bulked up, converting most of the weight he’s gained from your cooking into muscle.

omari had on the same exact thing, but since he was so small everything looked so baggy. his tank top fit loosely on his little chest while you can tell he rolled his pajama pants at least twice for them to fit his small waist. the only things that fit right were his socks and slides since they were both things that you gifted him. the cutest thing was their durags though. the suede fabric looked nice on their heads with a small “o” on the strings so when they tie them up it can show. “g’morning beautiful” ony said as he sat down in front of his plate.

his morning voice always sounded so good. of course your son mirrored his actions, sitting down in front of his plate as well before greeting you. “g’morning momma. you look pretty” you can tell he was lowering his voice, puberty not yet hitting him to give him the same gravely tone as his father. you chuckled, walking over to them to fill their cups with orange juice. “good morning boys. what y’all getting into today.” ony began cutting into his french toasts, pouring syrup on them before moving his knife to cut omari’s up as well. “finna take man man to the park to shoot some hoops wit me.” omari nodded in agreement. “finna show all the girls my skills and they gon be chasing after me. right dad?” ony nearly choked on his spit, grabbing his cup to sip on his orange juice to wash it down.

you didn’t miss his arm nudging your son’s, signaling him to keep quiet. “excuse me? what girls?” omari opened his mouth to speak but was quickly cut off by his father. “it’s nun mama he just talking. right peanut?” ony and omari looked at each other, silently communicating about what to say next. “uhh y-yea. m’just talking momma.” you rolled your eyes at this. they were basically the same person in two different bodies. “whatever boy just stay outta trouble.” you said, pointing your finger at them before walking off into your room. you took your silk robe off before slipping into bed, matching silk nightgown fitting nicely on your body as you scrolled through different shopping sites for some new clothes.

it wasn’t even twenty minutes later when you seen the two troublemakers back in your line of vision, just itching to bother you. you looked up at them from your phone. “what y’all want now?” the both of them instantly putting their hands up in defense. “what i dooo?” they say in unison. you sighed as you gave them a bored expression. they drop their hands and walked closer to you, standing at the side of your bed. “we want you t’come to the park wit us. right little man?” ony looked down at his twin, nodding towards you for him to add on. “mhmm. dad likes- uh i mean i love when you come to the park with us.” you smirk up at your husband. he had his eyes on the ceiling as he tapped his foot on the ground, waiting for you to reply.

“is this something you want or is this something your dad wants?” you knew what ony was trying to do. you absolutely hated going to the park. the gnats and the blazing sun always seeming to bother you when you were trying to relax, but you also couldn’t say no to your baby. he was always so polite and he never asked for much. your husband used that to his advantage, which you highly disliked. you had a plan though. everything comes with a price with you. “because if this is something daddy wants i need him to ask me himself. or else i can’t go because i’d hate to be a burden to one of you.” now omari was also looking up at ony, waiting for him to reply to you. “gon head and get dressed peanut. me and mommy gotta talk.” he said, shifting his eyes from the white ceiling to your brown ones.

“make sure you say ‘please’ dad. be polite.” omari whispered before doing what he was told and going to his room to get ready. after you heard your door close, you watch as ony began to lean down towards you, one arm grabbing on to the headboard while his other one rested on your pillow, right by your head. “what i gotta do for you t’say ‘yes’ mama.” he said, deep voice rumbling in his chest. you pulled out your phone, unlocking it before showing him the screen. it was a purple lingerie set in your cart with a bunch of other different things as well, ranging from toys and handcuffs to different pieces of clothing. “i want you the clear my cart today. since mari’s going to his grandparents next saturday.”

the corner of ony’s mouth raised as he scrolled through your cart, stopping at the pair of black fuzzy handcuffs. you peeked over your screen to see what he was looking at before explaining the use of the item. “you broke the last pair.” your husband nodded his head in realization before standing upright. “tryna give me another kid, huh mama?” you shrugged your shoulders. “hmm maybe.” ony made his way to his nightstand, pulling out his card before tossing it to you on the bed. “gon head and get whatever you want. sexy ass.” he mumbled before walking towards your shared closet to pull out his sneakers. as he looked through the closet you heard three knocks on your door, letting you know your son has arrived from his room.

“come innn” you sing before he made his way in, instantly walking up to his father. he had on his little black tech suit with his slides on his feet and his basketball sneakers in his hand. “what’d she say? did you say please?” he whispered. ony looked at you, smirking as he began to think about the fun the two of you will be having next weekend. “yea little man…she said yea.”

#aot onyankopon #onyankopon x black reader #onyankopon x reader #aot #aot x black reader

[prettyboykatsuki]

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ SHARPEN YOUR TEETH (AND BITE AS HARD AS YOU WANT) | WYLL RAVENGARD

☾ tags ; SPOILERS FOR ACT ONE AND TWO OF BG3, gn + afab!reader, werewolf!reader, selunite cleric!reader developing relationship, canon typical violence, mild gore / blood, mutual pining, heat cycles, scent kink, oral (f + m!recieving), unprotected sex, praise kink, petnames (starlight, my love, my heart), lots of referring to reader as a dog / mutt / puppy, messy sex, reader has body hair / pubic hair, soft top wyll, a single pregnancy joke, 18+ MDNI

☾ wc ; 21.8k (????)

☾ a/n ; h...hello wyll nation. local deranged man here to offer this politely and run away. i dont really know what happened here. this was really just meant to be porn about a scent kink and uhm. well

i dont know if i wrote this fic as much as it used my physical vessel as a way to escape. it just sort of occured. im rarely nervous to post fic for a character but this is my first time doing a real wyll fic and bg3 fandom as many people i respect. so please be kind.

anyways. the embracing of monstrosity vs the rejection of it. so on and so forth. hope u enjoy. also banner is from slime isekai anime.

☾ synopsis ; there's a werewolf at camp. nothing new. wyll is growing increasingly fond of them. very new.

ao3 link for reading | spotify playlist.

The violent tearing sounds of teeth ripping through the flesh pulse and echo through the night air. 

Blood sprays onto the furred creature responsible for it. All else grinds to a halt, the gnats and fireflies silent in awe as sharp claws crush through bone. Wyll can hear the sound of his own blood pumping as his eyes watch the massacre, hand drawn on his rapier. He looks over through the rest of his party 

They remain just as awestruck. Astarion stands breathlessly. Shadowheart slinks into her namesake, eyes closed and trembling in the dark. 

But Wyll watches, eyes fixed on the bloodshed. On the violence. The realization dawns on him too late that one of his party members is missing. You’re missing. He stares back at the creature, underneath the moon - silently slaughtering every last of their opposition until the battle field is left in a field of crimson. Death plagues every inch of dirt to the naked eye. 

A whimper sounds. Followed by the sound of skin and bones retracting and moving back into place. 

Where a werewolf once was is your naked form. Sat on your knees and bent over your body with tears at the corners of your eyes. Just your ears and tail remain, your mouth and hands covered in a thick layer of blood. You sniffle, the only light left to illuminate you ritual candles and moon as you turn your head back to your party. 

“Uhm,” Your voice is coarse, thick with exhaustion and tears. Wyll stares at you in awestruck silence “We should probably talk.” 

_ 

“So,” Gale’s voice and the obvious exasperation in it is enough to make Wyll feel sorry for you. You’re sitting at the campfire, finally clothed - with a blanket around your shoulder and Astarion tending to your wounds. “We have a Sharran, a vampire spawn, a werewolf, and a githyanki. Anything else we need to check off before we apply for a tent at the circus?” 

Karlach takes the empty seat next to you, wanting to wrap her hand around the fluffy base of your tail and frowning when she realizes she can’t. Your ears are folded down, the corners of your eyes still wet with tears. You lean into Karlach’s heat, just enough to feel it. 

 The air is cool, thick with the scent of dirt and smoke. The campfire licks with light flames, surrounded by half cut logs for extra seating. You, Astarion, and Karlach crowd on a single half - draped with an extra bedroll for cushion. 

“Don’t be so harsh on them, Gale,” Karlach says, glancing over at you “It’s hardly like they’re a threat to us. I mean.. look at them.” 

Your frown deepens as you hang your head in shame. 

“I thought we were past this, no? I mean we’ve all already been honest with each other so far. It’s a little late to be keeping something like this a secret is it not?” 

“That’s true,” Wyll interjects, standing next to Gale across from the three of you - staring at your curled up form with sympathy. “I really don’t understand why you hid it for this long. Surely, you could’ve told us earlier?” 

Your voice is weak and unusually frail. “The opportunity never presented itself.” 

“You could have mentioned it when Astarion told us he was a vampire?” Wyll suggests. 

“I didn’t want to steal his thunder, you know? Felt a bit rude, really.” 

Astarion laughs, clearly wanting to laugh himself into hysterics but having enough tact not to do so. “Not a thing in that head of yours aside from our parasite, is there darling? But you know, I’m quite delighted by this revelation.

“Really?” 

“Now we’ve got two monsters at our camp as opposed to just one! Evens out the playing field, in case things go south.” 

“I’m not a monster,” You murmur, pouting. “And I don’t think you are either, for the record. I’m just a shifter. And my goddess is kind.”

“Oh? And who would that be?” Gale asks somewhat bitterly.

“Selune,” Shadowheart pipes up this time, for the first time since your arrival back to camp. Emerges from her own tent in the corner like a ghost. Her arms are crossed, brows pinched into a tight face of displeasure “She has a network of werewolves in her ranks. You’re one of them, aren’t you?” 

You look up at her saddened, like a kicked puppy for lack of a better word, casting your gaze away from hers. Shadowheart looks ferocious, her appearance locked onto your pitiful form with a familiar angry smolder. Wyll can’t decide if you’ve done anything so grand as to earn her ire, even if you’re a Selunite werewolf. Though, given all that Wyll knows about her, that may as well be the greatest sin of all.

Your voice is tiny and high-pitched as you play with your hands in your lap “I didn’t intend to hide it from you but y-yes. I don’t bear any hatred towards you or other Shar followers, but uhm, well, I didn’t think you’d be very happy about it. A-and then, well you know, back in the grove you mentioned you hated wolves so, I just… planned on never shifting.” 

“You have control over something like that?” Wyll inquires. You nod, not looking up at him. 

“I was born as a werewolf, not turned. So the moon doesn’t affect me in the same way it would someone who was turned and I have more control over when it happens. I can shift in and out. Usually no problem but when I’m caught off guard like that,” You lift your tail and swing it from side to side as if to emphasize the point “Sometimes I mess it up.” 

“Chk. What a waste of ability. Think of how many we would’ve slaughtered had we known from the start.”

Wyll looks around. Everyone has gathered now, standing around the fire. 

“A werewolf… I know little of them. Wild shape magic is vastly different. I hope your condition does not cause you too much trouble. Or us, for that matter.” Halsin adds apologetically. 

“I didn’t intend for it to come out this way,,” You mumble pitifully. Shit, he really can’t help but feel bad. “I really did fully plan on keeping it to myself until the end. But, well, we were desperate. And I didn’t want to see anyone die,” 

“Given our circumstances, I think it would be amiss to scold you for your bravery,” Wyll supplements, trying to ease your worries. He does mean it. Regardless of what happened, you did save everyone. “Plus, we’ve all kept secrets here.” 

“Exactly right, soldier. Don’t beat yourself up about it,” 

“Wow, what sort of double standard is this? When I came out as a vampire, you people couldn’t stop talking about how afraid you were I was going to bite you!” Astarion says with an exaggerated frown. You smile at him weakly. 

Wyll gives him a disbelieving look. “Well you’re not exactly subtle about wanting to suck our blood, are you Astarion?” 

Astarion huffs. “Everyone here is so unfair.” 

Wyll laughs goodnaturedly, his eyes turning back onto you. He examines you in silent thought, his mind sifting over your last few months together. 

After Gale gets over his initial frustration, his curiosity gets the better of him. He rejoins everyone—across from you on an empty log and Wyll joins along with them. Shadowheart and Lae-zel come too, as does Halsin. 

Around the campfire, Gale pulls a book and quill from his tent before making himself comfortable. 

“Well since we’ve all made up, I am a little curious about your condition.” He admits. A very Gale thing to do, Wyll thinks. 

“I don’t mind any questions.” You reply gently. “It’s the least I can do.” 

The whole camp softens at your display. Surprisingly, Shadowheart is the first to ask a question.

“Is it more comfortable for you…in your wolf form?” 

You seem taken aback.. Though it dawns on you quickly why she would be asking that specifically. 

“Ah, kind of? My humanoid form is also me but it feels… limiting at times.” 

“Limiting?” 

“Eating meat without my  canines is a pain in my ass. Same with not being able to express myself with my ears or tail. I like traveling on my paws depending on the terrain.” You say, shaking your head. “It doesn’t bother me though mostly,” 

Gale’s quill hitting the paper makes a loud scratching sound. Astarion has a snarky comment about it that Wyll misses. He’s too preoccupied with other things. 

Hoping that you don't feel too badly about all this, for example. 

“Does it affect your daily life in any way?”  

“I don’t think so? I don’t know. It’s always been like this, so there’s nothing that different to me. I do notice how different I am around humans maybe,” You say, before perking up. You’ve just remembered something important. “Oh, but there is one thing.” 

“What is it?” Wyll asks. 

“My senses are much much sharper than other peoples. My sense of smell, especially.”

___ 

You remain together. Despite the mess.  Somehow. 

With this parasite in mind, and nothing left to lose - it’s better to stay together. Now that there are no important secrets kept hidden, the vibe is much more relaxed. The impending doom adds a layer of familiarity too. Wyll has often traveled with bands of strangers, but never for so long and with so many. 

It gives him a sense of familiarity. Home. What a foreign word. 

He thinks a lot of it is your contribution. They’re your pack, as you say so often. A special one with lots of different sorts of people. And you - you’re loyal to a fault. It helps. You and Karlach are a lot alike, but Wyll would venture to call you a little more tender. It helps fill in the gaps. 

Wyll knows you’re a werewolf but it’s hard not to think of you as a dog in that sense. A different dog to Scratch, maybe. But a dog all the same - with folded ears and a softail and propensity for drooling depending on the way you sleep. 

He’s only really reminded of the fact that you’re part wolf when you use your abilities in battles. It’s your failsafe. You only do it when you think it’s dire, and before that you air on the side of diplomacy. You’re a hunter should the need arise though. Sometimes you don’t transform completely. Where your usual canines are meant to linger in your mouth are a set of teeth too big for it. Instead of hands, sometimes there are soft paws with sharpened nails. 

There are three ways you can transform for that matter. Human, werewolf, or just wolf. Wyll finds these little distinctions fascinating, and more fascinating that you tend to opt for one end of the spectrum or the other. 

Wyll quickly learns some of your physical attributes are the same irregardless of what you look like. The fact you are agile and quick and strong, or the fact you can travel fast on all fours. The fact you like meat, and the fact you whine rather loudly when you’re upset. 

When you’re using your abilities, many would think you a ruthless killer. 

But after everyones cleared from harm, you’ll transform back into your usual human self - naked and covered in blood and frowning. You spit up meat that tastes bad and whine loudly if no one tells you good job.

(That job often falls on Wyll or Shadowheart. Gale or Karlach if they’re traveling with you. Astarion is only kind enough to do it in a semi-mocking way, but Wyll is keenly aware of how sincere his praise can be.) 

In moments like that, you’re just a dog again. A puppy, sometimes. Loyal. And novel, and interesting for many reasons. 

Wyll should expect your loyalty by now. He sees it so often, how unyielding and faithful you always are. To your goddess and to your pack and to whatever else you’ve deemed important to you. 

He should’ve known that you’d probably try to seek him out tonight, after everything that’s happened among all of you. 

He did watch you for a bit at the start. You worked clockwise through all of your companions, stopped in between for stories and gossip. Some of the tiefling kids wanted to see your tail and you’re too good a spirit to tell them no.

Wyll wouldn’t dare hope for you finding him, but he is a little relieved when you do. 

“Wyll! There you are,” 

 Wyll’s eyes snap up.

“Ah, Hells. I was hoping you wouldn’t notice I was gone,” He says regretfully. 

“Of course I noticed! How could I not notice our very own warlock disappear? It was no party without you.” 

Wyll wonders if you’re being sincere. He hopes you are. The night air is cool as the two of you share space. Away from the party, only sand and rubble between your feet. And a body of water that looks like it could go on forever. 

It’s a full moon tonight. 

“Really? I’m honored,” He peers out into the lake. Suddenly aware of his body, Wyll recoils into himself. The movement is subtle enough to be overlooked. The horns on the top of his head feel especially heavy. The skin pulled around the base of them throbs. It’s not painful, but it is unpleasant. “In truth, I don’t feel a festive mood and I didn’t want to cast a gray cloud over the night.” 

“Is it too intrusive for me to ask?” 

“Not at all,” Wyll assures. Your words are comfortable and soft, concerned without being pitiful. “I’m a devil. I love the people of the grove, but I unsettle them deep down. As I seem to unsettle everyone nowadays.” 

Wyll can hear his own somber. He doesn’t wince, but it's impossible to ignore. Even explaining himself only adds to his melancholy. He’s quiet for a while, his voice touched with a destitution and irony. And bitterness, maybe. 

You remain still and steady beside him. He can’t tear his gaze away from the endless water, comforted by its vastness. How it generally disregards him and distorts his reflection.

“You don’t want a devil at your party. Horns this sharp will pop the balloons you see. And the guests won’t take kindly to scars quite so monstrous.” He jokes, trying to keep his voice light. 

He doesn’t think he succeeds at it. 

Silence once more. Wyll can see you, but your expression is unchanged. Your eyes are clear underneath the ever changing moon. 

“You don’t unsettle me. You never have.” There’s conviction behind your words. They comfort him.

“If only half the world had half the heart you do.” Wyll tells you, and means every word. He tries to brighten up, waving you off. “Don’t let my introspection spoil your night. Off with you. This is your day! Have a dance. Enjoy the music.” 

He hopes it’s enough to get you to forget about him for tonight. 

When you walk off, Wyll is expecting you to disappear. It’s enough that you’ve checked on him. He would’ve been content with it, left to reflect on his troubles alone. You’ve done something significant with your reassurance. He isn’t so tactless to keep you from celebrating. even when he would maybe want more time with you. 

You return to him though. With a bottle of wine, and a bedroll you spread in the empty sand next to him. You give him an unreadable look followed by a cheeky smile, making yourself comfortable on the ground. 

“Come on. Sit.”

Confused, Wyll sits. You open the bottle of wine with your teeth as a cork and drink from the top before passing it over to him. He takes it from you and stares at the place you’ve just drank from. You start to talk while he debates mimicking you.

“You don’t have to pretend it’s less difficult than it is,” You say almost thoughtlessly. Almost. “You’ve lost your body. Yourself. That must be hard.” 

Wyll looks at you, then back at the colored glass of the bottle. He clears his throat. “It is. More than I imagined it to be.” 

“You know, I was born a werewolf. And I had just about the best circumstances a person could have with that in mind. Selune accepts me and my clergy was mostly kind. Still, I heard the word monster a lot from people outside my circle. I could feel the distrust that I incited in outsiders. So, I won’t pretend to know exactly what you’re going through,” You say, your legs stretched out far into the sand, past the confinement of a tiny square bedroll “But I do know what it’s like to feel accused when you’ve done nothing wrong. You especially, Blade of Frontiers. I think you’re allowed to grieve the trust it feels like you’ve lost, or might lose. If it’s worth anything, though, I know you’re not a monster.” 

Wyll barely gets a chance to process the words as they come. He wonders if this is what people mean by feeling seen by someone else. “You know?” 

“Damn right I know,” Your response comes without hesitation. The night air blows along his skin, a soft and tender caress. Wyll frowns when you don't elaborate.

“How could you know something like that?” He asks.

“Lotsa reasons. You’re still nice and thoughtful and caring and charming. But, hm, well the most obvious reason is a little more primitive.” You take a deep inhale. “Your scent,” 

“...I’m sorry?” 

Your laugh is bright, and bubbly. 

“Your scent,” You repeat calmly, taking a deep sigh after saying it. “Everyone at camp has a scent. It’s a little abstract, but they change when people change. Shadowheart smells the leaves of black currant and uh, Halsin smells like sequoia wood. Lae’zel smells like black tea and metal. Gale smells like licorice. Astarion smells a lot like applemint. Karlach smells like smoke and star anise,” 

Wyll finds himself both awestruck and amused.

“These are all rather specific,” 

“I’ve always been a bit of a bloodhound so I’ve developed a talent at identifying specifics. It was shitty when I was a runt. Even a trip outside could give me the worst fuckin’ headache, but it got better the more I got used to it.” You give Wyll a glance “Anyways. Scent changes. When someone changes, their scent does too. Moods and days and everything affect it too.” 

“And mine hasn’t changed, is what you’re saying?” 

“No. Not in the way that’d make you different. It’s stronger, but it hasn’t changed. You haven’t changed.” You say quietly, and take a deep breath. “Not to me at least.” 

“You’ve conveniently left out my scent from your description.” Wyll says with fond amusement. He feels reassured. It’s absurd, yet Wyll is so inclined to believe you. “Is it something so awful?” 

You flush, suddenly becoming timid. 

“Yours is… good,” You say simply, and softly. You seem embarrassed to continue. He can’t help but find it so incredibly endearing. “It’s just harder for me to describe. But it’s good. It’s personally my favorite. “ 

You add the last part a little quieter. 

“And it hasn’t changed,” Wyll says more than asks this time. 

“No. Stronger, but the same.” You curl in on yourself, crossing your legs as you turn your head to face him, head tilted towards one side with a smile. “You’re not a devil to me. Just Wyll. And I like just Wyll.”

Wyll feels his chest tight as you lean your head on your shoulder contentedly. He tries not to read it into, hoping you can’t hear how loudly his heart is pounding. He takes a drink from the wine bottle straight, the same place your lips touched moments ago. 

He likes you, too. The words don’t come out right. 

“Yes…I’m,” He’s speechless, hands folded in his lap as he stares at you. “Me too. Our journey together has proved important to me. Thank you.” 

You smile but don’t say anything more.

___

With the goblin camp clear, the journey towards the Shadowfell lands becomes increasingly pervasive. You’ve done more traveling and less resting in the last few weeks than you have thus far in your journey. 

Smoke clouds in the horizon are what draw you to Waukeens rest. 

On your way to the mountain pass, for easy access to the city, lay a massacre of bodies and fire. The distress has far from subsided. The thick smog continues to build, folds into itself like massive heaps of wool - suffocating everything on every path in its surroundings. The smell of ash is invasive, even from a fair distance away. 

Blood trails from one end of the path towards the main entrance. As your party’s distance begins to close in, Wyll feels his lungs fill up with a familiar tightness. The burning air makes his eyes and lungs sting.

“Shit, the fire is still burning. There must still be people in need of aid. We should,” You cough hard as you look at what's in front of you. Eyes squinted trying to make out the horizon. “We should get there and see if we can aid them,” 

Astarion groans “For just one day, could we rest? Leave this nonsense up to the other wandering travelers desperate for recognition? Is that asking so much?” 

“As long as I’m pinning down bodies for you to feed off, you’ve got to listen to me, you know? You laugh warmly at his sarcasm. “Now, If you don’t stop complaining you’ll fall behind, pretty boy, and there’ll be not a thing left for you to suck dry.” 

“I should report you for that, you know. Threats of starvation against the imprisoned violate the law,” 

You laugh a little as you start to make your way forward. The four of you jog towards the entrance of Waukeens rest with urgency, more yours and Wyll’s than Astarion’s and Shadowheart’s.

Among the scenery at the front entrance of Waukeens rest - what concerns Wyll most is not the death. Not the bodies ashen among flame or the flames themselves that continue to widen and encompass. It is that, among those bodies, are members of the Flaming Fist. Past the sour memory of his life comes the worry, the fear. 

What in the Hells are the Flaming Fist doing around this area?

Away from the woman praying over a body, are a small number of Fist’s pushing on the doorway of a locked and burning building. You’re quick to run to it. Wyll barely keeps up. 

Before you can ask about the situation at hand, a Flaming Fist member addresses you and your party. 

“Grand Duke Ravengard could be inside, don’t just stand there - push!” 

Wyll’s voice betrays him, speaking before he has a minute to think. “Ravengard? He’s here?” 

“Yes, now make yourself useful- push, damn it, push!”

Wordlessly from next to him, you gear yourself up and push kick the door in. Strong enough that the wood crumbles to nothing, Wyll watches the doors open wide and the flames that lick at the inside of the building. A cloud of smoke billows out as the Flaming Fist pour in, your party quick to follow in alongside them. 

Through the thickets of smoke and up stairs half-broken, sounds Counselor Florrick's voice from behind the broken door. Maneuvering through ember and broken floorboard, you proceed the same as you did before. Pushing through the crowd of people surrounding the door - you use your foot and kick the door in again, causing it to break nearly instantly. 

Counselor Florrick coughs as she makes her way outside.

“Come. I’m afraid proper thanks must wait,” She says with a heaved breath. It’s too clouded with smoke for Wyll to make anything of her face and Wyll can only assume that is the case both ways. 

Back down through the way you came, you take a deep inhale of smoke and cough. The scent must be nauseating, far too much for you - but you don’t let it show through your face. 

Once everyone has been accounted for outside, Counselor Florrick approaches your party in the broad daylight of the courtyard. It’s there she recognizes Wyll. 

“Hold on,” Wyll says, reaching into his pack. He hands you a sachet of herbs he’d purchased alongside you from a merchant in the goblin camp. “For your nose,” 

You give him a look of surprise, your ears perking up and tails swishing as you take it from him gratefully, holding it up to your nose for a deep breath. 

“Fuck, thank you.” You reply gratefully. Wyll nods in reply.

“Counsellor Florrick - are you alright?” Wyll says first, concern pouring through. Regardless of all else. 

It’s clear right away, the horror in his face once she’s seen what’s become of him. Wyll lets it roll off of his back, the momentary sting not enough to make him flinch. It’s a reminder to start adjusting to what will be one of many. 

Her sympathy is tangible, though it doesn’t make Wyll feel better. 

“Wyll - by the Maimed God, what’s become of you?” 

He shakes his head to dismiss the thought.  “A story best left for calmer days. Now breathe deeply, are you in pain?”

“A scorched throat, a few hairs singed off. Nothing a bit of time and fresh air can’t cure.” 

Wyll’s shoulder sag with relief.  She turns to address the Flaming Fist accompanying her. 

“Gauntlet, a new duty calls. Drow have taken Grand Duke Ulder Ravengard - westward if my eyes and ears can be believed.” She pauses, thinking before giving further instruction “Report to the manip and send for reinforcements. We must find the Grand Duke.” 

“On your command, Counsellor.” The head of the Gauntlet affirms, bowing their head before taking off. 

It’s there that Wyll feels panic. Uncertainty like nothing he’s felt in the last seven years. Maybe longer. No longer a passing thought or a sour memory, concern for his father washes out what might’ve been grief.

“No. It can’t be. You mean, they’ve taken -” 

Counselor Florrick's expression darkens. “Yes, Wyll. The drow have your father.” 

“Shit, what? Wyll, you’re a noble?” You interject for the first time in the conversation. When Wyll turns to you, above all else is concern. He shakes his head.

“The circumstances of my birth are no matter of pride for neither me nor my father. But pride is no reason to refuse help to my own flesh and blood. How can we help?.” 

“Rescue Ravengard from his drow captors. Baldur's Gate needs him, now more than ever,” She says, addressing you primarily and Wyll after. She pauses to examine Wyll a second time, like now that she’s out of the smoke she is really looking. 

A passing glance of her brings back memories of a childhood long forgotten. Days spent in courtyards training the sword and waiting for father to finish his duties. An ache starts to form in the cavity of his chest, but Wyll swallows it. 

Where duty calls, it is only common sense the Blade will answer. He holds a fist over his heart and bows. 

“Trust us to see it through, Counsellor.” 

“Who is this Duke Ravengard?” You ask, finally - though it’s not to him. Rather it’s to the Counselor. Wyll wonders if that’s a choice you’ve made on purpose. 

“The invisible force holding Baldur’s Gate together. Without him, the city’s collapse is certain.” She pauses, looking troubled “I fear that may have been the intention of those who abducted him.” 

“Shit. Then, not to be rude, but why entrust this to me? You have others at your command. More well equipped, I’d imagine,” You ask, bearing no hostility. A fair enough question for you, head of pack, with concerns for everyone else. 

“Isn’t it clear? You travel with the Blade of Frontiers. Who might I trust, if not a legend? Who might rise to the moment, if not Ravengard’s own son?”

You pause to mull over her reply. Your brow is furrowed in concentration, before your focus returns to the Counselor.

“I don’t think the drow have taken him back to Menzoberranzan. More likely they’ve taken the Duke to Moonrise Towers.”  You say tentatively. “Though Hells, I can’t be sure. Goblin’s bein’ here is weird and their affairs are tied together somehow. Plus, the drow we’ve met in this area so far have relations to other cultist bullshit,” 

“I was thinking the same,” Wyll adds. 

“Moonrise Towers? Along the old road? That place is cursed, few could survive there…unless darker forces are at work,” She pauses, taking a moment to assess the situation “This was no random attack, then. The Grand Duke was their target.” 

After more deliberating, you look firmly at the Counselor and nod - a serious promise. 

“Moonmaiden guide us - we’ll head to Moonrise towers and find Duke Ravengard. Though for now, I won’t promise  anything.” 

“Thank you. When the Grand Duke returns to the city, he’ll hail his only son a hero.” She says with a deep breath “Approach the towers with care. The land itself has been swallowed in shadow.”

She turns to address him this time “Remember Wyll. ‘Courage is found in the battle against fear, not in the defeat of it.’”

“So father said. I won’t soon forget it.”

“We’ll be heading off now, towards the towers. Take care of yourself.” 

“You too, Counselor Florrick.” 

With that, the Florrick disappears back out into the smoke and open road. Left in the aftermath is the rest of the party, not barring you - and Wyll with nothing but worry. 

