#trying to exercise the little self control I have left

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

the pro

Pairing: Art Donaldson x Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+ only. minors, please get off my lawn.

Notes: My brain chose violence this morning. Not beta-read because when is it ever.

Length: 4.8K

Warnings: Slow burn; unhappily married reader; divorced Art Donaldson; infidelity; oral sex (female receiving); vaginal sex; unsafe sex

Summary: Every lesson becomes an exercise in self-control. You force yourself to try, really try, and not make silly mistakes for the sake of Art coming closer, grasping your arm or elbow, pressing close and redirecting your swing. You don’t know what you crave more these days: his praise or his touch.

He's the biggest men's tennis star since Andy Roddick.

That’s what your husband says, as if it’ll entice you. As if you know anything about tennis, about the pro that your husband says will be coming to the house to teach you to play.

It’ll be good for you. You need a hobby. 

You don’t gripe or argue. You don’t tell him that five months into your marriage shouldn’t have you looking for a new hobby. You should still be in the honeymoon stage, spending all of your time with him, hanging off of his arm, off of his every word. But he works so much and he’s away so often—

I don’t want you to get bored. 

It’s a sweet gesture. The maid handles the housework; you have a chef that handles most of the grocery shopping and cooking, unless you insist on making something yourself; you have a housekeeper that arranges for anything you need—dry cleaning, maintenance. And it’s no wonder that with all of his money, his power, he can just order a retired pro tennis player up to your house, like you’d order a pizza. There’s a tennis court in the back of the mansion, a few feet from the pool. You’ll get some new outfits, the best sneakers, the nicest rackets. You’ll finally have something to do to fill your days. 

Art Donaldson. 

You know his name before the lean, fair-skinned patrician man turns up at your front door. He trails you through the house, politely declines your offer of a beverage. 

“You ever played tennis before?” He asks. 

You haven’t. Before your husband arranged this for you, you hadn’t so much as given the sport more than a passing thought. You don’t have the heart or confidence to tell that to a man that’s made tennis his whole life, so you just give him a small, guilty smile and say no, you haven’t. He nods, waves you off, insists that it’s fine. 

“We’ll start with the basics.” 

-- 

Two months of lessons on the basics make your arms tired, and your hands sore. But where your swings are clumsy and your grip is weak at first, you can see improvement in the way that you move. Your steps are less clumsy when you go after a ball; you’re more aware of the service line and the base line; your forehand stroke from contact to your left shoulder is smoother; your rotation and follow-through on your backhand is coming along, but has a long way to go. 

Art’s instruction is calm and steady. He explains technique as much as he demonstrates it. When you get something wrong, he doesn’t scold, just lightly corrects. When you do something well, his encouragement is constant and free-flowing. Every accurate move and motion is met with, “Nice,” or, “Perfect,” or, “That’s it.” 

On the days when you don’t have a lesson with Art, you practice. You order a tennis ball machine to work on your forehand and backhand. You attempt (and fail) to learn how to slice on your own. You try anyway—you can only imagine the way his eyes might light up if you manage to surprise him. 

You’ve tried to ignore the rising interest that you have in Art, but you can’t help the little…Crush that’s developed. He’s just so attentive, and kind. When you find yourself smiling these days, it’s often because of something that he said, or did. You can’t remember the last time your husband made you feel giddy this way. It was probably when you started dating—before you’d made the decision to marry for comfort, rather than love. Your husband is practical, rarely physically affectionate, more heavily involved in his job and social circles than with you. 

But you’ll have to find a way to thank him. He’s given you a hobby, and a man that grins at you like you just painted the goddamn Mona Lisa when you serve your first ace. 

-- 

“So, tell me about the Mark Rebellato Academy.” 

Art smiles, dipping his head as he reaches for his coffee. It’s taken a few months, but you finally convince him to have something to drink with you after practice. Your chef is blessedly out shopping for ingredients for dinner, so you have the kitchen all to yourself. Art has watched you putter around, seeming surprised that you know where everything is. You can’t blame him; the kitchen is chef-grade, and you don’t cook much these days. 

“Did your husband tell you that’s where I went?” 

“No.” 

“Then how do you know?” 

You’re too embarrassed to admit that you’ve done some googling, and watched a couple of clips of him interviewing before and after his matches. 

“I’ve just heard,” You fib. “Tell me about it?” 

He leans back in his seat, eyes skating across your face as he seems to consider something. 

“What do you wanna know?” 

“Did you enjoy it? I mean—” It feels like a dumb question once it’s out, and you hurry to redirect, “With what you know now, if you had the choice, would you have learned how to play tennis somewhere else?” 

He considers for a moment, trailing his finger over the side of his cup. Your gaze flits to his fingers, and your own flex around your mug handle. You’ve spent far too much time looking at and thinking about Art’s fingers—their length and quickness; the slight roughness of his calloused hands; the lingering tan line from where his wedding band used to sit. 

“Yeah,” He admits, drawing your full attention back to his face. “I would. It was foundational, you know. I’ve been thinking of sending Lily there.” 

“Lily?” 

A bittersweet smile twists his lips. “My daughter.” 

“Oh!” It catches you off-guard.  

“Tashi, uh—” He clears his throat, “Lily’s mother, my ex-wife. She and I are thinking about schools.” 

“I’m sure they’d be glad to have her. Does she play tennis?” 

“Little bit. She didn’t start until last year, but she's a natural.” He clears his throat again, presses, “Are you and your husband planning on having kids?” 

“Oh god no.” You blurt it out, and realize as he raises his brows that you’ve spoken too quickly. You lean back in your seat, stirring your coffee quickly to distract yourself from your growing embarrassment. “He actually has kids already. Two girls, seven and ten. They’re at boarding school and they stay with their mother when they're on vacation. I haven’t gotten to spend much time with them.” 

“...He seems to be pretty busy.” 

“He is.” 

“So it’s just you in this big house?” He tips his head to the side, brows knitting with curiosity. “What do you do all day?” 

“Play tennis.”

He grins, chuckling, and your stomach flips at the sound. 

“It shows, you know,” He says. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I can tell you’re practicing without me. And,” He leans across the table, running his fingers lightly over the exposed skin of your bicep, “You’re getting stronger.” 

You wonder if he can see or feel the goosebumps that break out across your skin at the gentle sweep, his gaze heavy on yours.

“I have a good teacher,” You murmur. Art’s lips twitch with a soft smile, his hand gently cupping your arm. 

“Just good?” He plies. 

“The best. A real pro.” 

His smile widens, and the flash of his tongue sweeping across his lower lip makes your face go hot. You know that you’re caught when Art’s touch becomes firmer, pulling your arm toward him just a little. 

The sound of approaching footsteps startles you, and you hurriedly tug your arm away. The sight of your husband makes your heart leap into your throat. 

“There you are,” He smiles. “Art, how’s she doin’?” 

“She’s killing it.” 

You don’t dare look at him, but you can feel the weight of his attention lingering on you still. You just give your husband a smile, tipping your cheek up obligingly as he leans down to kiss it. 

“Actually, Art,” Your husband straightens up, hands resting on your shoulders. “I’m glad I caught you. There’s a charity event for a local club this month. It’s for uh…What is it?” He squeezes your shoulders for answers, and you have to keep from rolling your eyes. 

“It’s a charity tennis match to raise funds to fix up the local courts. They need resurfacing and they’re raising funding to keep the fees down.” 

“We could use a sponsorship from the foundation,” Your husband adds. 

“Honey,” You glance back, wary of insulting Art. But—

“I’ll do it,” Art agrees. “Send me the details.” 

“Excellent,” Your husband grins. “Maybe we could coax you into a match or two.” 

You don’t chastise him this time—not when you see something light up in Art.

“Maybe.” 

--  

You haven’t seen Art play before. You’ve specifically avoided it. You’ve known that when you saw it, you would be too intimidated to do a damn thing on the court with him. But now, you can’t stop watching him. You don’t even care that you probably look so out of place—where everyone else is watching the ball, you’re just watching him. 

His movements are so neat, so precise. It’s like watching a dance. He’s running the poor guy on the other side of the net up and down the court. And the sounds that he’s making—god. Every little grunt and groan is weaving increasingly filthy thoughts in your mind. You already know that you’ll seek out the memory of those sounds, as you reach between your legs later. His shirt clings to his chest, showcasing the muscles that you’ve always suspected he has. Strands of hair plaster to his forehead as sweat drips over his cheekbones, down the bridge of his nose, over his jaw. 

When he scores a match point and he looks toward the cheering crowd—when his eyes land on you instantly, without having to search—it’s like you’ve been hit by a bolt of lightning. You can’t think, or move. You barely have the focus to applaud, but you manage to raise your hands and clap. 

-- 

Every lesson becomes an exercise in self-control. You force yourself to try, really try, and not make silly mistakes for the sake of Art coming closer, grasping your arm or elbow, pressing close and redirecting your swing. You don’t know what you crave more these days: his praise or his touch. 

Coffee becomes a post-lesson ritual. He starts to stick closer and closer to you as he follows you into the house until he begins to rest his hand on your lower back, guiding you to your door. He keeps nearby when you’re making it, brushes droplets of sweat off of your forehead or neck. Every touch is electrifying; you have to make a concentrated effort to keep your hands steady, your face neutral as your heart pounds and your stomach floods with butterflies. 

He pushes you harder on the court, and you force yourself to meet the level that he sets for you, even when you don’t feel confident in it. But you want to make him proud. 

It spurs you to lunge a little too far. 

The sharp stabbing pain in your left ankle makes you shriek, and you tumble to the ground, dropping the racket with a clatter. You hear the pounding of his feet, glance up just in time to see him clear the net before he’s on the ground at your side. 

“What hurts?” 

“My ankle,” You grit out, hissing softly as he helps you straighten your leg out. He smooths his hands over your calf, leaning over you and gently guiding your foot in a few different directions. You whimper as he starts to guide your foot to the left. 

“Okay, okay,” He soothes, “Let’s get you inside.” 

For as much as you damn the throbbing in your ankle, you thank it a little, too. You lean heavily against Art, making the slow, arduous journey back to the house with his arm wrapped tightly around your middle. 

When your husband comes home, he finds you with on the couch with Art coming back in from the kitchen, an ice pack in your hand. 

You’d hope for concern, but your husband frowns, glances at the swelling knob of your ankle, and simply asks: “What did you do?” 

“She lost her balance.” Art sits down on the other end of the couch, soothing you as the chill of the ice pack makes you shift with discomfort. 

“Are you going to be able to walk tomorrow?” Your husband presses. “We have dinner at the Fineman’s.”

“I'm still going, don't worry about that."

“...Tomorrow might be a bit soon,” Art warns. 

“I’ll be okay. It’s just a sprain, right?” You tip your brows up, hoping, praying that he’ll agree for your sake. His fingers flex around the ice pack, jaw ticking as he clenches it. He doesn’t say a word as your husband sighs heavily, grumbles, “I hope so. Still, we should put a pause on the lessons until she’s fighting fit again.” 

Art finally tears his eyes from yours, a tight smile on his lips. 

“Of course.” 

-- 

“How’s the ankle?” 

It takes you a moment to scrounge up an answer. You can’t believe that he called. You knew that Art had gotten your number when you started taking lessons with him, but he’s never used it beyond texting to confirm a lesson time now and again. 

You look down at the still-swollen flesh as it strains against the thin strap of your slingbacks. 

“Fine,” You lie, “It’s um—” You glance over your shoulder, listening for your husband. “It’s not that bad.” 

“Good enough to walk on?” 

Hardly. 

“Yes.” You think you’ve gotten away with it, but when you hear Art sigh and chastise, “You should rest,” You know that you haven’t.

“I have,” You insist, “All day.” 

“Are you sure you’re alright?” 

“Yes.” 

“You can tell him no, you know.”

Your mouth works wordlessly, body going hot with indignation. You can’t think of a thing to say. You can’t tell him that he’s wrong, that your husband’s connections are the lifeblood of his business. You can’t tell him that if your husband’s business falls apart, you won't be able to afford those tennis lessons, and then how the hell are you supposed to see Art again? 

You just yank your phone away from your ear and hang up. 

-- 

I invited Art. 

It shouldn’t be a surprise, but your husband’s statement makes you feel like you’ve swallowed your tongue. You haven’t seen or spoken to Art in nearly two weeks. Your doctor recommended putting off any physical activity, which your husband surely relayed to him. He was the one whose name was on Art’s checks, after all. 

Your husband has always thrown a massive party to kick off the summer. Every year, 150 of your husband’s closest family, friends, and business associates flooded into the house. It shouldn’t be such a surprise that your husband invited Art after the performance he had given at the fundraiser—$25,000 from the foundation, and ticket sales went through the roof when it had been announced that the Art Donaldson would be making an appearance. Your husband owed Art a lot, and probably saw this as an opportunity for him to network, to take on more clients. He had been evangelizing Art’s training to any of your friends that would listen—how good you are on the court, how engaged and energetic you seem to be these days. 

It’s one thing to know that you’ll have to put on a happy face for the crowd, but to know that Art will be among them makes your insides twist with nerves. You can’t stop thinking about the way that he had spoken to you when you were hurt; his calm, steadying demeanor as he’d gotten you inside; the careful coaxing and gentle touch that he’d used as he’d taken your shoe off and examined your ankle more closely. 

You think about it now, as you strap on another pair of heels. Your ankle really is doing well, though you have a little lingering pain in shoes like these. You’ll likely be on your feet for the length of the party; it’s going to be a long night. You look over yourself in the mirror, self consciously tipping your ankle from side to side for anything that he may spot or catch out. But there’s nothing, you reassure yourself. You slide your hands over the skirt, plastering on a smile as your husband pokes his head into your dressing room. 

“Almost ready in here?” He asks. 

“All set!” 

-- 

He doesn’t come over to you. On the crowded patio, you can feel him watching you—you’ve gotten so used to seeking out the sensation that you can’t ignore it now. The first true look at him is agony. He watches you from just a few feet away, a glass of champagne in hand as he speaks with your husband and the Finemans. He openly looks you over, eyes drifting over your body to the flash of ankle revealed by the slit in your dress. He tips his head to the side just a little, squinting before his eyes flit back up to your face, lips twitching with a small smile. 

You want to hate how good it feels; you want to be angry with him for his smug knowing, his insistence of You can tell him no, you know. But it feels so goddamn good to have his attention again that you can’t bring yourself to be annoyed. You know that you’re staring—that you both are—and you force yourself to turn away and excuse yourself from the conversation you’re in. You go inside, murmuring your thanks for the waitstaff that pass you along the way.

The house isn’t nearly as busy as the patio, and you're able to slip into your darkened study unnoticed. You leave the lights off, certain that if you turn them on, people will be drawn in to bug you, like moths to a flame. The party’s lights and music filter in through the partially-closed blinds. 

You lean against the desk, circling your ankle and wincing a little. You’ll hide for a few minutes, let it rest—

Your breath catches in your throat as the door opens. You expect your husband, ready to scold and usher you back to the guests. 

You only have a second to get a look at Art before he shuts the door behind himself, plunging the room back into darkness. Your fingers tighten around the edge of the desk as you use it to ground yourself. 

“...Do you need something?” You ask, voice wobbling with nerves. 

“Wanted to come say hi.” 

“Well. Hi.” 

You hear him chuckle, his footsteps muted by the carpet. 

“Thanks for the invite.” 

“It wasn’t my idea.” It’s not polite to admit, but you want it to sting him, just a little. Maybe it does; in the dim of the room, you can’t see Art’s expression as he comes to a stop just a couple of feet from you. 

“Do you want me to go?” He asks. You know what you should say, but you can’t bring yourself to say it. 

“No,” You whisper. You feel the heat of him as he comes closer, his hands resting on the desk and caging you in. You bite your lip as gently brushes his nose against yours. 

“He isn’t taking care of you.” 

“My ankle is fine.” 

“I’m not talking about your ankle.” He lifts a hand, smoothing it over your hip as your breath mingles. Art’s fingers drift from your hip to stroke over the apex of your dress’s slit. His fingers slip further down, and you nod as he palms your thigh. Before you can say or do a thing, Art sinks to his knees. He curls his hand around your left calf, lifting it. You shiver as his lips press a gentle kiss to your ankle. His hand and lips travel up, easing the fabric of your dress higher with each second. The first brush of his knuckles against your panty-covered clit makes you jolt. Your hands dig into the wood of the desk as his fingers hook between the fabric and your skin. You lift your hips without a word, allowing him to draw them down. 

Art presses a kiss to your mound before he lowers his head, giving your lips a sweet, sucking kiss. You gasp softly as his tongue swipes across your clit. You look down despite the fact that you can’t see him well. You can just make out his blissful expression, his eyes closed as his laps broadly across your aching cunt. You lower your hand to his neat hair, winding your fingers through it, unable to help grasping it. His heady moan vibrates against you and you nearly cry out at the sensation. You manage to just catch it, the sound dying in your throat as Art buries his tongue inside you. He sweeps his thumb over your clit in rush, harried circles, panting against your heated flesh. You rock your hips down against his lips, tightening your grip on his hair as you guide him. He lets you do as you please, whining against your skin as your movements become less controlled.

“Art,” You warn, “I—Oh, oh god—” 

He hums in encouragement, sucking your clit back between his lips and lashing it with his tongue. Your jaw drops open, your hand shoving Art even more tightly against your skin as you cum suddenly. A stunned, breathy moan slips from your lips as Art leans back, smearing his lips against the inside of your thigh. 

You use your grasp on Art’s hair to draw him back up off of his knees, giving him a crushing kiss as he catches his balance. You swipe your tongue across his lips, whining against his lips as you taste yourself on him. He presses close, his hard cock straining against the fabric of his pants. You reach down, palming and squeezing his length as you trade slick, messy kisses. He steers you back onto the desk as you fumble to undo his belt, button, and zip. 

“Condom?” He asks. 

“Pill,” You reassure, shoving his pants down. You lap broadly across your palm, grasping Art’s length and guiding him closer. He brushes the tip of his cock against your still-throbbing clit, smiling as you whine. You’re going to ache tomorrow, but you’ve never been so happy to be sore.

“Art.” 

“Sssh.” 

“Please—” It’s hardly out of your mouth before he shoves his hips forward, seating himself fully with a single thrust. You bite down on your lip to quiet your moan, curling your arms around your shoulders. He rocks into you with firm, quick strokes, his mouth covering yours. You can hear things on the desk rattling with each thrust, kisses growing less controlled as he hoists your thigh up around his hip. 

“Oh, god,” You breathe, “We have to be quick—He’ll come looking—” 

“Not until you cum for me again,” He urges. “I need to feel it, sweetheart.” 

“Art—” 

“When’s the last time he did this? Hmm?” He presses, “When’s the last time he made you cum? When’s the last time he tasted you?” 