Your eyes find Wyll’s with ease, filled to the brim with concern. Wyll casts his gaze away instinctively. 

“Shit,” Wyll swears, unsure of what the reaction from you will be.

“Wyll,” Your voice calls and soothes. Before his response forms in his mouth, he feels a hand on the nape of his neck. In a sudden movement, you lean into him. Even amongst the swallowing heat of fire and ember - Wyll is conscious of your skin. The scrapes and cuts on your fingers raised press against his own. You inhale a long breath and Wyll realizes what you’re doing. It’s confirmation when you pull away and glance at him seriously. “Can I trust you to tell me what’s going on?” 

The question itself is exposing. It’s a raw nerve, split open, tender and unhealed. There’s no shame in it. Or maybe there is, always has been - and Wyll has spent nearly seven years outrunning it. This much he knows - he never intended to show you this part of himself.

And he knows that this is not the first time he’s betrayed your trust. You ask Wyll to trust you, and Wyll wants to explain he always has. 

There is no betrayal in your face, no disappointment.

You come to him ready to receive anything. Crystal clear eyes and a sincerity in your heart - there is so much said in so little. 

“I’m sorry. It was never,” He’s struck by grief in a sudden moment. You’re kind, but it goes well beyond just that. “I had no intent to hide it.” 

“But you had no intent to share it either,” You say, your voice soft-spoken and tender. Forgiving, though you don’t make Wyll feel like there’s something he needs forgiveness for. “It’s okay. We’re damn similar sometimes aren't we?” 

When you let go of Wyll, he stares at you. Wide-mouthed and unsure of himself. For a brief moment, his surroundings become blurry. There’s no one else in the party. There’s no smoke. There’s no fire. No ash. For a brief moment, there’s just you - and you’re smiling.  You feel like forgiveness. 

“Florrick spoke true,” Wyll affirms, unsure of what to do with himself. “I am a Grand Duke’s son.” 

“Not just a grand duke - Ravengard has more power and influence than anyone.” Astarion adds. 

“My father and I were close. Once upon a time. Until he disowned me and cast me out of Baldur’s Gate,” Wyll says with a hardened heart. He’s forgiven his father. He’s spent years rationalizing the choice he made. But he’s reminded in an instant that the wound is still tender. “I can’t tell you more - the pact forbids it. My lips are quite literally sealed.” 

“Okay,” You give Wyll a look, clear and bright. “Then, Wyll - do you want to save your father?” 

He wasn’t expecting that to be your only question. It must show that he’s taken aback, but you remain where you are unflinching. 

“Yes, I—yes. Regardless of our relationship, he remains my flesh and blood.” You press your lips together, an encouraging half smile, prompting him. “And I don’t want him to fall into the hands of Absolutists for any reason. He made me an exile, but I’m not about to let him suffer at the hands of his captors.”

“Alright. Then we’ll save him,” You brush over the weight of that sentence, addressing your other companions. “The only lead we’ve got so far is Moonrise towers, so we’ll stick to our original plans. Visiting the creche and then traveling through the Underdark.” 

Wyll stares at you as you continue to talk, the words feeling like little more than noise. Lost in thought, you let him remain undisturbed. When your eyes meet, you don’t do anything more than grin - fang poking out form underneath your lip. 

And it’s the second time in his life, Wyll feels like you’re seeing something he can’t. Himself, maybe.

__ 

A confrontation with the githyanki and a red dragon later, you return to camp the night of visiting Waukeen’s rest.

When night falls, you join Wyll in his tent. The gesture is innocent. You ask about having a sleepover. Wyll tries to remember there’s nothing but friendship between you. Eventually helets you into the cramped space of his tent. There’s barely enough space for you both, but you manage.

Before bed, you ask Wyll to tell you about himself. Anything he can afford to tell you. For a long while, he talks about being the Blade of Frontiers. But then, when it’s late enough and the gap between you continues to shrink - he talks about his life in the city. It doesn’t happen on purpose. Wyll is hardly so ungentlemanly. It’s unlike him to cluelessly go on and on about himself. 

You just happen to know exactly the right questions. Before Wyll knows it, he’s telling you about all of his escapades. His life as a nobleman's son and escaping to fraternize with lower city youth.

Wyll can’t disclose his pact to you, but he can tell you about the kiss he had at fifteen. He can tell you about the first time he lost a tooth, or describe the well-worn picture of his late mother in his fathers wallet. For a while, Wyll recounts tales of a life he’d thought he’d abandoned. When the words come out, they don’t feel like violence. Don’t coat his mouth with the bitter taste of iron. Instead they taste light like memories, and come out just as soft. 

He doesn’t remember when either of you drift off to sleep. 

When morning comes and Wyll finds you still in his tent, he feels the ability to claim plausible deniability drift away from him. 

You mean more to him than he thought. The moment passes to tell you. 

___ 

The journey to the Underdark is never an easy one. 

Underneath the desecrated Selune temple was the beaten path. A long ladder down through a broken Selunite outpost. Not only have you all fought a spectator, a bullete, several hook horrors and an entire beach of duegars - you’ve just slaughtered an Absolutist leader with your bare hands. 

The remaining duegar have fled the scene after a night to recover, leaving Nere’s body for the lot of you to loot. The gnomes have gone too. Wyll tries to hold confidence all of them will make it in one piece. 

The Sovereign had made his request clear, slaughter Nere and bring his head. Wyll has watched you kill and devour several bodies in your time together, but there’s something novel about watching you do it now. A knife, pulled out from your sheath - sharp as it cuts and saws through the flesh. It’s a clean, precise slice. Nothing like you, Wyll thinks fondly. 

He can surmise that it’s because you’re rather fond of the myconid colony. They’re kind to you and you are always fond of those who are kind. In that way you’re easy to appease. But he didn’t know you were capable of this level of care. You tend to be matted and ruddy. Generally messy. 

Wyll likes you that way. 

The head comes off the body unceremoniously. You wrap a cloth underneath the bottom, and tuck it in your pack along some cubes of ice you had Gale make you with magic that morning. 

Wyll only sees the outline of your back. He watches as you stretch your palms out and examine them for blood. When you find none, you turn around with a little tired sigh.

Promptly, you prop yourself onto Shadowheart. Your ear and tails have made a reappearance, your chin resting on her shoulder. 

“I'm tiiiiiiiiired,” You whine, long and drawn out. Your teeth stick out from your lips when you pout, Wyll notices. The heat of the forge and all of the surrounding lava have your skin sticky with sweat. The deep purple of the destroyed Sharran enclave feels out of place among the fires “I don’t want to go to the Shadowfell lands. I won’t. You can’t make me,” 

You’ve picked up a habit of being touchy. You tend to cling to Shadowheart, which Wyll finds ironic. Even with her cold exterior, the half-elf doesn’t push you off when you hug or pester her. You make promises to Karlach you’ll join her for it once her engines all fixed. Lae’zel finds it pointless. Halsin doesn’t mind, and likes to turn into a bear so all the furry creatures at camp can turn into big pile. 

Gale also doesn’t mind, but the wizard usually airs on the side of embarrassment - a faint blush crawling over him whenever you wrap yourself thoughtlessly about him. Astarion pretends to reject it, but willingly pets and scratches you when he feels less combative. Something you happily recieve.

And Wyll… well, it doesn’t bother him. You approach him often enough, and he’d be hard-pressed on a reason to reject you. 

(He ignores the way your touch seems to linger, unsure if he’s seeing things that don’t belong. Wyll is fond of you. Your heart is good - he thinks of you often  but he isn’t so sure that means something. Well it means plenty to him, but what of you? 

You like the sensation of physical affection, he reminds himself Nevermind the times you’ve fallen asleep as a wolf in his lap. Nevermind the occasional naps in his tent, or whines when he’s too busy to pay you mind.)

“You’re not ferocious at all, do you know? More like a drooling mutt than a werewolf,” Shadowheart huffs sarcastically. 

“What I lack in ferocity I make up for in vigor.” You reply with a hum, rubbing your cheek against Shadowheart’s shoulder. “And the situation doesn’t spark any vigor in me. We’ve already been underground this long and next we’re going somewhere even darker.” 

Astarion pipes up, sitting criss-cross onto the marbled floor in one of the few spots free of blood, sorting through his varied belongings and trinkets. “I would figure werewolves and vampires share their love for the darkness, no?” 

“We can’t see the moon well from either place. I need to see the moon to track some things related to my form. I count the phases in my head but if I don’t see it for too long - I start getting homesick like a man at sea.” You whine and huff again, this time peeling yourself off of Shadowheart and throwing yourself onto Wyll. 

He steadies himself enough not to topple over by your strength and weight as you drape yourself across his back. You nuzzle your cheek against him tenderly. It’s different to how you do it to Shadowheart or Astarion (when he’s not adamantly pushing you away.) It’s more tender, closer. Your nose brushes against the nape of his neck. Wyll doesn’t flinch, even at the warmth of your breath. You inhale again and Wyll can hear the swish of your tail.

He pretends to be ignorant of it and doesn’t push you away - instead laughing lightly. 

“Oh, Moonmaiden - let your moon be my light, and I shall let my sword be your shining symbol.” You  recite with a sigh. The words reverberate along his skin.  “Moon my love, you are terribly missed.” 

“Keep your Selunite prayer out of my ears, would you?” 

“Don’t be so moody, my cold blooded Sharran. Our Lady of SIlver is a kind and accepting goddess, so her blessing will extend even to you.” 

Shadowheart crinkles her nose. You laugh noisily next to Wyll’s ear. He smiles softly.

“After we’ve delivered the head to the Sovereign, we can travel back overhead before going into the Shadowfell. That way, you’ve had some time with the moon and we’re able to get in more rest before taking it on,” 

You pull away from him now, grabbing his shoulder to turn him around with a laugh. Wyll looks at you wide-eyed as you grin at him, knocking your foreheads together innocently.

“Ah, what a great idea! If everyone else is on board, then let’s make our way to the Sovereign now and recoup on the surface. We’ll return to Grymforge come mornin’ and head off that way. Is everyone on board with that?” 

You look around for affirmation before resting your gaze on Wyll with a smile. 

Wyll feels his heart tug slightly, returning your smile before averting his eyes. You scamper off to Astarion, attention easily pulled in every which way. Shadowheart saunters towards him. 

“You’re rather obvious, Blade of Frontiers. I thought a folk hero would have a little more suave about these matters.”

Wyll clears his throat. 

“...I don’t know what you’re referring too.” 

Shadowheart laughs good-naturedly. 

“Sure you don’t.” 

___

There are few times you take your proper werewolf form. 

It’s an accommodation thing from Wyll’s understanding. People are frightened less of full wolves or your humanoid forms. The hybridized version of yourself is what people find the most monstrous, and so - you’ve gotten used to putting on the shelf. 

The only time you take that form is when you hunt for meat. It’s easy enough to get ahold of other camp supplies - like liquor or vegetables if they’re lucky. But meat is hard to find, especially hard to find where it hasn’t got spoiled. Astarion hunts only out of necessity, so he’s not really any help. 

You hunt because it’s natural to you. A life of pilgrimage and spent in a Selunite enclave has gifted you the knowledge of preserving meats, too. When you’re camped out near enough forest - you’ll hunt. Most often before a long stretch of travel, you’ll go into the woods alone and disappear - returning with a feast. No one goes with you. In the forest, among fallen trees and soil - you’ll gut and skin the prey. You’ll bring back the final products, clean hides and things to turn to leather and meat ready for curing. It’s to prevent any more unusual bloodshed from occurring at camp. More sanitary, you always say. 

Wyll has no intention of following you tonight while he knows you’re hunting. His interest in the woods is to scope them out one last time before you leave this place for good, keep it in his memory and prepare for the road ahead. 

When he hears the sound of a faint growling, he thinks for a minute you’ve been injured or are in some kind of danger. 

The moon is shining just enough to cast light on your form. He figures out quickly you’re safe.

There’s nothing new to see. Thick, crimson blood makes a mess of your appearance - dripping down your fangs. It sticks and matts in your fur, covering your face in messy splatters. Your werewolf form is your most monstrous. Unnatural limbs and features - a form like a human but the face and ferocity of a wolf. 

In front of you are corpses of animals, bled out and laid in a pile. The scent of blood is so strong Wyll can smell it from a distance away. It’s a distance you’d usually be able to smell Wyll from, but it must be masked by the smell of copper and flesh. 

The moon has waned, nearly to its fullest. You turn yourself towards the black sky of midnight, towards the moon - and you howl. It is a loud, tremendous sound. 

Wyll has never heard you howl before. It’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard in his life. An elongated melody, deep from your chest - high and throaty. You howl to the sky. You howl to the moon. To your goddess, most certainly. You howl in the version of yourself everyone finds most disgusting. The monster in you is alive and bare-chested to the world. Stood on your two feet, all matted fur and eyes like beams of light - you howl towards the sky.

And Wyll watches. Listens. Commits the sound to memory. 

In the version of yourself that is so embraced by monstrosity, you howl like a song to the moon you so adore.

He’s never found you so beautiful. 

___

Time moves differently in the Shadowfell lands. 

Slower. In every other part of Fae’run, the nights and days don’t blur into each other. But here, in the abandoned and unyielding darkness - everything feels thick. Muddy. The soil that does not dampen, the trees that do not grow leaves. Instead of preserved amber, there is only shadow. It swallows everything, every place in the land. 

The upward battle of survival persists. The Harpers have (barely) welcomed you into the Last Light Inn. Flaming Fist Marcus is dead, and the Moon Maiden has given her her blessing. You’ve even been able to give Karlach her first upgrade. 

The air speaks for itself though, that you’re nearing something important. The beginning of something. Or the end, though Wyll sways towards hope and optimism. 

In the presence of darkness and solace, -Wyll finds that you remain yourself. Bright and clear and comforting, even in the face of impending doom. 

Your camp in the Shadowfell lands is brightened by artificial lights. It spans over more land now. The main area which hosts all of your companions lies at the foot of an abandoned building. An abandoned house, torn by vines of shadowfell and roots. The base of camp is spread over dusty ashen floors, everything colored gray. 

When it’s time to rest, most lights remain on. He finds it’s easier to sleep with Selune’s blessing. 

Tonight, Wyll can't get any rest at all. He’s still awake while his companions have fallen asleep. He opens his eyes to the skies. They lack the deep shades of purple of a normal night sky, unmistakably dark.

His eyes remain lidded as he takes a look at his surroundings. Shadowheart is asleep, and Astarion is deep enough in meditation that Wyll doubts he’d noticed if he walked off. Among his companions, you’re missing from your bedroll. 

Wyll sits up as quietly as he can. He looks towards your tent, to see if you’ve woken up to sleep inside - but doesn’t find you there either. His brow tightens, shoulders tense as he blinks rapidly trying to wake himself up. 

There aren’t many places in this camp to go, despite the terrain being wider. The other tent occupants remain in place. From where Wyll stands you’re not with anyone else like Karlach or Halsin. 

There’s only one more place that would leave you.

Through a curve and another straight path are wood stairs. At the top is a skeleton of an old house. One that stood long before the curse, and remains long after. 

Wyll has never gone there on his own. He only saw it once while they’d settled in for the first time. There’s nothing inside of it. A fireplace, a broken cupboard and cabinet. A table and chair, and two old beds that have gone rickety overtime. 

He ducks his head as he enters through what must’ve once been a door. 

It occurs to him he’s never really seen you pray. Not fully at least. Though you utter it on occasion, the words of your goddess - you tend to speak them lightly. Wyll gathers its out of respect for Shadowheart. 

He finds you on the edge of a large bed in the center of the room. You’re in your humanoid form, with only your ears and tail and teeth - your hands are clasped tightly around a necklace. The fireplace is burning, but it’s not what illuminates you.

All around you though is a pale blue glow, like the moon itself has surrounded you with all of its might. You’re quiet in incantation  - the warmth of a smile lighting up your features. You’re not in your usual nightwear of a loose shirt and pants. Instead you wear the silk of a slip and something like a Selunite robe, open. Wyll has seen so much of your skin before, everything past your knees barren. But its a new feeling. Your neck and shoulders are just the same, your hand on your chest ducking from view.

You breathe deeply, before your eyes flutter open and see him at the door. You smile at him.

“You’re awake,” You say first, letting go of the necklace chain. “Hope everything’s alright?” 

“Sorry. And yes, everything is fine - I had just woken up and couldn’t find you,” Wyll feels flush as he adds the rest to the conversation “And I uhm. Well I was worried something might have happened.” 

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry. I figured everyone would be asleep so I didn’t bother telling anyone,” You say apologetically “Our Silver Lady called to me so I felt I ought to answer.”

You pause before laughing. “Wait, sit first. Unless you’re going back to sleep right away.” 

Wyll shakes his head as your grin widens making his heart feel rather funny. 

He sits next to you, fond as you bring your leg up and face him. Your back rests on the broken wood at the foot of the bed. You’ve tidied the room a bit, and these sheets don’t have as much dust as they did when you first got here. 

Wyll mirrors your actions, sitting with a leg up - bent at the knee as he stares at you. 

“You said your goddess called to you?”

“Ah, yes,” Your voice is uncharacteristically shy. Wyll can’t help but stare at the bare crook of your knees. “Shadowheart had mentioned it. There’s something in these lands. And well,   wherever Shar goes, Selune will follow and all. Don’t really know what it means, though. Bit of mystery.” 

“You’re a cleric, right?” Wyll asks, taking a brief moment to assess and remember all the little details about yourself you’ve told him. 

When he thinks of it, there’s so much about you he doesn’t know. Though he feels you know everything there is to know about him. It’s not that you’re secretive, but it’s rare to get a moment alone. Harder to find a moment appropriate to air out your past. 

Alone with you in this shadowy, dimly lit room - Wyll hopes time will slow. Long enough to know something more about you, at least.  

“Right. I try not to crutch too much on my magic so I tend to stick to fighting,” You say with a laugh “I also had to learn physical combat and martial arts. It feels like a waste not to use.” 

“I see,” Wyll says with a thoughtful hum “But you are a cleric, all the same. Quite an impressive title to bestow on someone, I’d imagine.” 

“Ah, truthfully - I find it a bit difficult,” You reply sheepishly, surprising Wyll.“I’m sort of simple, all things considered. I thought I’d be my Lady’s sword or just part of her clergy, but I never imagined I’d do anything so important. Or have powers so great.” 

The sound of your voice feels especially pleasant to Wyll like this, murmurs just between you with no threat of doom. Like between these broken wooden planks, is a peace impenetrable. He likes being with you.

“Before your capture, were you? Set out to do something important, I mean,” 

“Importance is relative. But, it was a mission I was proud taking,” You reply thoughtfully. A confirmation of the sanctity in your character for you to make such a distinction. “I had been sent by my clergy to wander Faerun - to aid other lycanthropes and those touched by madness or ailment. 

“You alone had been sent?

You nod, staring down at your hands folded in your lap. 

“Aye, me alone. I’d wandered around for several years when I was sent away before the ship had captured me. I was on my way to Baldur’s Gate as part of it,” 

“Where do you hail from?” 

“Amn. There’s a few small Selunite enclaves there. Mama was a Silverstar, which is mostly a pretty word for a very powerful priestess. My fate was divined when I was seventeen and the rest is history.” 

“Seventeen is young. What was your final destination then? Or was it more of a wandering practice.” 

“After some years, I was hoping to get to Waterdeep actually. Big church for Selune over there, very beautiful.” Your voice teeters on wistful, blooming with longing and nostalgia. You peek at Wyll through your lashes. “In that way, we have a lot in common.” 

“A lot in common. Do you really think so?” 

“Mm, I do. Banished at seventeen, a monster inside us, some sort of tragic background. We make a fun pair.”

“I didn’t know there was a tragic story in yours. To the extent you could call it one,” Wyll says quietly. You give Wyll a look. Though he doesn’t pressure you to expand on it, you seem relaxed enough to talk about it. 

You close your eyes briefly, letting them flutter open. 

“It was a year into my pilgrimage, I think,” You explore, a soft sadness tender in your expression. Wyll sits up a little straighter, readying himself to receive whatever you wish to tell him. “A small village in the Dalelands. Young girl, about seven. Her village had ostracized her. By the time I arrived, she was emaciated. Clever little thing had survived on her own but barely,” 

Wyll waits patiently for you to continue, not wanting to interrupt you even briefly. He softens his gaze.  

“Anyway. When I go anywhere new, the basic practice is meeting locals. Depending on the circumstances, I won’t always disclose my wolven ways. Some people - they need guidance, others they need protection. In her case, she needed both,” You look far away somehow. Wyll feels empathy as much as he feels warmth. Your care for the human condition, he always finds, touches him. “She was much smarter than me, you know. Her lycanthropy was inherited like mine, but because she was so young - she had a difficult time controlling it.” 

You pause to take a long, deep, steadying breath. “She was my little genius. I cared for her  an awful lot. Still do. She beat me at lanceboard all the time, despite being seven and I wasn’t even letting her win you know.” 

“She must’ve been even more brilliant than I could imagine.” Wyll offers. You nod. 

“Despite my efforts, the relationship between her and her village wasn’t getting better. One day, I’d left her in my chambers for a while - to bring something back from a market nearby. Less than a few hours, and she’d been uhm,” Your voice starts to close. Wyll follows his instinct, squeezing your hand where it rests on your knee. It’s shaking when he reaches for it. He thinks briefly about kissing it. “She’d been killed,” 

Wyll pauses, lets you collect yourself. But he wants to know as much as you’ll tell him. 

“It was easy enough to figure out who’d done it. And in small villages like that, the hivemind bullshit and paranoia really gets to people,” Your voice intones on bitterness. Angry and heartbroken, you continue “Grown men raising an ax to kill a little girl. I almost lost my mind. I should’ve.” 

“But you didnt…? Or did you? In a situation like that, well,” Wyll looks at you sympathetically. “Any choice you made I wouldn’t hold it against you.” 

“I only punished the one who killed her. I didn’t kill him no matter how much I wanted to. I don’t think she would’ve wanted that. Not her or my goddess,” You say with a deep sigh. “I used my magic and blinded him. Made an example out of him and reprimanded the rest of those fucking idiots.” 

“And after?” 

You clear your throat, but smile at him. Like you’re grateful he hasn’t recoiled from it.

“After, I buried her body in the soft earth, in the place where the moon shone most brightly - and mourned. Her death was so severe I couldn’t revive or heal her, I just buried…her. I thought about doing plenty of other shit. To kill, to chase, to defend - but ultimately, it felt more…meaningful just to… bury her.” 

Wyll frowns, pausing. He squeezes your hand, eyes closed. Brows furrowed as he looks down. 

“I’m sorry,” 

You smile at him. Noticing the hand in yours finally, you even flush - though the moment passes quickly. Wyll stares at you in quiet, wondering if his eyes alone could tell you all he’s thinking. With you, his silver tongue is absent. His mouth is weighed too heavily with feelings sincere, with words meaningful. 

Wyll cannot offer you cleverness or comfort where he wishes to offer you honesty. 

“That night, the Moonmaiden had called to me. Just like today. It’s hard to explain what it feels like?  Like a cool hand on feverish skin. It was a revelation for me. I had suddenly felt so empty. And, after some sobbing, I’d realized something,” You say whimsically, drawing circles into the back of Wyll’s hand. 

“What did you realize?” He prompts. 

“Our Lady of Silver believes in the carving and following of our own path. But, what had I done but what was told of me? All my life I’d spent in the temple, in the monastery - among people of my own faith and beliefs. In the moment in which I felt so much anger, I didn’t know what to do. I was lost. I didn’t know what I was supposed to feel. Not on purpose, but that was the truth. I swore myself too soon to duty rather than the convictions of my heart—I’d lacked real purpose.”

Wyll smiles at you, brightened by the gusto in which you speak. He’s endeared by you all too easily. 

“And the convictions of your heart? Have you found them?” He asks, head tilted. 

“Not all of them. But you know I figured out one thing. I want to make the world a less lonely place. Her death will never not bear weight on my mind, but her tiny hand thanking me for staying with her. That was something, I’m damn sure. Maybe all of it,” 

He stares at you, speaking in quiet murmurs. You’re glowing, he thinks. You must be. 

“It’s a noble thing to want. At least to me.” 

“I’m glad you think so. My goddess has given me these divine powers, so my duty will always be to help people. But more than that - I want to guide the sick and afraid like the Moonmaiden guides me. I want to make it less difficult for people.” 

“You’re awfully wise at times like this.” 

“Wise?” You laugh lightly. “I’ve never heard that for me before. More used to hearing stuff like hard-headed, pack runt, cry baby. So on and so forth. But I’ll cherish it before you change your mind.” 

“Do you feel fulfilled here? Becoming a hero of a city, saving so many people - surely that too aligns with your convictions” 

“Asking an awful lot about me,” You tease finally. Wyll is hard-pressed to deny it. It’s so obvious. “But I do. I’d say managing to become Astarion’s friend is a high enough accomplishment with regards to you know, my convictions and all. It’s honestly like my life’s work. He even pets me now. Willingly!”

Wyll laughs loudly at the sudden excitement in your voice. You haven’t let go of his hand, he notices. 

He hopes you don’t.

“Quite an impressive feat, certainly. But I am a little hurt. Does our bond not incite a similar sense of accomplishments and vigor in you?” He teases.

You pretend to consider it. 

“The Blade of Frontiers, my most important companion.” You respond, with just as much cheekiness. “Calling it an accomplishment might be too egotistical.” 

“What else do you suppose you’d call it?” 

“Fate, maybe,” You say, though your voice is hardly above a murmur now.  “Somehow, the fact we’ve met feels more like a very lucky chance, I reckon.” 

“You feel so strongly about it?” Wyll says, more than asks. Because somehow it feels too much like a dream. 

“Of course. I feel strongly about you in general,” You respond, and still don’t let go of his hand. You say it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world “I feel strongly about us. And all we’ve seen, together. I feel strongly that regardless of all the darkness, the moon waits for me and that I’m very lucky to have met you.”

Wyll feels his heart jump into his throat. Hardly a confession, yet his heart pounds. The longing is ceaseless. 

In all the time you’ve spent together, Wyll has had all the time in the world to witness you. In your bravery and in your cowardice. At the best of yourself, and at the worst. Wyll has seen you lie when you’d rather be honest. He’s seen you cry countlessly for the deaths of people you’ve never known. He’s seen you tear through flesh and bone. He’s seen you as a furred creature laid on your back so Halsin would rub your stomach. He’s seen you as tenderly, achingly human. 

Wyll has seen so much of you. And perhaps more than that - you have seen so much of him. Parts of himself even he has no access to. A passing comment of how dashing his horns look, a pat on the shoulder when you pass a father and son. You see Wyll even when he forgets to see himself. 

Between you, there is no question that he is lucky. The luckiest man on Toril. 

“You know, when everything is through. Not if, but when,” Wyll says slowly and carefully. “I want to remain by your side. Wherever that road leads. I want us to be together or travel together. Though I don’t know what that would look like,” 

You give him a look of surprise, then a teasing smile - titling your head to one side. 

“I might go somewhere you don’t want to follow, Ravengard. I’m a wanderer at heart.” 

“Impossible. I’ve already followed you here, remember?” Wyll says with a smile, eyes meeting yours “As long as we’re together, no place is too dark nor too treacherous.” 

“I’ll hold you to that.” 

“There’d be no greater honor.” 

__ 

When Myrkul falls, the world is silent. 

For a first time, in a long time - the Shadowfell lands do not whisper the regrets of the dead. Instead, the remaining shadow swallowing the world begins to finally clear. In gradual steps, life returns to the land at Moonrise. 

And this is in no small part thanks to you. 

Though, Wyll watches you as you insist the glory is split between your party equally.  You’re all heroes, and you couldn’t have done it without them by your side. Wyll knows you mean that.

 It was you who took down the foes at Moonrise towers in slow increments, that planned and slaughtered until there was nothing left of it. It was you who destroyed the Thorms one by one. You who allowed Wyll to break Mizora’s pact. You who completed the gauntlet of Shar, who saved the Nightsong with your own two hands. That helped Astarion with the letters on his back, and that prevented Gale from using his orb - because you were so certain you all could win without it. 

It was your touch and kindness that gave Shadowheart grace enough to throw away her Sharran roots, to throw away her past and embrace her own convictions just like you had promised to embrace yours. 

The world has not been saved. The journey to the end has only become more perilous. But in the palm of your hand is the Netherstone of the fallen general - and an entire allegiance waiting to follow you into battle. The world has not been saved, and it is only bound to get more treacherous. 

But for now, you’ve accomplished something great - and Wyll is proud to be alongside you for all of the rest, as you move onto things even greater. 

For now, all of you remain at camp. A two day extended break before venturing towards the city. Among your camp now is the famed harper Jaehira and more importantly - Dame Aylin, the chosen of your goddess. And the cleric Isobel, her lover, of course.

Dame Aylin’s arrival at your camp has sparked plenty of interesting conversations. Revelations of Shadowheart’s identity aside (something you’ve been helping her through), Dame Aylin is not just a fellow Selunite - but the daughter of your beloved goddess. Not only have you just saved her life, you’ve freed her from thousands of years of torment. 

Wyll doesn’t think he’s ever seen you so utterly awe-struck in your adventure together, even once. You’re a hard person to shake in many ways, and you’re excitable - but nearly never truly awestruck like the way you have been for the last two days. 

Wyll is listening in on the interaction from afar, only taking small peeks at you as you, Shadowheart, Dame Aylin and Isobel crowd around in your tent. Your tail is swishing so helplessly behind you Wyll can’t help but laugh.

“God. You’ve been staring like a dumb puppy for two days now,” Shadowheart teases, rubbing your head with her hand “You’re going to catch flies with your jaw like that.” 

“Ah, I’m sorry,” You say, a little embarrassed. Wyll smiles to himself as he pretends to read, thankful to be in earshot “I’m sorry, I’m just… It was already nice meeting another Selunite but…I could live a thousand lives and not meet you Miss Aylin.” 

“Your formality is misplaced. Aylin is just fine. We are comrades in all regards, both in our faith and in arms. I’m thankful you’ve given us a place to stay for the time being,” 

“Camp welcomes all as policy. It helps to have allies and in lands like these, seems a little cruel to leave people to the wilds. Though soon that won’t be an issue,” 

“You’ve accomplished something incredible,” Isobel praises. Wyll glances at you, a warmth settling in his chest at the surprise you seem to feel. “Lifting the curse from these lands, it was no small task.” 

“It was all of our contribution! I’m just glad we’re a little bit closer to getting rid of these pests.” You lament with a dramatic sigh “And I’m excited to be in a place where I can feel the presence of the moon again.” 

“It must be hard on you,” Isobel says sympathetically. You smile. 

“I can hardly imagine,” Aylin adds, shaking her head. “There is perhaps some small blessing in the fact you’re gifted with control, but the effects that these lands must have on your body. May She ease your burden.” 

Shadowheart gives you a look of confusion. “You know, you’ve mentioned this to me before - but I don’t actually know how it affects your conditions,” Her frown deepens. “A little hypocritical given how much you know about me at this point, I think.” 

You look surprised then flattered. “It was never worth mentioning. My body has certain cycles that are affected by the moon. Similar to the tide. After 6 tendays, I go through something like.. a fever as a result of a full moon. Though I’ve been suppressing it with medication, my body at a certain point needs to expel it.” 

“A fever?”

This catches Wyll’s attention. You’ve mentioned your condition in passing and always left the details vague (something Wyll is extra aware of given your love of being open in most everything) so this is the most he’s ever heard about it. He stops turning pages and tunes in completely. 

“Sort of. The details aren’t important, really. I’ve gone through it for years, so I’m more than used to it. Especially on the road,” You explain, waving your hand. “Silver Lady bless me, I don’t think it’ll begin until we’re in the city at least. Near civilization and all.” 

“Do you need anything from us?” Shadowheart probes with obv. Lately when it comes to you, she doesn’t bother feigning indifference. 

“No, it’s okay. I’m used to it! I was going to mention it though soon, so I guess it’s a good thing it came up,” You lean back on your palms, legs crossed as you close your eyes. “I’ll be gone for about a tenday. I’ll leave my tent here and just pack some essentials and fuck off to the woods. Like I said, I’ve been doing it for years.” 

Shadowhearts frown deepens, as does Wylls. 

“That was then and this is now. You’re a rather wanted individual, will that be safe? A tenday of solo travel?” 

You give Shadowheart a delighted look before tackling her with a hug. She almost topples over but manages to keep herself upright as you hug and nuzzle her. She doesn’t push you off in any case. You laugh warmly, resting your chin on her shoulder. 

“You’re really worried about me? Little old me? Have you opened your heart to me after all?” You say through a giggle, earning a few laughs from Dame Aylin and Isobel. You finally pull away to look at her. “I promise I will be completely fine. My senses around that time are extremely heightened. I’m feverish but it’s very difficult to catch me off-guard enough for some kind of ambush. Worst case scenario, I shift and run away.” 

Shadowheart does not seem comforted by this. Wyll feels the same, thankful she’s being so adamant about it. 

“I don’t like those odds,” She says with her arms crossed. “Is there no one you can bring with you?” 

When she says that, you  turn to Wyll. Your eyes lock briefly. You look a little startled, but relax once you realize that it’s him. Wyll is a little startled too, embarrassed by his own staring. He can only hope you didn’t notice how obviously he was moments prior. You take a minute to consider him, your gaze raking over him. It’s a split second, barely noticeable - but afterwards you flush. It happens so quickly that Wyll wonders if he’s imagined the entire thing. 

You laugh and Wyll swears it sounds nervous. 

“I get a little…aggressive during that time.” You say dismissively. “It’s best to leave me to my own devices. I promise you I will be perfectly fine.” 

“I don’t know how much I believe that, but I’ll try to put my faith in you. Don’t make me worry while these damn parasites are still in our heads.”

You throw your head back and laugh brilliantly.

“I’ll make it back to you in one piece,” You say, holding your pinky out. Shadowheart hooks her own into yours with a blush. “I promise on the Moonmaiden herself.” 

Shadowheart sighs, resting her head on your shoulder. Your smile grows ten sizes. 

“You better.” 

__

The journey, of course, does not get any easier. 

You’ve barely made it to Rivington. Barely. Not only have you had to fight off a camp of hateful githyanki and earned the ire of an alien goddess - you’ve just found out the person protecting you is a mindflayer. 

After a tremendous amount of difficult information launched at the lot of you, you’ve managed to regain your bearings (some kind of miracle, Wyll thinks). You’ve made it to Rivington. Finally. 

Hells. What a troublesome situation. 

You’ve been in Rivington for a few days now, though you haven’t made it far. After being at the circus and a somewhat harrowing fight with a shapeshifting clown, you decide to put up for the night. Before nightfall, you announced to everyone at camp that you’d be disappearing for your supposed fever. You can feel it coming on, and by the time it starts - traveling will be difficult. 

Everyone has had their own way of fussing over you. Gale has given you some scrolls of his own curation. Astarion silently handed you one of his favorite daggers and a pack of expensive arrows. Lae’zel has given you some potions, testing your reflexes with you before your disappearance. Shadowheart gives you as many healing potions as she can, and her blessing with the help of Dame Aylin. Karlach has little to offer you in terms of things, instead knocking your heads together and telling you to scream as loud as you can if anything happens - and she’ll come running no matter what happens. Halsin has dried some food for you ahead of time, ever the planning kind. 

Wyll only gives you a long look of concern. Most of the conversation between you is had with eyes, a soft glance meeting a concerned one. With Wyll, you hold his hand and assure him that you’ll be fine - and to take care of them in your short absence. You hug him extra tight before you leave.Wyll is forced to let you disappear. 

It’s really not like Wyll to be so invasive on another person's business. He knows he can be a busybody when it comes to helping someone but for the most part - he’ll respect a person's wishes. If someone doesn’t want intervention, it’s not Wyll’s place to force it on them. He's learned from experience that sometimes it makes the situation worse. 

But shit, the worry has been eating Wyll alive. He could hardly sit still in the brief two hours you had disappeared. The rest of the party have regrouped in your absence. Gale, Astarion, Shadowheart and Lae’zel - while Karlach and Wyll planned to stay behind. Wyll had wanted to go but Astarion wouldn’t allow him. Said his pining would get in the way of everything. He’s off his game, and it’s best to wait till you return. 

It’s getting closer to evening, the sun beginning to set. Wyll just can’t sit still. There’s no way a tenday is going to pass like this without Wyll effectively losing his mind. 

Just as the sky begins to be painted orange, Wyll troubles Shadowheart in the middle of her meditations. 

One of her eyes opens as she breaks her concentration, an amused smile showing on her face. 

“That was quick,” She says first, looking up at Wyll from where she’s kneeled. “I thought you’d wait at least a day,” 

“Pardon?” 

Shadowheart laughs. “Oh, to chase them down I mean. I knew it was going to happen eventually, but this is a little fast even for you, Ravengard.” 

Wyll doesn’t know how to feel about that. 

“My apologies for being predictable,” Wyll says with a sigh. “But since you were anticipating it, I have to ask if you know anything. Where they’d be. Anything.” 

“This is exactly why they didn’t tell you, you know? Not that I’m not worried about them too,” Shadowheart says with a sigh. “But they were clear. They need a tenday alone.” 

Wyll looks at her. “I’ve never been like this before, either. I don’t understand it, but I haven’t been able to take my mind off it despite my efforts. Regardless of what you tell me, it seems like I’m going to follow them,” 

“Oh, please,” Shadowheart says, standing up and dusting herself off as she looks at him directly “You don’t know why? Don’t you think it’s time to be a little more honest with yourself, Wyll? I mean really.”

Wyll widens his eyes, a little taken aback by it. He flushes, rubbing the back of his neck with his palm. He scrunches his brow a bit, unsure of what to say to defend himself. 

“Well, I am aware of why, I suppose. But it’s,” He fumbles in the process of trying to say anything sensible. “It’s new.. I didn’t think I was this sort of person. Something along those lines. It’s not that I don’t have confidence in them, but this isn’t something they need to endure alone.” 

“Not when you’re there for them, I’m guessing,” 

Wyll smiles a little sheepishly. “Yes. I respect their privacy. I’ll turn back if they ask me too,” 

“Oh, don’t worry, that was easy enough to figure out.” Shadowheart teases. Wyll covers his face. Is he a schoolboy, being teased about his crush like this? How ridiculous. “At least you know.” 

He sighs.

“Will you at least tell me what you know?” 

“I’m still thinking about it.” Shadowheart says thoughtfully. She makes an exaggerated gesture of contemplating the situation before shrugging. “Hm. You know, I’ve entered a totally new chapter of my life - so, out of the kindness of my heart I’ll tell you what I know.” 

“Thank you.” Wyll says truly grateful. Shadowheart gives him what Wyll thinks of as a semi-fond smile. He hopes this means she approves of whatever is going on. You two are close as ever, so it does matter to Wyll how she feels about it. 

“They were rather vague about the situation,” Shadowheart says honestly. “But they did tell me the direction they were going to travel. There’ll be marks in the trees so they can make their way back if something happens. If you can find where they started, it should be easy enough to find where they end up. That’s all I know. Good luck.” 

“Thank you, Shadowheart.” 

“Oh and, go pack some things of your own before you go. Just in case you end up staying.” 

“Right. I’ll do that now.” 

“I’ll let everyone know so leave as soon as you can.” 

“It looks like I'll be owing you quite a few favors.” Wyll offers. Shadowheart smiles. 

“Of course. Nothing in life is free. But go, shoo. You should go before it gets too dark.” 

Wyll gives her one last look of gratitude before hurrying to prepare a pack. 

__ 

Wyll barely makes it before the darkness settles in. 

There’s enough moonlight to guide him through the tricky paths of the forest. Let the record show, Wyll has no idea how you’ve navigated through here. Like Shadowheart had promised him - the trees began to be marked once Wyll found your paw prints on the ground. On each tree was a the slashing of a sharp dagger. 

Despite the clear path you laid out, the terrain is utterly unforgiving for the longest time. Had the signs of you not been in front of him, Wyll would’ve given up on the affair. This is saying something, because his time as the Blade of Frontiers was far from a life of luxury. 

It’s difficult but the promise of Wyll’s good eye laying its gaze on you is enough to push him through to the end of the journey. 

Eventually, eventually - the path clears. The trees start to become sparse and the area starts to flatten to something walkable. The dirt hardens underneath his feet and his muscles no longer drag. 

Before Wyll lays eyes on you, he hears you. 

There’s a campfire, and the shelter of a borrowed tent. You’ve laid out plenty of old rags and bedsheets - layers and layers of dusty fabric and old pillows giving you a cushion from where you’re curled up on a tree. 

Before Wyll can see you in the faint glow of fire, the only thing his mind can pay attention to is the sound of your voice. 

A pained whimper, so loud and high pitched - Wyll is shocked he didn’t hear it some distance ago. You’re practically shaking, short snarls and desperate yowls between hard pants.You sound like you’re suffering something grave. It’s nothing he’s ever heard in your time together, despite the horrific injuries you’ve endured. Even at near death, Wyll has never heard more than labored breathing and groans. 

It’s pure distress, so broken it rings in his ears. His concern grows ten sizes. 

He decides then that no matter what you tell him, he won’t be able to go back to camp to leave you alone. 

He fights the urge with his body to run towards you, remembering the state you’re in. Prone to aggression and high-alert, Wyll forces himself to approach you slowly. 

As soon as he’s within range of you, your entire body lurches forward to sit up. Your eyes open, wide and nearly feral - searching erratically. Wyll pauses, no longer in a soft crouch. He stands to full attention. When you finally look at him, your chest shakes with an exhale. You lean back against the tree behind you where you’re curled, shaking. 

“Fuck,” You cover your nose first, pressing your arm against it as you curl away from him instinctively. Wyll feels a mix of guilt and worry. “Fuck, what in the Hells are you doing here? Was it Shadowheart? Even—even though I told her,” 

He moves in just a step closer. “I asked her. But I intended to find you even if you didn’t tell me. I’m sorry. I couldn’t stop thinking about what might happen,” 

“Shit, don’t get any closer. I-I’m already, shit,” You hold up a hand, though your entire body is fragile. Weak, even from this distance. “Don’t move. You,” Another labored breath “Go back.” 

Wyll stills, but doesn’t budge. His frown deepens. “You don’t have to endure this alone,” He steps closer. “I’m here for you,” 

“It’s not about—fuck,” You curl into yourself, turning your face away from him. “It’s n-not about that. Not personal. You need to get out of here, Wyll, please. Please listen to me and, and go.” 

Wyll wants to ask how he could leave you in this condition, but the desperation in your voice stops him. He feels uncertain, but his body - his mind, won’t listen to him.

“Tell me what’s happening to you,” Wyll pleads. He wants to run to you. He hates seeing you in this much pain. He wants to hold you, his heart is practically pounding. “Are you in pain?” 

Your expression strains, but you force your gaze towards him. Your eyes are wide. They shine with water and wetness, your tearstained expression landing on his face. 

“Fuck, Wyll, you - I’m in heat. So d-don’t come any closer. Go, go—please, I’m begging.”

Heat. Wyll knows little about the cycles of werewolves. But he knows about wolves, and other animals at least. Heat. A period of heightened sexual reception during mating season. Wyll pauses, then blinks. His stomach drops, heart quickening. 

Shit. Shit. 

“You’re in…heat.” 

“Y-yes. And it lasts for a tenday, so you need to listen to me and get out of here. Now.” 

Wyll doesn’t move. 

“Would,” Wyll swallows the thick feeling in his throat. “If someone else had come. Would you have,” 

He hardly knows what he’s asking. But it seems you do, because you open your eyes - in utter distress and shake your head. 

“No,” You shake your head and hold your breath, trying to calm yourself as you breathe. You focus on breathing only out of your mouth. “Just you.” You close your eyes again and continue to tremble. “Please. Please go, Wyll.” 

He comes closer. Your voice croaks as you try to shout at him, though the words are too faint to be called that. Nonthreatening and utterly desperate. 

“No, no, no—please,” Your words become a sob, and Wyll feels his heart start to crack a little. “You don’t understand. It h-hurts. If you get too close, if you—” 

“What is it?” He gets close enough to be within real range of you. There’s only a few feet of distance between you. Wyll kneels so he’s not looming over you, looking over you with concern. “What’s wrong?” 

You shake and shake and shake, closing your eyes - tearing your gaze away from him. Your lower lips waver, both hands covering your face as you cry. 

“Your s-scent,” You heave, trying to push back against the tree.  “It’ll make me want to t-touch you. And I can’t. I can’t and—I want too. So badly, you’re so close, please stay away. It’s cruel, so cruel to me,” 

Wyll feels his own voice almost give out. Seeing you like this. So desperate. Needy. The guilt is outweighed by another feeling he chooses not to name.

“You can touch me,” He assures. 

You sob. 

“Not just touch. Wyll, please, go.” 

“Hells,” He comes closer towards you and you flinch. “I’m not so clueless. I know what you meant. It’s alright.” 

Your eyes flicker open in disbelief. 

“You,” You look at him through teary eyes. “I-it’s important to you to... With someone you love. Not like this.” 

“Gods, who else but you? I love you,” Wyll says with his own voice nearly shot. Your eyes widen in disbelief. “Of course I love you. I want to be with you for the rest of our lives.” 

“Wyll,” You sob for a different reason this time. “I love you. I w-want you, I want you.” 

“Tell me. Can I touch you?”

“Please,” You’re so tender like this. Wyll has never seen it in his life. It’d be unimaginable, had he not witnessed. 

Strong and capable and brave and rowdy - reduced to a fragile, pleading mess. 

Wyll doesn’t know how to touch you. If he were more honest with himself in the moment - more sensible, he’d admit this to you in a quiet secret. He doesn’t have room for doubt now, so Wyll is gentle when he reaches for you. He pulls your wrists from where they’re glued to you, unfurls your form slowly and looks closely at your face. He guides your hands around his neck and brings you towards him. With slow, careful maneuvering - he sits down with you. 

Holding you in his embrace, he brings you into his lap  - sitting where you once were. Until you’re over his own, resting your full weight against his. Your knees rest on either side of his thighs, straddling him. You look at Wyll from above, your lower lip still quivering. 

“It’s alright,” He says, hands on your waist but not moving “Take what you need,” 

With a wordless whimper, you grab the fabric of Wyll’s clothing, light armor that he changed into before leaving - tight enough he can feel the tension in fabric. You lean in, your eyes shut tightly and press your nose along the side of his neck. Wyll can feel you bump against this jaw. He tilts his head back to give you more access to him. His body is hot with your sudden proximity, your own skin completely feverish from need. You inhale, so deeply and so wantonly Wyll doesn’t know what else to do other than sit and let you. 

The thought passes. Like a mutt. Like a puppy. You breathe Wyll in like it’s the only thing keeping you alive, grinding instinctively on his lap. Something that he overlooks for the sake of being the sane one between you. 

“You,” Your voice has calmed down a fair bit, though it's just as thick as it was before. “Shit, it’s so good.”  

Your grip on his clothes tighten. Wyll rubs a soothing hand on your waist, still over your clothes. You continue it, taking deep breaths of him like a life-line until your grip starts to loosen. You’re no longer shaking at least. You pull away from him with wet pleading eyes, butting your forehead with his. Wyll winces, but bites back a smile at you once he realizes you’re a tad bit more sobered up. 

“What in the hells are you doing here?” You interrogate.

“Are you alright?” Wyll says, ignoring your first question. “Has it gone down?” 

“It comes in waves. The first wave has passed, but the second one will hit soon enough. Five minutes if I had to guess,” You say, shaking your head. You fix your gaze on him. Wyll suddenly becomes aware of your proximity (or lack thereof). “Why are you here, Wyll?” 

“Why? A better question is how could I not be here?” Wyll says carefully, examining your every expression. “An ominous sickness, traveling alone for an entire tenday when we’ve all spent our entire journey together. I’m sorry if I’ve offended you, but I couldn’t sit back quietly while I was so worried for your safety.” 

“Like I told you and everyone else, I’m fine. I’ve been handling heats alone since I started puberty. It’s not a very pretty sight,” You pout shyly. Wyll finds it utterly adorable. “And well, it’s not like I can announce to everyone I’m in literal heat. Fever is easier.” 

“I’m sorry if I’ve invaded your privacy. If I had known,” He clears his throat, looking away from you “If I had known it was something like this, I would’ve approached it more delicately.” 

“My brain is too heat-addled to be properly embarrassed, which is lucky - because I’m definitely going to be pissed when this is over.” You say, clutching the front of his shirt again. “Everything is all out of order now.” 

“Why do you say that?” 

“You’re the one going on about keeping things old school, you know.” 

“Well yes. But it’s not for any reason so rigid,” Wyll reaches his hand to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing underneath your eyes. “These sorts of affairs are more enchanting when the love is there. That’s the part that matters.” 

“You’re not disappointed that the first time we’re touching each other is because I’m this desperate to touch you?” 

“I just like being able to hold you. For any reason at all,” Wyll says honestly, then adds. “And well, if I were to be frank, seeing you in this state is… rousing. In its own right.” 

You flush, and mumble. “Pervert.” 

He forgives the comment just as you’ve forgiven him for his intrusion. He looks at you tenderly, heart swelling so much it’s almost overflowing. 

“Will you allow me to stay by your side?” 

“This goes on for a tenday. And it doesn’t get any easier. Do you really know what you’re asking? Do you have that kind of stamina?” 

Wyll smiles at you. He wants to kiss you. 

“Around something as enticing as you, stamina should pose no issue.” He flirts. 

“Gods, Wyll - where’d you learn to talk like that?” 

He smiles cheekily. “Esoteric erotica novels from my fathers chambers, mostly. Overhearing things at Sharesses Caress helped too.” 

You giggle a little bit. This time you’re the one leaning into him. 

“The waves will get longer and more intense. They peak around the fourth day and begin to mellow out at the start of the fifth,” You give him a look before looking away, profusely embarrassed. “Uhm. The only thing that soothes it is, well, you know. I mean I get really… I cry a lot.” 

Wyll doesn’t communicate to you the fact he knows. He did just see after all, and it’s not like he particularly enjoys seeing you suffer. He’s not that sort of man, but. He likes taking care of you, in all aspects. You’ve had to take care of yourself for so long. It feels good that he’s allowed into something that you’ve kept private all this time. 

It’s fair if he’s a little cocky about it, he thinks. 

“You can show me everything about yourself and I won’t turn my gaze away from you. Nothing could make me look away,” 

You pout again. Wyll notices you do it when you’re feeling especially embarrassed. He opts not to say anything, just smiles. 

You take a deep, shaky breath. “It’s going to start again soon. Everything is fine with me, just—stay close. Close enough that I can tuck into you.”

“Something to do with my scent, I suppose? I am curious to know what.” 

“Well I like you. And it’s comforting. But it turns me on, too. Especially like this.”

“And that’s why you were pushing me away earlier?” 

You nod, taking a deep breath. Your voice regains that sweet, thick quality that Wyll is beginning to recognize as desire.

“Mm. I’m a lot stronger than you a-and my heads not very clear,” You shake your head as you explain this to him. “It would’ve..haah..been painful. Really.” 

“So it has that kind of effect on you,” Wyll concludes. Your eyes are lidded. You’re overwhelmed. It’s an interesting position. As far as Wyll’s concerned, he probably only smells like forest right now. He looks at the way you’re shaking like a leaf, then continues “I have that kind of effect on you,” 

“Yes,” You huff, leaning against him again. Your head on his shoulder, nose brushing against his skin. He’s sweating from the journey up. He can’t really wrap his mind around what it could be that you like so much about him or how he smells. “Fuck, yes - you do.” 

It’s an odd position to be in. Wyll is a righteous man but the thoughts that swarm him now are anything but. There’s nothing foreign about being wanted. His time as the Blade of Frontiers has had him propositioned for such affairs more times than he can remember. 

No ones ever been desperate for him, though. You’ve never been desperate about anything. You’re emotional and light-hearted and wise and kind. Not desperate. Never that. 

Except right now, you’re looking up at him with your pupils blown wide and your lower lip shaking. There’s sweat dripping down the crown of your head. Your ears are perked up, your whole body tense with need. You’re practically intoxicated above him, and Wyll can’t help but feel something less than heroic about it. 

“I’m hardly half the man I claim to be,” Wyll says, a little dazed. “You make me forget myself. My virtue.” 

“What’s virtue to love, Ravengard?” You lean in closer to him, your noses brushing. It must be coming again, the next wave. “You’re just Wyll to me, remember? Not a paragon of decency.” Your face is close. Your lips are close. Tempting. “Touch me. Or make love to me, if you’d prefer to call it that.”

It feels like there’s no air in Wyll’s lungs. Not enough to take a breath. He cups the nape of your neck with his hand, and your skin is so hot it nearly burns. You’re feverish, and sweaty - when Wyll touches you, you react right away. He stares at you. Everything feels distant, far-away. How many times have the two of you been like this? How many times have you nearly crossed this threshold before retreating back into each other? 

Wyll can think of one hundred times he’s thought of kissing you. When you’re covered in blood and gore, when you smile, when the sun through the trees makes your fur look shiny and beautiful, when Astarion pets you, when you hug Karlach for the first time. He can compile every time the urge has come over him. 

It feels unreal to kiss you now, after all that. 

You open your mouth slightly, a choked moan passing through your lips as Wyll presses his own to yours. Yours are soft. The first thing he notices is the shape of your teeth, the sharp edge of your fangs - protruding and clumsy. None of it matters. Nothing matters except you and this. 

You’re huffy and eager when Wyll kisses you. A slow peck at first before he pulls away, delighted by the way you chase his mouth. Then again with your mouth open a little wider, panting hotly as you urge Wyll to give you a little more. Your hands are gripping his armor again, tight enough to rip the material. You’re too drunk on your own need, to notice anything about anything. 

It’s something about you - something about you Wyll has known since forever. You get lost in things, in fights or in books that Gale reads. Sometimes you just give up thinking entirely and let your instinct guide you. And it makes enough sense, you’re a werewolf - part hungry animal by blood. Of course your baser instinct feels more natural. 

It’s not very kind to think, but Wyll isn’t saying it to be unkind. He likes it. He likes that you think with your heart less than your head. He likes when you give into the most animal parts of you. 

Wyll is not in the same place as you. His head is meant to be clear. He’s seemingly sober for this affair. 

But his body betrays his mind so quickly it’s laughable. 

He doesn’t really know what to do with himself. All of the blood in his body is running hot, and all of it floods south more quickly than he can control it. Before he knows what he’s doing, his hands are clasping around your waist and he’s kissing you deeper. He lets his tongue brush yours, lets his teeth sink into the plush of your lower lips. He sucks and bites and licks as you breathe each other in.

You kiss Wyll until your lips are swollen, chest heaving as you pull away from each other. There’s something juvenile about the affair, enough to make you laugh even in the state you’re in. And Wyll laughs too, stares at your expression only illuminated by moonlight. 

“I love you,” Wyll repeats. You’re startled by it this time. “Gods, I love you.” 

Your voice is thick. “I love you too. Touch me, please.” 

“How should I touch you my love?” 

“However you want. As long as you touch me.” 

“However I want,” Wyll says contemplatively. He’s quick to maneuver you both to the ground when he says this. A little closer to the warmth of the fire, on the sheets and pillows you’ve set up underneath you both. You look up at him wide-eyed as your back touches the ground. “You should choose your words carefully. I may take you up on making love.” 

You wrap your legs around his waist and pull him down to you.

“Do it before I lose my mind anymore,” 

Wyll laughs playfully against your skin.

The act of undressing each other is unceremonious. Wyll peels the padded armor off his body, leaving him in trousers. He helps you out of your own clothes. He’s seen you naked more than once, but never for this. For him. He studies the way your muscles fall, the hair on your skin. Various scars. Everything for him to gaze on. 

Your own hand reaches up to his neck, on his shoulder as your mouth falls open. “You’re so attractive. Do you know?” 

He laughs. “It doesn’t hurt to hear you tell me.” 

You seem eager to admire his body. Wyll doesn’t stop you. Your palms are much smoother than he’d think of them to be, as they plane over the expanse of his muscled chest. You let your fingers drift over raised scars on abdomen, over his nipples and down his abdomen. Wyll feels his cock twitch unhelpfully. You must notice the same because your eyes light up. Your hand reaches even further, even lower - cupping the hard outline of his length. He hisses through his teeth. 

“You’re…” You mumble, squeezing again. “For me,” 

“You’re beautiful,” Wyll says. You flush. 

“Nothing you haven’t seen before,” Your voice is almost petulant. 

“And I’ve longed for you since that very moment” 

Your pout deepens before you brush Wyll’s hand with yours. 

“You can do the same for me.”

Wyll stares at you before leaning back down to kiss you. He doesn’t linger at your mouth, chaste pecks that pave the path for Wyll to worship the rest of you. He wants to worship every inch. He lets his lips leave kisses all over your face. He kisses the scars along your skin, the corner of your mouth, your eyelids. 

His tongue laves down your jaw until he’s at your neck. You breathe unsteadily as he continues down to the column of your throat. Wyll is gentle. He doesn’t bite. He steadies his hands at your waist and only kisses. Presses his face to your skin and pricks you with his want. It’s slower than you want, he can tell from how your legs are wrapped helplessly around his waist. 

Your lower-half is grinding against him, against air - anything you can find. Little shameless mewls and so much squirming. Wyll knows you’re needy, and he is too - but this is your first time together. 

He couldn’t do anything but savor it no matter how much you whined. Right now you are his, hidden from the moon. From the camp. 

You are his and he will take you apart as he pleases. 

“Please,” You whine, taking a deep breath of him again. You inhale, nudging the parts of him available to him. “Please.” 

A little mercifully, he gives you a little more. He grabs your hips and positions you better over his cock. He moves his hands from your waist to squeeze the soft flesh of your breasts. He licks the salt of your skin, meeting your movements. 

“I know, I know. Endure it,” He says, pressing a kiss to your sternum. “Indulge me.” 

You bite back your complaint. You’re forgiving as always.

His mouth closes around your nipples, hard under his tongue. Your spine arches, but Wyll pushes you down and steadies you. His other hand squeezes the one he isn’t servicing, thumb drawing over your nipples. He gauges your breathing as he tries different motions until settling on rolling it with his thumb. The right thing to do, if your reaction is anything to go by. 

He feels something against the seam of his pants when he goes between them, pleasuring you. A wetness where his cock meets your clothed sex.  One that soaks underneath two layers of clothes. He looks up at you, wide-eyed. 

You’re unaware of anything. Too busy in the chase of pleasure. 

He wonders if it’s a result of your heat. He doesn’t know anything about them aside from the fact it happens and it makes you like this - but what it does to your body is still foreign to him. His cock is throbbing hard enough to make him light-headed. He tries to approach this with a light hand and patience. 

But shit, the way you’re searching for it is too arousing. You’re seeking an orgasm so desperately, all little rutting twitches and uneven movements. The first of the tears start to form on your lower lashes. Your eyelashes are wet. Fat tears drip down your cheeks, falling down the side of your face. Wyll is less concerned than you would be if you hadn’t told him that you would cry - but gods. 

“You’re a mess,” He says with an absent fondness. You whine and nod in agreement. Wyll is lucky to witness this, he realizes too late. “Is it painful?” 

Your voice is scratchy from crying. “Aches. Aches so much, need more, please. Trying to be patient but it aches.” 

He hums to himself, undoes the death grip your legs have on his waist before starting to kiss a path down to your navel. It’s clear you make an attempt to ask him what he’s doing, but the words cut off when you realize he’s getting closer to where you need. 