“Never,” You admit with a shiver. It seems to renew Art’s passion, his thrusts and hold growing more intense. You squeeze your eyes shut, hands hooking tightly in the fabric of his jacket. He yanks the front of your dress down, bowing over you and drawing one of your nipples between his lips. You whimper as he toys with the bud, tugging it gently with his teeth before swiping across it. You arch into the slick heat, using your leg to tug him even closer as you chased the swelling curl of your orgasm. 

“Just like that,” You urge, “Ffffuck—yes, yesyesyesyes—”

Your eyes squeeze shut as your hips buck down against his, pussy pulsing as he spills into you. Your heart pounds in your chest as the two of you slow and still. Art rests his forehead heavily against your neck, peppering gentle kisses across the exposed skin. You have to move—now. You don’t know if anyone heard you, but if someone did, you’re screwed. If no one did, your husband will probably be looking for you anyway, ready with a scold for neglecting your hostess duties. 

“...I have to go,” You warn softly. It takes Art a moment to move, but he does, gently drawing himself back from his still-throbbing cunt. You hear the clanking of his belt buckle as he tucks himself away, and you reach down, righting your dress where it’s been pulled away. You take up your panties from where they’d been discarded on the floor, tugging them on before you straighten your skirt and hurry out of the room. 

--  

“Can I see you?” 

It’s only been an hour since the last guest has left, and you are so, so fucking tired. You glance toward the bathroom door. You know that you locked it, and you’re certain that your husband can’t hear you over the shower running, but you can’t help but be paranoid.

“You just saw me,” You remind him. 

“Tomorrow,” Art clarifies. 

“Where?” 

“I’ll send an address.” 

You bite your lip, toying with your earring. Your pussy is still aching from the stretch of him, your ass sore from getting fucked on the desk. 

“...You regret it?” He asks. 

“No,” You don't give your answer a second thought.

“I’ll send an address. Whether or not you see me is up to you. Just…think about it. Okay?” 

“Okay.” 

You lower your phone, hanging it up and watching his contact information blink away. It’s only a moment before a text with an address lights up your phone. You don’t have to think about it. You already know what you’re going to do. 

--  

You know that you’re staring, but you can’t bring yourself to stop. Art has spent so much time in your home, so you feel entitled to look around a little bit. You eye the row of trophies on his mantle, photos of him playing when he was young. You come to a stop at a picture of him with a young girl, a racket in her hand and a medal around her neck. 

“Is this Lily?” You ask. 

“Yeah,” He nods. “First competition.” 

“Already getting gold,” You smile. “The Mark Rebellato Academy isn’t ready for her.” 

Art chuckles, nodding as he steps around you.

“You, uh…You want something to eat, or drink, or…?” He trails off, tucking his hands into his pockets as he takes a couple of steps back toward his kitchen. You turn to face him, taking him in more fully. 

“Art?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Why am I here?” 

He doesn’t answer for a few moments. You can see him weighing his options before he comes closer. 

“I…I’ve been thinking about last night.” 

Fear shoots through you, but you force yourself to stand tall. “Okay.”

“I could lie and tell you that it should be a one-time thing, but I can’t remember the last time I got through a day without thinking about you. And I think you’ve been thinking about me, too.” Art stops as the tip of his shoes brush against yours, and you let your eyes slip closed as he rests his forehead against yours. 

“Tell me I’m wrong,” He pleads. “Tell me to fuck off right now and I will never say another non-tennis related thing to you again.” 

-- 

When he fucks you, he curls close, chest pressing against yours as he catches your lips in a kiss. You sink back against his pillows, your head cradled by his broad palm as he rolls his hips achingly slowly. You don’t bother to hide your whines and moans, and you revel in his. Every grunt and whimper and groan that Art lets out lights you up. 

And when you cum, you don't have to quiet yourself. His name tumbles out of your mouth, cushioned between expletives as your nails dig into his shoulders.

--

"What time is he home tonight?"

You don't want to think about it. You want to stay in this cozy little bubble, trailing your fingers over his muscled chest as he massages your nape and kisses your forehead.

But you know that you'll have to let the world back in sometime.

"I don't know," You admit. "Late."

"...Could stay."

"He'll be suspicious if I'm not home when he gets there."

Art sighs softly, running his hand down to rub between your shoulder blades.

"This isn't going to be easy, is it."

"What?"

"Letting you go every day."

"Every day?" You tease, pushing yourself up to get a better look at him. "Don't get greedy, Mr. Donaldson."

He smiles, raising his hand and cupping your cheek. "Is it greedy to know what I want?"

You shake your head a little, lowering your lips to brush against his.

"Not when I want it, too."

Tag list: @missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight ; @amneris21

@ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage​​​ ;  @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity

@millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ;

@buckybarneshairpullingkink ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; @winchestershiresauce ; @lorecraft ; @kmc1989

#Art Donaldson x Reader #Art Donaldson x You #Art Donaldson/Reader #Art Donaldson/You #Art Donaldson fic #Art Donaldson imagine #the pro

[abooklover]

I am out of control at the moment. I have lost count of how many times I’ve watched the red white and royal blue trailer and every time I come on here and see more people posting about it I get the urge to watch it again and again and again until august 11.

#someone help me please #i am unstoppable at the moment #speak now tv just came out so that took up nearly two hours but here I am back at it again #trying to exercise the little self control I have left #I am so raw right now #side note castles crumbling is the most superior song but taylor honey if you thought the world was against you back then little you #had another thing coming later on #rwrb #red white and royal blue #rwrb movie

[psychelis-new]

pick a pile: "The Light Within"

take a breath and choose the photo/number that calls you the most to read words of wisdom and guidance from your fire/light within. we all have a passionate, burning side, we all have a light inside of us, so with this reading I'd like to focus on the message it has for you. Thank you @faerytreealtars for somehow inspiring this reading.

don’t take the reading too seriously. only take what resonates with you and leave the rest. if you're not called by any pile, let this reading slid as it may not hold messages for you. if you're called by more than one, there may be messages in each of those piles. remember that is a general reading and some things may not resonate with you. energies can change and readings are based on present ones (as you read); you're always in charge of your life.

(photos found on unsplash)

- ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ -

1 2 3 - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ -

pile 1 (you may be called by pile 3 as well)

"is the flame off or on?". Pile 1, you may feel drained atm. It feels like there's only a little hope/passion left inside of you, but at times you can't even see it that well. It may take you a certain effort to reach it and go on. You don't have to overdo stuff. Even things you're passionate about (despite atm I feel you're feeling really low and kinda losing hopes on everything). Take a break, give yourself a break. You probably feel drained because you've been healing something, maybe your emotions, or overthinking... it could even be stuff from your childhood (you're closing a cycle very likely, an ego-death). Your inner light wants you to stop for a minute and come back to yourself. To gain strenght to go forward, to focus on what is important for real and what you can control. It's time to make a change, to guide yourself towards a new beginning. It's time to give your heart what it wants, or at least try with all you have: you cannot fail if you give your all like a burning fire. No matter how it'll go. But first, collect your firey energy. Take a breath before start running. Use some kindness to yourself.

extra message: listen to your intuition, let it guide you (trust yourself) -if your body/mind tell you to stop, follow them.

song: obsessed | mariah carey

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pile 2

"it's all in your hands". You probably have a lot of fire in your chart or you come off as a fiery person. Birds/eagles may be a sign or symbol for you. You're probably also "preying" over something (or someone uh), I feel the same energy of predators ready to go hunting. It's either this, as in you're trying to get somewhere/reach any goal of yours and putting in work, or you're sometimes still blocked by emotions (especially anger, I feel). Maybe even little blockages or annoyances on your path can cause a huge reaction in you? Well, an overreaction, more likely. And you can't very much control it, which honestly isn't that bad: to keep all this energy locked in would end up being pretty much self distructive for you (so if it happens to you, find outlets for it: go running, exercise, dance... move your body in any way you like. Burn the energy, do not let it burn you). The light within wants you to balance a little more its energy. Try to realize where your triggers hide, why any little discordance with your plan causes you all this troubles (it's probably related to a lack of self confidence or perfectionism issues), how did it originate and how does it feel in your body (so you can focus more on that part when letting go of the energy). Things are fine, try to put them in the right perspective and give them the right importance in your life.

extra message: stay balanced, right now things may seem a bit too much so find your self-center again

song: take you to hell | ava max

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pile 3 (you may be called by pile 1 as well)

It's time to stop for a moment. Things are falling into place, but you need to give them time to. "You're impatient, darling". Take time to enjoy, to ponder, to clear your mind, and even to take a nap here and there... Gain strenght in this moment. You can't see it but things are changing (and generally they change the most when we can't see them doing it), so let this change flow within you, don't block it by overstressing or overthinking. You are allowed to change as well, to take time to adapt to the new you (you seem very changed!). Don't rush things, don't rush for an answer or a sign.. sometimes it's a matter of simply staying there and wait or meditate over it. Follow your guts, whatever they're telling you. Follow your guts and keep doing you. Keep healing (maybe trust issues or anxiety in general). Results will come. At this moment, the fire within you wants you to take a time out from it. To let it burn still inside, but with a gentle flame, not an excessive one. A flame that burns forever without consuming much energy or anything. A flame that is patient and doesn't need to burn things down to reach to a goal. A gentle flame that burns little by little and grows little by little too, waiting for the right time to explode (if necessary). A smart and observing flame. Keep it quiet. Do not lose sight of it in the dark and don't be scared of losing it (if you dim it) or whatever you want.

extra messages (you got 2): stop and breathe, you don't have to do all at once, take some time off, enjoy + you can change who you were, don't let the past stop you, learn from it

song: black swan | bts

#pac #pick a card tarot #pick a pile #pick a picture #pick a photo #pick a card #pac tarot #pac reading #psychic readings #clairs readings #divination #intuitive readings #free tarot reading #tarot readings #tarotblr

[akaridream]

please my prince (vegeta x reader)

tags: vegeta x time patroller! reader, vegeta x saiyan! reader, mentor-mentee dynamic, afab reader

warnings: explicit content, MDNI; he’s kinda mean but not too bad, good girl, princess, bitch... but no spoilers for the fun stuff

Vegeta had loved the female Saiyan battle suits since the day he hit puberty. The briefs left little to the imagination, showing off many warriors’ favorite assets. Though the story was that they allowed the most freedom of movement, attracting the eye of a potential mate was never too far from a Saiyan’s mind. As you stood in front of Vegeta stretching during a lull in your training session together, he admired your cheeky attire. You had the firm glutes and quads of a powerful warrior, after all. Your efforts shouldn’t go unappreciated. And they certainly didn’t.

Though your training sessions were productive, they were always plagued with an air of tension. As noble a warrior as he was, Vegeta was not immune to the wiles of a female, especially one of his own Saiyan heritage. Something inside him stirred at the sight of your tail swishing, hypnotizing him and making him wish he still had a tail of his own to flirt back at you with. His mind-numbing attraction to you made training sessions an exercise in self-control. When was the last time he had even seen a female Saiyan, let alone one of your impressive power? What would happen if he overstepped the line and made a move on you?

Little did he know, you also struggled to maintain your composure around him. With his widow’s peak and chiseled body, he was a living picture of Saiyan perfection. His narrow waist and hips were well balanced by wide shoulders and a tower of wild hair. His silhouette made you claw half-moons into your palms at the sight. How could any man be so fucking hot?

It was quite the privilege to train with him, too. Only a handful of Time Patrollers had adequate power levels to satisfy the prince. You had the honor of becoming his first Saiyan trainee, garnering special treatment, but not with extra leeway or praise. Vegeta’s regimen bordered on cruel, only because he knew you could handle it. He saw the fire, the passion for battle that blazed in your rich black eyes. He felt the immense power behind your blows. He heard the rage of the oozaru in your battle cry.

“Saiyan men crave strong women,” he recalled telling Kakarot once, and there was no denying it. You were strong. And he craved you.

Many shameful nights, he had gone to the locker room showers at the Patroller Academy with a raging erection thanks to you. Too proud to relent, however, he opted for a cold shower rather than gratify himself. Tonight was shaping up to have the same outcome. The sun had set and the gymnasium at the academy had long since cleared out, leaving only you and your mentor to train on the wrestling mats. The air conditioner had kicked off after dark, leaving you to pine over a shirtless Vegeta with drops of sweat racing down his pecs. You breathed deeply into your stretch, closing your eyes and folding forward to touch your toes. Vegeta closed his eyes too, if only to keep them off your ass. He still had plenty of combinations left to drill into you, he couldn’t deal with a hard-on now. There would be no hiding it in his compression shorts.

“Come on, you’ve slacked off long enough,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m sick of you wasting my damn time. Run the last combo again.”

You continued to stretch, unperturbed. “I’m feeling tight and trying to avoid pulling a muscle,” you snarled. “Plus, I know you’re enjoying the view.”

Vegeta’s face caught on fire, making him turn his back to you. “Shut the hell up, woman! The only thing I’m enjoying is knocking some sense into that smart mouth of yours.”

The tip of your tail twitched and your heart began to race. If there was one thing a Saiyan loved as much as a physical fight, it was a good verbal spar.

“Yeah yeah, I might take you more seriously if you had landed a solid blow on me today. Pretty sure I’ve blocked just about everything you’ve thrown at me,” you said.

Vegeta scoffed and turned back to you. Annoyed, he kneed you in the butt, knocking you off balance. You squealed and rolled forward into a somersault.

“The fuck was that for?” you asked, peering up from the ground at a smug mentor.

“Didn’t block that one, did you?” Vegeta said, raising an eyebrow.

You rolled your eyes. “I could have swept you if I wanted. But I don’t want to continue to show up my own teacher. He’s got an ego the size of this planet, don’t want to bruise it.”

“Just get off your lazy ass and run the combo!” he roared as he stood over you. “Why the hell I tolerate you, I don’t even know.”

You smirked and got to your feet, wrapping your tail around your waist. “Like I said, you enjoy the view, Prince.”

Unamused, he came at you with a flurry of powerful blows before you were ready. You managed to dodge and block them, then came in with the combination you had been practicing. He blocked then countered with a swift palm strike, sending you flying. You landed on your feet, then launched back at your mentor, throwing in a wicked elbow straight for his head. With almost no effort, Vegeta slipped past you and kicked with a grunt. You barely leaned back in time, watching his muscled calf fly straight past your nose. Before you could recover, he grabbed a fistful of your black hair and smashed your face into the mat, knee on your spine for good measure. You groaned and tried to get up to no avail.

“Pathetic,” Vegeta growled. “Bragging about your blocking ability but you didn’t see that coming.”

“Because that was a dirty move, Jeet.”

He scoffed and pressed his knee harder into your back. “Do you think Frieza fights clean? Or how about Janemba? Or maybe you think Broly will fight honorably?”

You continued to struggle between his weight and the floor but he kept you pinned. You looked up at him over your shoulder as he leaned down to your ear.

“You’re weak. Just admit you can’t handle my training and give up.”

“Fuck you,” you grumbled.

“Huh? Couldn’t quite hear that, sweetheart. You want me to go easy on you because you’re no stronger than an infant earthling?”

Your nostrils flared and you clawed into the mat. Rage bloomed from deep within you and your hair began to glow blonde.

“I said fuck you Vegeta!” you roared as you threw him off and across the mat. A glint of pride flickered across Vegeta’s face as he stood and barreled towards you with another attack.

You traded blow after blow, matching his power and speed. You gritted your teeth as you sparred and he continued to block your every move.

“That’s it! Push it harder! This is your life you’re fighting for! I’ll send you through the roof if you hold back on me!” Vegeta yelled in your face. He watched as your eyes glowed with intensity in Super Saiyan form, hitting your stride as you fought.

You grunted with each strike, crying out in annoyance as he easily deflected you, then gave you a shove just to show how much of a gap there still was between your power levels. Teeming with frustration, you balled your fists and breathed deep, building your energy.

“I’m not holding back!” you barked with a fully charged punch. You caught your mentor on the cheek, but just barely, causing him to stumble for a moment. You lunged in with a swift knee to his solar plexus, driving him straight back and onto the ground. One knee on his chest and the other by his hip, you pinned him to the mat, crossing a forearm over his neck and holding one of his thick biceps down. His eyes narrowed as you panted over him like a raging bull, a smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth.

“That punch was not part of the combo,” he snarled.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Princess. Did you think I was gonna fight clean?”

“Tch, you damn brat!”

Vegeta’s eyes flashed blue, his hair flaring to a brilliant gold as he quickly reversed your positions, rolling you onto your back. He grabbed your wrists and pinned them next to your head while he straddled one of your legs. His face was dangerously close to yours before you knew what happened.

Your breaths mingled in the thin air between you. Hearts beating wildly, you watched the inky black return to his irises as yours did the same. You unwrapped your tail from your waist and allowed it to brush against Vegeta’s leg. The golden glow faded from you both and you realized just what you were feeling against your thigh.

“V… Vegeta, are you…” you panted.

The look in his eye grew dark as his gaze darted to your lips. Bristling with a different energy, you extended your neck to meet him with a searing hot kiss.

His grip on your wrists grew tight as he mashed his lips back against yours. He allowed his weight to press into you as you kissed, his tongue beginning to explore.

“The hell was that for?” he breathed against your mouth. Your tongue met his and teased him, drawing him into you.

“You were practically begging for it.” He let go of your wrists to tangle one hand in your hair, giving him leverage to attack your mouth just how he wanted. His tongue was hot yet soft, enticing you to chase and play along. Your hands couldn’t stay off his body. You traced down his sides, feeling the dips between his sculpted muscles. You made your way to his hips, then his taut buttocks, gripping and urging him to drag his hardened cock against your leg. Vegeta chuckled.

“A prince begs for nothing, you damn minx,” he growled.

You moaned as his tongue swirled against yours. “Tell me you’ll fuck me, Vegeta.”

He kissed his way to your neck, sucking and nibbling your tender flesh. “Hmph, now who’s begging?”

You whined as his free hand started to explore over your breastplate. “I… I’m not begging.”

“Really?” He chuckled darkly. “Then what do you call those noises, hm?”

You started to move your hips, searching for friction against your throbbing clit. “I’m not some submissive little girl,” you said.

Vegeta stilled your hip and sucked a mark onto your collar bone. “No, you’re just a Saiyan bitch in heat who wants the prince to satisfy her.”

You roughly grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked him back to your mouth. “I’m not that desperate, especially not for you.”

He denied your kiss and held your gaze. “Your actions speak louder than your words, woman,” he said, ghosting a finger over your slit. Your throat tightened as he pressed against your throbbing clit, trying not to let him know just how needy you really were. But as he locked his eyes with yours, you couldn’t ignore the intense, pulsing desire you felt for him, allowing a moan to fall from your lips.

“Fuck, so what if I am?” you whined. “What if I do want you that bad?”

He smirked. “You gave in to me so easily. Why the hell should I reward you?”

“Because you want me, too.”

He snickered and graced you with a rough kiss.

“You think you’re that special, huh?” he said.