You’re holding your breath, your hands curled at your sides like you don’t know what to do with them. You’ve never been so uncertain in front of him. You help slide your bottoms off - everything in one go. Your knees are bent in the air, covering where Wyll is most keen to see you. He kisses your calves. 

“Nothing I haven’t seen before, remember?” 

You take a deep breath and lay your feet flat on the ground, spreading your legs enough to give Wyll a perfect view. He’s always tried not to look, but now he can’t stop staring. A thick layer of hair covers your cunt. His hands shake as he pulls you forward to look closer, and your own hands go to cover your face. 

“I can feel you breathe,” You whisper, and Wyll laughs. He’s still looking, examining you closely. He uses his fingers to pull you apart, awestruck by you. You’re so wet it’s dripping, pulsing helplessly without Wyll touching you at all. The sheet underneath you darkens with arousal. Your clit is throbbing with need, all fluttery. “Stop looking,” 

Wyll does what any gentleman would do. He pulls away, his hands settling on your thighs - and starts to kiss all the way up from the inside of your knee. He does it on both sides, before finally kissing your clit tucked away underneath everything. Your breath hitches, stomach tensing.

“Tell me where you feel it. Let me learn you.” 

“Hicc,” You nod soft and sweet. “Okay,” 

Wyll smiles against you. 

For as much as Wyll puts on a show, the first time he actually tastes you exceed all expectations. The loss of composure is nearly instant. His fingers dig into the plush of your thighs as he lets the weight of his tongue drag through your folds, arousal collecting on the tip. Your reaction comes just as quick. 

“Fuck,” You cry out. Wyll feels your hands reach for him, a pleasant noise escaping him as you grip onto his horns. He’s never thought to touch them before. A feeling of electricity creeps up his back as your hands hold tight around the base of them.“Wyll, fuck - there,” 

He gets the message quick enough, laying his tongue flat on the hardened bundle of nerves. Your clit pulses for him. You taste heady and sweet, coating his entire mouth as he continues to eat. You guide him here and there - soft whispers of lower and higher until he ends up in the place you need. 

“That,” Your grip on his horns gets tighter as you grind yourself down on his tongue. Wyll feels his cock stiff against his stomach from where he lays. “Like that,”

He gives you more pressure as he licks your clit, sorting out a rhythm as he focuses his attention on one part of you. He wants to make you cum like this. You’re sensitive enough to do it. Your clit thrums as your mind goes muddy. Your body movements change as he continues to push you closer and closer to your high. He’s starting to understand what makes you tick. 

Wyll is a quick learner after all, dexterous and clever. 

Muscles clenching, your mouth falls open - eyes barely open as you moan. “Oh, oh, oh,” 

Wyll laps you up like ambrosia. He pulls away when you start to get close, ignoring your complaints. He wants to savor it now that he knows how to get you to the edge, so he does. He buries himself deeper into you, his nose bumping against your mound with every pass he makes over your slit. Your body is unbelievably sensitive. He dips his tongue into your tight hole and you nearly lurch forward with need. 

He starts a back and forth, going from licking long stripes along your slit determined not to let anything go to waste - back to focusing on where you need him most. He doesn’t mean to put you on edge so many times, no longer thinking clearly. 

You beg Wyll to make you cum by the time he’s back to reality, grabbing his horns hard enough to make him look at you. 

“Make me cum, please - can’t take it anymore, Wyll, please, fuck,” 

He hums against your sex before refocusing his attention. One last time he takes your throbbing clit into his mouth, lets it slide against his tongue and sucks on it. This time he relents to your need, and doesn't stop for any reason. He lets it build and build and build until he hears your voice break. 

Your back starts to arch, body going taut like a bowstring. Wyll hums against you, he wants to praise you but his mouth is busy. 

Then the thought occurs to him. It takes a little focus to reach your mind, and this is by all means - a terrible reason to use your shared connection. 

‘You’re doing so well, starlight,’ Wyll praises. Your eyes widen as you realize just how he’s doing it, a debauched and shocked moan tearing itself from your mouth ‘Beautiful. Sorry for teasing you. Can you cum for me? I want you to feel good,’ 

You hiccup, another loud sob as Wyll keeps steady. 

“C-cumming,” You choke on the words, on your spit. “I’m—fuck!” 

Wyll lets you ride your orgasm out as you cum for the first time in the night. Your body goes arching, gripping on his horns hard trying to pull him away as you push through to the other side. You’re pulsing in his mouth, tightening around nothing as you cum for him. It feels like it goes on forever, long waves and tremors until the feeling dies down. 

He pulls away once you’ve finally laid back down, exhausted and out of breath. You stare at him a little blankly, an arm covering your face. 

“Up here,” You say tiredly, gesturing him up. “I need to kiss you.” 

Wyll laughs good naturedly as you wrap an arm around Wyll’s neck, dragging him down towards you and kissing him hard - drunk off pleasure. You kiss him in chaste pecks,  hugging him. Nudging your nose along his neck, you whisper in his ear. 

“Take your pants off, dammit.” 

Wyll can’t help his laughter.

“I suppose it’s only fair,” 

You hook your fingers into Wyll’s trousers, helping him pull them down until his cock springs free. Your eyes go lidded as soon as you see it, hands cupping the now bare skin. Wyll hisses slightly at the sudden touch, unused to the friction. You look up at him, a hand between your bodies - closing your fist around the base of his cock. 

“Bumps and prongs, huh,” 

Wyll flushes immediately, making you laugh. 

“I hope you’re not making fun of me.” 

“How could I when I’m this turned on?” You offer sincerely. He shudders at the touch. “I like it. Can I blow you?” 

“I’m sorry?” 

Your turn to laugh. “I’m good at it. And I want to. It’s a little sensitive for you to fuck me, anyway.” 

Wyll swallows thickly. “I guess I have no reason to deny you.” 

“No you don’t. Now come on and stand up,” 

He gives you a hesitant look before peeling himself off of you. He stands to his feet, his pants still rolled down just past his thighs. He slides them off so the two of you are naked, and laments a little in his mind about the fact you’re doing this deep in the outdoors. You’re quick to follow Wyll, walking on your knees towards him until you’re eye-level with his cock. 

He’s never gotten this far. He’s a romantic in all the ways it matters, so save for some grinding and kissing - it’s a new experience. You look like you know what you’re doing though. You kiss his hips, hands on his thighs and an expression that he finds remarkably innocent for what you’re about to do. All Wyll can do is watch, and feel increasingly fidgety about the sight in front of him. 

You crane your head down and place pecks from the base of his shaft all the way to the tip. You let his cock rest against your face, taking a sharp inhale of the skin - perverse and desperate.  Wyll groans, deep from his chest as you smile. You’re not unsettled by it at all, as reverent as you always are. 

His body has grown especially sensitive because of Mizora’s interference. He can feel the heat in his blood starting to swell as blood rushes to his cock, making him grow bigger. The way you’re looking at him isn’t helping. 

You poke your tongue out from your mouth and leave long licks along his cock - from base to tip. Like you sense he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, you guide them to hold your head. He feels a weird sense of guilt about it, but the pleasure outweighs the shame - he doesn’t force you down. Just keeps you painfully steady as you do all of the world. 

Fuck, he’s sensitive. Every little wet lick and stroke is enough to make his spine prick with need. The tip of his cock leaks pre-cum. You press it against your lips as your hand wraps around his shaft in full, your tongue dipping into the slit making Wyll hiss. 

“Shit,” He huffs, hands gripping tighter but not moving you “That feels good,” 

You give him a little smile that makes Wyll’s stomach flip. Like you know it’s going to catch him off guard, you finally open your mouth to take the tip of his cock into your mouth. It’s lighter and more sensitive than the rest of his cock. You wrap your tongue around it with expertise and Wyll finds himself nearly bedding on the knee, legs starting to feel weak.

You use one hand to steady yourself on his thigh, the other slipping between your legs. 

He can only watch on in awe, the impressive way you sink around the hot, hard length. Your tongue is soft, the cavern of your mouth wet and inviting. Wyll nearly breaks - almost fucks into your throat by bucking up. He restrains himself as you go lower and lower, eyes going increasingly wide as his cock disappears in the column of your throat. Just when he thinks you can’t get any further, you do. He can feel the tip disappear in the narrowness of your throat, awestruck as drool starts to drip from the sides of your mouth. 

You make a sound, muffled as you hit the base of Wyll’s cock like it’s nothing. You sink in further, nose pressing against his navel as you glance up at him. It’s too lewd, damn near -  seeing you deepthroat him with such ease. You inhale again, and Wyll flushes at the realization of what you’re doing exactly. 

You pull off in one go, saliva dripping down your chin and neck as you open your mouth. Hollowing your cheeks and wrapping a free hand around whatever your mouth can’t easily reach, you start to set a pace. It’s fast and slick and messy, pre-cum mixed with saliva making your face grow sticky - taking deep breaths of Wyll’s scent and musk every time you manage to swallow it all. It’s depraved seeing you suck his cock with such obvious lust and desire, eager to swallow him and show him pleasure. 

Wyll feels the pleasure. His entire body feels like it’s being wrapped in something slick and warm, little sparks of electricity traveling from his fingertips to his spine. His head feels especially light, filled with fluff and devoid of conscious consideration. 

“Your mouth feels incredible,” Wyll groans, shuddering, holding your head as you let his cock bottom out in your mouth again “Hells,”

You sound pleased, a pleasant reverb going through his body as you set a pace - bobbing your head and swallowing every inch of him without flinching. The sound of your throat constricting around him and your own hands fill the surroundings. He’s glad you’re so lost in the movements because his own voice is punched out of him each time you go down. He didn’t know he was capable of making this much noise, such deep groans and heavy breaths every time you so much as move.

You pull him out completely, letting spit and saliva rub against your mouth as you tap against your face. Wyll feels a restless embarrassment at the pit of his stomach as you make eye-contact with him. He feels his cock twitch hard, something starting to come undone in his gut as he pulls you away. 

“Stop,” He wheezes, and you do with a pleased laugh “Shit that’s dangerous. You’re…talented.” 

You pause before breaking out into more giggles, kissing his cock one last time. Wyll covers his face with his hands. 

“Is that a compliment?”

“...It’s meant to be one.” 

“Glad you’re impressed,” You say with a wicked little grin - all sharp teeth and delight. “I wanted to go longer.” 

“We have days together. Another time, my love.” 

Your smile grows a little. You are bad for his heart in more ways than one, Wyll thinks. 

“Mm. Okay. I can’t really wait much longer, anyway. Another wave is gonna hit soon and I feel antsy.” 

“Get comfortable and lay down. And, I hate to ask so late - but should I be worrying…? About protection?” 

You blink at him as you set up on the ground, moving around pillows for you to lay on. You shake your head. “Mm. Should be fine. Getting contraceptives should be easier since we’re closer to the city. Unless you don’t want to take that risk?” 

Your expression is uncharacteristically innocent. Wyll weighs his desire against reason, a feeling of guilt washing over him at the clear winner. His cock is throbbing to the extent it’s near painful.

(He doesn’t hate the thought of giving you a child, either. Though he thinks it’s much too early to say something like that, and he’d prefer to plan something so important. Still, it isn’t the worst outcome. It’d be a precious little thing, half-werewolf and beautiful. 

He brushes over the thought just as quickly as he has it, a little taken aback by his own desires. It’s like everything is being bled from him, no thought too precious to strike his mind. It’s too early to think about, no less mention.

He should marry you before that. The thought of it makes him harder.) 

“As I had suspected, I’m only half the man I consider myself to be.” 

“Are you reflecting on your failings?” You tease. Wyll lets out a breath of air. 

“On my hypocrisy, if I were to put a name to it. I didn’t realize desire could be so debilitating.” Wyll explains, joining you where you lay. You giggle lightly as Wyll positions himself between your legs, leaning in to kiss you shortly. “Seems you’ve uncovered something I wasn’t aware of.” 

“Really?” 

Wyll laughs against your lips as he kisses you again. “You often do.” 

He brushes it aside as he pulls back. You lock eyes with him. Wyll is mesmerized. Your features start to round out again, eyes becoming glassy with need in the same familiar way as before. Wyll knows it now. He reaches over to cup your face with his palm, smile breaking his composure as you instinctively rub your cheek against the rough skin. He lets his thumb press against your lips, indulging your desire for affection. 

“Are you still all there?” 

“Hf. Yes. Not for long,” You say, urging him down towards you. Once again the proximity between you disappears. This time bare skinned, chest to chest. Wyll can feel the erratic thump of your heart, the unsteady quality in your breathing. You sink back into the same heat drunk place, a slow descent. Your pupils open wide enough for him to lose his senses. “Don’t keep me waiting, please.” 

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” 

You fall into a synchronicity this time around. Your legs spread wide, open and wanting. Wyll feels his throat start to close. His stomach flutters restlessly as he pushes his cock through your folds once, then twice - his head thrown back at the feeling of your bare skin. He reminds himself this isn’t something to get used to, but the pleasure is easy to indulge in. 

It’s worsened by the fact you’re beautiful. 

Wyll finds you so beautiful it’s ridiculous, even to him. The plush of your lips, the way your lashes fall along as your cheek, the shape of your eyes. All of you, bathed in moonlight and blessed by the higher powers. You’re a culmination, the very pinnacle of Wyll’s every last mad desire. If everything around him faded to nothing, Wyll would have no clue. No sense, no rational, no righteousness. With nothing but himself to offer you, he’s moonstruck. Hung up on your affection and the feeling of warmth of mutual love. 

The order is all out of sorts, and everything is complicated. But Gods. Gods. You’re more beautiful than every dream he’s ever seen you in. Even the magic of his mind couldn’t form something so perfect. 

“You’re really the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.” 

Your eyes widen, blinking rapidly before breaking out into a flush. “What are you saying?” 

“When I was a boy, I often imagined getting married,” Wyll says, drawing little circles along your hip. Your mouth opens, but falls shut as you feel the head of his cock push against you. You shudder as Wyll moves so slowly, with no intent of pushing in. “I had high hopes for love. The magic of fairy tale romance always spoke to me. I was fond of beautiful sights too, to boot.” 

Your breath hitches. Wyll feels you start to stretch around the tip of his cock. He swears under his breath, slowing even more. You let out a soft mewl as Wyll breathes through the sensation. 

“But you know,” He presses deeper, just slightly. A suggestion of a thrust. Your hand shoots out to grab Wyll’s wrist where he’s gripping you at the waist. His vision strains as he moves slowly, another terrible inch. “You’ve, haah,  exceeded my every expectation. There was no need for daydreaming.” 

You make a choked sound as Wyll goes even deeper. Your hands grip tight, that same drunken look returning to you. The parts of you that are still there are teary eyed, sniffling. Your cunt pulses around him, sucking him deeper. You feel good, but Wyll is more focused on you. Imprinting you into his memory, like tonight is the last time he’d ever get to see you. 

“If I could go back, to any time - I think I’d go back to being seventeen,” Wyll says with a smile, dropping himself closer to you. He leans up on his arm, noses brushing tenderly as you hiccup “I would tell Wyll from then to be strong. Become a Blade that can defend for the one who will become your shield.” 

You look up at him teary and frustrated. Your arms wrap around his neck as you cry, and Wyll laughs a little. Everything is so warm. He loves you. 

“If you’re any kinder to me, I don’t know what’ll become of me. Ugh, my eyes sting.” 

Wyll can’t help his smile. “We’ll have to see it through, then.” 

“Stop being so romantic and fuck me.” 

He kisses your hairline. “As you wish.” 

Wyll puts his hands up under your knees, folding you underneath him as he finally bottoms out. You both moan as you feel Wyll fill you up. You kiss him in that position, all desperation - tongue and teeth. Wyll is startled but indulges, a grinding thrust making you mewl into his mouth. He swallows the noise. 

“Fuck me,” You huff, your eyes bleary. “I can—can feel you in my stomach,” 

Wyll groans. 

You feel incredible. Wyll has to stop moving to steady his mind. He wants to last a little longer than a few seconds if he can help it. Your cunt wraps around his cock like silk. Sticky walls clinging to him like a vice, pulsing with need at the slightest movement. Wyll is connected to you in such an intimate way, it makes him feel visceral. Almost possessive. You hold on like you want to milk him for all he’s worth.

He takes another long breath, steadying himself as he pulls out and slams himself back in. You cry out in response to the first thrust, but you don’t ask him to slow down. Wyll focuses on keeping his thrusts weighted and steady, something constant enough that your focus doesn’t break. He wants to make you cum again, and he knows better what you need now. He keeps you pinned underneath the weight of him as he finds a pace to move to. 

Once he finds it, Wyll fucks you without abandon. You hold onto him tight, nose nudged against his neck as you let out the tiniest whimpers he’s ever heard you make. The pleasure debases you completely, makes you all wild. Wyll likes seeing you fall apart with each movement. Every time he pistons the right spot your eyes go wide and flutter back closed as if it’s too much. 

The two of you make a mess. Wyll can hear his cock pull and push the arousal out of you - each thrust wet. It’s messy enough to make your skin stick together. 

“Wyll,” You say his name like it’s a prayer of your goddess. Something to save you. Some kind of sacrilege that Wyll feels no guilt for. “I love you, I love you. Fuck—fuck me,” 

“You’re my whole life,” Wyll grunts. “I’ll give you everything. Everything, my love.” 

“I’m close,” Your voice is hoarse as you say it. “I’m so close, just a little—” 

Wyll knows what you’re asking for. His hand sneaks between your bodies, palm resting on your tummy as his thumb messy circles on your puffy clit. You choke on your words, a broken thank you among the mess as Wyll keeps fucking you. Determined to make you cum one more time, he goes and goes and goes. 

Wyll can feel you cum before you can tell him. You try to announce it, but the words don’t come out. He can feel your hesitance, feeling something in you as your teeth graze his necks. 

“You can bite me. I can withstand it, love”  

A pained whine is followed by the sharp feeling of your teeth in Wyll’s shoulder, as your voice breaks out into a howl. When you cum, you cum hard. Harder than before like you’re trying to latch onto him, your whole body going rigid before the tension breaks. Your orgasm crashes into you. You gasp as Wyll fucks you through it. He keeps fucking you through it until he feels you’ve calmed down. 

“Cum, Wyll. For me, please.” 

It’s enough to drive Wyll to the very edge. His desire reaches an impressive high. His thrusts become shallow, sloppy - the wet sound of him fucking you open finally reaching his ears as he gives into his own needs.  Wyll cums hard. He bottoms out as he does, thick white ropes painting your insides as the two of you lay with each other. 

When Wyll finally catches his breath and starts to go soft, he pulls away to look at you. You’re frowning at him. 

“Is something—” 

“Being sweet to me like that in the middle of that is unfair. I’m going to hold it against you.” 

Wyll pauses before breaking out into a giggle. 

“I was worried for a minute.” 

“I love you.” You add, a little softer time. “Thank you for coming to find me.” 

“Always.” Wyll replies, hugging you to him. “I adore you, you know.” 

__ 

EPILOGUE: 

You return to camp together at the end of your tenday. 

Wyll is covered in all sorts of marks by the time you’ve arrived, and so are you. There’s not really anything to do to hide that. Or to hide the fact he’s utterly exhausted by the whole thing. He’s drained, though he thinks he could do it again if he timed it better. 

It was nice to spend an entire tenday together, though. In between having sex or Wyll meeting your needs - you ate and slept and bathed together. Despite your circumstances the entire situation was domestic - and Wyll enjoyed being with you. 

You are absolutely chipper and uncaring about the situation. Wyll wishes he could be a little more like you in this case. 

The first person to see you at camp is Karlach. 

“Well, look who it is!” Karlach chirps, absolutely delighted. “The lovebirds are back,” 

The whole camp stirs at the announcement. It’s early enough that everyone is still at camp. Wyll feels his skin prick with heat as you leave his side, prancing over to Karlach to chat with her. Back to your usual self, Wyll feels a specific fondness about having seen a new side of you and remaining so unchanged. 

“Oh, you’ve returned?” Astarion says. Wyll looks up, surprised. 

“Ah, uhm, yes.” 

Astarion stands next to Wyll with his arms crossed. 

“Have you finally done it or do I have to endure more of your incessant pining?” 

Wyll chokes on his spit. 

“You’re losing your touch Astarion,” Shadowheart says, shuffling into camp from behind Wyll with a towel that needs to be dried. “That one over there is chipper and this one can barely look at them. Shouldn’t that tell you all you need to know?” 

“Tsk. You’re right. Congratulations are in order, I suppose. Or some celebration. At least I won’t have to see you two eye-fucking each other every day. It was getting dire..” 

“I wouldn’t be so confident,” Shadowheart says. “He’s doing it right now even after they spent a tenday wrapped in each other's arms.” 

Astarion sighs. “Gods. Can’t have anything these days.” 

Wyll opts not to say anything, handling them with usual grace. 

“Thanks for the congratulations,” Wyll says, staring at you idly. “Hope it wasn’t too difficult without us.” 

“Hardly.” 

Wyll smiles at that. He watches you as you talk to Karlach animatedly, smiling a little harder. He can take as much teasing as they dish out. 

He could endure it ten times over, as long as he gets to be with you. 

☾ a/n ; whew… we've made it to the end. i wrote this fic in a whopping 12 days. it was a crazy experience especially since i havent written anything i'd personally consider substantial since like.. idk april 2023. i also mostly write for anime so its a little nervewracking specifically writing for bg3. THAT BEING SAID. i love wyll. i started playing the game for him and he has bewitched me mind body and soul. it is rather disheartening to see how much larian dgaf about him so i guess part of me writing this is also trying to convince people to see what i see in wyll. something something that joan didion quote about writing as a form of violence bc of imposing views something something.

wyll is a really moving character to me. i like characters who are categorically so righteous it drives them to the destruction of themselves.

but the specific dichotomy of wyll - a man who has lost every ounce of agency time and time again with this tav was especially consuming. tav too is considered a monster, but they embrace and love this part of themselves. i think witnessing that, and the reframing monstrosity in wylls case is really helpful for him. tav doesnt know what losing their agency is like, but they're able to restructure wylls belief of what this new body of his is worth. that he is worthy all the same, and that he exists outside of being the blade. these sorts of things haunted me during this. but also… i just wanted to see wyll bang a desperate heat addled werewolf shorty. lol.

ANYWAYS. sorry for this MASSIVE wall of text. i just really love wyll so much and i hope this iteration of him felt in line with who he is. and if you're not a wyll fan and just a fic consume well… i hope i was able to compel you towards him a bit. in any case, thanks for reading! and please do leave a comment if you liked it! all feedback appreciated.

also i dont normally ask but if you could rb this fic if you liked it'd be appreciated </3 im trying to find wyll likers ehdjksjf

#wyll x reader #wyll ravengard x reader #bg3 x reader #wyll smut #bg3 smut #writing tag #cant wait to post this so i may be free from whatever demon possessed me while writing this.

[foreverdolly]

𝐈 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐄 |80's mechanic!austin x best friend!reader

summary: it's starting to look like he might never make it out of the friend zone. austin has been in love with you for as long as he can remember, and he's terrified that you'll never see him as anything more than a best friend and protector. with the fear of you one day outgrowing him fresh on his mind, he's now hell bent on getting you to view him in a different light. madly in love and terrified to lose you, austin butler is playing for keeps.

pairings: 80s mechanic! austin x childhood best friend!reader

word count: 4.8k

notes/warnings: SMUT! in part two, virgin!austin. . . need i say more?, i love pining and this fic is testament to that, shaky/hurried hands, who doesn't love a good best friends to lovers fic, he has a deep southern accent, austin is the small town's metalhead and he's swelteringly hot without even trying. (this is going to have to be two parts because it turned out too long after editing. the smut alone is like. . . five pages on google docs.)

The incessant metallic clinging and loud mechanic whirs echoed against the cement flooring of the auto body garage. The sun was peeking just over the trees right outside the open garage doors, the spring sky slowly burning gold and pink. Most of the men were rushing to finish up with the vehicles that they were working on, eager to get home to their families after a long day of work. There was one mechanic though -who might be young, but made up for it with skill- was still elbow deep under the car’s hood, eyebrows furrowed in deep concentration. He’d only been looking at the car for five minutes and knew exactly what was wrong with it. The elderly woman had gotten her car towed all the way to Travis’ shop after the damn thing stalled out in the middle of the Winn-Dixie parking lot. The young mechanic could see her through the lobby’s windows watching him, her tiny wrinkly hands balled up into nervous fists.

“Aye- Austin?” Travis jogged right up to Austin, placing his hand down on one of the side mirrors as he waited for the diagnosis. 

“It’s not the engine. The transmission,” He pointed towards the old hunk of junk, leaning his head back under the hood to show his boss. “It’s completely shot. She said it will jerk when she accelerates and the wheel will sometimes shake when she’s goin’ fast enough. What’s happening is that it’s slippin’. The damn thing won’t stay in gear. This car is ten years out of date- I mean. . . It's a ‘74. So even if we order the parts-” 

“It’s gonna cost more to fix than it would be for her to just buy a whole new one.” The boss finished for him, sighing when he saw Austin nod his head in agreement. 

The long haired blonde blinked his eyes against the burning sunset, shooing a gnat away from his face as he leaned his hip against the car. He crossed one booted foot over the other as he waited patiently for the man to make a decision. While Travis enjoyed making money, Austin knew that the bastard was above stealing it from little old ladies. With a small huff of defeat the middle aged man began walking back in the direction of the lobby, most likely to break the bad news. He stopped just before he opened the door, pointing a quick finger-gun in Austin’s direction. 

“Are you comin’ over to Mark’s cookout tonight? You can bring your girl.” He called out over the loud noise. 

Austin shook his head before flashing the man a little face of distaste. 

“I’ve gotta go to my dad’s house to grab some of my old shit. Besides- I don’t have a girl to bring.” 

Travis shot him “a face” right back, but one of disbelief. “Yeah, right. A girl doesn’t just bring her friend a hand packed lunch every other day unless she was hopin’ for somethin’ to happen between them..” And before Austin could even defend himself the man was gone, sauntering solemnly over to the corner where the elderly woman was sitting. 

You weren’t the one that was hoping for a chance at romance, but Austin was. He’d rather die than admit it, but his co-workers' words lit a small fire in his chest; a hopeful pyre that didn’t dim. 

The wooden stairs were old and weather worn, the nails rusted with age. Austin always felt a sense of dread when he heard the familiar creaking under his feet, and the fact that he could hear the television droning on from inside of the trailer didn’t make it any better. It meant that he was home, and the blonde knew what that meant. A fight was sure to ensue, and after the shitty day that he had at work, that was the last thing that he wanted to endure. He found that the door was unlocked, per usual. The inhabitant of the rickety death trap didn’t have anything worth stealing. 

“Why are you here?” The middle aged man looked terrible for his age, though Austin blamed that on the endless supply of alcohol and drugs that ran through the man’s system. 

Austin cleared his throat, closing the door behind him with a grimace. He didn’t want to be here, but there were still a few boxes back in his old room that he needed to grab. After that he’d be gone for good, or at least that’s what he told himself anyway. His no-good father was used to relying on other people to save the day, one of those people being his own son. 

He blamed his strong sense of duties on the fact that he was raised in the deep south. “Being a man” was hammered into his skull from the moment of his very conception. Taking care of your family, especially when they are unable to do it for themselves, was considered a must. Austin had always hated his father. In fact, he couldn’t remember a single time in his life when he had felt gratitude or love in any magnitude towards his father. Still, he was a man and needed to provide for his family. . . right? He didn’t want anyone to think less of him for abandoning his father. More than anything, he didn’t want the wrong kind of gossip ending up in the wrong people’s ears.

What was important to him now was getting the hell away from his abusive father. He was old enough to start thinking about what he wanted for himself in the future. He’d always craved companionship with a certain person. . . children were on his radar too. The last thing he wanted was for his druggie father to be in his own kid’s lives. 

The lanky man didn’t fit in the small home anymore, and he hadn’t for years. Both physically and emotionally, he had outgrown his prison many moons ago. He took a few seconds to look around the living room. Now that he wasn’t there to clean up after the grotesque man, the house smelled absolutely putrid. Austin’s nose wrinkled in disgust, eyes dancing along the empty beer cans and overflowing sink. 

“Jus’ gettin’ the last of my stuff.” Austin grumbled, his bulky black boots sticking to the dirty linoleum floors as he tried his best to breeze past the older man’s old recliner. 

A hand reached out, gripping at his wrist to stop him. Austin looked down, the muscles in his sharp jaw clicking as he held back the urge to rip himself out of the man’s reach. He knew that he was too big for the man to intimidate now, but his body still remembered the pain his father had put him through as a kid. 

“Ya talkin’ bout that toolbox?” The man’s voice was gravely, all thanks to the menthols he religiously smoked. Austin could smell the Miller Light and smoke coming off of him now. It was nauseating. 

The blonde ripped his eyes off of the man’s face, peeking off down the hall to see his old bedroom door wide open. He had locked it from the inside and crawled out the window the last time that he was here, taking the spare key with him. It was still tucked away safely in his wallet. His breathing stuttered when he realized that the doorknob had been taken off completely. 

“I need it for work. What did you do with it?” Austin tried to school the deep southern accent out of his voice. He got into the habit of doing that around his father from a young age, desperately wanting to seem as different from the old man as possible. 

“If that’s what yer here for, don’ bother. I sold it.” The young adult’s heart sank to his ass, and this time he didn’t hesitate in ripping his wrist out of the man’s hand. 

“To who? Where is it?” Austin questioned heatedly, staring daggers into the old man’s face. 

The sandy haired man was staring back at the television now, watching old reruns of some shitty old Western movie that must have come out in the sixties. He didn’t answer Austin, too drunk to care and too high to listen. 

“Dad!” Austin’s deep voice boomed, echoing around the filthy trailer. “Where the fuck did you take it? The pawn shop off’a Assembly Street?” That was where his father often sold stolen shit for a few extra bucks. 

That got the other man’s attention. He didn’t take kindly to being yelled and cursed at, especially not by his son. He could always deal it out, but refused to take it. Ray Butler had stopped beating on his son during his Junior year in highschool though, realizing that the boy was now bigger than him. Out of a cowardly fear for his own safety, he stuck to the emotional abuse instead, which only got worse once he didn’t have a true outlet for his frustrations. Austin bristled as he watched the old man glare up at him, taking a long swig from his beer before answering. 

“I took it to Keith’s. If ya needed it so bad, why the hell didn’t you take it with ya in the first place? It’s in my house, so I can do whatever the fuck I want with it.” It was surprising how coherent the man was, especially since he must have been drinking all day long. 

Austin’s father hadn’t had a job in the last seven years, but still managed to scrape by somehow. He was a petty thief whose criminal record stretched all the way back into his boyhood. He had raised the blonde to be the exact same way, but the only thing Austin had truly adopted from his “teachings” was a shared hatred for cops and a scrappy sort of resourcefulness. The other kids that he was forced to interact with at school were the ones that taught him how to fight. They enjoyed taking turns trying to beat the shit out of the town’s poor kid, but once he finally hit his growth spurt in the summer after sixth grade the roles were largely reversed. Nobody messed with him by the time that he had entered high school. He was feared by his peers and just as hated. 

The negative image that he had created served him well though. Not only had he made a name for himself, he had also gained the ability to protect his best friend, which was the only thing he really cared about. Getting the dog shit knocked out of him was one thing, but seeing boys and girls teasing her was a different story. He remembered storming into the girl’s bathroom during his junior year very vividly, yanking up one of popular blonde’s by the back of her shirt. 

“I’m a Butler, so don’t think that I’m above hittin’ a girl.” 

He’d constantly ask you if the bullying persisted even after that, but you always went out of your way to tell him that they had stopped their teasing. Austin was made fun of because he lived in a trailer that should have been condemned long since they originally moved in and barely had enough money to get school supplies every year, but you were picked on because you were perfect. It didn’t make any sense to him, but girls are strange creatures. You made good grades, was the nicest person he had ever met without even trying, and your natural good looks made matters even worse for you. Getting the mean girls to steer clear of you wasn’t the hard part, but keeping the male pervert’s away was an entirely different story. 

It didn’t help that after a long day of putting up with the constant glares, rumors, and telling boys to back off, he’d be forced to come home to incessant tongue lashings. He barely had time to study after taking care of the forty year old drunkard, hence his rotten grades in school. You could only do his homework for him so many times, but hey- you tried. He graduated because of you, at the very least. 

He had landed a job as a mechanic straight out of high school, having been skilled for his age. Who knew that driving a shitty lemon of a car that he constantly had to fix up would lead to a career? He had gotten lucky, which was a rarity in his life. 

Getting his own place was one hell of an achievement, but his past always found a way to come back and haunt him. 

Austin stormed through the connected kitchen and down the hall, sucking in a deep breath before he entered the room. All of the boxes that he had stacked in the corner had been ransacked and picked clean. It was Austin’s fault for thinking that a simple locked door would keep his father out. The blonde could scream over his stolen Iron Maiden and Dio tapes later, for now he needed to focus on the important thing: his tools. 

“You sold them to your crackhead dealer? For what? A bag, right? That was over a hundred dollars worth’a tools!” He screamed from the backroom, kicking an old wooden chair that had been junking up his old room for ages. The thing went flying, hitting the opposite wall with a resounding cracking noise. 

Austin was covered in car oil, smelled like gasoline and sweat after a long day of work, and all he had wanted was to slip in the trailer undetected and grab his things. He had hoped that his father would have been passed out in his room by now so that he could have been in and out without being forced to converse. Nothing ever seemed to go his way. The blonde reached for the metal baseball bat that he still had stuffed under his childhood bed, knocking it against his boot a few times before storming out of the room, pushing past his father and heading straight for the front door. 

“Austin, wait,” The male knew what was coming. The only time his father ever referred to him by his name was when he wanted something. “Can you give me twenty dollars? I need’a pay the power.” 

The baseball bat felt heavy in his hand. He balanced the weight for a second, his jaw clicking as he imagined just how good it would feel to bring it down on top of the other man’s head. If Ray ended up dead, he was sure that he could blame it on a handful of people who he had stolen from or cheated. Austin didn’t need that on his conscience though. So instead of barking back a reply or even pulling out his wallet, he yanked his hand away with a grunt, storming out the door. 

“Jus’ use the money that you got from sellin’ all’a my shit.” He called out before slamming the door behind him, the small and dingy diamond shaped window vibrating with the force of his anger. 

“Is your mama home? If not then I’m gonna use your shower.” Austin gently pushed his way into the house, kicking off his dirty work boots before bounding up the familiar carpeted stairs. 

You blinked in the entryway, slowly closing the front door before turning around to watch him go, the chain from his wallet jingling with his movement. With a small sigh you locked it behind you, following up after him. 

“Well hello to you too.” You teased, watching him open up the linen closet so that he could grab a towel. He was caked with grease, his sun kissed cheeks speckled with black and gray. His black work shirt fit snugly on his form, having shrunk in the wash. At his hip, swinging around with every step that he took, was his black handkerchief. It was also wrecked with engine grease, having been used to clean his hands one too many times that day. He looked devilishly handsome, but he always did. Nothing new. 

“Sorry. Really bad day. Just got back from Keith’s place- he had some of the shit that I left at my dad’s.” He left the bathroom door open as he slipped off his socks, then hurriedly took his shirt off and threw that into the dirty clothes hamper. His small apartment didn’t have a washer and dryer hookup, so he had been doing his laundry at your place for the last two months. 

You didn’t mind, and your mother and father hadn’t noticed either. You sucked at your teeth, turning around to give him privacy. You heard the shower turn on, then the familiar clanking of his chain wallet hitting the side of the sink. Once you heard the shower curtain open and close you turned around, seeing the room empty, his dirty clothes piled neatly in the hamper. You closed the bathroom door behind you as you stepped inside, jumping up on the counter so that you could swing your legs back and forth as you spoke. He seemed frustrated, and you could tell that he needed to talk about it. 

Growing up in a tragically tiny town meant that everybody was always in each other’s business. From preschool to your senior year in high school, every moment was spent with the same exact children. You could count the newer families to move into the small community over the last five years on one hand. Life was slow moving in the old south, and things were horrifically monotonous. You and the blonde had been stuck together like glue ever since primary school, and you didn’t see it changing in the future. 

To say that you knew Austin like the back of your hand was an understatement. Every flaw, quirk and triumph had either been discovered by you, with you at his side, or involved you in some way. In a town filled with mostly elderly folks, kids often found a group of likeminded people and stuck with them for the entirety of their lives. It was horribly predictable of the two of you, yet here you two were, connected at the hip. The bond between you and Austin went above just being best friends. It was something tied to your soul. It wasn’t just hard to imagine a life without him in it, rather it was impossible. 

He didn’t have to tell you that he was angry for you to know that he was beyond aggravated. The restlessness was plain to see. Whether he would be upfront and tell you about the reason or not, you could tell that he needed someone to just sit and listen. Austin wasn’t the kind of person to talk in depth about the things that really upset him. He was more of the “suffer in silence until I inevitably blow up” type. You, on the other hand, weren’t afraid to whine and cry to him about even the slightest of inconveniences. The two of you were polar opposites, and yet it just worked. 

“Keith let you in the house?” You asked incredulously, raising an eyebrow as you watched the steam beginning to curl up and over the curtain. 

Austin let out a humorless laugh, and you could imagine him shaking his head back and forth. You smiled despite the situation, bringing your hand up to your mouth so that you could bite down on your thumb nail. You instantly regretted it, pulling away to see that you had already chipped your freshly painted fingers. 

“A’course he didn’t. I broke into the fucker’s place. Got my tool box back, but the damn thing had been ransacked already. The bones picked clean. I’m out over fifty dollars in tools- checked it once I got back into the car.” 

“Jesus- did he see you? That guy is absolutely insane.” Thankfully, you’d only met the man in passing a handful of times. He was the crazy townee that everybody knew and feared. Keith was the kind of person that you point out to your developing teens to scare them away from drugs and alcohol. “If you don’t want to end up like Ole’ Keith, you better not touch that stuff.” He had a bunch of handmade signs outside of his house with bible scriptures on them, meanwhile the man was dealing meth and coke to make a living. As was the deep south, filled to the brim with religious and moral hypocrisies. 

Either you were a devout Christian or just another local crackhead. Thankfully, you and Austin didn’t fall into either of those categories. You seemed to have made one of your own over the years. 

“He wasn’t home. His truck was gone. The dude left his bedroom window unlocked, so I just ripped the screen off.” 

You used to worry for Austin on a daily basis. The burns and bruises he’d come to school with broke your heart, but no matter how many times you begged your parents to let the blonde come and live with you, they always let you down. You were happy that he finally had somewhere safe to lay his head at night, though he still hadn’t broken the habit of spending most of his down time with you (and you prayed he wouldn’t ever grow out of that habit). As soon as he got off work he was making his way up to your bedroom, often dead tired down to his bones or pissed off. Your parents were gone most of the time anyway though. Your father was a hotshot business man who was away for work most of the time, and your mother insisted on following along with him after the “incident” that happened when you were twelve.

Men who spend most days without their wives and children breathing down their neck usually take advantage of the opportunity. Your father was no different. He was no saint. Then again, neither was your mother. She took most of her frustration out on you after that, and though you knew that her outbursts weren’t a direct cause of anything that you had personally done, that didn’t make it any better. 

Austin was just as much your therapist as you were his. Maybe that was the cause for your codependency. . . either way, neither of you regretted it. It only strengthened the bond, really. 

After Austin was showered and dressed in an outfit that he had left at your house some weeks ago, the two of you found yourselves sprawled out on your bed. You were busy finishing up some homework for one of your classes, and he was reading one of your magazines. He had his head hanging off the side of the mattress, ankles crossed up on one of your pillows. His wet hair was dripping onto your floor. The constant droplets hitting your outdated shag carpet lulled the two of you into a comfortable silence. The two of you didn’t need to talk 

“Where’s a newer one? This one’s a year old.” He suddenly dropped what he was reading onto the floor next to his head, sitting up so that he could face you again. 

You scrunched up your nose, dropping your psychology textbook beside you. 

“That is the newer one.” You told him, to which he scooped it up and off of the floor, turning it over and pointing at the date. 

He was right. It was old. 

It was the June twenty-first issue, the date clear to see on the front: nineteen eighty-four. Bob Dylan was posed on the front in all of his tambourine-man glory. 

“Shit. Sorry, Aus. I thought I handed you the Beatles Anniversary edition.” You started to stand up, but he waved you off. 

“I should probably get going anyway. I have to try to cook myself something. If I don’t eat now then I’ll jus’ go to bed hungry.” 

You had hoped that the two of you could order pizza tonight, but you kept your mouth shut. Lately you found yourself clinging to him a little bit harder than usual. Maybe it was the stress of your sophomore year in college, but you couldn’t be certain. You tried to school the disappointment off of your face as you nodded, standing up to walk him back to the front door. 

“Are we still driving down to see Dave’s show? His band sucks, but he’ll be disappointed if we miss it.” He asked you at the front door, shoving his sock clad feet into his work boots and tying them up haphazardly. 

You slapped your forehead with the palm of your hand, eyes wide. You’d completely forgotten about your friend’s show tomorrow. You’d planned to stay after class and study in the library, but you didn’t mind cramming for next week's test. Austin laughed, the sound causing you to smile to yourself. His laugh was deep, rich and completely contagious. He reached out, his large hand wrapping around your wrist to pull your hand away from your face. 

“You forgot, didn’t you?” He leaned down so that he was at your height, his smile practically blinding. 

You sucked in a breath, but nodded your head anyway. It was hard not to notice his beauty in moments like this. He’d always been handsome, but lately you’d been looking a little too closely at that. A sick twinge of guilt soured your stomach, a feeling of what could only be categorized as “betrayal” causing your face to flush. He was your best friend, and if he knew that you were looking at him like that he would probably be disgusted with you. Hell, you were horrified by your own thoughts recently. You tried to blame the odd feelings on your long-standing lack of romance, but you were starting to believe that was just an excuse.

“I completely forgot.” And you felt bad about it. You’d been so busy with your school work, the recent fight that you had with your mother and. . . well. . . Austin. You cleared your throat softly, kicking at an imaginary pebble on the tiled floor to try and distract yourself. 

Austin seemed to notice the change in attitude and put his hand on the top of your head, ruffling your hair in the way that he knew you despised. He chuckled when you slapped his hand away, instead moving his hand to the base of your neck so that he could pull your much smaller form against his in a tight hug. He’d always been lean and tall, but his physically demanding job had caused his muscles to fill out. He felt warm and strong, smelling of your shampoo. 

“I’ll drive us tomorrow, alright? Maybe you can get some studying done in the car.” And with that he removed his arms from around you. 

You felt the loss of his warmth like a slap in the face. You let him go though, watching as he bounded down the steps towards his van, his keys jingling in his hand with the movement. He was in higher spirits after spending a few hours in your presence. He felt lighter, like some of the crushing weight had been lifted off of his shoulders. You leaned against the doorframe, peeking your head out just to watch him. 

“I love you! Drive home safe, alright?” You called out. 

Austin couldn’t fight off the blush that raised to his ears, but he turned around and quickly returned the sentiment. You had told him that you loved him every day, but his heart still pounded like it had the very first time. Only these days he wished that you really meant it. 

That you loved him the same way that he loved you. 

#foreverdolly #austin butler fanfic #austin butler #austin butler fluff #austin butler fic #austin butler smut #austin butler angst #austin butler x reader #austin butler x y/n #austin butler x you #elvis 2022 #elvis baz luhrmann #austin butler imagine #austin butler elvis #austin butler fanfiction #self insert

[notiddygxthgf]

prologue

★ pairings: choso x f!reader

★ synopsis: World famous rock star Choso Kamo’s new live-in assistant is convinced that she can fix him – substance abuse issues and all. Tensions ensue, and as new feelings rise to the surface, the two find it difficult to maintain an appropriate workplace relationship (or; the one where an unstable musician struggles to keep it friendly with his assistant).

★ c.w.: none (more content warnings and tags)

★ a/n: don't be a stranger! leave some comments for me to read teehee

★ w.c.; 2.8k

smoke and mirrors; chapter index

THE MUSIC INDUSTRY BLEEDS YOU DRY. That’s just the truth. It takes every ounce of your creative passion and tramples on it. It takes everything from you, and then it takes more. I find myself reconsidering my career path on a daily basis. There’s only one thing, in fact, that keeps me grounded.

“Choso! Choso! Choso! Choso!” 

That. The chant of the crowd. The endless bodies waving their hands over the venue, reaching for me, singing for me.

I leaned my head back, feeling the cool breeze of the backstage air against my neck, against my trembling skin. Crewmembers swarmed around me like gnats, tweaking little details of my outfit – one had a black eyeshadow palette up to my eyelid and another was messing with my hair. She had said something about needing to look intentionally messy.

The low hum of their conversation was only background noise to me. I blew a bubble with the wad of gum in my mouth – a nervous tic that clearly betrayed the calm exterior I was trying so hard to maintain.

The girl who was touching my eyeliner up snapped the palette shut. My mind was elsewhere – it was out there. 

“Choso! Choso! Choso!”

I took a deep breath to steady my racing heart. The chant of my name reverberated through the walls, a frightening reminder of what lay just beyond the curtain. 

People. Thousands of them.

“Choso! Choso! Choso!” The chorus of voices seemed to grow louder. I shut my eyes, visualizing the sea of faces, the outstretched hands, the passion in their voices. The crowd– my fans; they were my lifeline. 

Another crew member informed me, “You’re on.”

I nodded solemnly, feeling that strange pit in my stomach. It was terrifying, it was familiar, it was… exciting. 

I took another breath, then I stepped forward. With each step towards the stage, the chanting intensified. The noise was like this strange, palpable force, urging me onward. I could feel the adrenaline coursing through my veins the moment I reached the edge of the stage. The anticipation was almost… suffocating.

I stepped out. Then, for a blissful moment, it all seemed to go quiet.

I took a moment to look at them, really look at them. All of them. The mass of humanity blurred into one collective wave of joy. From here, I couldn’t even make out faces. Only smiles, flashing lights, and limbs flailing. Signs with my name on it. People with love in their hearts. 

Nothing but them and me, hearts beating in tandem. I wondered how nervous they felt – if they knew how nervous I felt standing here before them. If they knew I had been nervously chewing on a piece of gum only moments prior.

Thousands of people who all came together for one purpose – to see me. A mosaic of adoration. 

I glanced down at my trembling hands, fingers clutching the edge of my guitar. The weight of the crowd’s expectations pressed down on me. The realization hit me a second time – they were all here for me. That both terrified and humbled me.

I licked my lips, gave my old guitar a strum, feeling those familiar vibrations amplified a hundred fold. It was loud, so loud that I could still hear it reverberating throughout the venue when I reached for the microphone.

I stole another glance at the crowd as a smile broke across my face. 

Deep breaths.

I shouted, “What the fuck is up, Paris?”

The response was deafening. The crowd erupted in cheers. I could feel their energy merging with mine – the lights, the love, the screams. In that moment, I remembered why I endured the trials of my industry. I remembered why I was still living – what I was fighting for. It was all for them, the countless faces who found solace and inspiration in my music. 

And with that realization, I felt my heart begin to race.

“How y’all doin’ tonight?” I asked.

They screamed back at me in response. I grinned.

“God, I love you guys,” I laughed. Strummed my guitar a second time. Looked at them. “I got a special show for you tonight!”

It was all for them. I do it all for them.

Life on the road was pretty crazy. I wish I could say that I had family to miss back home, but that wasn’t the case. I had been in and out of foster care for most of my life; had to grow up pretty fast so my brothers and I could stay off the streets. Other than the three of them, I never really had a family.

I turned to music as a crutch. I bought my first guitar with the first paycheck I earned – I was 16. I bandhopped for a while, alternating between the roles of lead singer, bassist, and rhythm guitarist. I found a passion for writing lyrics somewhere along the way. It felt nice, being able to put pen to paper and make my fucked up life sound appealing.

It was great.

I did basement shows right up until I turned 21. I would have been more than happy to keep on doing them – hell, sometimes I found myself wishing I could still fit those small, shitty little venues – but some big, music industry talent hotshot came and found me at one of my shows. He handed me a card. Told me he liked my sound, that I could be famous.

Who could have refused?

I never anticipated hitting it this big. Not that I’m complaining. It keeps a roof over me and my brother’s head – to say the least. I have more than enough money to live lavishly for the rest of my days.  I found my new family in my music team: my manager, my coordinators, my publicist. All of them. 

The music industry is notoriously blood-sucking. It’s not all sunshine and rainbows. I realized that rather quickly, though by the time I was hot enough to hire a whole team, I was in too deep. It all seemed so… superficial.

I grew to hate it.

My hatred only grew when I lost two of my beloved brothers – Eso and Kechizu. There was a shootout at the mall. They found themselves in the wrong place at the wrong time. I remember rushing to the hospital as soon as I heard the news. 

It was too late by that point, though. They had bled out long before I was able to see them.

I didn’t sleep for a week after that – I developed insomnia that would last for years to come. I spent my evenings curled up on my shower floor, sobbing into my own arms. It was the same after that, and then the day after that. I found myself spending all of my time replaying the memories in my head, thinking about where I went wrong.

It didn’t take long for me to find comfort in the lifestyle of the rich and famous – the drinking, the partying, the drugs. I would go on week-long benders, drinking myself into a sickened stupor, rolling up two joints a day, popping pills I didn’t know how to pronounce. Doping myself up so I couldn’t think about it.

Ecstasy, Molly, Coke, LSD, Acid – I’ve taken them all. Shit, you could probably find trace amounts of them in my blood at any given point in time.

Or… however the hell that shit works.

I took Adderall every day to keep me grounded. That’s what I told myself, at least. No doctor in his right mind would ever prescribe someone like me 80 milligrams on a daily basis. Good thing I paid mine enough to forget his hippocratic oath.

I wasn’t completely lost, though. I didn’t feel good about it. Yuuji, my only living brother, told me multiple times that I needed to cut down on my consumption. He wanted me to go to rehab. Shit, over my dead body.

He stopped bringing it up, but I could see it in his eyes – I was breaking his heart. I had to remind myself that he had lost his brothers, too, that day. Probably felt like he was losing the only one he had left.

I try not to dwell too hard on it, though. Got better shit to do.

Fucking hate the music industry most days. Everyone expects you to be all put-together, even though you wake up feeling like you dragged your feet through a field of broken glass shards. Even though you wake up every goddamn morning feeling you’re reliving the same day over and over again.

It’s like a painful reminder that the only people I have in my life are paid employees. I have no one – other than Yuuji – who I could confidently say would be there for me if I no longer had the funds to compensate them.

It fucking blows. I drink to forget about it. Drink and… well, everything else I put in my body.

Never put a needle in there, though… at least not for drugs. I’ve got more tattoos and piercings than I can count.

Enough about my unhealthy coping mechanisms, though.

My “family” never let me put out music I like making. They stripped my creativity from me. I lost all enjoyment in songwriting along the way. They turned me into a husk – a shell of the man I used to be.

I couldn’t recall the last time I felt real happiness. You know, the kind you got from taking a walk in nature and not from snorting and ingesting copious amounts of illicit substances. You would think that someone would see me greened out on the couch and know I was crying for help.

Nah. No one ever listens.

They never noticed. The only reason they cared about whether I was dead or alive was because I kept them well-fed and their pockets full.

That’s the fuckin’ music industry, baby. Nothing but a bunch of soulless, drugged-up puppets pumping out music they hate making. Begging for help.

But no one ever listens.

My head hung low as I snorted a line of powder off the tray my housemaid – or some other woman I didn’t know – had brought me. As quickly as she had appeared, she vanished. In her absence, I relished in the rush that hit me all too fast. 

I sniffed and coughed, shaking my head with remnants of the powder clinging to my nose. I blinked slowly, trying to make sense of my surroundings. 

The studio’s walls were adorned with gold, platinum and silver records, a shark contrast to the disheveled state of the room. Empty liquor bottles littered the floor. The air hummed with companionable conversation and the distant echoes of a repetitive beat.

As I raised my head, the scene unfolded before me. Half-naked women, draped in a hazy glow from neon lights, raised their glasses in a toast. The shots went down smoothly, accompanied by the thumping bass of my latest creation, reverberating through the studio's speakers.

The instrumental was infectious, quick and catchy, resonating with a bass that seemed to throb in sync with the erratic pulse of the room. My eyes fell to the scattered papers on the coffee table in front of me – lyrics scribbled in messy script on lined paper that had been torn straight out of my composition notebook.

Cigarette smoke, a whiskey glass,

Fading memories, like shattered glass,

Every sunrise feels like the last,

Trapped in the echos of the past.

Stuck in the rhythm of a broken clock,

Every tick’s an echo, every tock’s a shock.

A carouse of monotony,

Lost in a loop, just try’na break free.

Guitar wails like a distant scream,

Reality blurs, just like a dream.

Drift through the hours, like a ghost,

In this eternal purgatory, I’m lost.

Pouting, I wiped my nose, feeling the dull burn of the coke as it tingled in the back of my throat. I was congested as all hell. Still, I tried to sing the bridge beneath my breath. 

“Drift through the hours, like a ghost. In this eternal purgatory, I’m lost…” I hummed, pouting again when I realized I still didn’t like it. 

The women in the back of the room continued their celebration, completely oblivious to my internal struggle. They were too busy shooting the shit with my friends.

More glasses were poured, and one was handed over to me. I took a sip without looking – because it honestly didn’t matter what was in the cup, could’ve been piss for all I knew. The familiar burn of bourbon warmed me momentarily. Humming in recognition, I traced my finger over the rim of the glass, lost momentarily in the verbiage of my own creation. 

Something felt off.

Furrowing my brows, I stared down at the words on the page. I sniffled again. Then I downed about half of my glass of bourbon, standing up on unsteady feet. The room swayed slightly, especially when I walked over to the corner where the producer was set up – a lone figure surrounded by the chaos.

I nodded at him, muttering, “Play it again from the chorus. I’m try’na see somethin’.”

The producer – Chris, or some shit like that – nodded back. He pressed a button, and the beat started over. The room’s ambiance, fueled by laughter and friendly chatter, didn’t quiet down. 

I tried my best to immerse myself in the rhythm, but the distractions were just… it was just too much.

‘Guitar wails like a distant scream,

Reality blurs, just like a dream.

Drift through the hours, like a ghost,

In this eternal purgatory, I’m lost.’

I hadn’t realized I had forgotten to actually sing the words until my producer looked over at me expectantly. I shook my head, huffing out an exasperated sigh.

“Shit, sorry, take it from… take it from the chorus again, please?” My voice cut through the noise – or tried to, at least. 

The beat started over again, a few measures behind where I needed to be.

“Guitar wails like a distant scream…” I attempted once more. “Drift through the hours, like a lost– fuck, I fucked it up.”

The collective revelry around me was a wall – it fucked me up. I could feel a headache coming on.

“Can we pipe down a bit?” I groaned, massaging my temples. My ears began to ring a bit, growing louder with every passing second that the chatter continued. “Guys, shut the hell up.”

My pleas fell on deaf ears. The ringing persisted, drowning out everything else in the room. 

“Yuki,” I directed at her, a little louder now. She seemed to have been leading the conversation. “Yuki, please.”

No one ever listens.

And they didn’t. They weren’t fucking listening. I tried to make eye contact with her, but I couldn’t seem to make out her face from the rest. The room was blurry, moving side to side, hazy around the edges. I held my forehead, groaning quietly.

They were so fucking loud.

No one ever listens.

Downing the rest of my bourbon in one go, I – in a fit of frustration – hurled the glass against the wall above the couch where my friends were comfortably seated. It shattered, sending shockwaves through the room as stunned silence replaced the previous chaos.

“Yuki,” I mumbled, swaying slightly on my feet. “Shut the fuck up. I’m trying to.. Try’na fuckin’...”

“Choso,” She began quietly, her mouth slightly agape. Had she always had a twin sister, or was I dreaming? “Your… your nose– are you okay?”

I put a hand up to my nose, feeling around for anything out of the ordinary. My fingers were red when I brought them back, painted with a viscous crimson fluid. Another fell from my nostril onto the pale skin of my wrist. 

My nose is bleeding.

I wiped my nose, waving them off. “I’m fine,” I slurred – I wasn’t, least I don’t think I was, but the show must go on, or some shit like that. “Can we just… keep going, please?”

A thick, heavy silence enveloped the studio. With all of them finally keeping their mouths shut, I could hear myself think again. The ringing in my ears began to subside, and I, looking over my shoulder at Chuck– Chris, whatever the fuck– demanded, “Play that shit again.”

He swallowed nervously, clearly caught off guard by my outburst. Still, he pressed a button or two, and the song started all over again.

Drift through the hours like a ghost,

In this eternal purgatory, I’m lost.

a/n: hiiii! I hate the way this was written, but I always hate my first chaps hehe. NEXT ONE WILL BE SM BETTER I SWEAR!! this is gonna be a long, slow burn, smutty ass fanfic (loosely [very loosely] based on the show 'the idol'). and by based on ofc I mean I watched an ep and I was like damn I could make this better. Enter our beloved emo boy choso kamo. anyway!! comment your thoughts/wishes/etc!! I love an interactive community of loyal commenters and I loveee reading all of ur thoughts and lovely remarks!! keep them coming, and ill keep the chapters coming in retribution! love you bunches!

comments + reblogs are greatly appreciated!!

credits: @/2OARIN on twitter (cover art). If you know the other artist, please let me know, so I can credit them properly for their work! I obviously do not own jjk or anything related to it. please do not reproduce, copy, or translate my works anywhere. dont fk w me im a bruja.

taglist: @missphanosaur18 , @bontensbabygirl, @megumissunshine, @chocoyanchan, @littlelovebug98, @lucisimpongod, @xochyw, @jaegerstan222 , @electro-supremacy, @mellytheteddy, @clover0310 , @soraya-daydreams, @priussy, @insanehumantinker, @staygoldsquatchling02, @nonksity, @hinata7346, @chososwhoresblog, @ynjimenez , @soraya-daydreams , @nonksity , @hinata7346 , @armani78 , @mindurownbussines , @sad-darksoul , @sasuke-slut , @yuunie135 , @bratkuna , @aydene , @mshope16 , @pretentiousteentrash , @galactict3a , @kokos-property , @moonriseoverkyoto , @lyn-soso , @arilostie , @violetmatcha , @markleeisdabestdrug , @erensdior , @hp-simp505 , @fushiguro-kyuuuuuu , @bontensbabygirl , @switch-godess , @honey-yuh , @ddotsie

wanna join the taglist? | smoke and mirrors; chapter index

#smoke and mirrors ☄. *. ⋆ #notiddygxthgf ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ #choso kamo #choso #choso x reader #choso x you #choso x jjk #choso kamo x reader #choso kamo x you #choso kamo jjk #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen smut #choso fluff #choso angst #choso smut #choso kamo fluff #choso kamo smut

[vivid-ink]

A Turn of Tables

Pairing: Coriolanus Snow x Lucy Gray Baird

Summary: It always seemed to come down to this dichotomy between them, his need to be in control and her desire to be free. She shrugged and narrowed her eyes at him with a pout, “You call it uncertainty. I say it’s spontaneity. There’s fun in being wild.” “Wildness is dangerous.” He replied. Immediately, her mood turned coquettish and she smirked at him, her dark eyes teasing, “Do you think I’m dangerous, Coriolanus Snow?” She disliked his constant need to be in control, but she relished the challenge of unravelling him, even if just for a short while. Lucy Gray was no stranger to the drives of men. She lived by her charms and spread kisses like honey to charm her audience. Men were all the same. She knew exactly how to unpick her beautiful Capitol boy. She knew how to drive him wild.