You gave his lower lip a gentle bite, eliciting a low groan and hard drag of his cock against your leg.

“Not really. But I think I know a horny man when I see one.”

Vegeta smirked and repositioned himself between your legs, humping against your clothed core agonizingly slowly. A hot breath escaped you and your nails dug into his hips.

“Mm, Vegeta,” you moaned.

“You’re going to take me like a good girl, you got it?” he asked, creating a blissful rhythm against you. You nodded. “And you’re going to let your prince use you just how he wants, right?”

You nodded again. “Yes. You can have me Prince Vegeta.” Pleasure was building quickly as he dry humped you. Your whines echoed through the empty gym, reminding you that anyone could walk in at any moment.

Another desperate kiss betrayed the prince’s feelings: he needed you, too. He stripped off your armor, leaving you in a strappy sports bra and your briefs. He rolled you onto your stomach and ran his hands up the backs of your thighs.

“If it wasn’t for this perfect ass of yours, we wouldn’t be in this situation,” he said, thumbs brushing against the bottom of your buttocks. He gave a light smack, making you bite your lip and wiggle your hips.

“I knew you loved it,” you teased. He gave a harder smack as your tail began to flit excitedly.

He removed your briefs slowly, revealed your muscular ass in all its glory. “The fact that it belongs to the hottest Saiyan woman I’ve ever seen doesn’t hurt either.”

You grinned as he tossed your briefs aside, his eyes devouring your drooling slit. Your tail swished with an enticing rhythm. Vegeta couldn’t keep his hands off you and he ran his calloused palms over the developing spank mark before gliding a fingertip over your most sensitive parts.

“Need it, my prince,” you sighed.

His cock ached. “You’ll get it when I decide you’re ready.”

He plunged a finger deep into your velvetty walls, but it only served to make you want more. You craved the deep stretch his cock would provide. Vegeta twisted his wrist as he withdrew his finger, then penetrated back into you with force. The slick, shiny arousal coated his finger and began to drip down his knuckle as it rammed against you. Your tail wrapped tightly around his wrist, urging him to continue.

He positioned you with one leg bent up and your ass arched high into the air, a gorgeous angle to see your aching pussy. Impatient and painfully hard, Vegeta added a second finger, scissoring the pair apart as he pulled out from you. The pressure against your insides caused you to cry out and press your forehead hard into the mat. You balled your fists and moaned his name as he gradually stretched you further.

“Please, need your cock,” you breathed between moans. Vegeta gave a dark chuckle and began removing his shorts. You watched him over your shoulder, his cock heavy and thick as it sprang free. You salivated at the sight.

“Can I have you in my mouth?” you asked, starting to sit up.

He grabbed the back of your neck and returned your face to the mat. “No. I want you like this. Now get your ass up nice and high for me.”

You obeyed, arching your back to display your cunt for the prince. He kept his hand on your neck as he caressed your backside, then allowed his cock to rest against you.

“Good girl. Now take me. Take me like the bitch you are.”

He teased your entrance with his cockhead, dragging it to brush against your clit then back to your awaiting slit. On his knees over you, he firmly started pressing the head into you, watching it disappear, then reappear with your arousal covering it. He moaned your name in praise as he pushed himself in further.

“That’s it, take my cock,” he panted. Your back muscles clenched as he sheathed himself.

“Fuuuuck, you feel so good!” you cried. “Fuck me Prince, please.”

Vegeta’s hips rocked into yours as he bottomed out, giving you the delicious stretch you craved. Your tail instinctively wrapped around one of his thighs as he withdrew. Your eyes squeezed shut in pleasure as the prince worked up to a rough rhythm, pounding you into the mat.

“Ahh! Fuck yes, fuck yes Vegeta,” you moaned as your hands clawed the mat for purchase. You dug your elbows in and threw your hips back against him as he fucked you, flesh smacking flesh in a sinful sound that echoed off the concrete walls.

“Your cunt is perfect,” he grunted. “Fucking perfect.” He watched each thrust ripple through your ass, driving his quickly approaching orgasm. Laying over you, he kissed, sucked and bit at your shoulders as he fucked you. His cock drove deep and hard making you whine in delight.

“Keep making those sounds for me, princess,” he commanded in your ear. “Knew you’d be a good girl, knew you’d beg for your prince.”

“Mm, anything for you Vegeta. Wanted you to fill me up for so long!”

His speed and power increased as he neared his climax. His breaths were short, exasperated gasps of pleasure accentuated by groans and moans from deep in his throat.

“You want me to cum in your tight little cunt? That what you want?” he asked, biting at your ear. You couldn’t even form words and only nodded and moaned.

He grunted with a fiery passion as he pounded you with bruising force. He held your hip firmly in place, fucking you like he’d never get another chance. His sounds became more broken, more honeyed until he finally snapped his pelvis against your plush ass with a guttural moan.

“Gahh, ahh ah ahh!” Vegeta cried out, nearly knocking the breath out of you as he came with powerful final thrusts. You whimpered beneath him, squeezing his pulsing cock with your walls. He panted desperately as he came down from his high, collapsing fully onto you while staying sheathed in your heat. As your tail loosened its grip on his thigh, he reached down to twirl it between his fingers. The intimate gesture filled your stomach with warmth as he laid his weight into you. Once the prince caught his breath, he brushed your wild hair away and nuzzled into the back of your neck. 

“Fucking perfect, perfect little cunt. But now that I’ve gotten my way,” his voice rasped. “It’s your turn, my princess.” Your heart jolted at his suggestion.

“Not tapping out?” you chuckled as he played with your tail.

He scoffed. “Just because I come first doesn’t mean you don’t come at all. Need to feel you shaking in my arms.”

Vegeta finally pulled out from your pussy, causing his cum to spill out and onto the mat, leaving you empty, but not yet spent. You rolled onto your back and sat up, finally stripping off your bra. The prince’s eyes grew hungry at the sight of your breasts. Vegeta returned his lips to yours in a slow, sensual kiss, surprising you after how forcefully he had fucked you. His hands roamed all over your neck, into your hair, over your nipples as he lapped at your tongue. You wrapped your arms around his muscled shoulders, pressing chest to chest as you made out, steamy breaths in between kisses.

Vegeta sat back on the mat with his legs wide and invited you to sit between them, back against his firm pectorals and abs. He brushed your hair away and bit your ear before breathing sweet nothings into it.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered. “So incredibly sexy, it’s been driving me mad.” You sighed as his hands caressed your skin, kneading your thigh and breast as he kissed your neck. “Took you damn long enough to make your move, you know,” he said.

You laughed and melted into his touch like a wilting flower. “Oh, you know Saiyan women. We like to tease. But I just couldn’t keep my hands off you any longer.”

Vegeta licked and sucked your skin, his head dizzy at the soft mewls you let out. His fingers began to tease your sensitive entrance, still slick with his cum. He traced around the perimeter, then upward over your clit. You shuddered and moaned.

“That’s it, princess. Let me make you tremble,” he growled.

He pinched and pulled at your nipple with one hand and worked your pussy with the other, dipping his fingers deep inside and using the heel of his palm to rub your clit. You writhed against his chest and clawed into his thigh while he twirled your tail around his hand. He gave it a light squeeze, sending a pulse of pleasure up through your spine.

“Mnnh, Vegeta, you’re so fucking good,” you breathed as he finger-fucked you. You matched his rhythm with your hips as the intensity began building. You turned your head to the side and kissed him feverishly, moaning into his mouth. The taste of his tongue was addicting. 

His fingers slid into you with the most perfect friction, hitting your sweet spot thrust after thrust. Vegeta wrapped an arm around your waist, as if any space between your bodies was too much. He pressed his head against yours as you chased and humped his hand. You clutched his bulging forearm, guiding him to touch you just right.

Feeling the steady approach of white-hot bliss, you squealed. “Mm! Gonna cum!” 

“Do it. Cum for me. Cum for your prince.”

You called his name, clinging to him tightly as the rush came. “Haaahhh, fuck Vegeta!” you cried out. Your back arched like a cracking whip and shock waves of sweet euphoria crashed over you. Your body quaked just like he wanted, making him chuckle in pride.

“That’s it,” he cooed in your ear as he stroked your tail and nuzzled against you. You clenched his fingers within you as he pressed his palm into your clit, coaxing out more shuddering pleasure. “That’s my princess.”

“Goddamn, that was so good,” you praised, collapsing into him completely as the aftershocks pulsed through you.

He kissed your shoulder, licking the salt of your sweat. “You’re too fucking loud, you brat. You want the whole city to know what we’re up to?”

You laughed and shoved Vegeta to the ground so you could lay on top of him. “I don’t give a shit. They deserve to know who made me cum so hard.”

He smirked and held you against his sweaty chest. “Damn right.”

“And you weren’t exactly quiet either, Prince of all Saiyans,” you teased, feeling his cock had hardened again. You reached down to stroke it, but he caught your wrist and brought it to his lips.

“I have self-control when I need to.” He closed his eyes and kissed your wrist and fingers. “We should hit the showers for the night.”

You hummed and nodded in agreement. “Yeah, you made quite a mess of me. Thought you might be interested in another round, but if you don’t have the stamina-”

His eyes shot open and he squeezed your hand. “I didn’t say we should hit the showers separately, did I?”

dbz masterlist

#vegeta x reader #prince vegeta #vegeta #vegeta smut #dbz smut #dbz vegeta #dbz x reader #dbz xenoverse #dragon ball xenoverse 2 #time patroller #time patrol #super saiyan #saiyan reader #afab reader

[spacebarbarianweird]

Hi! Firstly, wanted to say that your HC are so good! I really enjoyed ones about Gnome and Half-Ork Tav, they're so bittersweet and adorable, my heart melted while reading :') Thank you for your work! (⁠〃ﾟ⁠3ﾟ⁠〃⁠)💖

And secondly, can I please request HC for Astarion and Monk!Tav? I see this as a very interesting concept, especially considering that some monasteries practice celibacy. And knowing Astarion's initial plan, thoughts about their interactions become amusing.

Also I just adore monk class and it's a little bit sad to see it being one of less popular. ಥ⁠╭⁠╮⁠ಥ

Damn, the more I read about Monks, the more I loved them!

Astarion x Monk!Tav

Masterlist

Headcanons

You didn't become a Monk by choice.

It was your attempt to run away from past mistakes, your only choice for salvation.

A criminal, a murderer no more!

You got a new name, a new role, a new home.

Your past was burnt along with your old clothes and you were reborn as someone new.

Tav the Monk, who follows the Way of the Open Hand.

You drowned your sorrows in strict discipline and training.

You can wear a thin tunic in the coldest winter and walk on burning coals.

The energy of ki flows through you, and your spirit is one with magic.

Your fists are the ultimate weapon, but you use them only to protect the weak and the poor.

You would love to spend your whole life in the monastery, but the Head Monk sent you away.

"It's not difficult to follow your principles in the monastery. You need to prove to yourself the world with its temptations won't drag you back to the darkness you originally came"

So, you left. A lonely traveler something between a Wizard and a Fighter, a dangerous enemy to meet.

And the world doesn't wait long to test your loyalty.

The moment you wake up in the pod, you crash it with your fist.

You do the same to all the pods, trying to save as many people as you can.

The tadpole in your brain tries to control but your mind is sharp and clear.

The parasite will never get you.

You are the most annoying in the camp. You force your companios to exercise and constanly control what they eat.

"Healthy mind in a healthy body!"

And you aren't the one to mess around.

You broke Astarion's hand when he tried to slice his throat and two ribs when he attempted to suck your blood.

"My hands are the ultimate weapon, don't mess with me, friend" you warn him.

But still, you give Astarion your blood. He needs it. You have it. So, you share.

But you warn him not to seduce you. Celibacy is one of the oaths you've given.

Which didn't save you from having a date night in the woods. Be it the tadpole, Astarion's charms, or your own dark desires. You don't know.

But you take a toll on yourself for breaking the rules.

In the meantime, Astarion gets closer to you - finally experiencing affection and love.

He confesses. And you forgive. You aren't angry at him.

But you almost break two more ribs of his when squeze him in your arms.

You've been to dark places. Your past was the same mess. But it doesn't matter now. He can make a choice, too.

You help Astarion kill his master.

"If your oath forbids you from having intimacy, I am okay with that."

But you shrug it away. "Celibacy" wasn't something bestowed upon you. You chose it because it was part of your own darkness.

Your body was given to so many people you lost count.

But, maybe, it isn't bad if you do it to someone you love.

You travel together post-game, searching for answers and testing your principles.

Of course, you've never insisted Astarion should become like you.

But he learned meditation techniques from you to deal with nightmares.

And some self-control tricks not to experience hunger all the time.

Upon return to the monastery, you asked the Head Monk for advice.

"Astarion will test your principles and beliefs till the end of your mortal life. Consider him your very own challenge," the old man laughs, hearing the whole story.

--

Tag list

@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl@starlight-ipomoea @micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstresss @fayeriess @lumienyx @astarion-beloved @tallymonster @caitlincat-95 @tragedybunny @valeprati @lynnlovesthestars

#astarion #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 astarion #astarion romance #bg3 #astarion bg3 #astarion headcanon #baldurs gate 3 #astarion headcanons #astarion x tav #astarion x f!tav #tav x astarion #spacebarbarian headcanon #astarion x gn!tav #astarion x gn reader #astarion x reader #dnd #baldurs gate astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion baldurs gate #astarion brainrot #astarion fanfic #astarion fluff #astarion imagine #astarion x female reader #dnd monk #monk tav #tav monk

[qingxin-dream]

Vices & Venom

a/n | my submission for @kaeyatic’s monsterfucker may event! thank you for letting me participate! this was a bit new for me still and i rewrote it a million times but hopefully it’s fine lol (art credits: @/ggelus_ on twitter)

warnings | dubcon/dark content, gender neutral pronouns + female-bodied reader, implied yandere, soulmates, profanity, pining, jealousy, marking, descriptions of blood, drugging (venom makes you horny), possessive, teasing/overstim, fingering, begging, cervix kissing, orgasm denial, bruising, size kink, breeding kink, creampie

genre | smut with plot, monsterfucking (18+ only! minors dni!)

word count | 2.9k

pairing | vampire!xiao x reader

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Hands pinned above your dazed head, your thick eyelashes fluttered open, trailing up the beautifully toned abdomen of a peculiar man who made your legs twitch and squeeze together in impatience. His breath was strained, as if he was trying to steady himself from giving into impulsivity—or rather coming down from an intense high. The ragged rise and fall of his chest brought your attention to his face, piercing gold irises staring right at you as the slits of his pupils dilated wider.

“Xiao?” you mumbled half-delirious, noting how he wiped away an indiscernible dark substance dribbling down from the corner of his lips. Oddly, the motion of the back of his hand brushing against his lips released a million butterflies in your tummy, causing you to squirm with excitement beneath him. A deluge of warmth quickly flooded your entire body from within, heightening the sensitivity of your skin and ushering forth a pool of desire between your thighs. “What… what did you do to me?”

He couldn’t help but exhale a cynical huff at your cluelessness, which revealed the glimmer of two white fangs. Running his fingers through his unkempt hair streaked with jade, Xiao leaned into your neck hesitantly to lap up the leftovers from his sinful indulgence. The lukewarm feeling of his tongue on your sweet spot elicited a near-involuntary moan from your throat and shivers trickled down your spine simultaneously. You slapped your hand over your mouth, a hot blush spreading like wildfire on your cheeks.

A fog was descending rapidly over your mind, clouding it with nothing but salacious daydreams of Xiao connecting his lips to yours fervently. He could see how the venom blurred the lines between fantasy and reality when you subconsciously rolled your hips in anticipation.

It wasn’t his intention to sink his teeth into you just yet, but Archons you had to be the physical fucking embodiment of temptation. For months, Xiao exercised an ungodly amount of restraint around you. The way you always left your neck vulnerable drove him mad, especially when the wind carried your delicious scent throughout Wangshu Inn. Whenever he couldn’t escape your inviting fragrance, Xiao would disappear beyond Dihua Marsh for days on end without a word, throat aching and heart pounding from your alluring presence.

Verr Goldet would simply shrug when you inquired about Xiao daily, citing his general aloofness and responsibilities as an adeptus of Liyue. While that may be true, in reality he isolated himself as a form of punishment for coming so close to hurting you. If Xiao allowed himself to taste you, would he truly have the self-control to stop before it’s too late?

He surmised the answer is now yes, though just barely.

Xiao never could quite place it, but he liked you. A lot. More than your little human mind could comprehend. Enough to finally succumb to his vices, flooding your senses with the intoxicating venom coursing through his glistening fangs. It wouldn’t kill you, no, rather it heavily drugged you full of insatiable lust—leaving you hopelessly enamored by your captor.

And who better to satisfy you than he who loved you so dearly? The adeptus who had watched over you like a hawk, driving away evil spirits and, of course, potential suitors who threatened his darling. As a mortal, you had no inkling of the red thread of fate tethering you to Xiao. But for him, he knew it the moment he laid eyes on you and it was so fucking impossible to ever look back. Mortals might call such a phenomenon “love at first sight” or “soulmates.”

Xiao had wanted to court you properly—to hide the instinctual desire to both consume you and fuck your brains out—for the sake of your happiness. He’d try his best to follow human customs, but only for you.

That is, until he had detected others encroaching upon his territory recently and trying to take you away from him. Xiao then realized he had no choice but to mark you as his. To leave his imprint before anyone else could get their filthy hands on you.

Celestia forbid, if those vile men were to claim you, there was no telling what Xiao would do. The notion itself made his body tense up, the anger and wrath of a thousand years rising from the depths of his soul. Jealousy would devour his wretched heart and light it aflame, leaving the adeptus to suffer once more in perpetual agony and solitude.

There is no power that could possibly reverse that fate. He had to take matters into his own hands if he ever wanted to see your beautiful face again. If he wanted you for forever.

So Xiao had tried to explain how you were in great danger without revealing his true identity, conjuring up every excuse under the sun to stay by your side to protect you. One thing led to another and suddenly he was confessing his feelings, then you were kissing him, and the rest faded to black after he spontaneously nipped your neck—a nearly fatal mistake.

Now, you belonged to Xiao, and Xiao alone under his spell.

Honestly, you were so fucking cute in your little undergarments, laying so seductively in his grasp. Part of him felt the urge to tear them right off and ravage you until every last secret whim and lecherous wish his dark karma tortured him with were fulfilled. Even now, with you so willing to please him and so needy, Xiao held himself back. You deserved better than that, but the gravity of his karma was intensifying by the second.

“(Y/N), I apologize,” Xiao murmured, caressing your cheek tenderly with the back of his gloved hand. “You probably won’t remember much, but you need to know that I… love you and I’ll protect you… I didn’t mean for this to get so out of hand. I-I thought I could control myself.”

You leaned into his touch and smiled, completely unfazed by his apology. “It’s okay, Xiao, I love you too.”