Warnings: Mature content, sexual content, MDNI. Content: Power dynamics, Lucy Gray's internal dialogue, handjob/blowjob. Word count: 2,999

Author's Note: I've officially ventured into the Hunger Games: TBoSaS fandom! Absolutely loving the ride so far. The original novel is great & the movie was absolutely brilliant too. Here's a little drabble that I couldn't shake and just had to put on paper. It is set within the events of the original novel so is canon compliant. I hope you enjoy it!

Tagging: @iluliluu @neteluvr @luvteyams

There it was again, that glazed and faraway look in his eyes. Those baby blues once so innocent and unguarded, now distant and cold; calculating. A deep knit was etched between his fair brows, pulling them low as he dwelled upon his ruminations.

Coriolanus Snow had changed.

Apart from the obvious loss of his flaxen curls, which had been shorn down to a scant prickle of blonde over his scalp, the changes had been subtle. However, Lucy Gray perceived the shift in him nonetheless. The naïve and warm boy who’d first greeted her at the train station, who’d mentored her and kept her alive in the Capitol arena, was gone. He’d evolved and been replaced by a young man with storm clouds brewing in his eyes, whose keen taste for order and control made him all at once her polar opposite and her most dangerous fascination.

The lilting hum of her latest melody dissolved in her throat and Lucy Gray sighed quietly. She was reclined with her head pillowed in his lap whilst he sat upright against a tree in the meadow. He was present with her, his body warm and real against hers, and yet he wasn’t here with her, not truly. Not when he was thinking so loudly, his consciousness so far afield wherever his thoughts had taken him.

The sudden absence of her tuneful humming caught his attention though, and Coriolanus dropped his piercing gaze to survey her with a raised brow, “Don’t stop. That was a nice one. Is it new?”

The worn gingham picnic blanket scratched at her elbows as she manoeuvred herself upright beside him. She scoffed and shot him a wry smile, “Why, I’m surprised you heard it at all, what with you being away with the fairies. But yes, it’s part of my newest composition.”

“Sorry, there’s a lot on my mind.” He turned to face her and she caught a glimmer of genuine contrition in his eyes.

A rather fat and stubborn gnat was flitting about his temple and Lucy Gray swatted at it to send it on its way. She took some time then to appreciate his face. He was handsome, had always been. His face was all pointy planes and harsh angles, but no longer sharp and drawn in the way it’d been back in the Capitol. Evidently the consistency of regular meals at the Peacekeepers’ base had filled his frame and face out to a more healthful appearance.

She smiled a small smile and ran a dainty finger down the side of his face before caressing his cheek with her knuckles, “It’s alright, I expect a Peacekeepers’ life is as gruelling mentally as it is physically. What’re you thinking ‘bout?”

Coriolanus leant into her touch, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply through his nose, “About the Mockingjays and how they’re an unnatural byproduct, unintended by nature, repeating songs of what they hear. About why people make stupid decisions that could implicate others who want nothing to do with their foolhardy plans.” He paused then, even though she sensed that he could’ve carried on, and his eyes fluttered open to disarm her once again, “But enough about all that. I want to think about you now.” He caught hold of her hand against his face and pulled it back gently so he could press several kisses to her knuckles and her wrist.

Lucy Gray couldn’t help the blushing smile that tugged at the corners of her lips at his actions. He could be sweet, her Coriolanus, and he’d always been gentle with her. But she knew deep down that he was at odds with this new life of his in District 12. Capitol-born and proud of his heritage, despite the hardship she knew he and his family had been plagued with growing up, he struggled with the modest existence of a Peacekeeper. She could see it in the brief flickers of disdain that sometimes made it past his carefully guarded expression; disdain for the mundane; disdain for the wild and unrestrained.

“You think too much.” She remarked nonchalantly, smoothing vibrant frills of her dress over her folded knees, “The present is a gift for us Covey. Enjoying life in the moment and appreciating the freedom to live as we please is wonderful. You should try it sometime, turning off all those thoughts in your head. Just be free.”

“But freedom comes at a price, doesn’t it? Without any routine, without organisation, it’s all unknown. Uncertain. Uncontrollable.”

Irritation rippled through her at his response. It always seemed to come down to this dichotomy between them, his need to be in control and her desire to be free. He didn’t understand, couldn’t understand the life she lived. She shrugged and narrowed her eyes at him with a pout, “You call it uncertainty. I say it’s spontaneity. There’s fun in being wild.”

“Wildness is dangerous.”

Immediately, her mood turned coquettish and she smirked at him, her dark eyes teasing, “Do you think I’m dangerous, Coriolanus Snow?”

His only response was a rough and deep chuckle that rumbled appealingly in his chest. His gaze clashed with her own dark chocolate orbs and she could see he was focused on her now, embers of something hot sparking alight in the depths of his blue eyes.

She repositioned herself so she was facing him better and cocked her head at him. She disliked his constant need to be in control, but she relished the challenge of unravelling him, even if just for a short while. Lucy Gray was no stranger to the drives of men and she knew exactly how to unpick her beautiful Capitol boy. She lived by her charms and spread kisses like honey to charm her audience. She’d done what she needed to in the past to keep the Covey alive.

Men were all the same. She knew how to drive him wild.

She saw him lick his lips and begin to lean towards her, and she knew what was coming. The kiss seared when their mouths met, the rose petal softness of his lips contrasting with the hot and blazing dominance of tongue. It was frightening how quickly he could render her breathless and stoke wicked desire throughout her body, but she reminded herself that she wanted to be in control today. She wanted him to relinquish his control and surrender to his surroundings and to her.

Long and strong arms wrapped about her frame as Coriolanus pulled her into his lap to straddle him. She decided she would allow him this initial bout of control. After all, she was rather enjoying the hard jut of his body’s visceral arousal between her thighs. She rolled her hips deliberately and her action earned her a ragged groan from him against the meld of their lips, his hands flying to clutch at her hips to press her harder against him.

He broke away to gasp into the crook of her neck, “I want you, Lucy Gray.”

“Shh, the Covey aren’t far.” She placated in a whisper, though she traced a daring lick against the shell of his ear nevertheless, making him shudder.

She knew her comment was an excuse. The Covey would give them their privacy, she knew that, but he wouldn’t have her today, no. She had other plans for him. She wanted to be the sole puppeteer today and he would be her marionette.

With a light push against his chest, she swung a thigh over him to unseat herself and she patted the blanket next to her, “Lie back.”

“Alright,” The look he gave her was curious and full of anticipation. He grasped the hem of his shirt and pulled the white cotton over his head, his dog tags clinking. He placed it on the grass beside him before lying back as he’d been told.

A sassy quip about having not given him permission to un-shirt himself was poised on the tip of Lucy Gray’s tongue, but she held it. She’d be a liar if she said she didn’t appreciate his bulkier physique now. The daily Peacekeeper drills along with consistent meals had laden his previously thin frame with a lean layer of defined muscle. He was quite the sight for sore eyes.

He reached for the linen ties of her dress where they closed the ruffles over her chest and he tugged one of them loose, wanting to see more of her. She swatted his hand away. No, she would be the one to decide if and when she wanted to afford him a view of her breasts. She chastised him with a reproving stare that was only half-hearted.

She bit her lip and smoothed a hand up his chest, applying a mild pressure to impose authority, “Behave. You might get what you want yet if you’re good.”

The grin Coriolanus graced her with was roguish, “Ok, we’ll play your little game.”

A pang of bother squeezed in her gut, but she ignored it. A little game. That’s all this was to him. He’d relinquish his control, allow what he perceived as a reversal in power, but only for a little while. Part of her pondered if he even saw her as his equal, as a free individual with her own thoughts and wishes, or if she was just a prize to be possessed, just the winning tribute to his triumphant mentor.

She struck up a hum of an old folk melody in her repertoire, from a song that spoke of new love in spring, of fresh flower fields that bloomed in springtime meadows. The tune was bright and flirty to begin with and it seemed appropriate for the occasion. She didn’t sing the words, opting instead to occupy her lips with kisses to the side of his face, his neck, his shoulder, and then his ribs and his navel. She delighted in the hushed whimpers that she elicited from him as she went about her charms, the fingers and palm of one of her hands caressing down his toned abdominals ever closer to where he was straining most for her touch.

An impatient grunt sounded from him and his hands moved to his belt. She smacked at his wrists again and he dropped them to his sides.

“Do you want me to beg?” Coriolanus’ voice was gravelly and thick with desire.

Lucy Gray toyed with the buckle of his belt at the waistband of his blue fatigue bottoms, “I don’t want you to beg darlin’. I just want you to enjoy the moment.”

“I’d enjoy it more if you actually touched me.” Came his tetchy response.

She giggled and hushed him with a languid kiss against his lips, “Shh, I don’t need a mentor here. You’re in my world now. My arena.”

She deftly undid his belt, pulling it free of the loops just enough to get to the button and zipper of his fatigues. The pop of the button came next, followed by the smooth slide of the zip. Her tantalising fingers slipped beneath the elastic of his white boxers and he gave a sharp hiss as the cool skin of her palm enveloped his hot erection. She gently pulled him free of his underwear, his hips raising slightly to help her pull his clothing down to his thighs.

It appeared Coriolanus had been holding his breath as his next exhale punched out of him in a throaty moan while she stroked him. Her name spilled breathily from him like an unbidden prayer, “Lucy Gray.”

She resumed her humming of the folk tune, the lyrics swirling absently in her head of hot summers and tender lovers. She relished in how his breaths were deepening, how his torso rose and fell with each one, and how the flat plane of his belly tensed and contracted to display the outline of his abdominals while he writhed under her ministrations. The long, blonde wisps of his eyelashes brushed the tops of his cheeks as his eyes fluttered, half-open and delirious in his pleasure.

Oh, how she thrilled at doing this to him, at having him like putty in her hands, even for this short time before he brought his guard up again. Mind you, the feel of him in her hand was anything but like putty. She grinned to herself, glancing down to where his length slipped hot and rigid in and out of her grasp. He was as imposing there as he was everywhere else. She supposed his height should’ve told her as much, that he’d be proportionate here too.

She felt the fingers of one of his hands snake around the wrist of her arm she was propping herself upright with. She turned her head to regard him again and found his eyes watching her intently, his lips parted and still moist with saliva from her earlier kiss. Deciding to excite him even further, she released his erection from her grasp to undo the ties of her dress. She briefly saw him about to verbally protest the loss of stimulation when he cottoned on to what she was about to do.

One at a time, Lucy Gray tugged free the linen strings at the front of her dress. The frilly neckline was fairly elastic, which allowed her to tug and stretch it down to rest below her bosom, framing her pert breasts. Coriolanus emitted a quiet whimper at the sight of her exposed to him and she almost laughed when she realised his hands had curled into tight fists at his sides. He was trying so hard to be good. He was singularly focused on her now.

She returned her attention to his cock, finding it even harder now that it’d already been. Squeezing and stroking at a consistent pace, she lapped up every single whine and groan that she proceeded to wring from him. A light sheen of perspiration was beading along his hairline and a flush was creeping its way down the fair skin of his neck and chest. She could feel he was close from the way his muscles contracted, the way his hips twitched, and his breaths hitched.

From their past encounters, he would’ve climaxed by now. A sliver of doubt began to creep within her about whether she was pleasuring him as well as she had before. She leant down over him a little more, allowing him to nose and kiss at her breasts. She whispered a husky question to him, “Does this feel good?”

His answer was tight with his pleasure, “Yeah.”

“Let go for me, Coriolanus.” She breathed throatily.

She resettled herself more upright again, continuing her stroking rhythm and making sure to run the pad of her index finger over the underside of the swollen head of him, where she knew he enjoyed it. He continued to watch her through his half-lidded gaze, and then Lucy Gray saw it.

A slight quirk of one corner of his lips and an almost imperceptible spark of impertinence in his eyes. He was challenging her, holding out on her intentionally!

Oh, she wasn’t having that. She was the self-declared head gamemaker in this arena and he would bend to her will when she wanted him to. She knew what card she would play. She’d have to stop humming her tune again, but no matter. She would listen to the music of him losing his control in wild abandon instead.

Bending forward to dip her head towards her working hand, she proceeded to enclose the head of his cock and as much of the rest of him as she could manage into the moist confines of her mouth. The effect was immediate when she gave a tight upward bob and suck over him. His thigh muscles flexed, driving his pelvis upward towards her, and the cry that escaped him was choked.

She smirked to herself. Coriolanus Snow loved control, but this was the one game they played where she would always be the victor.

A string of curses tumbled from his lips as his chest began to heave with rapid breaths, signalling his imminent orgasm. All it took was a handful more skilful bobs of Lucy Gray’s head when she heard him suck in a harsh breath. His entire body seized in the next moment before an almost injured-sounding groan ground out from him on his exhale as his orgasm consumed him. She thrilled at the whimpers he was trying and failing to stifle as the familiar tang and texture of his cum coated the back of her throat. She instinctively swallowed.

Drawing off him carefully, she tucked herself back into her dress and re-tied the linen strings at her front. She dabbed at her mouth with the back of one hand and stretched out alongside him, feeling very pleased with her efforts. She listened to the sound of his body attempting to regulate itself again afterward, his breaths slowing one by one.

His head lolled to face hers and Lucy Gray was fleetingly struck by the piercing sky-blue clarity in his eyes, free and unburdened by storms. He craned his neck towards her to leave a lingering kiss on her lips, “You will be my undoing, Lucy Gray.”

Lucy Gray smiled at him, tucking herself against the bare skin of his side, her cheek flush against his shoulder. She knew his hunger for control would return; she knew he would be hungry between her thighs too when he returned the favour later. She resolved to simply enjoy the serenity of the present, where it was just her and him at peace. She recommenced her humming of the last part of the old folk tune. The melody wilted to a more sombre note in the last two verses.

The lyrics continued their swirl about her mind, telling of waning love and the falling leaves of orange autumn; of fragile hearts made brittle with the eventual return of winter’s chill; of barren ground, lifeless and loveless, smothered under a blanket of heavy white snow.

***~~~***

Author's note: Thanks for reading this piece & I hope you enjoyed it. I don't know why, but the more I think about Lucy Gray & Coryo's relationship, the more I'm convinced that Lucy Gray isn't as innocent as we think, or as the film makes her out to be. My impression is that she can be wily and that she's clever, cunning too. Her own survival was as important to her as self-preservation was to Snow. I don't doubt that they both loved each other somewhat, but who knows, maybe she played him too in some ways?

Leave me a comment if this work touched you in any way or if you have any other thoughts to share. I love hearing from readers and I'm happy to field any questions too. Comments are the lifeblood of all fanfiction authors and you truly don't know how much it makes our day when you leave us a line. 💜Reblogs & likes are always much appreciated too!

#coryo snow #coriolanus snow #lucy gray baird #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow fic #coriolanus snow x lucy gray baird #coriolucy #snowbaird #hunger games prequel #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #hunger games the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus x lucy gray #tbosas #coryolucy #lucy gray x coriolanus #tom blyth

[ohnoanalien]

Headache

@journey-to-the-au has an awesome fake marriage AU, and as someone with PTSD this post really touched my heart in ways I can't explain. My writing's not as good obviously, but it's a little 'thank you' gift for giving us such great content! Enjoy!

TW: PTSD, flashbacks, phantom pain, panic attacks

It didn't take long for the Monkey King to notice something was wrong. As he walked through the halls of the Jade Emperor's palace, each fiber on soft carpet felt like long-dead grass.

The noblemen around him shot unwanted gazes. On the average day they buzzed like a swarm of gnats– annoying, but harmless. But all too suddenly, eyes pierced through the dark like cold spotlights. And the world blurred like a crude, two-dimensional set on a stage. 

He fought the urge to cradle his head.

No. No no no, not now--

"Wukong!" The Great Sage blinked back a dizzy spell, a soft beacon of light cutting through the audience. Earth Reaching Willow greeted him with a soft smile, hanfu gliding across the snowy fiel-- the floor. He shot back a wide grin with a bit too much teeth, unsure if her presence was a saving grace or a terrible nightmare.

"How is Flower Fruit Mountain, darling?" Earth Reaching Willow's dark eyes flicked briefly to the immortals that surrounded them, staring openly.

Keep your composure. Don't look weak. You were-- will be fine.

"Are you alright?" Willow whispered, interrupting her husband's thoughts.

In return her husband smiled wider, wanting to die.

"'Course I am!" He rested his hands on his hips. Willow didn’t miss the way the Monkey King’s tail wrapped tight around his waist, itching to lash like a broken metronome. "What makes you think I'm not?"

It seemed like they were the stars of the banquet, hushed chatter muffled into wine glasses. But his ‘beloved’ persisted. "You just seem...what’s the word. A bit off-color?"

"Pfft! Off-color?" A seething pain rattled Wukong's skull, and his pained smirk reached his ears, "I'm alright! I'm alright! Nothing to worry about, Master!"

The voices went silent. The palace went still. The Great Sage felt his face warm, slapping a paw over his mouth.

The pain was unbearable. Colors and lights began to morph and shift, and the ground rocked beneath his feet. He allowed himself to be pulled by an unknown force, and marble hallways stretched into a dirt road. No, no they were by a snowbank. Or was it a monastery?

"Wukong?"

The chilly air did nothing to dull the pain, gasping for air as Tripitaka’s eyes continued to change color and shape. Dark to light, scared to angry. Over and over until his mind began to crumble, disorientation clouding his vision.

"Poor thing." A soothing voice called from the flashback, cleaving the delusion open like a knife on the butcher's table. "How are you feeling?"

"I was-- I'm-- I'll be--" Wukong scrambled to collect his pride before it could fall any further.

"It's alright, it's alright. Just calm down and--"

"Don't you dare tell me to calm down!" Wukong snarled. Rage snaked up his throat like a trapped beast. "I am the Great Sage, Equal to Heaven, and I am no mere monkey!"

His eyes stung, desperately scraping at his head, searching to rip off a phantom crown. And ignoring the stinging, self-inflicted wounds that bloodied his claws. "I was the one who single-handedly took down the entirety of Heaven! I was the one who journeyed for years-- nnh! I-- I'm not-- I don't care about the pain!"

A muffled voice called above the panic.

"I don't care! I don’t care! So just make it stop!"

"Wukong!" A panicked voice called.

Earth Reaching Willow.

He cracked open an eye-- dammit, he was crying on the floor. His old friend kneeled on her knees, robes pooling around her like a waterfall. Delicate hands reached out, then pulled back. "Sun Wukong, Vengeful Fighting Buddha. Lovely monkey. Listen to me and listen well. You have to care."

For the first time in his long, long life, the Great Sage was speechless.

"You have to care." She repeated, tears spilling down her cheeks, "You have to because you're hurting yourself."

A terrible realization weighed on Wukong's heart, and he touched a shaking finger to his forehead. Blood seeped through a perfect, golden coat, and he breathed in the iron scent that burned his nose.

"I. I'm sorry for worrying you." He croaked. “I was lost.”

"No need to apologize, my friend." Earth Reaching Willow placed a hand to her chest, "I am no different. During my own panic attacks, my father would constantly tell me to 'calm down'. I'm ashamed I did the same to you."

"Willow--"

"But this isn't about me." A shaky, pale palm wiped at her cheeks. "Tell me how to help."

"Don't worry! Don't worry! I'm fine." Sun Wukong threw on a smirk, sewn in place with string and prayers.

Earth Reaching Willow shot back an unimpressed expression. "Wukong."

Mortification spread like wildfire across his face. Wordlessly, the stone monkey stared at her lap. And before he could open his mouth, Willow gently pushed him downward.

"Lovely monkey." She whispered, pressing a kiss to his temple-- worry unraveling as a relieved sigh brushed her ears. "You may have a position to uphold, and I may not always understand what you’re going through, but I promise you are safe with me. I will hold you if you need to cry. I will listen if you feel alone. I will give you your space when you ask for it. But please, for my sake, ask for help. Don’t try to hold up a century’s worth of pain and false pride by yourself. Let me keep you safe, as you have for me."

Gentle touches turned into strokes. And even when choking sobs wracked the walls, Earth Reaching Willow hummed softly, brushing aside the tears that soaked her fingers.

#@journey to the au #jttw #journey to the west #jttw fanfic

[m-jelly]

Levi X Reader where she makes horrendous jokes and stuff. Like just sitting at the table in the dining hall and someone says something outta line and reader is like “ Instead of being a little bitch, how about you go pull some for a change?” Or something like “ Hey I get why you’re such an asshole, I would be to if my dick was the size of a thumb.” It can really be any type of outta pocket joke. But how would Levi react to that. Can this be non established relationship so he is still trying to hide his admiration but when she says stuff like that it’s gets hard and he just full on laughs at one of her jokes one day infront of everyone

@kenkopanda-art <3

Funny joke

Pairing: Levi x Fem!Reader

Genre and tags: Canon world, fluff, hidden feelings, mutual pinning.

Concept: While gathered together in the dining hall, you are cracking your usual jokes and setting Hange and Mike off laughing. Levi enters the hall and notices you right away. He hurries over to take his spot next to you and enjoys how you rip into others. You crack one joke that sets him off laughing so hard that it shocks everyone.

Warning: There are some very rude and crude jokes and comments made by the reader.

Taglist: @levisbrat25 @ladycheesington @skittlelover69 @li-anne @nyxiieluna @notgoodforlife @galactict3a @youre-ackermine @thebobaprincess @nbinairyn @demonsimp6

Levi was exhausted and in desperate need of sleep. He wanted just to rest and he wanted you. Levi had strong feelings for you and had held them for a while now. He wanted to tell you how he felt but he wasn't sure how to go about it because he'd never felt this way about anyone before.

He released a long sigh as he dragged his heavy feet down the stone hall. He cringe a little when he heard the loud voices of cadets and fellow vets coming from the lit up doorway. He paused in his tracks and huffed another sigh as he got ready to face a rowdy bunch of people.

He turned the corner and saw the hall was full. He scanned the room with his tired steel blue eyes until his heart skipped a beat. He locked onto you as you grinned at Mike laughing hard. Levi felt a blush creep over his cheeks. He hurried through the hall and collected his food and tea.

You turned your head and smirked at Levi as he sat next to you. "Alright, Captain?"

Levi cleared his throat. "Lieutenant."

You winked at him before turning to Mike. "Seriously Mike, I'm pretty sure you're dealing with a tree in there. You'll knock a poor woman out if ya turn and she's on her knees."

Mike laughed. "You might be right."

Oluo clicked his tongue. "Do you have to be so crass?"

You smirked. "Why don't you stop sucking on Levi's towels to get his body fluids inside you so you can be him and just accept you have gnats dick so we can all move on with our lives. Honestly, it's getting a bit sad now."

Oluo blushed hard. "I'm not-!"

"Bet you snort his dandruff."

"I would never!"

You smirked and mocked his voice. "Oh Levi you taste so gooood."

Everyone started laughing hard, but one laugh seemed to cut through everyone. You all slowly turned to look at Levi laughing so hard he was crying. You blushed bright red at seeing the man you adored so much getting a kick out of your joking and banter.

Levi wiped his tears away and cleared his throat. "Sorry."

You smiled softly. "Don't be sorry. I'm honoured you find me funny."

He cleared his throat. "You're hilarious and very right. He does seem like he does all that."

You hummed a little laugh. "He does, right? I love your jokes too. You're so funny."

"Thanks." He felt so happy in his little world with you, but then he noticed a strong gaze on him. He slowly looked over to see Hange grinning at him. "Tch, fuck off four eyes."

You stood up and sighed. "Well, I'm off to my office. Thank you for the fun chats, but I gotta work."

Mike glanced at Levi. "Hm, Levi?"

Levi peeled his eyes from you walking away and looked at his tall friend. "Yeah?"

He nodded towards you. "Follow her. Go to her office and help her with paperwork. She's seen you in a different light. It's not or never."

Levi shot to his feet and nodded. "You're right. I'll go to her."

"I won't wish you luck because I know that the next time I see you both, you'll be a couple. So, see you soon."

Levi bowed his head a little. "Later."

#levi ackerman #levi #aot levi #snk levi #aot fanfiction #fanfic #levi x y/n #levi x you #levi x reader #levi fanfiction #jelly fanfics #levi attack on titan #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x you #levi x yn #captain levi x you #levi x reader fluff #captain levi x reader #levi aot #levi fluff #captain levi ackerman #captain levi #levi ackerman x y/n #levi ackerman fluff #levi ackerman x female reader

[dethronetheveil]

Like a Villain | Part Four

Pairing: Noah x OC (Christie/Chris)

Warnings: mention of m*rder, mention of death, blood, cursing, mention of weapons, use of weapons, general violence [be careful before you read on!]

Synopsis: Part Four- Chris and Noah reunite but under quite weird circumstances. They decide to celebrate at a party, but things just continue to go south, especially for Chris.

Word Count: 2.6k

Tag List: @ladyveronikawrites , @catj422 , @asilentsiren [lmk if you would like to be tagged in the last part!]

My blood ran cold and for a second I thought I was going to fall over, from how wobbly my legs had become. It was Noah. But, why was he texting from an unknown number and why now? Should I actually go to his apartment? Is this a set up? All of these questions ran through my head as I steadied myself against the hard cement fountain that stood in the middle of the courtyard. This was where we first met. I could only remember how weird it was, and now I am receiving an equally weird text. Damn this fountain.

I pushed myself away from the centerpiece and slowly began to pace back and forth. I didn’t know how to approach this situation. I should be mad, but for some reason I was mostly feeling relief. I was so worried about him and now he was giving me a sign that he was okay. Or that’s what I thought. But, maybe I was overthinking this entire thing. I was going to go with that, because the more naive part of me wanted to see Noah again, despite all of the warning signs floating around inside my head like annoying little gnats.

I took a deep breath and practically forced myself to move from my safe spot in the courtyard towards Noah’s apartment. Luckily his apartment was on the ground floor, same as mine, so I didn't have too far to walk. My heart was racing in my chest, and I could hear my blood pumping in my ears. As I reached Noah’s door, my whole body erupted in anxious flames. I did not know what I was about to walk into, but the positive part of my brain pushed through all of the negative muck and sent my hand straight for the door. I knocked on it three times and waited for what felt like an eternity,until I saw the door handle turning. I held my breath until the door swung fully open, and Noah was standing in front of me, with a wide smile plastered across his face.

I let out the breath and gave him a short grin. Honestly, I didn’t feel like giving him a full energetic smile. He left me worried for over a week. He deserved my half-assed smile. Before I could do anything else, I felt Noah wrap his long arms around me and pull me in for a hug. My body did not respond with his and I kept my arms at my side as he squeezed me for a second. He let go, noticing my obvious discomfort.

He looked at me inquisitively, “What’s wrong, Chris?”

It took me a minute to process the fact that he had asked me that question. I couldn’t help but scoff, “Are you fucking kidding me?”

I think Noah could tell this was going to be a more in depth conversation, so he just opened his door wider, and I wordlessly walked in. If I weren’t so taken aback by the oddities of this entire situation, I think I would have liked his apartment, but at that moment, everything was annoying me. He had a plain brown couch, with two pillows on them. Mismatched. He had anime posters hanging on the walls and what I could only assume was a katana displayed in the corner of the living room. What a fucking nerd. I physically rolled my eyes and plopped down on the couch, waiting for him to make his way over to the living room. He sat on the other end of the couch and sighed.

“Are you mad?”

“Are you stupid?”

Noah placed his hand to his chest, “Ouch.”

Usually I am never this up front or abrupt, but he left me confused and stressed for over a week with no sign or word as to where he was, and now he was acting like nothing had happened. I could feel the heat rising in my face, but I wanted to try and stay as calm as I possibly could, “Noah, you left. For over a week. I didn’t get one text, one call, I got nothing. And all of a sudden you’re back, texting from an unknown number, and you’re acting like everything is all fine and normal? How the fuck am I supposed to react?”

Noah just raised his eyebrows and let out a short cough, “I-I lost my phone. I dropped it in a puddle and I had to get a new one.”

“Noah, that literally only explains one small detail of all my concerns. Where were you?”

He sighed, “I just- I had to take some time away. These murders… they’re really really getting to me.”

“Noah, they’re getting to me too. We were supposed to help each other.”

“Chris, my mom was murdered. When I was 10.”

I felt all of the blood in my body rush to my feet, and I wanted so badly to take back everything I had said about five seconds ago. But also, I had no idea, “Noah, I-I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize. You didn’t know. I don’t like to talk about it. It was really difficult. She was kind of like my best friend. And then one day, she went to that little convenience store, you know, on Oakley, and some guy was robbing the store. Mom just so happened to be there at the worst time and she… she got shot. She was dead on the scene. My dad and I didn’t know how to handle it, how to cope. My dad definitely took it worse than I did. He drank himself to death. So, I just needed to get away.”

I could hardly process all of the information Noah had just given me. It would make sense as to why he would need some space, though. I couldn’t blame him for that. I gently placed my hand on top of his and looked up at him, “I am so sorry, Noah. For what I said. For everything, but I’ve got you.”

He just smiled and leaned closer to me, placing a soft kiss against my lips and pulling away almost immediately. I was a bit disappointed, because I hadn’t kissed him in a while, but I understood why he didn’t feel like prolonging anything.

“Thank you, Chris. You’re incredible.”

I could feel a blush rising to the surface of my skin, “Stop, you’re making me blush. But, you’re not too shabby yourself,” I replied with a chuckle.

He responded with a chuckle as well and ran his hand through his hair,”I do have a random question. Would you want to go to a party with me tonight? It’s a whole costume party thing so I get if you wouldn’t want to…”

I let out a louder laugh than I anticipated, “Sorry, sorry. That was just a horrible segway.”

He laughed shyly, “Yea,yea. You’re not wrong.”

“But, as long as you promise not to bail on me anymore, then I guess I will go with you.”

He shot me a snarl, followed with a laugh, “Okay, I can try and make that work.”

***

We arrived at the house, like an actual house, not an apartment, and the music was already blaring and people were already puking in the yard. I had never been the biggest fan of big parties, but I felt safe with Noah by my side. He was dressed in all black and had some sort of devil mask on, and I was dressed in a corset-type top, with a black skirt, and devil horns. All things I randomly found in my closet.

Before we made our way in, Noah turned to me, “So, this is my friend Folio’s house. Nick Folio, but he goes by Folio. My other friends Nick and Jolly will be here too. I want to introduce you to them.”

I nodded along as he told me each of their names, “So there are two Nicks and a Jolly.”

“Well, that’s why we call Folio Folio. Makes things easier.”

“Okay, that makes sense. Your friends have some interesting names though.”

He just laughed and led me through the front door and we immediately beelined our way to the kitchen, where all of Noah’s friends were, except Folio. Jolly was a tall, slender man with long brown hair, and he seemed very quiet. He wasn’t really dressed up and he just threw me a few smiles here and there. Nick was shorter and was covered in tattoos. His black hair was pulled up into a bun and he was dressed like a nun.

“Nice nun costume,” I commented through a chuckle.

“Thank you, thank you. You must be Chris. Noah has told us-”

Nick stopped talking and I could tell Noah was shooting daggers at him through his eyes, so Nick immediately put his hands up in surrender, “My bad. All I meant was, we are excited to finally meet you.”

I smiled, “Well, it’s nice to finally meet you too.”

Before anyone could say anything else, a sweaty guy without a shirt on came busting through the kitchen and bombarded our group. He threw an arm around Noah and smiled at me, “You must be Chris. I’m Folio, at your service. Welcome to mi casa,” he held his hand out for me to shake and I did so, but only for a second. I meant it when I said he was sweaty.

“Did you just finish running a marathon,” I asked.

“Hoo hoo,she’s quick, Noah! But no, I’ve just been running around here like a fool, trying to make sure none of these assholes puke on my floor or fuck in my bed.”

I nodded my head once, “Noted. Well, from the looks of it, I’d say you’re doing an adequate job.”

“Thank you. I pride myself on being the host that keeps the fun outside.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. Folio was a character.

“I’ve gotta run to the bathroom. Are you okay if I leave you with the guys, Chris,” Noah asked.

“Yea, that’s totally fine. Gives me more time to try and get Jolly to talk.”

“Hey, I talk. Just only when it’s something important,” he raised an eyebrow and went back to his vow of silence. And with that, Noah had already walked off and I was left alone with three dudes I just met.

“So, Chris, tell us about you,” Folio moved closer to me and leaned his body against the counter so that he was now facing me.

“What do you want to know?”

“Hmm, what’s your favorite color?”

This reminded me of the time Noah and I talked about our favorite colors and how hard he bullied me for mine. “Wow, I am glad you’re going for the important things. But, it’s umm orange.”

“Goddamnit, not orange.”

“What’s so wrong with orange? Noah gave me the same shit! What’s your favorite color, Folio?”

“Green,” he replied with a large grin.

“That’s just as bad as or-” before I could finish, there was a shrill scream that pierced the air, but no one except the four of us noticed or cared. The other party goers probably thought that was just a normal party scream. Each of us looked at each other with concern.

Just as Folio pushed himself off the counter, Noah came running down the stairs towards us with blood covering his hands. I instinctively took a step back when he made his way over to us, but he was panting and he looked concerned.

“Th-there’s a girl. Sh-she is dead I-I think. Dude, I think the murderer might be here.”

My legs turned into jelly for the second time tonight and I immediately felt like I couldn’t breathe. I grabbed onto the counter for support and I just shook my head, “What the fuck,” was all I could muster up.

“Well, someone needs to go inspect the area, see what happened. What we can find,” Folio said.

“How about we go in teams and see if we find anything suspicious. We can’t have anyone else dying tonight,” said Noah.

Jolly and Nick looked at each other, obvious nervousness clouding their eyes, but they reluctantly agreed anyway, “Jolly and I can go look outside,” Nick responded.

“Okay good good, yea. Chris and I can take upstairs and Folio, you take downstairs.”

My head snapped up when I heard my name and I shook my head even faster, “Noah, I-I can’t. I didn’t sign up for this.”

“Chris, I need you.”

My entire head felt dizzy and my heart was pounding in my chest, but I knew I couldn’t abandon Noah, so I too reluctantly agreed. We all looked at one another and silently split up into our groups. Noah took my hand in his and squeezed it gently. He smiled down at me and looked back at Folio before he and I began our trek up the stairs.

As we climbed the stairs, one by one, my head felt lighter and lighter. It felt like the oxygen was getting thinner and I could hardly breathe. I balanced myself against Noah’s arm and remembered he had blood still all over his hands. I gulped, “Noah, I-I can’t look at a dead body. I’m sorry, I can’t.”

“We can start somewhere else. I don’t want to see it again either.”

I nodded and we finished walking up the flight of stairs. We started searching the first room at the end of the hall, which looked like it might have been Folio’s. We detached from each other and walked around the room. I was inspecting every little item Nick had. This guy was really into fish. He had catalogs, pictures, even one of those talking fish placards that your dad would have in his garage in the 80s.

I continued to look around, but could tell my footsteps were the only ones present. I stopped where I was and looked around. Noah was nowhere to be found, and I began to panic once again. What if the killer got him? What if the killer was in this room? I began to scramble around the room, looking for anything that I could use as a weapon, while simultaneously calling for Noah.

I found a baseball bat next to Folio’s bed and I grabbed it with both of my hands and made sure I had it ready. Right then, I felt a hand on my arm and my whole body jumped. Before I could turn around and put the baseball bat to good use, I heard a familiar voice whisper in my ear, “Don’t be scared. Now that we’re alone, we can have a little fun.” My body shuddered, and to make matters worse, the person behind me then placed a silver knife to my throat. Its cold exterior caused a shiver to run down my spine and my entire body began to tremble from pure fear.

“Drop the bat,” the voice whispered once again.

I could feel tears welling up in my eyes and I knew this would be my last night on earth. There was no way I was going to survive this.

“I said put the fucking bat down,” the voice said louder this time. I obeyed and dropped the bat. This only received a chuckle from the voice, as he pressed the knife even closer to my skin.

I was fully shaking at this point and I could not see a way out of this, so I horsley asked the voice, “Why are you doing this, Folio?”

#bad omens #bad omens cult #noah sebastian #bad omens band #like a villain fic #bad omens fic

[dragons-bones]

FFXIV Write Entry #11: The Inaction of Hope

Prompt: once bitten, twice shy || Master Post || On AO3

A/N: Spoilers for the end of Endwalker. Another follow up to "The Long Road Home" from last year's FFXIV Write.

--

Dancing Heron watched Alisaie move around the room with a mixture of wry fondness and quiet understanding. It was her second day fully conscious and the first time she had seen Alisaie, and the elezen maid moved around Heron’s hospital room with a jerky deliberation that spoke of her barely contained temper. Alisaie fluffed pillows on the chairs the Scions and their family had been using to keep vigil, folded the blanket on the cot, opened the window to let in a breeze, stomped across the room to rearrange the bottles of potions on the side table by size and color.

She said nothing, and looked at Heron not once.

Heron neither rolled her eyes nor sighed in exasperation at being ignored, as she suspected Alisaie wanted her to do. Alisaie wanted to be angry, wanted an excuse to yell and rage, wanted to vent her fear for her Warrior of Light sisters, and Heron most especially.

Finally, as Alisaie made to cross the room once more to fidget with something else rather than address the marid in the room, Heron managed to catch her baby sister’s eye. She raised an eyebrow, and her arm, and shuffled to the side to make room in the bed.

Abruptly, all the fight went out of Alisaie, slumping so suddenly that she looked like a marionette with its strings cut. She bowed her head, her bangs shadowing her eyes, and the next breath she took was deep and shaky.

But she turned abruptly on her heel, took the three steps to the side of Heron’s bed, and pulled herself up to crawl up and bury herself in Heron’s side, draping one arm very carefully over Heron’s heavily bandaged abdomen. Heron draped her arm around the elezen, tucking her close, and dropped her cheek to rest atop Alisaie’s hair.

Huh. Usually when she did this, her head was nearly at a ninety-degree angle because of their height difference. But her neck didn’t crick quite so far today; maybe Alisaie was finally getting close to that growth spurt of hers. Gods only knew she was nearly overdue for it at closing in rapidly on twenty-two. Or was it twenty-three?

“I’m still upset with you,” Alisaie bit out and drawing Heron’s attention back to the here-and-now.

“That’s fair,” Heron said. “Not asking you not to be.” And, because Alisaie needed to let this out before it festered into something ugly: “What part has you the most upset?”

“That I understand why you did it!”

Both of Heron’s eyebrows shot up, and she gently shook Alisaie. “Hey,” she said, quieting her voice. “I hear that self-loathing, none of that now.”

“We were supposed to help you,” and there are tears in Alisaie’s voice now, and that is what made Heron’s heart break. “And despite all our might and magic, the Endsinger swatted us away like gnats, and if you hadn’t used the transponders, she would have finished the job. All we could do was pray you came back, and those were the worst bells of my life.”

Heron sighs, slow and steady, and hugs Alisaie close. “The worst part about adventuring, and heroics,” she said after a long moment, “are those days when you can’t do anything. I felt like that when we were first before Ifrit, and he tempered all those other captives and left me and the others wondering why not us.

“I felt like that nearly the whole time on the First, when Synnove was the one taking on all the Lightwardens’ aether and I couldn’t do a damn thing to help her. And it’s worse when you understand why you can’t help.” Here Heron stopped to squeeze Alisaie, and her little sister sniffled. “Synnove was the best choice, rather than trying to spread it out amongst us all; she knew her aether better than of any of us knew of our own, could monitor and contain everything easier than if she was outside looking in.”

Heron lifted her cheek from the top of Alisaie’s head, but only look enough so she could prop her chin on it instead. “Those are the moments that stand out most to me, but there’s many others, especially with merc work. It’s a hard lesson, that sometimes you can’t help, or there are things you can’t guard against. All you can do, is be there for someone, or sometimes…just pray they come back.”

Alisaie sniffled again, refusing to let her tears fall, and very gently squeezed Heron back. “Still angry,” she mumbled.

“You’re allowed,” said Heron. “But not at yourself, all right? Sometimes its harder to accept you had no control in a situation, trying to give ourselves agency in hindsight. But there’s no shame in it, and what’s done is done. All we can do is hope that in the future, there will be a choice, and it’ll be better choices.”

Alisaie nodded and sighed heavily, but she was finally letting go of the tension she had been holding.

“Now,” Heron said, “can you explain to me in common what the hells Healingway is ranting about when she goes on about dynamic gastrointestinal regeneration and repair?”

“That’s a bit more Alphinaud or Y’shtola’s field since it relies heavily on conjury,” Alisaie said slowly, “but from what I gather, it’s involves harnessing lingering dynamis to—”

As Alisaie explained about how the healers were force-regrowing Heron’s innards using, to apparently quote Healing, high octane hope (what even was “high octane”), to Heron’s baffled disgust and Alisaie’s growing enthusiasm for every horrified noise Heron made, Heron caught a flash out of the corner of her eye. She tilted her head slightly, and saw a long-tailed bluebird perched on the open window sill.

She winked at it. And the bluebird winked back.

PREVIOUS || NEXT

#ffxivwrite2023 #final fantasy xiv #ffxiv #alisaie leveilleur #oc: dancing heron #dt's writing

[kudzuoath]

Wretched Things

Nothing lives in the shadow cursed lands. Even the trees are undead. This is a problem when you need to drink blood to survive.  Thankfully, Caspian is a giving sort.

–

Try as he might, Astarion’s focus kept sliding away from his book. The wretched burning in his throat, the sandpaper feel of his tongue, the emptiness of his stomach. All served to sever what little attention he had. 

He grit his teeth and stared holes into the page of diagrams. One of several books regarding undead that they’d recovered since finding Moonrise. Caspian seemed to be collecting the things for him. 

The gesture flayed him. 

“Horrid, pink thing,” he grumbled under his breath. “Wretchedly pastel tiefling.”

Maybe he’d be flattered if she didn’t also help just about everyone they came across. Oh she never made any promises – but nevertheless they always ended up in a bloody hag’s lair, or fetching a bard from a cage. 

Actually… 

Astarion’s gaze drifted over to Volo, who was scribbling away, not a care in the world. Surely no one would mind if he indulged in a little snack...

If nothing else with Volo as a victim, he could talk the rest of the party around when they found his corpse. 

Though it wouldn’t be that hard to hide the body. All he had to do was toss it into the lake. With the shadow curse no one would even question it. They all knew the little idiot had the self preservation of a gnat. 

His mouth was watering over Volo. Terrible. 

“Astarion?”

His gaze slid over to the wretchedly pastel tiefling herself. She’d apparently found somewhere to bathe – probably at the inn – because her hair was pale lavender again, rather than the sort of muddy brownish black it had turned from all the blood. 

Not, mind you, living blood. Of course not. The black, congealed jelly-like substance of the dead held by the shadow curse. 

“Well don’t you look a treat this evening,” he said. “Unfortunately I’m rather busy at the moment –”

She ignored his attempt to brush her off. 

“There aren’t any animals here.”

“Really?” he said, looking around in feigned shock. “I hardly noticed. Perhaps next you might tell me what color the sky is?”

Again she ignored his goading. Though those black and indigo eyes narrowed. A laser focus. “And the only people we’ve fought in days are dead already.”

“Your skills of observation are truly something to behold,” he said, fighting not to bristle. What, was she going to start making threats? He was still going to eat Volo. 

“When was the last time you fed?”

“Why?” he asked, lowering his voice into a pur that usually made her blush. “Thinking of inviting me to dine with you?” 

Caspian put her hands on her hips and tilted her head. He was too aware of the bared expanse of her throat. The way her pulse jumped. 

“Yes.”

For a split second he was confused. Why? What did she get out of it? Then he realized he didn’t care. He would take what she gave him. And then take still more. 

“You have such a generous soul,” he said, slipping closer so he could coil a lock of her hair around one of his fingers. This time she blushed. Far more appealing than Volo, really. He still remembered the hot, honeyed taste of her blood sliding down his throat all those nights ago. Did all tieflings burn like that? “I’ll see you tonight, my sweet.”

Even redder, Caspian shook her head. 

“It’s been at least a week, hasn’t it? Just – drink, Astarion.”

“How kind of you to notice…”

He was hardly going to turn her down. The thirst strangled him. He’d been much, much worse off over the centuries. But after so many weeks of being truly sated, starvation sawed at him like a stranger rather than the old friend it was. 

“--  for not thinking of it sooner,” she said. Had she still been talking?

Astarion slid his hand into her hair and tilted her head. Caspian allowed it, still practically glowing from the amount of blood in her face.

Cute. You would think she’d fluster less after the times they’d slept together. 

“Sit, dear,” he said. “I would hate for you to fall.”

Caspian did so. And the moment she was settled he leaned in close, and bit her. 

Her gasp was drowned out by the sudden rush of relief that poured into him. Blood touched his tongue, slid down his throat, and it was like waking. Hot, spiced, honeyed – and none of those things. Her blood – like the last time – burned all the way down. But pleasantly. Like expensive alcohol. 

Astarion tightened his grip in her hair, and drank deeply. Drowning that starving feeling. Luxuriating in the sensation of satiation. The creeping numbness in his fingers faded. The weakened woozy feeling in the center of his chest shriveled. 

“Astarion…”

More. He needed more. 

“If you don’t… stop… you’re going to have… a very awkward conversation… with Shadowheart.”

Caspian’s hand, on the back of his head. Fingers twining through his hair. 

Her heart beat stuttered. 

With a gasp of his own he forced himself to let go, to draw back. Though not too far this time because as soon as he stopped drinking, Caspian half collapsed against him. She was breathing hard, as if she’d been running for hours.

There was an ashen quality to her skin, her lips were pale and her eyes heavy lidded. 

“Shit,” he swore. 

“Shouldn’t have… left it so long,” she mumbled, head nodding forward. A long sigh. Then, she started to hum. 

From anyone else he would assume this was related to the blood loss. But Caspian drew magic from music. Sometimes from rhymes. Too still, he held her up as she hummed and coaxed the weave around them. He felt the spell gathering around her – and then felt it take. 

She sat up, looking marginally better. There was some color in her lips, at least. 

“Well,” he said. Awkwardness clawed at him. Though not as hard as it might have. For the first time in days he felt himself. “No need to talk to our resident Sharran.”

Caspian laughed. “I think she’d be more annoyed at me than you. Feel better?”

He did. 

“I’m positively brimming with energy, darling.”

“And you’re in a much better mood,” she pointed out. There was a flash of fang in her smile. Maybe he had been rather… prickly of late. But no one was happy here anyway, so it shouldn’t have been all that noticeable. 

He sniffed. “I miss the sun. This whole cursed place smells like a tomb. And –”

“You were hungry,” she said. Her smile faded, replaced by a knit brow as she looked up at him. He realized he was still supporting most of her weight and – when had he put his arm around her? The warmth and presence of her body was… nice. 

“Did you drink enough?” 

“I nearly drain you and you ask if i’ve drank enough, Cas?” An eyebrow lifted. “I did hope you had better self preservation instincts. Not too much better, of course…”

“I doubt the others are going to invite you to dinner,” she deadpanned. “Our options out here are bloody limited. And I don’t know how much longer it's going to take to get to Ketheric. You need to eat and…” she sighed. “And I don’t think I can give like this every night. I’ll get someone killed out there if I’m too weak to swing a sword or too slow to react with a spell.”

A terrible sticky warmth was building in his chest. It was foreign and insidiously… pleasant.

She was concerned. About him.

His eyes drifted to where one of her hands was gripping the front of his shirt. Caspian would have been so easy to lure to Cazador. The sympathetic always were. And she was nothing if not that. He could have stumbled into her on the streets, playing at a more mortal starvation. 

Help me, he imagined saying. And she would. All the way to Cazador’s teeth. 

Idiot. 

“Should we dine again tomorrow, I won't need as much.” All she had to give, and more. It was his for the taking.

Caspian’s head dropped against his chest and she let out a longer sigh. Relief? Perhaps? 

“Okay. Okay. This is doable.” 

He waited for her hands to drift lower, or her lips to touch his skin. He was resigned to it. It was the most natural sort of payment in the world. And he knew she enjoyed his touch.

But instead Caspian sat up and yawned. “Right. I need to sleep. And probably eat something. In the reverse order.”

“What, no desert?” he whined.

“Ha! If by desert you mean sex, I’d fall asleep before you got your shirt off. I’m afraid I can’t feed both hungers tonight.”

“Pity,” he said, stretching. The way her eyes tracked his movements softened the blow of rejection. “I’m certainly feeling invigorated.”

“Alas,” she deadpanned. There was a spark in her eye and a slight curl to her lips. “You'll just have to invite you hands into bed tonight instead.”

Caspian stood, sketched a theatrical little curtsy, and sauntered off toward the campfire. Almost immediately she fell on the bowl of stew Gale handed her like a ravening wolf. The wizard laughed at her and said something that earned him a smack with her tail. Shadowheart made a dry comment about the puncture wounds on her neck. Caspian fired back, but made no move to hide them. 

And Astation watched her with a faint smile. 

“Wretched thing.”

#baldur's gate 3 #astarion #bg3 #astarion/tav #tav #named tav #tiefling tav #is this self indulgent? #why yes it is #not sure i have the hang of him yet but i'm working on it #my writing

[emyluwinter]

You know, sometimes I think that some songs are wildly suited to some topic, au or something else. It's like it's a piece of a puzzle to put together a complete picture. And for the Silver Bullet, the author of Au - @jackplushie

I think the "I'm so sorry - Imagine Dragons"

In my head fits perfectly. Especially the chorus for yandere boys, it's a really great script!

"Life is not always what you imagine it to be Turn your head for a second and the tables will change places And I know, I know I did the wrong thing to you. But will you believe me when I tell you that I will make it up to you? Somehow, somehow?"

And perhaps the theme of the song somehow reminds me of the theme of the industrial sphere. Something like the game Assassin's Creed Syndicate. You're expecting a "big piece" from me, aren't you? Well, I'll try to satisfy your curiosity, dear ~

Oh, I forgot to mention! TW - Be careful here there is a description of the wounds. Little. As well as mentions of severe bleeding.

Enjoy~ ***

With difficulty leaning with all his weight, and with a terrible creak opening the distorted, almost broken, twisted door, Crowley definitely did not intend to see a monstrous pogrom in his bar, having descended for another "conversation" with their sweet, modest bartender…

Ah, how many changes caused their appearance!

Boys in the form of different heads of their mafia clans or gangs, whatever they were called, none of them smashed his bar! And in any case, they did not even think of harming the Bartender. Which could not but please. And finally! Finally, there was a neutral zone that everyone was waiting for anyway! Both ordinary civilians and the smallest criminals just to have a glass of something tasty or maybe strong. As a last resort, fill your stomach with simple snacks and an aperitif. Find yourself in this quiet oasis, an island of tranquility, tobacco jokes and endless conversations. Like the most ordinary people, ordinary workers and hard workers. Even if the walls have "ears" here they are silent. Every word remains dissolved in the haze of cigarettes, the smell of alcohol and musty stuffy air due to the old room… Well, over time and with some "investments", the bar acquired an increasingly presentable and pleasant appearance.

But now……

Taking his revolver from the inside pocket of his coat, Crowley looked around intently. Yet the old criminal habits will go away with the last nail driven into his coffin with him. The whole mayhem indicated that something very creepy had happened in the bar.. Several sturdy wooden tables were broken in two and strewn with bullet marks. And there were also a few traces of paint…

Wait.....Traces of paint?

Crowley chuckled in displeasure. If there were traces of paint in the bar, then the Bartender had to take up arms…

Which was definitely not encouraging. Is the situation out of control?

A shotgun with sleepy bullets carefully donated by Crewel for the bartender as protection. Even if you just shoot ordinary bullets with paint, it was no less painful than if you beat with your fists. The bartender refused to have a gun until the last, but Crowley said it was a prerequisite for the job.

Because, firstly, the Bartender is an ordinary civilian. Not having a drop of experience, strength, or skills to resist thugs who had to put up with the fact that blood and the smell of slaughter would be their signature and only perfume. Finding several "bodies" in a deep sleep, Crowley kicked one of them in the side to see several cuts on his arm and a very distinct boot mark on his stomach and chest. The second one had an excellent boot print on his face and apparently the blow was good enough to break his nose and cause severe bleeding. It seems that some of them had scratched hands and faces like claw marks? Were they attacked by a cat?Ah, it doesn't matter now.

Where is their employee?Are they alive?Are they injured? All these little gnats didn't interest him much…They will be taken care of later. Picking up his phone and quickly dialing a number, Crowley was intensely examining the mayhem trying to find a certain person. Along the way, examining whether there are any identification "signs" of the gang or some kind of stripes to identify the attackers. This would greatly simplify the "task" to deal with the remnants of this gang, if there were any.

-Crewel. The code is a "ruined nest". My bar. Grab a first aid kit and your dogs.

Quickly disconnecting from the call, Crowley noticed a bloodstain on the floor that led a thin path to the staff room. A small modest interior room with a sofa and a bedside table, and a round mirror in an old artful frame, a place where you could relax from everyone or change clothes.

Damn it. Let it be just a scratch…

After taking a breath and removing the safety from the revolver, Crowley gently knocked on the door handle. The bar was filled with a sickening silence that made Dyre's stomach twist into a knot. He should have seen it coming. Everything was going too well. No one in their right mind attacked the neutral zone. Unless they had at least some remnants of brains or perhaps their intentions were more bloody than the world had seen before.

-Yuu… this is Crowley. I open the door

Still, it was worth warning, because the Bartender often asked them to notify them of their appearance.Because a couple of times Crowley almost got under the influence of sleepy bullets with paint. Of course, they are not dangerous, the victim will just sleep off properly and will feel weak for a couple of days. Mandatory condition from Yuu. There are no real weapons in the bar, this is not a bloody battlefield and they were not going to become a murderer by negligence or intent.

To Crowley's surprise, the door was open…?

And oh, merciful heavens, he never wanted to see this picture in his life. Even in his nightmare.

Lying near the wall, almost reaching the sofa, the Bartender Yuu lay in a small puddle of their own blood. It would seem, with great difficulty, taking every breath and forcibly forcing your lungs to work in beaten and broken ribs. Their wheezing as they breathed sent a chill down Crowley's spine for the first time in his life. Opening the door and running up to poor Yuu, Crowley briefly examined the wounds inflicted.. The shirt was mercilessly torn and the right hand was hanging from the brush with a small rag. A couple of buttons were missing. Purple-red hand mark on the neck.. The vest barely held on to the only remaining seam on the left shoulder. Their always white shirt was soaked with splashes of someone else's blood, an uneven blood-red circle was slowly spreading from the right side. As well as on the left thigh, through the dark fabric of their trousers, this stain looked unnatural… His right arm was swollen from the wrist to the elbow and was literally blue. Yuu's left hand tightly held a shotgun with a reserve of sleepy bullets, as if they did not intend to give up even now. A lot of small scratches, bruises and abrasions. The right cheekbone was so swollen and swollen that it closed they eyes. And Grimm….he got hurt too, but he stayed until the end. This stray cat with a striped ribbon donated from Yuu lay next to them and licked his wound on his paw, mewing piteously and gently rubbing against the pale cheek of the Bartender.

-C… Crowley? - A hoarse low whisper escaped from the already blue lips of the wounded Yuu.

-Drink, don't talk. - Taking a small bottle from his inner pocket, Crowley quickly removed the lid and carefully brought it to the Bartender's lips. Pouring the liquid so that they take at least one sip. The painkiller will keep them conscious for a while. But there was catastrophically little of it now.

-This is….h… it h-hurts..

-You've lost a lot of blood, just concentrate on breathing and don't make any movements.

-mm.. - softly mumbling in agreement, Yuu took a slightly deep breath and relaxed a little when the wild and terrible pain finally eased. Their tense muscles stretched like strings finally lost all tension.

Hearing the noise of a car approaching, Crowley quickly looked out into the bar noticing the familiar Crewel logo. So Divus is already here perfectly.

-Who the hell could do this to poor puppies?! - Divus swore while providing first aid for the Bartender. After quickly closing the wounds and stopping the bleeding, Crewel immediately snapped his fingers and pointed at Yuu so that his subordinates would do the rest of the business. They couldn't be left in this state. Despite the anger and irritation bubbling in his veins, Crewel remained collected and distributed commands.

-Treat them like the most fragile snowflake in a hot fireplace. Take the cat, too.

-Boss, what to do with these "attackers"?

-Great question ~ - Crowley's voice suddenly rang out, who was carefully watching what was happening and pondering in his head in the shadow of everyone.

-Collect this garbage and take it to the "interview" for my "Ghosts". Tell him I'll be back in the evening to find out the motive and reasons for the attack on neutral territory. And ah! Please put up a sign that the bar is closed indefinitely. Divus, I leave these two in your care.

-I'll let you know about their condition later.

Although Yuu was barely holding on to his consciousness, familiar voices still reached his ears. And after the arrival of Crewel, the body became so sluggish and as if all the fatigue accumulated over the past months of such hard work finally broke through and captured every cell of the body. But now there was no such red-hot destructive pain with every movement or even thought. Everything seemed so sluggish and limp. Feeling how several pairs of strong hands so carefully and so carefully lifted their fragile, wounded body. The bartender chuckled slightly in his thoughts. They could never imagine that criminal persons would hold they so gently and so gently in their hands. But they often mercilessly wound someone and hurt someone. In the distance, the voices became quieter and quieter, but Yuu still heard snatches of phrases from those who carried them.

-Damn these freaks…

-Just look what they did to the poor bartender… poor guy.

-They tried to set fire to the bar?!I saw one wall smoked.. Feeling like they were being held by big and strong hands, Yuu was even a little embarrassed. The strong shoulder on which they rested their bandaged head smelled pleasantly of cologne. A delicious smell, will have to ask what brand of perfume it is. They were definitely not used to being carried around like that, and all these thoughts were trying to somehow keep the remnants of their mind and calm. Someone even tried to cheer them up with light strokes on the head or wiped their lonely tears. Occasionally running down their cheeks. The bartender no longer held on, their shell cracked, and it was possible to cry from impotence and shock. How much their head was splitting. But suddenly a very good thought ran through.

He'll skin them, but Crowley will give them a vacation..to hell with everything. First, a sick leave with medical insurance coverage, and then a vacation.

They're too tired. They didn't care where they were being taken. Quietly asking those who carried them so lovingly about the fate of the cat. These people in business suits, with lab aprons and long protective gloves, showed how one of their colleagues also carefully carries a Grimm. Strangely, Grimm didn't even mind being touched by others and behaved like a sleepy cat. And he was also treated to eat. These "chain dogs" as they were called in other gangs, definitely liked Yuu They smelled delicious, they didn't let go of their hands even though they could. And in general they were the most exemplary people for all the time that the Bartender has ever met…

-By the way, I counted 8 people so… were they beaten up like that by the Bartender?….And the cat?

-Yup…..I kicked their ass … - Yuu replied quietly, trying not to lose consciousness. It was definitely a valuable victory for them that they survived this massacre at all. These "dogs" tried to somehow distract the bartender from all thoughts and they probably just wanted to talk about something other than work. On Yuu's account, they didn't ask anything personal.

-Oh, yes, they definitely didn't lie to us when you whipped someone with a wet towel on an impudent ass.

-They offended….my Grimm… - Yuu whispered softly as they were carried to one of the dark expensive cars. Apparently they will be taken away somewhere until they lick their wounds and recover properly. -Get punched for offending a cat…

-Pete, shut your mouth. The cat is sacred.

-He's good….drove away all the mice and rats.. - It seems now Yuu knows that there are cute cat lovers in the gang of the ferocious Divus Crewel.

-Yeah, and also this furry asshole demolishes all the glasses without supervision. Yeah, I'm talking scoundrel about you!You're still snorting at me, and I wanted to feed you..