Those three little words stabbed his heart. You had accepted his confession before he gave into his weakness. Everything could have unfolded and blossomed in due time. But Xiao was thirsty, parched in fact, for you and your blood. He knew you felt it too.

He cursed himself for getting so caught up in mortal frivolities such as love, which should be meaningless to an immortal vampire, yet the mere mention of your name called to him like a ghost. A faint whisper to fill the void when you’re away.

Damn it. He was so hopelessly in love with you.

A whine sounded from you followed by a pout as you writhed underneath him, eager to make more skin-to-skin contact. Your voice pleaded quietly, “Please, I can’t wait any longer, Xiao. I don’t know what it is, but I need you. So bad.”

Biting his lip, Xiao looked you over again with lidded eyes, slowly dragging the tip of his finger down your neck, around the contour of your plump breasts, across your stomach, and to the hem of your thin panties—leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. He laid his palm against the fabric of your underwear, earning another whine from you. “I see… I won’t deny you any further then, on one condition.”

“Anything,” you promised, eyes hazy with longing and anticipation. It was as if you were both standing at the edge of a cliff and ready to dive head first together, not knowing where the abyss begins and not caring where it ends. You were more than ready to have him fuck you senseless with his venom amplifying your undeniable lust for him.

“Promise me you’ll never leave,” Xiao whispers mere inches from your lips, the pools of gold in his eyes admiring the desire desperately painted on your face. His voice softened inaudibly, “And that you’ll forgive me.”

“I promise, I’m yours. Please, just kiss me.” you nod obediently, cupping the adeptus’s cheeks to close the gap between the two of you and planting a passionate kiss on his lips. Xiao hesitated at first before moving his lips against yours with growing fervor, holding your face delicately with one hand and the other carefully tracing faint lines along the folds of your clothed pussy.

Hushed moans escaped you as Xiao teased your sensitive clit, rubbing in gentle circular motions trying to find the perfect rhythm. Each little noise and angelic hum were music to his ears, encouraging him to dive his tongue into your wet cavern and taste every moan you had to offer. He demanded more, pushing your panties aside with his fingers to massage the bud without the restraining cloth.

You gasped when he would graze his fingers near your entrance, provoking you further and further into grinding on them for some semblance of relief from the tension steadily building inside you. Xiao began to sloppily kiss down your jaw, leaving a slightly wet imprint of saliva.

“Archons, you are so fucking beautiful,” he growled, latching onto that bruised sweet spot on your neck and kissing it harshly. You whined and yelped in a mixture of pain and pleasure, fingers combing and twisting through the adeptus’s wild hair. The way your back arched encouraged Xiao to keep littering your lovely skin with small love bites and kisses, taking his hand away from your folds to firmly hold you by the curve of your hips.

Eyeing your bra, annoyed, Xiao tried to unhook it swiftly but the wretched thing resisted. You giggled, leaning forward to help him get better access. Finally he had lost his patience, pushing you back down onto the bed and using a sharp claw to cut the fabric apart right in the middle. The flimsy cups fell to the side and Xiao held his breath instinctively.

Your bare breasts relaxed against your chest naturally, capturing his undivided attention. His thumb gently grazed one of your perky nipples to gauge your reaction before attaching his mouth to it, swirling his tongue. He massaged your other breast, reveling in its soft texture and how it conformed to the delicate squeeze of his fingers.

Touching you like this fed every fantasy Xiao ever dreamt—nothing but pure unadulterated bliss—he practically worshipped you. Occasionally Xiao would venture lower, messily kissing your ribs and stomach down to your panties to hear you moan louder and more ardently. He returned his hand to your undergarments, sliding the fabric aside to feel how your pussy gushed for him once more.

And Archons was he right, you were fucking soaked. Xiao couldn’t help but slip a finger inside you to feel how you’d clench around him. You gasp, moaning his name in surprise. “Xiao, Xiao, k-kiss me again.”

Smirking, he brushes a few stray strands of your hair out of your face and rests his forehead against yours. Before you can plead again, he connects his thumb to your clit, effectively erasing any coherent thoughts or words from forming. The depth of his rich ocher irises illuminated the darkness, wandering over your delectable form in silent admiration. “All these demands… are you sure you know what you’re asking of me?”

“Need more. Another finger, please,” you plead again, wrapping your arms around his neck.

He wordlessly obliged, stretching your hole with a second finger and pumping them slowly into you. “Does it feel good?”

Your eyes roll in the back of your head, moaning his name with a contented sigh. “Oh my fucking god, yes. It’s so good. I love it so much.”

Quickening his pace, you lifted one of your legs toward your chest so he could go even deeper. When his name escaped your throat in a desperate moan, Xiao smashed his lips against yours intensely, even taking your lips between his teeth in a low growl.

Fuck, though you were the one high off of his venom right now, Xiao was just as intoxicated—utterly fucking smitten with every inch of you. He couldn’t take it anymore. Watching you unravel with a few fingers was the merely the warm-up.

You whined when you felt emptiness within you, hole already aching for a replacement for the warmth of his fingers. Xiao kissed your worries away, eliciting a small gasp from you when instead he pressed his stiff bulge where you wanted it most. You bit his lip, greedily wrapping your legs around his hips to trap him and feel some kind of friction to satiate how your pussy throbbed for him.

“Xiao,” you begged between kisses. “Y-you don’t need to be gentle. I j-just… Mm, need your cock in me r-right now.”

Breaking away momentarily, Xiao gave you an incredulous look. “You… you can’t say shit like that to me and expect me to not—f-forget it. I’ll fuck you to the damn stars.”

Before you could react, Xiao had sprung his large member free, slapping his abdomen. It was quite thick with veins stretching along its length and a reddened bulbous tip leaking with a bead of precum. He immediately grabbed his member, dragging the tip up and down along your wet folds to tease you.

Once he pushed the mushroomed tip into your pussy ever so slightly, you both groaned in pleasure while Xiao interlaced his fingers into yours, pinning them against the mattress. His cock was undoubtedly going to leave your hole gaping by the end of it, but you were plenty wet to envelope him nicely. “Fuck, think you can take me, (Y/N)?”

The only response you could muster amid a flurry of moans was a few flustered head nods, trying to adjust to him. Xiao continued to carefully work toward bottoming out inside your walls, cursing how tight you were squeezing his dick but it felt too damn amazing to stop.

He paused when he realized tears were pricking at your eyes, brushing them away tenderly. “Shhh, you’re doing so well for me. S-so, so fucking good taking me like this. Lil’ more to go, okay?”

Just when you thought you couldn’t take any more, Xiao inched deeper and deeper until that big tip of his gently brushed your cervix. You could feel his cock twitch with excitement fully sheathed in your warm pussy, but Xiao first made sure to litter your face with more kisses of reassurance.

For as much as he tried to focus on your comfort, the way you began to pulse around his cock was slowly beginning to drive him crazy. “I’m gonna move now, okay?”

“M’kay,” you exhaled, giving a loving squeeze to his hand entangled in yours. Walls fluttering at the thought of him ruining your tight pussy, you whimper in pleasure, “Y-you’re so big, though, Xiao. I feel you so deep, ah—”

The first slow pull out of your pussy was pure ecstasy, you subconsciously gripped his tip as if quietly begging for him to fill you right back up to the brim. Your other hand flew to your clit as Xiao began to thrust faster, setting a nice pace while pushing your legs to your chest to leave no inch of your pussy unexplored. Gritting his fangs and digging his claws into your plush thighs, Xiao let out a throaty growl as the lewd sound of him pounding into you echoed throughout the room.

“You have no fucking idea,” Xiao panted, long bangs tickling your face with each thrust. “How long I’ve waited… for you, for this.”

“Mm, I’m here now, ‘n’ I want you, only you. P-please, faster, Xiao,” you pleaded, a hot tension beginning to build in your lower stomach. Though you were well adjusted to his enormous cock at this point, the protruding veins and round tip rubbed against your walls in all the right ways over and over to swiftly drive you to the brink of orgasm. “Archons, I-I think I might cum, Xiao!”

“Not yet, little qingxin,” he replied, unrelenting in his sloppy thrusts. You circled your clit messily, gripping onto his top tightly trying to obey Xiao’s orders. He buried his length in you fully, moving his claws from the bruised marks on your thighs to brush his thumb across your bottom lip. “I’m gonna cum so deep in you, though, I swear. Make a fucking mess of you, hm?”

“I want it so bad. Need to feel you breed me so full,” you whispered on his thumb, taking it into your mouth to suck on slowly. Xiao pressed on your tongue briefly while picking up his pace again—this time much more brutal and unforgiving at an inhuman speed.

His cock repeatedly massaged your innermost sweet spot, the heavenly feeling of your pussy fluttering on him forced Xiao to grip the headboard for support. The bed shook violently as the vampire dug his sharp claws into the wood, drinking in your passionate moans and screams like his life depended on it. Perhaps it did after waiting an eternity for you.

“Fuck! C-cumming!” Xiao’s hot seed spurted gooey ropes inside you until it leaked around the base of his member, coating your folds with his vampiric essence. You both heaved in an attempt to catch your breath, a thin layer of sweat shimmering on your chest.

He collapsed onto you, cradling you as a form of comfort and appreciation for letting him abuse your pussy to his heart’s content. You were still recovering from your high, but the effects of the venom would soon wear off. Xiao repositioned to cuddle you as the big spoon, caressing your bare shoulder smoothly as sleep overcame you almost instantaneously.

He eyed the bite on your neck that started this whole thing, realizing his karma was now strangely indiscernible in your presence.

Perhaps it was okay to be selfish just this once.

thanks for reading! reblogs are appreciated! my masterlist

#[opulent dreams].✿ #[dreams of delusion].✿ #genshin impact #genshin #genshin impact imagines #genshin imagines #genshin x reader #genshin smut #genshin xiao #xiao smut #xiao x reader

[randomprose]

*post-canon with reference to ch 385*

now posted on ao3!

Guan Shan is watching another one of his blasted idol shows.

It’s been twenty minutes since He Tian sat beside him and Guan Shan still hasn’t paid attention to him.

It’s not often that he thinks about it, but he suppose that Guan Shan has a penchant for pretty things. Not that He Tian blames him. It’s human nature to be drawn to beauty. And he’s not susceptible to that himself considering the way he gravitates to Guan Shan. 

It’s just that…He Tian wanst to be the only pretty thing in Guan Shan’s line of sight. He never quite outgrew that childish side of him that feels like he’s going to fucking expire if Guan Shan doesn’t look or acknowledge him.

He Tian is loath to admit it but he really does share a lot of uncanny traits with his brother. Naturally, perhaps considering the man practically raised him. For instance, He Cheng tends to get easily jealous whenever Brother Qiu's involved. He thinks he’s subtle about it, but everyone and their mother knows he’s weirdly possessive of Brother Qiu. The shit he pulled on that one National Day holiday party at his island was just one in a long laundry list of his brother’s jealousy rearing its ugly head.

He thinks it runs in the family — is pretty sure it runs in the family. From what little he remembers of him, his father was also a very jealous man when it came to their mother. He always hated it when she goes out too much, when she doesn't pay attention to him as much as he wanted her too — which was all the time. He wanted her to be consumed by him as much as he was with her.

He Tian is pretty much the same with Mo Guan Shan. He’s not proud of it, hates that the apple really doesn't fall far from the tree, but he can't help it when it comes to him. He’s trying his best to not be like the other men in his family in any way, but especially to the people he loves. 

He wants to love Guan Shan the right way, but the man just awakens every impulse in He Tian in ways he cannot control. Impulses he was taught to conceal well and he thought he's learned to control.

Then again, Mo Guan Shan has always been an exercise for self-control to He Tian.

It’s been thirty minutes and Guan Shan still hasn’t paid attention to him and He Tian has had enough

“Why do your eyes always stray?”

“What?” 

Guan Shan sounds distracted and He Tian hates how his eyes doesn’t even leave the TV. He’s right here, dammit. The show’s on commercial break right now. What could possibly be more interesting than He Tian with his arm around him and practically on his lap? How could Guan Shan be more invested on idols dancing on the screen than him? He Tian even wore the cologne that he knows always drives Guan Shan crazy and makes him want to fuck him.

“Your eyes,” He Tian says, thinking about what to say next to get Guan Shan to look at him instead. “You still look at other people even when I’m around. Am I not enough for you?”

“What?” That got the desired effect as Guan Shan turns to look at He Tian in incredulity at the sudden accusation. “What the fuck are you talking about? My eyes don't stray. My eyes have never strayed.”

How can it when He Tian has been on his face and up in his business since they were fifteen. Not that Guan Shan particularly mind. Much. Now.

“They do.” He Tian tells him, tone flat but Guan Shan can hear him pouting — can see him pouting. “You couldn't keep your eyes away from those girls dancing in the street before.”

“Wha—” For a second, Guan Shan honest to god does not know what He Tian is talking about until a memory, a very embarrassing memory, of He Tian dancing against him in the middle of a park pops into his mind's eye. “Are you still not over that shit? That was years ago! I was a teenager! We’re engaged.” He raises his left hand and points to his finger with the silver band. “And I said I just liked the way they danced!”

This does nothing to get He Tian out of this particular mood he’s put himself in because for sure as hell Guan Shan didn’t. Moody, fickle bastard. Why something that happened when they were fifteen will set him off like this, Guan Shan doesn’t know, but he figures He Tian is just having one of those days — and by that he means days when he just woke up and decided to be more of a pain in the ass that usual. Specifically to Guan Shan.

He Tian nods at the TV. “You watch a lot of girl group idol shows,” he continues because of course he’s not done. It’s too early in the conversation for him to see reason and leave Guan Shan alone to enjoy his show in peace. 

“Jesus, Tian. Are you seriously riding my dick for liking female idols?”

A glint flashes in his eyes and He Tian opens his mouth to make a quip about riding dick (because of course he would) but Guan Shan bulldozes over him.

“I’m not blind. They’re cute and easy on the eyes. They dance well. I like the songs.” These are all objective reasons, but Guan Shan should only be so lucky for He Tian to see them that way. “What do you want me to say?”

“I’m cute and way easier on the eyes.”

‘Cute’ isn’t exactly the word Guan Shan will use to define He Tian. Calling He Tian cute is like calling a shark with its teeth bared or a switch blade cute. But he’s definitely easy on the eyes alright, so, sure, he’ll give him that.

“I never said you weren’t.” There. That’s vague and true enough for He Tian to get the message. Hopefully.

“If you want me to sing and dance you just have to ask,” He Tian shrugs, trying for casual, but the fact he’s started this whole asinine conversation doesn’t really help his case. “I can even do a routine right now and ride your dick for real in a more literal sense.” 

Yeah. He Tian just really needed to get that one out. 

“Are you seriously jealous of idols?”

Guan Shan meant his question to sound exasperated and in a way that will finally make He Tian hear how ridiculous he’s being. But then He Tian hits him with—

“I'm jealous of anyone that catches your attention.” 

He Tian says it without missing a beat, completely dead serious, and the sincerity of it catches Guan Shan off-guard that whatever retort he has at the tip of his tongue and any annoyance he’s feeling about this whole thing vanishes into thin air. 

Motherfucker always does this. Fucking He Tian and his stupid ability to charm and endear Guan Shan. How does he not get embarrassed saying shit like that?

“Unbelievable,” Guan Shan says, shaking his head, more amused now than anything. “Unbe-fucking-lievable. You really are the most jealous man I know.”

“You know other men?” He Tian’s brows crease and a dark look has started to loom over his features. The seriousness of it all makes Guan Shan want to laugh especially considering he’s pretty sure the line came from a meme. “Out of curiosity, what are their names? Where do you know them? I need to know. For safety purposes.”

“He Tian, fucking seriously?” He Tian has leaned over him in his inquisition and Guan Shan has to push against his chest to make him back off. “The safety card, really?”

He Tian shrugs, “My family has a lot of enemies. You never know.”

Fuck this shit. The commercials are over and the show is back on. Guan Shan is done talking with this psycho. “Alright.”

“No, wait,” He Tian catches him by the wrists holding his hands still on his chest. “I’m serious.”

“He Tian, seriously. Where is this coming from? Did I say or do anything to get you like this?” Guan Shan tries to pry He Tian’s hands off but he only tightens his grip. Whatever humor he found in this exchange has vanished and the irritation he initially felt when this whole conversation started out of buttfuck nowhere is starting to come back fullforce. “Tch. No, wait. Did you hit your head in your last assignment? Is that why you're acting crazier than usual? That must be it, huh?”

“No. I—” He Tian cuts himself off. Something passes in his face that makes him think better than say what he was going to. “It's nothing. I've just been thinking.”

He Tian does this sometimes. Starts shit that Guan Shan thinks is just him being a menace and wanting to get a rise out of him, which is usually the case. But sometimes things veer to a different territory—away from playful and silly and towards something that makes He Tian close off. 

Guan Shan sees that, for whatever reason, this really seems to bother him. He feels a little guilty and hates himself for it. Sometimes he forgets that, for all his confidence and bravado, He Tian sometimes gets hit by insecurities too. 

What does it say about Mo Guan Shan that he finds comfort in that? That he’s one of the people, if not the only one, He Tian gets like this and shows this side of him? What does it say about Mo Guan Shan that it practically makes his heart sing?

Ah, whatever. Their relationship has always been kind of fucked up anyway. 

“Alright, dipshit. Listen up,” Guan Shan sighs as he shakes off He Tian’s grip on his wrists so he can hold his face and keep his eyes on him. “I have never fucked or gotten fucked by anyone other than you since we were teenagers. Which is kind of pathetic when you think about it. I never thought I'd be a monogamous one-man son of a bitch so early in my life and for the rest of it. But.” He shrugs. “Here I am. Here we are.”

“You sound disappointed,” He Tian grumbles and he looks so put off that Guan Shan has no choice but kiss him sweetly on the nose. Just to chase that stupid pout off his face. He’s been hanging out too much with Jian Yi.

“Tch. I’m really not. I like that I never need to get tested because other than—and I am saying this again so it will get through your thick dumb skull—I have never screwed anyone other than you my entire fucking life, I'm pretty fucking sure you've never fucked anyone other than me judging by the conversation we just had.”

“Why would I want anybody else when I already have you?” 

Guan Shan just hums. Goddamn shameless earnest fucker.

“Also, again, you idiot, we’re literally engaged. We’re flying to New York in three months for the ceremony. We’re actually going to be legally married with actual papers and legal documents and shit.” Guan Shan pinches and stretches He Tian’s cheeks, ignoring his sounds of pain and protests, before kissing him sweetly on the lips. “Now, can I go back to watching my idol show in peace?”

He Tian pouts as he rubs his cheeks and Guan Shan thinks if he doesn’t stop pouting like that he’s gonna—

“You've never even thought of being with someone else other than me? Really? Ah, Little Mo!”

“That's what you got from all that? Seriously?” Guan Shan rolls his eyes but He Tian’s giddiness is contagious that it comes off more fond than anything.

He Tian wraps his arms around Guan Shan from the side and leans his head on his shoulder, cheeks squished against his arm when he says, “I love you.” 

“Tch. Aish. Whatever, dickface.” Guan Shan is a little miffed that he missed half of his show but he still turns his head and kisses He Tian's forehead.

They stay like that in comfortable silence as He Tian finally lets Guan Shan watch his show until the host announced the last performance and he stands up.

“Where are you going?” Guan Shan asks.

“To the gym. And maybe the spa for a haircut and a facial.”

“You're so vain.”

“Well, I gotta be if I'm to keep your eyes on me and be the only man you'll ever fuck for the rest of your life,” He Tian snarks as he pulls a face. “It's hard to complete with idols. Not that it’s much of a competition anyway.”

Arrogant prick. Guan Shan hates that he’s really not wrong about that. He Tian easily trumps most celebrities in looks alone. And Guan Shan really hates it so much that it’s not just him being biased.

“If the wedding isn’t literally months away and we haven’t sent out all the deposits I swear to fucking god.” He’s still within hitting distance so Guan Shan swings one of the couch throw pillows at him. “Fucking leave already. God.”

“And when I get back maybe you'll give me a facial yourself, hm?”

“The fucking mouth on you. I swear to fucking god.” He Tian is leering over him so Guan Shan pulls him down by his collar to plant another kiss on him. 

He Tian pulls away with a satisfied curl of his lips after stealing another quick chaste kiss.

“Don't get your hair cut too short and I just might.”

This catches He Tian off-guard and he blinks in surprise before chuckling and giving a two-finger salute. 

His laughter echoes in Guan Shan’s ears long after the front door shuts.

now posted on ao3!

#19 days #tianshan #wanted to do a spin on the old 'jelous he tian' trope #but he's jealous of celebrities #of all people #lmao #he tian #mo guan shan #reference: ch 385 #old xian #writing

[angelkitty54]

Once again didn't really feel like colouring properly but tada anyways! Shadow, AKA Terios Acorn, the Ultimate Dad (bod) with his kids Sonya, Manik and baby Jasper (who finally has a name)! Estelle is not there mostly coz I haven't fully nailed her design yet...

After being forced into retirement from superhero work Shadow, Sonic and Sally had to make quite a lot of lifestyle changes. Shadow, and Sonic to a lesser extent, noticeably gained a bit of weight over the years as a result.

Has been mentioned before but Shadow doesn't actually need to eat as often, but nowadays he does so to appear more normal. He also tends to feel left out when the others are eating together and he's not. This has been the main reason for his weight gain. He would actually make himself sick a lot in the early years after retirement coz he was eating too much. These days Sonic serves him smaller portions or just gives him something to nibble on instead so he feels included.

Both Shadow and Sonic have high metabolisms due to the amounts of energy they burn off. Where Shadow could survive off of ambient Chaos Energy, Sonic had to eat a lot more just to keep up. Being unable to use his speed to burn off that excess energy has kinda thrown his whole diet out of whack.

Sally regularly goes to the gym, but mostly only as part of long term PT exercises she has to do coz of her cybernetics. At first the boys attempted to join her in a bid to get rid of some of that excess energy but they both had great difficulty holding back and trying to appear "normal". They also weren't really getting anything out of it because they were forced to hold back too.

Sonic is jealous of they way Sally bounced back after her pregnancies, while he's still got that soft pudginess in his chest, belly and hips. He's a little bit self-conscious of his weight since he used to be lithe and small, built for speed. And the fact that he was bullied a bit as a kid or being "fat" too. Shadow and Sally very much love how cute, pudgy and huggable their husband is. Tho where Sally tries to be supportive of Sonic's efforts to stay in shape, Shadow actively sabotages him by buying him treats all the time. Sonic also struggles a bit with self-control...

#sonic the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog #sally acorn #sonic au #sonic superhero au #sonic fanart #sonic the hedgehog fanart #my art #sonic x shadow x sally #sonadow #sonally #shadally #sonally fankids #dadow

[abigailmoment]

Underdark, Reprise

(Content Warnings: Grievous Injury, Compound Fracture, Predatory Instincts, Fantasy First Aid) "You'll sink it if you try that," Astarion said, making a shooing motion, warning the huge bear further back from the comparatively delicate boat. "You are absolutely going to need to go back to being a little less massive and marginally less hairy."

The bear was pensively examining the boat and seemed to come to the same conclusion. He made a grumbling sort of huffing noise that sounded maybe slightly anxious?

Then he backed up so that he was back on the stone part of the dock. He sat down. He exhaled slowly. And then he turned back into Halsin.

The air was immediately filled with the smell of blood.

Halsin's skin was mottled with bruising and scratches to the point where it took Astarion a surreal moment to really recognize him. There was a hole in him, on the right side of his chest in the bridge where breast met stomach, punched through his leather armor. Whatever had made the hole had been pushed out, probably by the sudden manifestation of bear. So it bled immediately and freely.

Halsin moved, trying to reach for something on his belt. Then he made a guttural, pained noise because the hand he'd reached with was the dense apex of all the bruising on his right side. Purple black and lumpy in a way a hand should not be.

He reached instead with his left hand. He managed to open the pouch and fish out a bandage which he pressed immediately against the hole in his chest.

"Astarion," he said, and there was a patina of managed suffering coloring his voice. "I am going to need your help."

Oh Gods. He looked half dead. And he smelled amazing. And Astarion was going to have to get closer to him. And not...

And exercise a modicum of self-control. And help.

-

For the sake of this story we're ignoring the existence of the fast-travel points. Sorry Gale.

Full text below.

Full Text On AO3

-

The fundamental idea had been a good one. The Harpers at the Last Light Inn needed supplies and equipment. And as it happened, the inn was quite close to an elevator that led down to a recently evacuated duergar camp full of supplies and equipment. All the party needed to do was gather things into the lift, crank the lift to the surface, and make a quick jaunt through the Shadowlands.

The second step in that sequence turned out to be the weak point in the plan. It was at times like these they all felt the lack from not having a dwarf in the group. A dwarf might have noticed the creaking metal, or diagnosed why the crank that lowered and raised the elevator was becoming increasingly hard to turn.

The agonizing part was that they'd been almost done. Finished with crates and weapons, finished with braziers and torches. They hadn't even meant to do this last run, but Astarion had discovered that one of the executed drow had a Harper pin hidden in a pocket. Halsin had thought that they should bring the body to Jaheira. And Astarion had yet to his witness Tav refuse to do anything Halsin thought was a good idea.

Halsin was at the crank, as he was one of the people with enough height and therefore leverage to still turn it easily. Astarion was standing by the corpse, near the center of the lift, when things started to go terribly wrong.

The first sign of danger, their only real warning, was an unhealthy grinding sound that came from the lift's ceiling. Halsin looked up, concerned. Astarion threw himself at the still-visible gap between the cave ceiling and the bottom of the elevator entrance.

(Their survival instincts operated in different spheres entirely.)

The next six seconds were a chaos of collapsing rock and screaming metal. Astarion got a body long bruise forcing himself at speed through the not quite large enough gap. But he made it through, fell six meters, and landed staggering on the sculpted stone platform that had been their loading stage for the last four hours.

He heard more than saw what happened behind him. Cables and chains snapping, metal supports contorting, rubble falling in to fill suddenly empty spaces. The metal elevator falling heavily back down to its bottom most position, being reduced to scrap and buried.

When he turned around, what he saw met the narrative of what he heard. He also saw absolutely no sign of Halsin.

Shit. Tav was going to be so upset about this.

He stared at the wreckage, trying to stop shaking and start thinking about what to do now. Then the wreckage moved.

It was like an explosion, but with no blastpowder or fire. A bunch of the scrap metal that used to be an elevator was suddenly pushed out. Astarion jumped back to avoid being hit by bits of rock and girder. The huge bear that had displaced all that wreckage scrambled out from under it before the rest of the debris caught up with what was happening and collapsed further.

Astarion backed up more, down onto the stairs, because there wasn't room for an elf and a bear on the lift platform. He glared up Halsin.

"You have exactly one solution to every problem," he snapped.

The bear gazed impassively down at Astarion in his customary way. Well, maybe not as impassive as usual. He was panting a bit. Astarion wasn't good at reading bears.

"Move over," Astarion muttered, trying to shoulder his way back onto the platform. He didn't like how his voice was still shaky from the almost-being-buried-alive.

The bear let him by, making what space it could. Astarion stepped lightly and cautiously over to the wreckage of the elevator. He peered up at the shaft it was supposed to go up through.

The mechanics of the elevator had collapsed into a jagged metal monolith that choked the passage. And above that metal was a layer of collapsed rock. Not the sort of barrier Astarion was going to be able to lockpick his way through.

Astarion's ears twitched and he tilted his head because he thought for a moment he heard a voice. Yes he had. There it was again. Very faint. Someone yelling from above them.

Astarion looked around for something solid that he could climb and that he could be sure wouldn't collapse on him. The metal gates that girded the elevator entrance were intact and attached to the walls. He walked over, tested his weight on them, and then climbed up. He climbed as close as he could to the seam that he very recently and viscerally remembered struggling past. He got as close as he could to the stone ceiling of the elevator entrance, now choked with debris.

"Astarion!" Someone was yelling. "Halsin! Are you there? Can you hear me?"

It was Wyll. His voice was muffled, but from up here Astarion could make out the words.

"We're here!" he shouted back.

Wyll said something too soft to be decipherable. Then shouted: "Are you all right? Are either of you hurt?"

Astarion glanced down at the giant bear sitting on the elevator landing. It was watching Astarion.

"We are miraculously intact!" he shouted back.

Another unintelligible mutter. Then: "I'll be right back. I'm going to tell the others."

Astarion could hear very distantly the whooshing noise that the Flight spell made in action.

As he waited, Astarion worked his arm through the latticework of metal he was hanging off of. Clinging by hand made his fingers tired. He used to be able to do this much more easily. That was probably the only disadvantage to the mind flayer parasite--a few of his old vampire spawn abilities had been suppressed, including the one that used to let him climb walls like a spider.

Worth it, though. A thousand times worth it.

Astarion heard the distant gust of magic again. He pushed himself up to better hear Wyll's voice.

"You're to take the boat back from the duergar camp to the beach," Wyll communicated words that had almost certainly come from Tav. "Go up from there to the myconid colony. Stay there and we will come get you."

That made sense. That was a sensible plan. The mushroom creatures oversaw the only truly safe space they'd ever found in the Underdark. And getting there was re-treading ground they had already covered, so they weren't as likely to encounter as many terrifying monsters. He and Halsin should be able to manage it safely, even with only two of them.

"We'll be there," Astarion yelled back. "Don't dawdle."

"We won't," Wyll assured him.

And then he left. Because Flight only lasted so long.

Astarion exhaled slowly and hung for a moment, loose from his perch near the ceiling. He wasn't trapped. He'd almost been trapped, but he wasn't. And Tav wasn't going to let anyone get any sleep until they were all happily reunited among mushrooms.

She'd probably been rather upset by this. He could relate. He'd been extremely upset by this. He rather liked imagining her, yelling orders at a floating Wyll. Digging out maps to trace the fastest route from the Shadowlands to the Underdark. Hounding everyone to hurry back along the risen road so that she could find him.

And Halsin. Of course. She was probably worried about Halsin too.

Astarion looked down. The bear was still sitting there, staring up at him. The picture of a big dumb animal.

Only he wasn't actually a dumb animal. He was probably sitting there having deep, insightful thoughts about the situation.

Astarion sighed and climbed down. When he was back on solid ground he dusted himself off. He was filthy with rock powder. That was probably going to be the case for a while. How utterly tiresome.

"Well, come along then," he said to Halsin. "Let's steal a boat."

-

It was very easy to steal a boat when the owners were all dead.

Karlach has been the one to drive the boat the last time they made their way overwater while underground. Apparently the structure of these vessels, spike lined latticeworks of wood and bone, were very similar in construction to ships found in Avernus. Which made a sort of sense. Whatever shipwright planned this thing clearly cared just as much about looking intimidating as they cared about being able to float. Astarion could see devils having similar values.

And that hypothetical shipwright clearly cared not at all about preventing passengers from tumbling overboard. Guardrails were not a feature on these vessels.

Which did make it easy to hop on board. The deck swayed under Astarion's weight as he jumped on and climbed up to the controls. The quarterdeck. That was what it was called. Astarion was vaguely familiar with the terms you were supposed to use for parts of boats because cheap romances often happened on ships, and sometimes that was the only literature he could get his hands on. He played with the rudder and examined the lever that controlled the fan-like sails. It seemed straightforward enough.

Then the boat listed dramatically to one side. Deck tilting to a steep angle. Astarion didn't fall over, but someone with worse reflexes might have. And he didn't like being startled.

"What do you think you're doing?" he snapped at Halsin.

The giant bear moved back, taking its huge paw off of the boat's deck. He looked a little embarrassed. Maybe. Bears remained hard to read. At very least he should look embarrassed, trying something like that.

Astarion walked back down from the quarterdeck to the port side of the main deck. He made a shooing motion, warning the huge thing further back from the comparatively delicate boat. If Halsin wanted to remain a bear, Astarion generally didn't mind. It meant he didn't have to talk to the man. But in this particular instance it wasn't going to work.

"You'll sink it if you try that," Astarion said. "You are absolutely going to need to go back to being a little less massive and marginally less hairy."

The bear was pensively examining the boat and seemed to come to the same conclusion. He made a grumbling sort of huffing noise that sounded maybe slightly anxious?

Then he backed up so that he was back on the stone part of the dock. He sat down. He exhaled slowly. And then he turned back into Halsin.

The air was immediately filled with the smell of blood.

Halsin's skin was mottled with bruising and scratches to the point where it took Astarion a surreal moment to really recognize him. There was a hole in him, on the right side of his chest in the bridge where breast met stomach, punched through his leather armor. Whatever had made the hole had been pushed out, probably by the sudden manifestation of bear. So it bled immediately and freely.

Halsin moved, trying to reach for something on his belt. Then he made a guttural, pained noise because the hand he'd reached with was the dense apex of all the bruising on his right side. Purple black and lumpy in a way a hand should not be.

He reached instead with his left hand. He managed to open the pouch and fish out a bandage which he pressed immediately against the hole in his chest.

"Astarion," he said, and there was a patina of managed suffering coloring his voice. "I am going to need your help."

Oh Gods. He looked half dead. And he smelled amazing. And Astarion was going to have to get closer to him. And not...

And exercise a modicum of self-control. And help.

Astarion swallowed. And then he swallowed again, because there really was a lot of blood. And it smelled warm and fresh. Astarion closed his mouth and made a conscious decision not to inhale again until this was over.

He jumped lightly from the ship deck to the dock. He walked towards Halsin. Halfway there he realized he was stalking. He straightened up from crouching and finished closing the distance with a more normal posture.

Astarion knelt down in front of Halsin, who was sitting up but looked like he shouldn't be. The bandages he held against the wound were already turning red.

"Healing potions," Halsin said. "Right side pocket."

Astarion moved to open Halsin's pack, which looked only marginally less mangled than the man. He looked where instructed and found that those pockets were filled with shattered glass, wet with red liquid that smelled faintly of mushrooms.

So instead Astarion fished out his own healing potions. Tav insisted that everyone carry at least two. So they had two.

"Can you apply them directly to the wound?" Halsin asked him.

Interesting. Astarion didn't know terribly much about medicine, hadn't had access to it for most of his life, but it made a certain amount of sense that healing potions might be applied topically rather than imbibed. After all, they worked if you hurled them at people. And it made sense that Halsin would want to prioritize mending the wound that was definitely going to kill him, rather than letting the healing magic scatter diffusely over his myriad cuts and bruises.

Logistically the answer was obviously yes, Astarion could do that. So Astarion supposed he was being asked about his capacity for self-restraint. Probably Halsin had registered his own resemblance to wounded prey. Probably it was a novel experience.

Astarion spent some of his limited breath to ask: "Don't you have spells for this?"

"They need two hands," Halsin told him.

Of course. And his lump of a right hand wasn't doing anything intricate or magical right now.

Astarion nodded and asked shortly: "How?"

"First, help me lie down."

Halsin leaned back, and with Astarion's assistance it was a controlled descent rather than a collapse. The movement still clearly jostled things that were broken inside of him. He kept the bandage pressed hard against the wound, arm clenched with the effort of that.

"Armor needs to come off," Halsin said.

That was actually relatively easy. Halsin's leather armor was segmented in such a way that Astarion could unstrap and remove just the damaged chest part. It meant there was a moment where no pressure was being applied to the wound and Astarion turned his head away for that moment, turning back when Halsin had the bandage back in place. It did its job better now, flush with skin and without broken leather in the way.

"Pour the potion into the bandage," Halsin said. "Slowly. Give it time to absorb."

Astarion uncapped the healing potion. He tipped just a bit of it on to the bloodstained bandage.

It was fascinating to watch. The magic liquid soaked into the fabric, and then sank right out of it. As if Halsin's skin were a sponge that only absorbed that particular kind of fluid.

Astarion poured out a more generous spill of the potion, drenching the cloth. Halsin groaned, a noise of relief as the magic disappeared into him and started to perform its function.

Astarion kept at this interesting alchemy, pouring the potion bit by bit into precisely the place it was needed. Halsin breathed laboriously. He was trying to watch, but his eyes kept fluttering closed. Flirting with an unconscious state elves only ever experienced through the use of specific potions, or in situations like this.

When the bottle was two thirds empty Astarion started to have difficulty because Halsin had bled so much that the bandage was oversaturated with fluid that didn't mystically vanish. That instead sat there, red and distracting. Astarion glanced at Halsin's face to see if any other guidance was forthcoming. But the druid was truly unconscious at this point.

Astarion investigated the pouch that the first bandage had come from. He found another. Clean white thick cloth. It was like sleight-of-hand work to pull one bandage away and press down the clean one. Messy sleight-of-hand work. And now he was holding the old, utterly bloodsoaked bandage.

It was actually fairly easy to resist the intrusive impulse to put it in his mouth. Because that would look deranged. He set it aside.

Astarion finished pouring the rest of the healing potion into the wound through the medium of the fresh bandage. When that was done he went right on to the second healing potion. It seemed the only thing to do.

Astarion could pinpoint the exact moment Halsin stopped bleeding. There was a visceral difference between the smell of blood freely flowing from a body and the smell of blood already spilled and cooling. It was the same as the difference between standing directly in sunlight versus being out and about on a day that was bright, but overcast. It was a matter of intensity.

To make sure he was right, Astarion tentatively moved the bandage aside. And indeed, the skin underneath was whole. Not even scabbed. Just regrown healthy and intact in that miraculous way that happened when you used healing magic. It frankly looked a little weird. One point of health on an otherwise very damaged body.

Well then. It seemed that Astarion had successfully stopped someone from bleeding. How utterly perverse.