Yuu thought that they looked like the most ordinary people who just chose a completely wrong field of work. Ordinary people with their hobbies, interests and lives. The side that clearly did not cover all their actions..

Meanwhile, to the bar, under loud swearing, whose bouquet with roses was better, the duo of Adeuce was heading. They both came up with the idea to give the "impregnable fortress of the heart" in the form of a Bartender a bouquet and hope for their mercy and maybe a small increase in the chance of a date~ After passing a familiar alley, they immediately hide around the corner when they notice a bunch of black tinted cars with a very familiar emblem. Emblems and signs that the leaders in the gangs categorically forbade them to contact.

-What are the Crows and Dogs doing here?! - Deuce cursed softly, looking out for all the people he could see from his hiding place and trying to figure out what had happened.

-Something tells me that they didn't come to the bar for tea and cookies…Look at some bodies being taken away. - Snorting in response, Ace tsked with displeasure, realizing that going further is a straight road for at least a beaten face and a couple of broken bones. In the best case, they will simply be asked to go off into the sunset.

-Ace….we need to tell the others about it…

-I knoooow….Imagine how Riddle will explode when he finds out that the bar is surrounded by these dogs and crows. Not even a speck of dust can get past them. They are a different level.. Putting the Bouquet under his arm and dialing the number of his the leader, Ace was almost at the call button when he froze in place. White with horror.

-Holy shi..

-Uh.. this!!! Ace and Deuce could not believe their eyes when they saw the wounded Yuu who were very carefully carried in their arms by one of their chain dogs. Their wounds, their blood, their face swollen from the blows, caused a furious flame. The flame flowing into the red-hot magma spreading through their veins. Flaring up stronger and stronger, as if from a small spark, sprayed to a fiery tornado, mercilessly demolishing everything in its path. Breaking from their hiding place and forgetting about the roses, the two of them rushed as if for the last saving straw that was stretched out to them. Someone dared to touch the Bartender without their permission. Someone dared to spill their blood.. Hurt them… And condemn themselves to the most terrible and monstrous fate that they could only imagine…

-Hey!YOU! Where are you taking Yuu?!?

-What did you do to him?!? The duo's screams and their rapid approach, despite all the guards, attracted attention. But no matter how they tried to stop the "abduction in front of their eyes" of their dear and beloved Bartender. It didn't work out. The chain dogs got into one of the black cars with them in their arms. They were quickly pinned down and immobilized, to Ace's surprise, without even trying to harm them.Just so that they don't twitch and behave "obediently." He even had to calm Deuce down so that their fate would not get even worse… Remotely being already in the car, Yuu gradually turned off from fatigue and from impotence, but they clearly heard the screams of a duo of walking problems somewhere nearby. It could have been a hallucination that all criminal persons from all over the neighborhood are now flying like bees to Yuu's wounded soul. Maybe it was worth thinking about HOW they would now pay the whole two gangs for their "mercy and kindness". But now, having already spent the last drops of their strength, Yuu gave themselves permission to just fall into this dark water … and fall asleep. They shouldn't have messed with this world, ever. It was worth thinking twice before agreeing to this job for lack of other options. Crowley could at least assure the others that Yuu is not a talkative person. They don't tell what they don't need. Everyone sees, everyone hears, but they don't say anything. That was more than enough…. ***

News of the attack on the neutral zone spread quickly. Faster than anyone could have imagined. It was practically a declaration of war to everyone at once and to no one in particular. But there was no note, no witnesses or the attackers themselves… The gang leaders were furious. For several reasons.

They couldn't find their expensive bartender Yu no matter how hard they tried. The chain dogs perfectly removed all traces of their presence.

The attackers did not suffer "punishment" for their act at their hands..

The older gangs did not give them answers. All the gangs were one step away from unleashing their terrible criminal tendencies to turn over every stone in the city. But to find their "kidnapped lover" They tossed, growled, were in the most disgusting mood that their subordinates could only see for all the years of work for them. Their thoughts and hearts had no rest until they saw live, with their own eyes, that their cute Bartender was standing in front of them again. With their polite smile and polite conversations, what kind of drink is worth trying today, while they fix their gaze on every inch of their body and catch every particle of their breath… *******

haaaaah…Maybe I'll do the second part about the return of the bartender…But I need to rest.

I hope you enjoyed it!

#twst #twst wonderland #twisted wonderland #disney twst #disney twisted wonderland #twst mc #twst yuu #twisted wonderland x reader #twsited wonderland #twst crowley #twst crewel #twst mafia au #mafia au #silver bullet #It came out a lot more than I expected.. #I have a couple of ideas about returning #but I'm not sure which option is more suitable #Youtube

[qvietspvce]

i really spit in the eye of my shitty addict brain today and i'm fucking proud of it

hi hello, if you don't know this about me. i'm an addict. a sober addict but an addict nonetheless. and today i spat in the eye of the shitty addict voice that's been in the back of my head since i've been 17.

important context, i stopped using and sobered up properly at 23 after my friends forcibly removed my head from my arse and i was in a space where i wanted to listen (as much as anyone wants to listen, it's more like you get to the point where it's no longer fun, nothing is fun and honestly the pain of sobering up seems more manageable than watching your life go down a path you don't recognise anymore).

anyway. you're all aware i was prescribed opioids by the pharmacy to manage my pain post surgery. objectively on other patients, i'm sure a great idea. for me? asking for a LOT of trouble and i came within a gnat's bollock hair of making that trouble for myself again.

but i didn't.

my friend lewis immediately took custody of my pain management when i was discharged, and then following that so did my mum. under two different but equally as watchful gazes i was administered my pain medication by two people who love me and saw first hand the damage i had done to myself only 5(ish) years ago. who were also there to witness me start sobriety DIY style and do my fucking best to stick with it every day since. (there will be other addicts/people in sobriety that say i'm not truly sober because i enjoy the odd... herbal supplement to my life on occasion, and honestly i don't blame them. but for me my issues came from codeine to start with, not weed. i digress.)

something i have been doing while i've been healing (and frankly off my head a little bit on codeine) has been writing.

that shitty little addict voice in the back of my brain was starting to convince me that my writing ONLY had value because i had written it under the influence.

today a very dear friend from here (who will remain untagged) gently pulled my head out of my arse when i confessed my fear that the shitty little voice might be right in her DMs. she pushed me to just write, and to set myself up for success by reminding me of the other coping mechanisms i used back in the day when i first started to clean up my act.

and today i've written the most words over the most number of projects since i started drafting my mummy inspired fic.

just all this to say to that shitty voice:

get fucked. you were wrong.

love, parker who is still sober and still trying every fucking day.

#tw addiction #i can't tell you how many words i've typed today but it's been over three projects and i am so proud of myself #to my friends that struggle with addiction: #i love you. you have value. i will support you every arse chafing step of the way. #we're going to fucking make it my friends

[magnoliacharmed]

A Lot to Learn

(GIF credit - jasvvy)

18+, Drew McIntyre x Logan Paul, one-shot

[Also available on Archive of Our Own!]

Tags: Slight age difference, face fucking, anal sex, bruises, come eating

Word count: 2110

Author's Note:  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Logan pranced. He pranced and paraded and trounced around backstage like the little boy he was. There was only a ten year age difference between him and Drew, but it felt more like fifteen. He was just so immature— he had no idea what it was like to work his way up to the top. Drew had to claw to the main event, just to have the floor fall out from under him when it was his moment to shine. Logan skipped his way in with his silly social media clout and got the US title bestowed on him like a crown. A crown for a prince that would never truly be a king, a holdover belt to tide his ego over. At least Drew could say there was some prestige to the World Heavyweight Championship. With him earning it, because there was no other option but for him to win, it would gain even more honor. He was a Top Guy, an important figure, something Logan Paul could never be.

“You’re pushing my buttons, kid. I suggest you go find someone else to mess with.”

“No man, I’m doing just fine right here. Am I bothering you?”

Yes.

“You bother me the same way a gnat does. Mild irritation, nothing I can’t handle.”

“Oh?”

Drew shut his eyes and let his hands rest behind his head. Once Elimination Chamber was over, he and Logan would not be anywhere near each other event-wise. He could focus on more important, worthy opponents, men with years of experience that showed in their sore muscles and scratched up bodies. Logan’s chest was disgustingly unblemished. No scars or bruising, no ring burn discoloring his skin. It was soft, it was pretty… it was fresh. It’d been a while since Drew had seen anyone with so much newness about themselves. Apparently no one had gotten to him yet, not even Roman from what the locker room gossip whispered through the grapevine. So Logan was a bit of a princess, wasn’t just letting any knight in the castle. Interesting images began to form in Drew’s mind.

“Don’t you have to go get ready.” Drew hoped the finality in his voice came across to Logan. It seemed to register in his head, only to be immediately tossed out into his mental wastebin. Logan looked down at his silly yellow vest and smiled the smile of someone who knew how annoying he was being. 

“I am ready.”

Drew laughed. Ready, sure. Oh, the boy thought he was. 

—-

Elimination Chamber was a hard fought match. Once again though, Drew did what he did best. He brawled and won as it was meant to be. Even with Randy stalking around, Bobby giving it a fair shake, and LA Knight showing impressive drive to be the best, the other men didn’t stand a chance against Drew. His prophecy was inching closer to being fulfilled, with no help from Logan buzzing around the ring. He spent a good majority of the match taunting him, which Drew thought was quite bold. It was cute, he was like a puppy nipping at his heels for attention. Drew had noticed that was just the way he was, always poking and prodding at bigger men for scraps of acknowledgement. Maybe it was time to give him what he needed so he’d stop being such a fucking nuisance. 

“Great job out there Drew. Hope my dick drawing didn’t distract you too much.” Logan stood at Drew’s door a sweaty, disheveled, slightly pink mess. That worn out, used up look fit him a lot better. 

“Not at all. Nothing was going to get in my way of going to Wrestlemania… not you or your dick, sweetheart.”

A separate, deeper flush than the one that painted his chest colored Logan’s face as he smiled again. It didn’t quite reach his eyes this time due to some sort of anticipation and fear that flashed in his irises. 

“Thinking about my dick, are you Drew? I’m not surprised, I tend to have that effect on people.”

“You’re quite smug for someone who's had everything handed to him.”

Drew was up and approaching Logan before he could run out of the door and back into his hidey-hole of a dressing room. Probably nothing but bottles of Prime and yes men in there waiting to praise Logan for the bare minimum of selling like he was supposed to and not injuring anyone. It made Drew sick. Logan looked down at the knob and felt the cold surface of the door against his back while Drew’s heavy breathing made his chest rise and touch his. Drew had a lot of dark chest hair that Logan suddenly had to urge to rub his face in.

“You’re right, I have been given a lot. I can admit that I always get what I want, as long as I ask for it.” Logan stared up into Drew’s eyes with a pout that immediately made Drew’s cock stiffen up. 

“So you just asked for big matches? For the US Championship?”

“I asked. Triple H and the executives felt like I deserved it. It was a mutual thing.”

Drew’s expression hardened. What a little jerk, throwing his weight around like that. Of course they would let him get high profile events, he had millions of followers. That meant he deserved shots that the other guys who’d started out wrestling in high school gyms for free food would have never bothered to dream of. 

“What are you going to ask for now?”

The skin around Logan’s eyes creased when he laughed. It sounded undone and nervous, no usual unearned confidence making it too loud of a noise.

“You gonna show me more of what’s under that kilt? I think you tried flashing me as a distraction so you could win.”

“I would’ve won whether I did or didn’t flash you.”

Drew removed his kilt and pulled down his trunks in quick succession, exposing himself to Logan without ever looking away from his face. The sides of Logan’s mouth twitched when he saw how perfectly thick Drew’s cock was. It was crazy he wore trunks knowing he was that was big.

“Nice.”

“Hm. You know what you’re gonna do for me, Logan? You’re going to earn what you want tonight. For the first time in your life, you’re going to have to work for your reward. Got it?”

Logan shrugged and decided to throw caution to the wind. He always got what he wanted in the end. It might take a few false starts and pit stops, but it worked out in one way or the other. He rubbed his face into Drew’s chest and inhaled deeply. His post-match sweat was intoxicatingly strong and only served to make Logan rush to get on his knees. Drew rolled his eyes at the way he exaggeratingly crossed his eyes at the length of his dick. Everything was a joke to this kid. 

Logan pulled out his own cock as he took Drew into his warm mouth. The scent of his sweat was amplified twice over that close to his balls and his mass of equally dark pubic hair. Wrapping his hand around himself, he felt precome drip out onto his fingers. Drew was already groaning from the way Logan hollowed out his cheeks around his dick. 

“You’re a pro at this, huh? Been getting your practice in on the other boys?”

“Not yet,” Logan squeezed himself and stroked with a fervor, then continued to suck. 

Drew couldn’t help but to feel like he was going to come thinking about Logan with his mouth open and waiting for Roman or LA Knight or Santos, any one of the guys he’d provoked over the last year or so, to paint his tongue back to back. His hands reached to grab into the weirdly cut strands of Logan’s hair so he could push his dick past his tongue and down into his throat. Surprisingly he took it well with no tears spilling out or teeth scraping the sensitive skin. Drew closed his eyes and shoved Logan’s head completely against himself, letting the boy gag around him until he slapped a hand against his thigh to let him breathe. Although he felt like he’d die from the loss of sensation and wet, pretty noises, Drew slowly removed himself from Logan’s mouth. 

“I was just about to come too, fuck.” Logan poked his bottom lip out petulantly. 

“You’ll be happy you didn’t.”

Logan was pulled up off of his knees only to be dragged over to the nearest couch. Drew took his time and got comfortable when sat down on it, spreading his legs wide open and letting his cock bob in the air. 

“Come on, take those off and come sit in my lap,” Drew patted at his upper thighs, also covered in hair, and winked at Logan. He wasn’t done with him yet, not by a long shot. From the speed in which Logan stripped down, he knew he wasn't done either. 

Drew picked up a bottle of lube from the side table and squeezed a generous amount into his hand to smooth across his dick. All of Logan’s thoughts, what few he had in the first place, left the building when he sank down onto Drew in one swift movement. Drew’s eyes widened in surprise; he didn’t know Logan was that capable. 

“Aren’t you a good boy?” 

Drew began to fuck up into Logan before he could respond. His face slackened up in ecstasy with every thrust inside of him. Logan attempted to ride back against him, but his aching legs betrayed him by shaking. Not only was he being fucked harder than he’d ever been, the chamber match had done a number on him too. Maybe Drew and the others thought he was just there to bring fresh eyes to the program, but he really was trying his hardest in the ring. Just as soon as he was ready to give up and let himself enjoy it all, Drew pressed his fingers harshly into the flesh of his hips. The sudden pain gave him a jolt that motivated him to grind deep and huff out shallowly. 

“There you go. I knew you’d like that, baby,” Drew smoothed over the marks he’d left deep in Logan’s skin. It was a good thing he wore tights instead of trunks, or else the top brass would have his head for leaving their golden boy all ruined. Logan responded with a steadying breath that turned into a destroyed moan when Drew grabbed at his twitching cock. Gasps fell from Logan’s mouth every time Drew stroked him with his rough palm while he plunged himself as far as he could go inside of him. 

“Please Drew, please—“

Drew watched as Logan’s body shuddered hard while he came. It leaked out messily onto his hand, Logan bucking up into his fist involuntarily from the orgasm. His vision cleared up enough to see Drew holding up said hand to his lips for him to clean up. With the first couple of licks, Drew once again sank his fingers back into the bruises on Logan’s hip to lift him up off of his dick. Seconds later, he felt the warmth of Drew’s come splash across his ass and the very bottom of his lower back. 

“Really got me good here,” Logan ran the pads of his fingers against his reddish-purple bruises and bit back a moan. 

“Wanted to leave a little something behind. Now you’ve got some scars, something that proves you can take a little pain. It looks like you like having them, too, which is an even better sign. It means you’re finally on your way to becoming a worthy competitor. Maybe one day you’ll face me for the title.”

Drew’s smile was patronizingly sweet as he ruffled up Logan's stupid haircut further. Logan was still a young man. It’d take a lot of hard work and practice, not necessarily with Drew alone, to really turn him into the best he could be. 

“Yeah, maybe so.”

“Until then, you come find me or any of the other guys and we’ll try to help you, okay?”

Logan nodded as he put his gear back on in a daze, not even bothering to clean himself up. 

“We won’t break you— not too badly anyways.”

Logan let a weird smile spread across his face when he reached the doorway. It was huge, all teeth and kind of crazy with the corresponding way his pupils blew out and let the blue that surrounded them turn into little slivers..

“What if I wanna be broken?” 

#drew mcintyre #logan paul #wwe #elimination chamber #wrestling #magnoliafanfic #wrestling smut #wwe smut #wwe fanfiction

[thegreenleavesofspring]

I have posted this before but it's been on my mind today so here it is again. An excerpt from a future story that will probably be published, eventually.

There is a perfunctory knock on the worn old door, and Max steps inside. "Thank you for taking time to see me, Pastor."

The neat little man turns away from the desk and offers his hand. “Max. Glad to do it. Coffee?”

"No, thank you, I've already had too much today." He laughs a little and sits down.

“Well, I hope you don’t mind if I do.” The pastor pours himself a cup from the corner table and sits down in the other leather armchair and props his ankle on his knee and says, “Alright. We can small-talk for a while or just get to killin’ rats. Not many guys ask to see me the second Sunday they start comin’. Your call.” He’s got a gentle Southerner’s lilt, his voice far deeper than his trim frame would suggest.

Max bites his thumb briefly before leaning forward, clasped hands between his knees. "I only started comin' t' church recently an' I got some... hypothetical questions."

“It’s a good kind to have.” An unhurried sip of coffee.

A deep breath. "Say a family lost their dad. A big family. Couldn't make it on just th' mom working. So some of the kids... started stealing. Shoplifting an' stealin' food. Ta keep the little ones alive." He looks up from his clasped hands to meet the pastor's eyes evenly. "Say... one of 'em found Jesus, later. Grown up. An'... he couldn't repent of stealin' stuff as a kid, couldn't be sorry he had, because it was all that kept his little brothers fed some days. What... what then."

A thoughtful run of silence. “I think I might find it interestin’ to know if the finding Jesus was accompanied by repentance of other less… desperate sorts of transgressions or not.”

Max looks down at his hands again, swallowing, Adam's apple bobbing. "Yes," he says softly, hands trembling slightly. He clasps them tighter. "It would be."

“There’s that bit in the Gospels where the Lord tells them Pharisees that they like to swallow camels and strain out gnats, you familiar with it?”

This jerks Max's head back up to look at him. "No."

“Well, the idea was that the religious elite of the day would pin fussy little sins on folks with one hand. Not washing their hands enough. Working on the Sabbath. That sort of thing. And with the other hand they’d be covering up sins like adultery and murder and hatred and greed.”

"I hear stealin' is pretty far up there."

The little pastor sits back in his chair, his arms and shoulders relaxed, the coffee steaming in his hand. He says, “What does this kid think that God is like? That might be a question worth pokin’ at.”

Max's knuckles whiten. "If he thinks of Him at all, it's that He's cruel."

“And what do you think He’s like.”

A moment. "That verse about... workin' in mysterious ways."

Another sip of coffee. Listening.

Max doesn't continue.

The pastor sets his coffee down gently on the side table and stands and shuffles back to the coffee pot and rummages a moment and comes back with a plastic sleeve of Oreo cookies.

He peels open the plastic and hooks out three Oreos and sets the sleeve on the table between them and bites into the first one and chews in a mulling-over sort of way.

Max glances at it and then down at his hands again. His voice is very quiet. "Don't know what to think. Bible says He's holy, yeah? An' I know I'm not. So that... really only leaves the option’a  believing. An' tryin' t’ do what He says."

“Does this hypothetical fellow think the only way he can come is if he cleans his act up first? And he doesn’t want to do it? So that means he can’t come?”

A faint furrow between red brows. "Come... to church?"

“Come to Christ.”

"...heard that Christ comes first an' cleaning the act up comes after."

“So if I’m understanding right, the… hypothetical… guy is mad at God because of what happened when he was a kid, desperate enough to steal to feed his family, and he doesn’t want  to come because God is sitting in some sort of pious disapproval of the theft. Am I trackin’?”

One hand lifts as though Max is going to bite his thumb again, then drops. "Not precisely. Mad as a kid. Grew up into... acceptance I guess. Came to believe." A slow breath. "Asked... did the..." A vague gesture. "The whole... getting saved thing."

“Came to believe what, in particular?”

"That He's holy. We're all sinners an' need His blood to be saved from damnation."

“Any thoughts about what He might get up to once He does the savin’?”

"Then there's a buncha rules to follow. An' if ya do y'll be blessed. Or somethin'."

A thoughtful hum. The pastor eats another oreo. “You got kids, Max?”

"Yeah," Max responds immediately, and amends, "adopted."

“That counts. We have a coupla those, too. Boys or girls?”

A faint smile. "One boy. Allan. He's married with kids of his own now," he adds proudly.

“Good man,” the pastor chuckles. “That’s what we’re after. Tell me this. When he was little and he didn’t mind you, did you whip’im?”

Max shifts his jaw ruefully. "Didn't get him until he was eleven, and he always minded. Sweetest kid ever. I beat the he- the tarnation outta my brothers though. Growin' up. Wa'n't anyone else t' do it."

Another chuckle. “Someone’s got to. Was that one of ‘em I saw this morning? Light-haired?”

"Yep." Max's eyes drift a little in thought. "His wife'n daughter wanted t' come."

“More’n him? Brothers?”

"Five more. I'm th' eldest an' he's the third."

A long low eloquent whistle. “Seb’in boys. And you had to be daddy.”

Max shrugs.

“So… hypothetically… is the one of these fellas with the repentin’ hangup about the stealin’ the oldest one? Or a younger one.”

Max looks down at his hands again. "...th' oldest."

A low thoughtful rumble.

"There were plenny o' hungry days anyway," Max says softly, studying his hands. "The twins wouldn't'a made it if... nobody helped, we tried that first..."

“How old were you.”

"Eight."

The pastor studies his third Oreo for a while. Max steals a glance at him before dropping his eyes back to his hands.

“Do you steal to feed ‘em now?”

"No. Don't need to anymore. Big enough ta work, now," Max says bluntly. "An' they're all grown too. He- heck, Riser's got kids of his own."

The pastor nods and twists the Oreo open and sticks it back together and says to his hands, “Are you familiar with the phrase, ‘Striking a straight blow with a crooked stick’?”

Max looks up at him cautiously. "No."

“There’s a good little handful of times in Scripture where God makes sure we know He used the sinful actions of sinful men to accomplish His good purposes. The death of Christ the most striking one. Paul says that if the rulers of the age had known what God intended to do with their murderous plans—save the whole world—they would not have crucified the Lord of Glory.” He opens the Oreo again and sticks it back together. “But there are other less cosmic examples of the same… principle.”

Max eyes him skeptically.

“God says that taking what your neighbor has worked to produce without paying him for it is defrauding your neighbor. God also says that a man who doesn’t provide for his household is worse than a pagan.” The pastor raises his eyes to meet Max’s. “Taking what didn’t belong to you was a sin against some other man who was also trying to provide for his household. Feeding your family was not. It is possible to agree with God on the former, and praise Him that in His kindness He used it to accomplish the latter. These two things need not be in opposition to one another.”

Max drops his head into his hands, scrubbing at his face. "I don't understand."

“Son, how do you think the Lord thinks about all the rest of your sin? Right now. Your anger and your pride and the grudges you’ve carried and the women you’ve looked on, wanting to have what wasn’t yours. All of which I only know because I’m also a man, guilty of all of it, and far worse.” He tips his head, regarding Max steadily. “You say you have believed on the Lord Jesus. If this is true, then the state of all your sin must now be understood a certain way. All of it. How do you think we ought to understand it?”

Max looks up at him, puzzled. "It's filth."

“And has the Lord done anything to address the fact that it makes us filthy?”

Max gives him a look like he's not sure if the pastor is stupid or thinks he is. "That's why Jesus came."

“Good. Yes. Keep going.”

"...an' we have to believe on Him."

“Good. Max, I’m not trying to be condescending here, I’m trying to get an idea of how much you have… apprehended in your understanding of what might be happening to you, okay?”

Max eyes him. "...okay."

“Havin’ to take care of a bunch of little kids, being a father when you were still a kid yourself—that happened because someone somewhere sinned grievously against you. Whether it was your mother or your father or someone else, doesn’t matter. We don’t have to peg it down. You should never have had to be in such a strait. You know that?”

"Yes," Max says bluntly.

“There’s a passage in the Book of Romans where Paul declares there is now therefore no condemnation to those who are in Christ Jesus, have you run across that one?”

"No. Haven't gotten there yet."

“What this doesn’t mean is that sin is no longer sinful. That we somehow wave it away. There is no condemnation because the rightful condemnation for it has been laid on Christ’s shoulders instead of ours. Yes?”

"If we repent," Max insists. "It's not a blanket cover-all for those who don't want it. Gotta be accepted."

“Legally it’s true before you repent. When you got saved, did every sin you’ve ever committed or ever will come crashing down on you? One and done? Or has it been a slow revealing. Small bit at a time. A little more as you go along.”

Max's mouth tightens. "Feels like both," he grumbles.

The pastor laughs lowly. “Feels like both,” he agrees. “But one and done or bit at a time, the point remains. Repentance doesn’t mean the practice of self-flagellation. Those blows have already landed, and they didn’t land on you. Repentance means you lay it down. You set it aside, because God has done this first.” He shifts in his chair, his eyes on Max’s face. “What this also means is that we don’t actually have to bring ourselves to some sort of emotional resolution about it. If there is no condemnation, you don’t have to try and conjure up feelings of guilt for some sin in the distant past. If you’re stealing no longer, you’re already conformed to God’s will for you in this.”

Max goes silent, pondering this.

“Now, if you came to me and said, ‘Brother Tim, I’m still stealing to feed my family and I ain’t sorry a lick about it’, this conversation would probably need to be a little different in the tone.”

"No. Stopped that years ago," he says quietly.

The pastor nods slowly. “Now, when Zaccheus came to the Lord, he went and made fourfold restoration to those he had defrauded.”

"I don't even remember. Don't know that I could find them," Max says slowly.

“Well, the Lord isn’t an ignoramus about logistical impossibilities. Sometimes things come down to… would you if you could. If the opportunity came. What is the bent of your heart toward the idea.”

"If I could? Yeah."

“So when you say you can’t or won’t repent for stealing to feed your family—hypothetically of course…”

"Can't be sorry for feeding them by whatever means necessary. Hypothetically."

“You got to the parts yet when the prostitute women come to the Lord?”

"At the well?"

“That’s one of ‘em. Coupla others as you go.”

"An' He tells them to go an' sin no more."

“Yup. And there’s a better chance than none that those kinds of girls were a bit like you. Doin’ what they had to to keep someone alive. Mebbe themselves. Mebbe a kid sister somewhere, or a baby, or a parent. What He doesn’t say to them is first you gotta think about what got you here until you feel the right amount of guilt about it.” He bites the Oreo, finally, and says before he’s quite done chewing, “You know the stealing was wrong or you wouldn’t be fightin’ your head about it. You’ve already gone and stopped.”

Max lowers his face back into his hands and scrubs again and goes still and says muffledly, "Okay. I think I got it. Thank you."

“Repenting for the theft is not the same as repenting for the provision, Max. Just because they’re tangled up together doesn’t mean the Lord can’t parse them. You and I can, sitting here, a coupla ol’ Southern boys who probably didn’t finish school ‘tween the pair of us. If we can, He surely can better’n us.”

Max's hands tighten on his face, fingers tensing, but he doesn't answer that.

“Max. Son. Anyone ever told you that you did a good job? A man’s job? Anyone ever told you that?”

He doesn't emerge from his hands. "Couple times. M' uncle, for one, when he... found out what was goin' on."

“He was right. You kept those boys alive. They all still around? You still talk to ‘em?”

"All but two of us are up here visitin' Riser an' his family. Ken's got a shop an' a son back home, an' Cary stayed t' keep an eye on Mom's house."

“Y’all take care of your mama?"

"Yes," he says instantly. "She's here too – I'm sure you've seen her. Hair like mine."

“Met her briefly last Sunday, yessir.”

Max nods decisively. "We take care'f 'er."

“Good man.”

"We all love her. She did her best for us an' never stopped tryin'. Didn't drink or do drugs or anythin', just took on more work and made more time for us."

“Good woman, too.”

"She is," Max says simply.

“What about your brother, you said he has kids? More’n just the one he brought?”

"Little ones, yeah. Don't sit still. Another brother watched 'em while their parents were here."

“Well, tell ‘im they’re welcome too, I’m too old and tired to let a few squirmers bother me.”

Max grins at that. "I'll let 'em know. Maybe not right off though." The smile fades, replaced by sadness. "Say boo too loud and they'll both be gone before ya know it. Mom'n I're tryin' ta draw 'em in slow."

“Your brother’s not where you’re at yet, I take it.”

"Not even remotely." His hands drop back to hang between his knees again. "He barely made it through this morning."

That low, deep chuckle again. “Anything in particular that chapped him?”

"That would be f'r him ta say, not me."

A low laugh, a nod, and, “Well, I hope he’ll come and tell me eventually.”

"I hope so." Max stirs and sits up straight. "Thank you. You've helped."

“Don’t know about that. Nosed up in your business and told you you’re a sinner.”

A rueful half-grin. "Knew that much already," he says plainly. "You helped. Thank you." He stands, extending his hand.

The pastor stands with him and shakes it firmly. “You need to hash on anything else, you let me know. There’s a place up the road makes a half-decent barbecue, I’d buy you a sandwich next time.”

Max nods firmly, smiling a little. "I'll keep it in mind. Thank you, sir." He lets himself out.

#And the authors' commentary from where Max says he'd make amends if he could: #(Be careful saying that Max He likes to go “Really? Let's see” and put you in a situation where you CAN) #(Yes 😂😂) #Sons of the Star #SotS-adjacent #Max Way