And he still had half of a healing potion left. He should probably do something with it. There remained a wealth of nonfatal wounds to deal with. But Halsin couldn't drink it right now. He was still unconscious.

That probably wouldn't be the most effective use of it, anyway. Now that Astarion thought about it, it seemed that the next most problematic injury was Halsin's right hand. That was preventing him from using magic. If that were fixed, the entire situation would suddenly become much more manageable.

Halsin's right arm was on the ground, spread slightly away from his body. His hand was swollen and unpleasant to look at. Fingers not quite at right shapes and angles.

Astarion prevaricated for a moment about whether he needed to do the slow process of soaking the healing potion into skin through the bandages. The problem was that there were no more clean bandages in Halsin's belt pouch. And using the soiled ones wouldn't be terribly efficient, or sanitary, or conducive to Astarion's peace of mind. And probably he didn't need to. Probably that had been a way of applying healing potion to an open wound. Probably he could just pour it directly onto the skin.

Astarion poured the rest of the healing potion out over Halsin's hand. The results were instantaneous, and good, but also awful. The thing about healing, even magical healing, is that it's not always a linear process. Sometimes wounds are complicated in a way that makes mending them painful. The hand changed and began to look much more like a hand should. And those changes were accompanied by the popping, grinding noises of bones being realigned.

Halsin screamed.

"Shit," Astarion said, flinching back. And he was about to go on to say 'Sorry', but he had run out of air for speaking. So he inhaled.

Astarion's nose and mouth filled with the copper-bright smell of the blood that was everywhere around him. And Halsin was screaming-weak and wide-eyed and he was looking at Astarion with such an expression and he was covered from neck to waist in soft skin that was meant to be torn open and there was nothing he would be able to do to stop it from happening.

Astarion stood up and turned around and walked until he hit a wall. The far wall of the dock, by the barrels of old, spoiled provisions that hadn't been good enough to take up in the lift. Astarion leaned against the wall and breathed air that smelled only very faintly of blood, and overwhelmingly of rotten fish, and he didn't do anything that Tav might never forgive him for.

Astarion had been standing there for perhaps a minute, smelling the fish and not doing things, when he heard Halsin say his name.

"Just a moment, darling," Astarion said. He needed another moment.

When he was ready, Astarion turned back to look at Halsin. Halsin was sitting up. That seemed like a good sign.

"How are we doing, then?" Astarion asked.

"Much improved, thank you," Halsin said, not sounding at all like someone who had just been screaming. "That was a good idea. A clever idea. If I had been awake I should have asked you to do it."

Astarion did not admit even to himself how much he liked being told that his ideas were clever.

"Can you cast?" Astarion asked.

"Unfortunately no," Halsin said, he was cradling his hand which did look better, but was still very swollen. "We will have to make our way without the benefit of magic."

"Make our way," Astarion muttered, and then lowered his standards from his last question and asked: "Can you walk?"

"I have to," Halsin said. "You are not the only individual in these caves who will take notice of blood."

Oh, that was a very good point. Halsin probably knew all about the taxonomy of scavengers that lived in the Underdark. It had been less of an issue when there were four ready adventurers standing around the site of bloodbaths. It was a very different situation when there were only two of them here, and only one who could fight. And Astarion felt acutely how much less dangerous he was without someone to flank with.

"Very well," he sighed. "Let's finish stealing the boat."

Astarion helped Halsin down the wooden dock. Gods, he was large and heavy. Astarion let Halsin sink back to the ground on the edge of the dock and grabbed one of the spikes that decorated the side of the boat. Astarion pulled until the wooden platform of the ship's deck was as close as could be to the dock. Halsin clambered aboard, one-handed and slow. The craft dipped slightly under his weight.

Astarion jumped aboard and climbed quickly up to the controls. He pulled the lever that fanned out the sail. He turned the rudder the wrong direction at first, but quickly corrected. They bumped against the dock a few times before turning out into the dark and open water.

Astarion glanced back at the dock and saw that a rat-like creature the size of a dog had already crept out of the shadows. It was lapping up blood off of the stone floor.

It would be deeply undignified to be jealous of that creature. So Astarion tried not to be.

***

This is part of a series. The rest of the story is on AO3.

***

#astarion x halsin #astarion #halsin #bg3 astarion #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #grievously injured halsin #compound fracture #predatory instincts #self-control #fantasy first aid #mostly hurt #comfort to follow

[lewisthot]

behind closed doors

summary: spiralling out of control lewis tries to help you. rating: 12+ words: 1.6k characters: lewis hamilton x fem!reader warning + a/n: discussing depression and eating disorders throughout. this is just angst, thoughts welcomed.

the perks of dating an athlete was your questionable eating habits went completely unnoticed, a normal person might think your clean diet was obsessive but lewis took no notice. it was great you felt so relaxed, you didn’t have to hide and pretend even when he’d take you out to eat you always had a plan to allot for the extra calories - it was all working so well till the inevitable. you kept pushing the boundaries of how far you could take it, you always did and yet again you went too far and now you had a bum knee from overtraining. you lied to lewis, told him you tripped, it ate away at you to lie to him but you couldn’t tell him the truth - it felt too embarrassing, pathetic. 

that’s when the downward spiral started, you couldn’t exercise but that didn’t mean you couldn’t starve yourself but yet every time you fucked up you’d slip, the darker thoughts slipping back in, self destructing was your specialty. you couldn’t stop eating you were out of control, bite after bite being forced down like your were held at gunpoint. your stomach felt like it was ripping apart at the seams, you could barely stand up right. you couldn’t stand to look at yourself in the mirror, the more you ate the more disgusted you felt so unbelievably bloated. you looked at your shelf of laxatives, you’d done so well without them maybe you should stick your fingers down your throat you thought to yourself till your remembered the cavities you had. 

you were so grateful he was away, he couldn’t see you like this. you always managed to pull yourself together enough for whenever he called, it was a welcome distraction from your racing thoughts. all day everyday - food food food and if you dared to pass a reflective surface - fat fat fat but lewis he had this special way of consuming your thoughts and pushing everything else out. then it stopped working as you spiralled you pulled back from everyone including lewis, looking at your calendar the day he’d be back inching closer made you sick instead of filling you with happiness, you couldn’t let him see you like this. excuses after excuses it wasn’t cutting it anymore, you laid in bed one night crying as you left his last message unopened:

idc if you’re sick, i miss you baby

now he was home, he wanted to see you no matter what. you threw your phone across the room, digging your nails into your arms as you curled up into foetal position screaming into yourself your cries got caught in your throat you choked them back trying to breathe, you did what you always did when you wanted to hurt yourself and ran into the kitchen and sat there eating like a zombie like a robot. 

you were laying on the couch when there was a buzz at your door, your heart started to race who could that be you wondered. trudging to the door to answer it, you felt this sinking feeling.

‘who is it?’

‘it’s me lewis’

you wanted to throw up, you felt frozen sweating profusely now with anxiety. your voice shaky now. ‘what are you doing here?’

‘what? i missed you, you gonna let me up?’ normally you would’ve let him without question as soon as you knew it was him, he was confused if not a little hurt.

you looked around your flat, it was a mess you were a mess. you couldn’t clean this dump or yourself in under a minute but you couldn’t let him see you like this but you couldn’t turn him away. your eyes started to prick with tears as you panicked with what to do but it didn’t matter, you’d taken too long to answer him he had already gained entrance and was making his way up. 

you pressed the button to call him. ‘lewis?’ no answer, fuck had he left had someone else let him in? you scurried around your flat trying to grab up all the rubbish, you stacked the dishes scattered around in the sink. you tried to take deep breaths and wipe away your the tears threatening to spill over when there was a knock on your door. you wanted to ignore, hide under the covers maybe you could maybe you should maybe you should shut him and this down, you were a mess he didn’t deserve to deal with this. 

‘y/n open up!’ his voice light and clueless. 

‘lewis, i told you i wasn’t feeling well i don’t want you to see me like this’ your chest tight, a lump stuck in your throat your voice was shaky, now he could tell something was wrong.

‘i don’t care, let me look after you sweetheart’

you groaned rolling your eyes, why did he have to make this so difficult. exhausted you felt this flash of anger and frustration come up and before you could stop yourself you were shouting at the door. ‘jesus fucking christ leave me the fuck alone, i don’t want to see you! i don’t need you to look after me! fuck off!’ 

you sunk to ground giving up on holding back your tears, nail digging into the flesh of your arms. the anger gone as quick as it came, you felt nauseous you wanted to scream and cry, the floor to open up and swallow you whole. your brain working in overdrive, it’s over his done with you, you’ve ruined it like you’ve ruined your body, you’re a failure with every thought your nails dug in deeper willing yourself to break skin. 

‘y/n please open the door’ you could hear the pain in his voice which only made your chest tighter. ‘what’s wrong?’ you want to laugh, what’s wrong? everything and nothing it was all so stupid you thought.

‘i’m not going to leave when i can hear you crying, i’ll sit out here all night’ his mind flashed to the faint scars he noted on your arm, he never asked waiting for you to open up to him but now he regretted it his brain thinking all sorts. sighing you got up looking through the peephole, he was stood there fidgeting with a worried expression, it pained you to see home like that because of you. 

‘i didn’t want you to see me like this’ opening the door a crack, lewis reached out cupping your face he wiped the fallen tears. ‘you can see i’m alive and—‘ you couldn’t finished that sentence, far from well. ‘please come back tomorrow’ if you at least had the time to clean your flat, yourself you could put the facade back, pretend you’re fine. 

‘stop trying to hide from me y/n, don’t shut me out’ he looked it all in, the puffy eyes, tear stained cheeks, chapped lips and the frizzy hair. he wanted nothing more but to pull you into his arms, so he did. you wanted to put up a fight, the idea of him touching you repulsed you but you let him wrap his arms around you trying so hard to melt into his touch but all you felt was your heart being crushed even more. too exhausted to care you let him in once he go of you maybe once he sees the mess he’d finally leave you thought except he turned to you intertwining his hand with yours his thumb rubbing circles. 

‘why don’t you go have a bath and i’ll clean up’

‘this is why i said come tomorrow, i don’t need you to clean my mess’ there’s a bite to your words, the anger bubbling up again embarrassed he’d seen the mess.

‘i want to, i wanna be with you now not tomorrow so take a bath’ he was more firm now, more of an instruction than a suggestion.

you went on autopilot, you couldn’t think about lewis out there you went to your room stripping your bed before jumping into the shower and detangling the birds nest your hair had become. letting the water wash over you, cleansing and calming you tried to think of how sweet it was that lewis was here, he loves you he won’t dump you it repeated like a mantra in your mind.

you sighed as you came out of the shower and found your bed made and lewis sitting there holding the towel even tighter around you, all that calm out the window you felt sick again you’d changed countless times around lewis how were you meant to not now without exposing your secret. you couldn’t say it so you grabbed your pyjamas and went back into the bathroom and changed. coming back out now you stood there awkwardly, at a loss for words.

‘we don’t have to talk right now, let’s watch a movie’

he took your hand back to the living room, you wanted to crawl out of your skin as he pulled you onto the sofa with him. his touch usually so comforting made you so tense - he can feel how fat i’ve gotten? you thought. he felt how stiff you were, was it him he wondered.

‘are you mad at me?’ he spoke softly hesitant like he didn’t want to know, it broke your heart, you were doing this to him. you took a deep breath trying to relax into his arms. 

‘no, i’m sorry i’m just—‘ he had his arms around your waist his hand splayed out on your stomach you couldn’t handle it, you took his hand moving it higher over your chest instead. ‘i’m just fucked up’ 

he turned your face towards him, you closed your eyes leaning into his touch as he stroked your cheek. ‘don’t say that’ he pulled you in kissing you softly, you gripped his arm tightly kissing him back hard you wanted to get lost in his touch drown out the voices plaguing your mind. he held you as the film played in the background neither paying attention.

#lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton angst #lewis hamilton one shot #lewis hamilton fanfic #lewis hamilton imagine #f1 one shot

[volturi-imagines]

Demetri’s Newborn

Being the only newborn in a castle full of century-old vampires was difficult, they all expected me to have the same amount of self-control as them and any sign of aggression was met with a week or a month in the dungeons, in isolation. 

I tried to be a good vampire, but it seemed like everything I did angered someone, and I was punished for it. I had contemplated running away, or stepping into the town square, forcing the other guards to kill me but something always stopped me, maybe it wasn’t something, maybe it was someone. Demetri Volturi. He was the one who had plucked me off the streets on my way home from the library where I worked and turned me. Master Aro had been furious when Demetri showed up with me, only a few hours into my new life. Aro had sentenced me to death but with a touch of Demetri’s hand, Aro abandoned that idea, so I was stuck being forced to sink or swim and I was currently drowning.

The stars shined brightly as I sat on the roof of the castle, I had another full day of getting my ass handed to me in training and just wanted to be alone.

“Knew I would find you up here.”

Felix came to sit next to me, he had slowly become a friend, but he never held back during training.

“Am I in trouble again?”

“No. Why would you think that?”

I hung my head, it was embarrassing to talk about my shortcoming with one of the elite guards.

“Because I do nothing right and I just want to die or leave this place. I feel so alone. I have no one that is there for me.”

I felt like I needed to cry but I couldn’t so I just had this lump in my chest as I took deep breaths to calm myself. Felix was quiet as I did my breathing exercises and once I had physically relaxed a little he finally spoke.

“Have you ever asked Demetri why he turned you?”

That question threw me off guard, I had never asked Demetri but I had asked one of the other lower female guards.

“No, but rumor is I was a feeding gone wrong. Demetri was ambushed or something before he could finish me off.”

Standing up Felix offered me his hand to help me up. Once we stood next to each other he put his hand on my shoulder.

“I think you should talk to Demetri. Tell him what you told me.”

Deciding to listen to Felix I left the rooftop and made my way to the elite guard's wing of the castle. Knocking on the big wooden door it took no time before Demetri opened it, he looked shocked to see me at his door but silently stood to the side as I walked in. Once I heard the click on the door close I turned around to face him, speaking up before he could.

“Why did you turn me? I’ve heard rumors that I was a feeding gone wrong, or I am just here as a punching bag for everyone, or it's all just a sick game to torture me for no reason and you will kill me sooner or later.”

I took a deep breath, Demetri wood pine scent filled my nose, calming in a way before I continued as Demetri stood silent watching me.

“I just want to die.”

Demetri looked hurt at my words as he crossed the room, slowly he intertwined our hands.

“I had thought if I gave you space and time to come to terms with your new life it would be better but I see now that what you needed was my support and guidance. Mi amor, I didn’t turn you for any nefarious reasons, I turned you because you are my mate. I am so sorry for how you have suffered and I promise I’ll do better and support you. Will you give this life another try?”

I felt like I was going into shock as I nodded my head in agreement. This was not how I thought the conversation was going to go but I did like the idea of an eternity with Demetri by my side.

#twilight imagine #twilight saga #twilight #demetri volturi #demetri volturi imagine #felix volturi #volturi #twilight one shot #volturi one shot #volturi imagine #vampire #volterra #y/n #demetri x reader #reader

[gingerteaonthetardis]

Apple cider, and any variant of Tucker and Rose you’d like (I know you have a couple lol)

thinky! thank you so much for this prompt. i once again just sort of started another au with it, because i have no self control. i just love putting these two in Situations. or three, rather. wilf showed up in this one, for some reason. hope you enjoy (when you get your internet back, lol)!

read on ao3 here. or send me a prompt here!

-

something for nothing

-

"Hot," Rose asked, thrusting out her hands, "or cold?"

In each was a paper cup, the left one gently steaming while the older man glanced back and forth between them with his usual consideration.

"That depends. Is it chocolate?"

"Nope."

"Coffee, then?"

"No." She failed to stifle a grin. "Sylvia would have my head and you know it."

An extremely unnatural-looking scowl made its way across his face. "It's not one of those fancy 'steamer' things, is it? Those always end up tasting like plain old spoiled milk."

Rose shook her head in fond impatience. "Just pick one, will you? Or they'll both be cold."

His eyes narrowed beneath his bright yellow bobble hat. "Fine, then. Hot," Wilf finally declared. "But this had better not be like the time you put chewy stuff in my tea."

"Boba," she corrected. "And don't worry, only liquid in there. And some spices, of course."

At this, Wilf took a long inhale, his nose hovering just above the thread of steam. It was endlessly endearing, how dubious he was about the whole exercise.

Then again, she had just been a stranger who walked up and offered him eggnog, that first time.

It had been nearly a year ago, around the holidays, and she'd been leaving after another long, tedious shift at the café across the way. Her manager had given rare permission to close up early after Rose pulled a double, but she'd not taken advantage: instead, she'd satisfied an intense exhaustion-fueled craving for eggnog by whipping it up right there in the shop.

But she'd made a bit too much, and with no one to share it with, she'd spied the old man at his newspaper stall—such a merry figure, like Father Christmas himself in a heavy red-and-white striped scarf, packing up his stacks of paper like gifts bundled in twine. He'd looked so cheerful and so cold, with his red nose and fingerless gloves, that she went out and offered him a cup of still-warm eggnog. He'd kindly offered a copy of Radio Times in trade, and suddenly they were talking like old friends.

That had been the beginning of a ritual which she held to after nearly every shift she worked. She never emerged without two cups of something to share, and he always held aside a paper or magazine he thought she'd like. They didn't always chat, but they did undeniably enjoy one another's company.

Rose thought of him almost like an adopted grandfather.

She watched with amusement as he put his eye to the narrow hole in the lid like it was the lens of a telescope, trying to see the colour of the substance within. She bit down hard on her lip. "What can you see?"

"Not much," Wilf admitted.

"Drink it! I promise there's nothing odd in there—well, too odd, I mean."

He shook his head at her, but he was smiling as he went to take a sip. She waited, holding her breath—and was delighted when his eyes lit up.

"Oh, that's not bad," he proclaimed, "not bad at all!" As he took another sip, Rose finally lifted her own cup to her lips.

Ripe apple, cinnamon, nutmeg—a faint hint of smoke—even cold, it all burst over her tongue, evoking a sense memory disconnected from anything she'd ever personally experienced. It reminded her of campfire nights after crisp autumn days, falling leaves and waning grey skies. Days so perfect they could really only exist in films, or books, or daydreams.

"It's cider, but with a little—something! Very good, Rose," Wilf added warmly. "So, what's the secret?"

"An infusion of lapsang souchong while the cider's warming up." She was a little proud of that one. "And all the usual suspects—clove, cinnamon, a tiny bit of anise… I have more," she said, patting her thermos where it stuck out of her messenger bag. She'd planned to take it home and sip it with her feet up in front of the telly, but seeing how eagerly Wilf drank from his cup made her want to share more instead. "Want a refill?"

"Let me see to what I've got first," he said, after another savoring sip. "It's good stuff! Is it going on the menu?"

She scoffed. "Of course not. Nobody around here wants fussy cider. They just want tea, or else coffee, black, no sugar—god, if you only knew how many red eyes I make in a day…"

"Well, it is Westminster," Wilf reasoned, looking around at the street which, while presently quiet, was crowded with buildings still fully lit up at long past six. "There's always some crisis they're perverting."

Rose hesitated. "You mean averting?"

"I meant what I said," he replied with a chuckle. "Takes a lot of energy to play at running the world."

"Yes, well, I just wish they'd get a bit more creative with their drink orders while they do it. Civilisation won't end if one of them branches out and adds a shot of vanilla to their latte! And," she went on, voice hushing dramatically, "then there's the peacoats. They all wear the same bloody shapeless things. What is with that?"

"Speaking of peacoats…" Wilf coughed, clearly covering a laugh. "Evening, Mr. Tucker!"

Rose tripped over her own feet whirling around to see who he was talking to, and then nearly stumbled up again when she saw who it was.

Malcolm Tucker.

The Malcolm Tucker.

The scariest man in British politics, and possibly in Great Britain generally, stood about a foot away from her.

She recognised his face from Wilf's newspapers and the occasional clip on telly: fair eyes, humped nose, harsh lines bracketing a restless mouth, head crowned with tarnished silver hair. Under the flat, unforgiving light of the street lamps, he looked hyperreal. But even someone who didn't know his face would see evidence of his hand everywhere. He ruled the media with it. He puppeted the ministry with it.

And he was shaking Wilf's hand with it.

"Wilf, how the fuck's business?" he greeted, breezing right past her, smiling with the kind of familiarity that couldn't be faked. It even looked sincere. He brushed close enough that she could smell the wool of his coat, and she winced.

"Better, now that your mug's back out of the papers, sir!" Wilf laughed, and strangely, so did Tucker. "What'll it be today? We've got the New Statesman, fresh out this morning. There's an interview with your man, that baldy economist—"

But the other man brushed him off carelessly. "Oh, please, none of that, I'm off the clock."

"What brings you round, then?" For a second, Wilf's eyes darted sheepishly her way, and she could only goggle back in confusion. It was like he didn’t want to give something away, something secret. To Tucker, he said, voice low, "Celebrity Skin?"

Rose's jaw dropped. "Wilf!"

"Now, now, Rose, you can hardly fault the man! Just because he's in government doesn't mean he's made of metal."

"It's not him scandalizing me," she shot back with a laugh. "Wilfred Mott, I learn something new about you every day."

“Got to keep you interested, don't I?” Teasing though his tone was, there was also a glint of genuine pride as he added, “Or else I'll stop getting the best hot drinks in London hand-delivered to me!”

They were so busy sharing smiles that it took her a moment to remember they had audience. A rather intimidating audience. One of his iron-dark eyebrows was arched in something like humour. “That so?” Tucker said, eyeing her up and down.

“She’s more than just a pretty face, she is,” Wilf replied, and she felt herself flush. Whether it was from Wilf’s blunt, overenthusiastic praise or the assessing look she was receiving from the Prime Minister’s media enforcer, she couldn’t tell. “You should—oi, Rose, why don't you give him a little of that cider stuff? Mr. Tucker looks cold. Or maybe that’s just his personality.”

She rolled her bottom lip between her teeth, amused by the blatant ribbing. He’d accompanied it with a wink, and Tucker didn’t seem offended. In fact, his smile was back, spreading slowly, like it was foreign to his mouth.

“Not sure that's a good idea, actually,” she said.

“Why not?” asked Tucker, locking eyes with her for the first time. There was just something about his face; she knew she ought to be intimidated by him—and maybe she was, a little—but she was at least equally fascinated. He looked just like a man, ordinary.

Except not.

His gaze was too intense for that. Like it was used to cutting right through people. All day, people with glazed-over eyes muttered orders at her—barely seemed to even notice her. It was a startling change, to feel so… observed.

She blinked. “Do you usually risk drinks from strangers?”

“You're saying you wouldn't, if you were me?”

“If I were you—there’s an idea,” she dared with a breathless laugh. “If I were you, we probably wouldn't have quite so many bald, boring blokes in office. And things would probably get a bit more West Wing. But I wouldn't risk poisoning, no.”

“You're clever, then.” The smile that played around his mouth was a shade off the one he’d offered Wilf, but she liked it all the same. “Cleverer than me.” Her eyebrows jumped, and the corners of his lips only ticked higher. “I'd love a warm drink, if you can spare one. It's been a… very long day.”

And she didn’t know quite how, or why, or anything at all, but her hands just started moving on their own, sliding down the strap of her bag to the pouch with her thermos. She was actually going to share her drink with the Hitman of Downing Street, the thing that lurked under the beds of the ministers she saw on television.

You couldn’t make this stuff up.

“Easy, now,” Tucker drily warned. “No sudden moves. I might get clever.”

She chuffed a laugh. “Not likely.” But she slowed anyway, attention bouncing momentarily to Wilf—who was watching their exchange with a rapt and wildly amused expression—before she turned back to Tucker.

His eyes were more reflective of the colour of the sky than she’d ever imagined eyes could be. So blue and grey that it was like looking through the clearest water at the river stones beneath.

She couldn't quite shake off the observation—couldn't manage an appropriate amount of detachment as she withdrew the thermos and twisted it open. Concentrated steam burst free, smelling sweet and enticingly sharp, and she extended the mug out to him.

He took it. And when their fingers brushed over the warm metal, it hit her.

Attraction.

What she was feeling was attraction.

Her first thought was oh, Mum’s going to brick herself if I tell her. Which, of course, Rose wouldn’t. After Jimmy Stone and the complete fiasco he’d created in her life as a teenager, she knew better. But what would Jackie Tyler say about Malcolm bloody Tucker? He'd been working in politics for practically half Rose’s lifetime.

She could just imagine her mum's face, the repulsion and horror, and the picture was incongruous enough that it successfully pulled Rose out of her stupor. She withdrew her hand, feeling the cold snap of air instantly, more fiercely than she might have.

With a tense eye, she watched him lift the thermos to his lips. Watched him drink, slow and contemplative. He didn't seem particularly slow or contemplative by nature, so it must have been for her benefit. Her fingers made fists, which she wedged into her coat pockets.

He took another sip. Then proclaimed, “That's very good. Is that tea I taste?”

Her smile bloomed without thought or permission. “Secret recipe,” she said. “Now you owe me four pounds fifty.”

Those eyebrows leapt again before resettling even lower than before. He looked very intent. “You charge our mutual friend,” and here, he glanced at Wilf, “for cider, too, or is it just me who pays for the privilege?”

“Well, you know what your sort say—no such thing as a free lunch. Or cider,” she added, realising exactly what was about to come out of her mouth and doing nothing at all to stop it. “Wilf pays me back in magazines and good conversation. So what'll you give me, Malcolm Tucker?”

And god, she was actually doing it. She was flirting with him.

Beside her, Wilf was laughing into his fist. Part of her was embarrassed—or would be later—that she was making a fool of herself in front of the old man. He’d certainly rub her nose in it the next time she popped out with a drink. That was just what family did.

But there was another part of her, a much deeper and more untameable part, which insisted on saying, What the hell? Why not?

After all, this would probably be her only chance to tease one of the most powerful men in England. The prospect of pushing him, even a little, felt dangerous, rebellious. Deliciously improbable. And if there was a little extortion involved, well—he was hardly a man with clean hands.

One of those hands, she noted, slid into the pocket of that ridiculous peacoat—which was, she could admit, beginning to grow on her a little; it contrasted sharply against his skin and hair, so pale and severe—and he withdrew something small and white and rectangular. He extended it to her, but before she could take it, his hand snapped back. He seemed on the verge of smiling again.

Then, tipping back his head, he took another long drink from the thermos. A long, long drink.

She grinned, watching his throat bob. The bastard was draining the mug. Getting his money’s worth, she supposed.

She found she didn't mind. Her evening was shaping up to be substantially different than she’d expected.

Only when he'd finished with a faint hum of appreciation and returned the thermos did he give over the proffered card. It was simple, unremarkable white cardstock with crisp black text.

Malcolm Tucker

Director of Communications for the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom

10 Downing Street, Westminster, London

Below were two phone numbers. One was crossed out, the smudged ink suggesting he’d done so recently. The second number was indicated as his personal line, and her breath caught. Was he mad, handing out this information to a veritable stranger? Did he know the trouble she could make for him if she started, say, making copies and handing them out with every cup of coffee she sold to his more politically repellant enemies? Of which there were many?

“Don't get clever,” he warned her, and there was a trace of real threat there. She felt it. It made her spine straighten and something senselessly warm unfurl in her belly. Then he said, mildly, “Call it an IOU.”

She looked up at the man before her and wondered if he was mad—or perhaps just fearless—or possibly, she guessed with a tilt of her head, he was lonely.

But whatever he was—and however much she needed to get her head checked for being so intrigued by it—there was only one way to find out.

Rose slipped the card into the back pocket of her denims, meeting his unwavering eyes the whole time, smiling to herself. She bit down on the tip of her tongue to prevent it spreading.

“Well,” she said, trying to sound tough, “it’s not exactly four pounds fifty. But it’ll do.”

Tucker smirked. And—oh, yeah, she thought. Mum’s definitely gonna lose it.

#SORRY I GOT LOST IN THE WILF OF IT ALL <3 I LOVE GRANDPA MAN #prompt fic #rose tyler #malcolm tucker #tuckerrose #fic and chips #dw fic #abbey writes #my fic #malcolm tucker x rose tyler #also RIP to me. if there are mistakes i'm sorry. my fingers are just cold and i'm tired of typing lmao

[crimsonedquill]

hello there! i’d like to request a fic where amit finds himself head over heels for mc and has to control himself for the sake of keeping up his Good RavenclawTM image (but MC makes that difficult with their boldness/fowardness)

have a good day :)

I love Amit he's too precious for this world lol

Thanks for the ask 🖤

Craving (Amit Thakkar x gn!MC)

Tags: Spicy fluff (SFW), bold MC

“Good,” Amit said as they walked down the corridor, his voice laced with his usual energy, “so I planned for us to have drinks in Hogsmeade on Fridays –”

“Wait, just Fridays?” MC interrupted, their eyes widening as they quickly glanced at the schedule in their hands. “Why not Saturdays too?”

“Because that’s when you need to be studying for Ancient Runes. I’ve seen your marks, you really shouldn’t be neglecting your electives –”

“But that’s all the more reason for us to spend time together!” MC laughed, their voice filled with playful defiance, before their gaze turned mischievous. “I like to think that you keep me… motivated.”

Amit swallowed, looking around him to make sure the other students in the corridor weren’t listening in. “Well… I suppose I could come over to quiz you –”

“Hmhm,” MC purred, leaning closer until their lips brushed against his ear. “And then, you could reward me for being such a hardworking student…”

Amit’s cheeks flushed crimson, his heart racing at the tone of their voice. “Are we still talking about your academic performance?”

MC chuckled, a sound that sent a delightful shiver down his spine. They were so effortlessly charming, even when they weren’t trying. Imagine the amount of self-restraint they had to exercise when they actually were.

“Amit, you’re adorable. And I think it’s adorable that you’re making all of these schedules, but… sometimes it’s good to cede control and just lose yourself in the moment, you know?”

“The moment?” he asked, looking confused. “I’m not certain I understand what you –”

Before he could finish his sentence, MC yanked him into an alcove by his tie, their lips crashing against his in a passionate kiss. Time seemed to stand still as Amit’s senses were consumed by their intensity. He froze up, any chance he ever had at resisting melting away in their kiss. MC handled him with a fervour that made his head spin, giving him every chance to taste their desire, and it left him gasping for breath as they finally let go, flashing him a big grin. “See, you’re learning already.”

Amit struggled to find his words, his mind still reeling. “You really... I cannot…”

MC chuckled, their laughter a soothing balm to his overwhelmed senses as they tugged him along by the hand. “Don’t lose your head now, handsome. We’re going to be late for class.”

— — —

They had Astronomy class together later that evening, which meant Amit could finally immerse himself in his favourite subject, or so he thought. He had been diligently making changes to his star chart when MC waved them over. “Amit, could you help me adjust my telescope?”

In hindsight, he should probably have noticed that they had set up their telescope a little too far away from the other students, but his eagerness to assist overshadowed any inkling of suspicion. “Allow me,” he smiled at them, quickly moving behind the instrument as his experienced hands went to work.

“You’re my saviour,” MC’s voice came from somewhere to his left, their tone light and playful. A chuckle accompanied their words, causing Amit’s fingers to momentarily falter. “Where would I be without you?”

“With everything I know you to be, I find it slightly difficult to believe that you’re not mocking me right now,” he retorted, his focus still fixed on adjusting the telescope.

MC laughed. “No, I do mean it! In fact, I would like you to know just how grateful I am to have you…”

Before he could ask what they meant, his breath hitched in his throat as he felt a pair of lips brush against the sensitive skin of his neck. He struggled to maintain composure, his knees weakening under the intoxicating touch of MC’s teasing. “O, o Merlin –” he gasped.

MC temporarily withdrew their lips from his neck, their mischievous chuckle filling the silence. “Try to maintain your composure, dearest. Professor Shah might be looking.”

He would have liked to ask him why they wanted to remind him of that while they were busy sucking on his neck, but before he could even respond MC was back at it, placing open-mouthed kisses on his nape. He was having a very hard time controlling himself now, the urge to grab MC’s wrists and pin them against the railing washing away whatever rational thoughts he still had. They truly had the power to unravel him completely, a fact that both thrilled and terrified him.

“Mr Thakkar!” a stern voice suddenly bellowed, piercing through the haze of desire. MC’s lips swiftly abandoned his neck, and he nearly knocked over the telescope in his haste to stand up straight. Professor Shah strode toward them, her posture radiating disappointment as she planted her hands on her hips. “Would you care to explain the meaning of this?”

“MC had some trouble adjusting their telescope, Professor,” he hurriedly explained, “I was simply offering to help –”

“Aha, and I am probably to assume that what you have on your neck there is just a mosquito bite?”

“Well, as a matter of fact –”

“Detention, the both of you!” she snapped, her voice cutting through the crisp night air. “And I would like to express my deepest disappointment, Mr Thakkar. I expected better from you.”

Amit stood there, flabbergasted, as Professor Shah marched away, leaving him speechless and uncertain of what to say or do next. Eventually, he turned to face MC, who was still sporting a mischievous grin despite the reprimand. “No need for such a long face,” they said. “I already have some ideas on how to pass the time.”

— — —

They reported for detention the next day in the Transfiguration classroom. Professor Weasley seemed more than a little surprised to see Amit. “Mr Thakkar, are you feeling all right?”

“Uh, yes, Professor,” Amit answered, feigning a cough as he slightly adjusted the scarf around his neck. He wished MC would stop snickering behind him. “It’s just a simple cold.”

“Well, I must say I wasn’t quite expecting to see you here today – or ever, for that matter. You must have committed quite a heinous transgression.”

“I… I apologise, Professor. It certainly won’t happen again.”

He was grateful when Professor Weasley finally averted her gaze and told them to sit down. He walked over to the table closest to the teacher’s desk, but suddenly felt himself pulled along as MC dragged him to the back of the classroom. “What are you…?”

“She won’t notice,” MC assured him. “Now, come sit down with me.”

Remarkably, they turned out to be right as Professor Weasley only instructed them to keep quiet and start on their homework. Amit did as he was told, continuing his essay on the various applications of Dittany, but it wasn’t too long before he felt MC’s foot against his. They slid him a note: want to continue where we left off?

He gave them a sideways glance, the confusion clearly readable on his face as they had to stifle a chuckle. He frantically nodded his head in the direction of Professor Weasley.

“You’ll just have to keep quiet then,” MC chuckled, pulling down his scarf. He never stood any chance to stop them, but he noticed he didn’t really want to either. Soon, MC had him at their mercy again, lightly nibbling at his neck with an intensity he would call bold, even for them. He tried to focus on his essay, if only it was just to give the impression that he was working, but his mind was completely occupied by MC's playful advances. The sensation of their warm breath against his skin sent shivers down his spine, making it increasingly difficult to concentrate.

Amit stole a quick glance at Professor Weasley, who seemed engrossed in grading papers. He knew he should put a stop to this, that he should focus on his punishment and behave appropriately. But the mischievous sparkle in MC’s eyes was hard to resist, and the allure of their moist lips even harder.

With a mix of both guilt and excitement, he finally turned and leaned closer to MC, their lips barely grazing each other. The tantalizing taste of forbidden pleasure sent a rush of adrenaline through his veins. He knew the danger they were in, the punishment they would risk if they were caught, but it was like none of that mattered anymore. His heart raced with a heady mixture of fear and exhilaration, his body craving more of MC’s intoxicating touch.

As his hand trembled, he cupped MC's cheek, feeling the warmth of their skin beneath his fingertips. A soft sigh escaped into his mouth as MC's tongue gently pressed against his lips, seeking entrance. The world around them faded into insignificance as he parted his lips, inviting them in. Their tongues met in a fervent dance of desire and longing that only fueled their mutual hunger. The sensation was overwhelming, each touch and taste filling him with a dizzying euphoria.

Just as things reached a fever pitch, a sudden cough from Professor Weasley shattered their moment. They hastily pulled apart, both quickly looking down at their parchment. The room was filled with a tense silence, broken only by the sound of their heavy breathing.

Professor Weasley remained quiet, however, and after a few more moments she signalled that they could leave. Amit was almost sure he could see her eyebrows crease above her glasses when they slipped out of the classroom, but he wasn’t eager to find out whether she knew.

Outside, MC laughed as their hand slipped into his. “Well, that was certainly… interesting.”

“I feel like I have never been closer to certain untimely demise,” he sighed as he wiped his forehead, feeling his heart still throbbing in his chest.

“But you did kiss me back. Tell me, didn’t you find it at least a little exhilarating?”

He looked at them, taking in their pretty features, the unmistakable cocky grin that always made his heart flutter. In spite of their recklessness, he couldn’t deny he was utterly in love with them. “I do admit there’s something about you that brings out a certain… side of me.”

“Is that so?” MC giggled, leaning closer to whisper in his ear. “Well, let’s continue to explore that side, then. I can’t wait for you to tell me unsavoury things in Gobbledygook.”

He could only imagine his face as their laughter echoed through the corridor.

#hogwarts legacy #harry potter #amit thakkar #amit thakkar x mc

[inkwolvesandcoffee]

Books, Love & Oatmeal (Forrest Bondurant x Reader)

Genre: Romance, Fluff, Modern AU, Bookshop AU, Werewolf AU

Pairing: Werewolf bookshop keeper!Forrest x Fem Human!Reader

Word count: 2.8K

Warnings: Tooth-rotting fluff, an overly worried Forrest, a sprinkle of self-loathing

Summary: Stomach flu season is a yearly occurrence. However, Wolves are less susceptible to disease in general and therefore generally have a smaller pocket of knowledge on how it affects other species. So when you fall ill with the bug, Forrest experiences first hand the stress of having to take care of his human mate.

Although, perhaps he takes things a little too far.

Author’s Note: This piece is from Forrest’s POV.

Tag list: @potter-solomons @hecatemoon87 @buttercup32sstuff @alikaheroes @ilovemanypeople @woofgocows @liliac-dreamer @zablife @elijahssuit @dreamlandcreations​ @vir-tual​

TH Masterlist

I hate seeing her like this.

Usually she is full of life, ready to chastise me for coming home with muddy boots after a hike. For wandering off when we’re on the road. Or for killing prey which we could cook up for dinner. Fortunately, that’s only on the days Y/N takes care of it.

I don’t have the heart yet to enlighten her about my secret recipes. And I think that’s the last thing she wants to hear right now.

The sour smell has worsened since the morning. I first caught a whiff of it when she sprang up out of bed, rushed into the bathroom, and let it all out. Pale-faced, she returned, an unsteady hand on the door knob.

Jack and Howard would never let up if they heard me, but I couldn’t help but whimper at her state. It turned into a soft whine when I got to my feet and picked her up, an involuntary shiver further chilling her cold skin. I tucked her in after pulling an extra blanket from the closet to wrap her up in.

“Forrest, I need to get to work,’’ she said, trying to get up. She started to struggle when I tried to gently push her back onto the pillows. ‘‘I’m expected at the office.”

I’m not always in control and often exercise more strength than necessary. However, and the mere thought makes me uneasy still, I consciously made use of the Wolf to keep her in place. It’s my responsibility that she's in good health and it’s only natural to take a sick day when you’re ill. If I hadn’t done that, she’d gone out and the sickness would’ve worsened. I did the right thing. 

Don’t mean I don’t hate myself for it. 

“No, you’re staying home. Where’s your phone? I’ll call your boss and tell them you’re not coming.”

A small gasp fell from her lips, eyes wide in surprise at the use of force. Yet, Y/N continued to protest, fiercer than before. “I can work from-’’

“No working from home either. If they don’t like it, I’ll send for Jack. He’ll know how to butter them up just right.”

“I’m okay.”

“Sure as hell didn’t sound like it.” I nodded at the door, indicating the bathroom across the hallway. “You sounded even worse than Howard after he’s been on the whiskey. You’re staying home to get some rest.”

“But-’’

“And that’s final.”

She should have struck me then or at least gotten angry with me for breaking the promise I made her after it happened the first time. Perhaps it was exasperation combined with the recklessness of the Wolf, which knows it’s an effective way to end any argument. Perhaps it was even a conscious act, the line blurred between the beast and me again in a way that makes it hard to distinguish between who acted.

I growled at her.

Another reason I hate myself at times.

In an attempt to make amends, I patted her head and let out an apologetic whine. I don’t blame her for swatting my paw, no, my hand and pushing me away when I tried to nuzzle her. 

Resigned, I grabbed her phone off her bedside table and left the room. In the quiet hallway, I waited, nauseous with the sharp sting of fear in her scent and the anticipation of the first sobs on the other side of the door. Tough as she may be, any confrontation with potential direct violence nevertheless leaves its mark on her.

After a few moments of nothing, I called her boss to let them know she would take a sick day.

She had her back turned to me when I returned. Afraid of making matters worse, tail tucked between my legs, ears flat against my head, and head bowed I remained by the door. Although, in hindsight, I only did the latter. 

I think.

I’m not sure. 

Tends to happen a lot these days.

“Try to eat something. And drink enough water.”

“Not hungry.”

“Sweetheart, you need to eat.”

“I’ll just puke it out again.”

I sighed and padded around to her side of the bed. The mattress dipped when I sat down, a hand on her cheek. The fact she allowed me to touch her meant she had forgiven me. 

Again. 

More than she should. 

“Guess the shop won’t open today.”

“What? No, Forrest, you can go to work. I’ll be fine. After all, I’m more than capable of looking after myself.” She placed her hand over mine, giving it a squeeze meant to be encouraging yet was so light and meek it only empowered my hunch she wouldn’t be. “Really, it’s okay. Go open your shop. You need the income.”

“Promise me you’ll eat. Even if it’s just some yogurt.” She made a face, evidently not liking being told what to do. However, when it comes to her health, it’s one of the few fields I want to be her authority in.

She’s my mate, so it’s my duty to look after her.

Her skin was cool against my lips when I kissed her forehead. “First, rest. I’ll be right downstairs, so shoot me a message if you need anything.”

Jack can’t live without the thing, always talking to someone, but I hate having a phone. What point is there in being available to everyone all the time? Apparently, no one can stand on their own legs anymore. However, for Y/N, I make an exception.

I want her to reach me.

For us to connect.

Fortunately, today seems to be another quiet day. I have an inkling people are intimidated by me and it affects the customer flow, but right now that’s the least of my concerns. Neither are the boxes with fresh stock that were left on the pavement. Besides, I don’t think anyone would appreciate the sole employee only being able to look at his phone.

Has she eaten? She said she’d try. Does she need anything else? I should’ve made soup before I left. Maybe made a nest. Why hasn’t she sent a message?

My stomach does a somersault as a bleak thought surfaces.

What if something happened and she can’t? Oh God, don’t let it be so.

I put the book in my hands on my lap to reach for my phone once again. It seems neither the scenery nor a good story will bring peace of mind today. The customers can wait, business can wait. I’ll even close the shop if I have to.

The screen lights up with the selfie we took on our last hike. I don’t like having my photo taken, but Y/N insisted we should at least have one together to add to the already small collection. I suppose she’s right. She deserves something to remember me by. 

Still nothing.

I can feel the fangs protruding from my gums as irritation takes over. Though she’s a capable human girl, I hate it when she does this. Trying to act like she’s fine when she needs help. Insisting to take care of herself while she’s sick.

I should be upstairs making sure she’s fed. Run her a bath, change the bedding while she soaks the sickness out, dress her in a fresh pair of pyjamas, and tuck her in. Safe and warm.

“What’re you looking so glum for today, Forrest?” Mrs Talbot, one of my few regulars, puts the book she’s selected on the counter. Slender fingers entwined, she lets her hands rest on it. Seems like she won’t let me ring her up before she’s got an answer.

Bless her.

I clear my throat and slightly let my head hang in apology for my bad mannerisms. “It’s my ma- girlfriend, ma’am. She… she isn’t well.”

“Oh deary, what’s the poor thing come down with?”

“I don’t know, but she can’t stomach food or drink. I told her to at least try to eat something, but I don’t think she will.” I clench and release my fists. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Don’t worry, my son, it’s stomach flu season. Besides, she isn’t a Wolf, so it’s not surprising she’s caught the damned bug.”

“You- You know what I am?” I blink a few times, trying to register her words. Judging by the air of calm seriousness around her, I heard her correctly.

“I’ve seen you and your brothers skulking around my orchard, yes.” A warm though knowing smile spreads on Mrs Talbot’s thin lips, blue eyes alight with mischief. “My Reggie was one too. Besides, and this was a long time ago, mind you, I used to be a doctor for people like you.”

Why is it that old women have the most astounding secrets, the most vivid lives?

“She’ll be alright, dear. Make her a cup of tea and let her rest. Oh, and warmth. That’s important too.” She gives me a cheeky wink. “I can attest to that from first-hand experience.”

Well, Wolves have a higher body temperature so I suppose I’m warm enough. Gives me a chance to practise cuddling.

“Thank you, ma’am, for the advice.” I bite down the cheerful yap aching to come out. “It’s easier to care for my brothers than her. Humans are frailer, needing more to survive.”

“Fortunately, it sounds like the lucky girl has a Wolf watching over her. How much do I owe you?”

Out of gratitude and the small piece of solace she’s given me, I tell Mrs Talbot the novel is on the house. After all, it’s the least I can do to repay the various kindnesses she’s shown me since I arrived here and opened the shop. Albeit a bit reluctantly, she eventually agrees and leaves.

The rest of the day is quiet. Overall, I think most time was spent reading by the window or pacing around the shop to clear my head. Fortunately, there is no one to be insulted by my frequent use of my phone. Also, I don’t mind the occasional truly slow day, but with Y/N sick in bed it’s close to maddening.

As soon as six o’clock rolls around, I close up the shop and rush up the stairs on the side of the building. I burst through the front door and head to the bedroom.

She’s where I left her, a half-full jug of water and a vegetable sandwich with a small bite taken out of it on the bedside table. “I’m home.”

Her eyes wander from the screen of her e-reader, a faint smile on her lips. “So I heard.”

I crouch down at her side and cup her cheek. Her skin is still colder than it should be. The nauseating sour note underlining her scent hasn’t decreased. “Got through the day alright?”

“Yeah, read a lot mostly.” She nods at the television on the dresser. “Watched a movie too.”

“Good,” I say before I get up and walk to the kitchen to make her some oatmeal, taking the sandwich with me. It’s done the trick with Jack and Howard when they couldn’t hold anything down so it should work for her too. Ma’s recipe works wonders.

You shouldn’t try solid food like this. Too many fibres and gluten. Will only agitate your stomach.

A few minutes later, I return to the bedroom. Y/N scrunches her nose when she notices the contents of the bowl in my hand.

“Oatmeal’s good for you.”

“Don’t like it.”

“It’ll provide some of the nutrients you need and you haven’t eaten all day.”

“Could barely keep the water down.”

“But water ain’t food. Please.” I put the bowl on the bedside table, kick off my shoes, sit down on the edge of the bed, and rest my forehead against hers. Though I hate to do it, I manipulate my scent in hopes of convincing her. Being a Wolf is a blessing and a curse. “One bite. The rest don’t matter, but try at least that one bite.”

Y/N uses my fingers to warm hers, devoid of their usual warmth, up. “Go make dinner for yourself. I can do one day without food.”

I huff and shake my head. “Not hungry. Besides, I ain’t eating if you aren’t.”

The mere thought of having to sit alone at the dinner table makes my stomach roil. To have to face the emptiness of the kitchen when she isn’t there to watch me cook or vice versa. To not cook together because one of us has found a new recipe online or wants to try something new. To be alone in the silence, which won’t be broken by the occasional excited clap or one of those pleased little outcries she does when something tastes good.

She scoffs, her eyes closed as she raises my palm to her cheek to bask in its warmth. “So it’s okay for you not to eat, but not for me?”

“You’re sick, Y/N. It’s important to eat when you’re sick.”

“I’m fine, Forrest.”

“Then why is your hand cold, hm? Why does the stink of disease underline your scent?” I swallow the snarl bubbling in my throat, which transforms into a powerless whine. Gently, I brush my thumb over her skin. “Please, honey. Just one bite, that’s all I ask.”

She lets out a deep sigh of resignation. “Fine. But if I throw up again, it’s on you.”

“You won’t,” I shake my head, retract my hand to grab the bowl, and hold up a spoonful for her. “The family recipe don’t work that way. It heals, nourishes. Ma always made it for my brothers and I when we were pups. Basically raised us on the stuff.”

“Let’s hope it does the same for me.”

Gaze fixed on the oatmeal, she takes a few deep breaths to steel herself. Then she leans in to let me feed her. She swallows the food fast, nose scrunched. Nonetheless, the second after, after her eyebrows shoot up in wonder. “Wow, that… that’s pretty good.”

“Want another bite?” I try to restrain the delight causing a pleasant buzz in my limbs. After all, I don’t think she’d appreciate me pouncing on and licking her.

She nods carefully, considering her stomach.

One bite follows another and soon the bowl is empty. I pluck a tissue from the box beside the jug and clean her mouth, purring. “Attagirl. There.”

Y/N slumps beneath the sheets, rolled on her side in the fetus position. Curled up like a pup. “That was nice. Really tasty.”

“That’s good to hear. Let’s make it an early night. You need to rest.”

“I’m plenty rested. Been in bed all day.”

“Until ten o’clock. Afterwards, it’s lights out.”

She pouts, evidently disagreeing with me. However, the murmured ‘‘fine’’ is affectionate, glad to be looked after.

After cleaning up and changing into something more comfortable, I settle into the sheets next to her. Acting on Mrs Talbot’s advice, I scoot closer to put my chest against her back. A hand on her stomach, I entwine my legs with hers. This cuddling sure is an effective way to keep her in place.

There. Warmth. This is how you do it, right?

Then again, it looks like only one form of it. In the movies and series we saw, it happened in various ways. In bed, on the couch, on a bench in a park. Sometimes the male human would drape his arm over the female human’s shoulders to pull her close, but that’s not possible in our current position. She also can’t sit on my lap. I guess the most important thing is for our bodies to be close, touching.

No, this is right.

“Um, Forrest, what are you doing?” Y/N glances over her shoulder, an eyebrow cocked.

“They do this in the movies, when a man likes a woman.’’ I lean back a bit to try and discover where the fault in it all lies. ‘‘Don’t like it? Or am I doing it wrong?”

She merely laughs, a lovely sound which melts the tenseness in my muscles. “You watch too many movies. They give a false image of what romance is.” 

She tries to flip around, but the hold I have on her prevents it. The look of surprise when she notices she can’t move her legs turns into amused resignation. She falls back into the pillow. “Forrest, can I get my legs back?”

“Do you need them?”

“Well, yeah. How else am I gonna get out of bed?”

“You won’t. You stay here, shut your pretty eyes after we watch a movie or a series, whatever you want, and sleep. No getting up.”

“How about you? If you get up, what will prevent me from doing the same?”

I nuzzle into her, briefly burying my face between her shoulder blades before doing so in her hair. Her scent has mixed with mine, underlining the cherry blossom and spice shampoo she uses. I let out a content sigh. “I ain’t going nowhere.”

Not until she’s better.

And even afterwards I’ll remain at her side.

I’ll stay.

Have to.

Because she’s my mate.

My responsibility.

My anchor.

#Forrest Bondurant #Forrest Bondurant imagine #Tom Hardy #Tom Hardy imagine #Lawless

[sofiacccc]

HELP

Cw:53

Gw:45

Olen 17-vuotias tyttö, olen 172 cm pitkä ja painan 53 kg ja minun on laihdutettava nopeasti vähintään 5 kg. Pyydän jo anteeksi, koska tästä tulee luultavasti romaani, MUTTA KUKAAN MUU EI YMMÄRRÄ MINUA. I think the biggest problem is that I'm skinny fat.

My target weight is 45kg and I'm starting to get frustrated because I've been trying to lose weight for over half a year now. I've been counting calories and exercising a lot. I've been trying to lose weight the "healthy" way and now it has to end.

But I think this is my problem. The only escape from eating is at school, because it's easy to fast there, but when I come home from school, I... I eat like a fat pig. The same thing always happens on weekends. As soon as I'm at home and I know there's food in the kitchen or my parents are going to the store i know i'm going to binge. I HAVE NO SELF CONTROL and it makes me hate myself. All my fucking hard work will be wasted after the weekend. Every little snack leads me to binge.

And I can't throw up everything I've eaten because my biggest fear is vomiting, I have emetophobia DAMN WHAT A LOSER I AM. But trust me if I could I would. I go to the gym and at first I thought it would make me lose weight fast until I realized it would build my muscles WHICH MAKES ME LOOK EVEN BIGGER and now I hate it but I don't want to stop because then I would just lie down and gain even more weight.

I can't wait to move into my own home because then I won't have anything in my fridge or other kitchen cabinets THEY WILL BE AS EMPTY AS POSSIBLE.

I also hate seeing pictures from 2019-2022 when I was really skinny and looked so perfect. My there was nothing between my thighs and all my ribs were visible. I've also always been a really skinny kid, so when my puberty started and I started gaining weight, the hatred towards my own body started. I also HATE how stupid I was in the summer of 2020, I was just going to middle school and my period hadn't started yet (I weighed 45kg at the time) and I thought it was because, well, maybe I'm underweight (I was underweight as a child and the school nurse was always worried about me) so that summer I ate and ate and ate and finally at the end of the summer 5 days before the start of school my period started BUT I WEIGHED 48KG. SO I, STUPID FREAKING SHITI MADE MYSELF FAT. I always think about how thin I would be now if I had left those 3 extra kilos without gaining weight WOULD I BE 3KG LIGHTER NOW.

I had to open up because if I talked to my friends about this they would just say I'm an attention seeker. BUT EVEN THEY CAN NOW SEE HOW FAT I AM AND HOW MY LOVEHANDELS ARE DANGLING AND MY BIG THOUGHS ARE MOVING. I'm also 100% sure that my friends and family are making me fat. why else would they keep buying me candy and calorie bombs.

If anyone actually read this far I AM SO GRATEFUL BUT I REALLY NEED HELP WITH THIS WEIGHT LOSS NOW BECAUSE I FAT SHIT SHOULD BE DOING SOMETHING WRONG. And sorry my english i'm bad at ir. Should I continue to update?

#proana. #ana pro tips #an0rec1a #i just want to be thin

[drabbles-mc]

For the fic titles!

The Way The Wind Blows South

The Latern Lovers

Hallow Thy Self

omg the way that these are such beautiful titles 🥹

The Way The Wind Blows South the way i read this title and my mind instantly started screaming Mayans & Sons of Anarchy Crossover so that's where i've let my brain marinate. Ft. my oc Veronica Winston 💞

After the club that her family had been willing to sacrifice anything for ended up taking everything from her, Veronica knew that she couldn't stay in Charming anymore. The town was no longer a home to her, just a graveyard for all the people she'd ever cared about. So she packed a bag, hopped onto her bike, and peeled off for the closest highway that would take her as far away as she could manage to get. She made it all the way down to the border before she decided to stop somewhere long enough to do more than just sleep. Something about Santo Padre felt familiar, that small-town feeling that she'd grown up knowing and loving so deeply. It felt like a place she could try and start over. But it wouldn't be long until she realized that she didn't get as far away from her old life as she thought. It was just a new town filled with other people's ghosts.

The Lantern Lovers no matter how hard the world may ever try, they will never take my Harry Hart x John Wick headcanon from me 😌

He was too tired to even feel real panic when he was told that he was now Excommunicado. All he knew was that he needed to leave quickly and figure out if there was still a safe place left for him in the world now. He'd cost himself The Continental, he'd put a target on his back for everyone who was underneath The High Table. It was probably a record of some sort for the quickest someone had stripped themselves of almost all their resources and allies at once. When he started running, he didn't have an end-point in mind. It didn't take him long, however, to think of the one person he swore he'd never ask anything of again. Someone who knew him long before he'd become the man who completed Impossible Tasks. He wondered if Harry would even recognize him anymore, if he'd even let John through the door. He was John's final shot in the dark, so he knew he had to take it. So few things compared to the warm sense of relief that took over him when he arrived and saw the light above the door on in the middle of the night. Lifetimes might have passed between them but, when he needed it most, John knew he still had somewhere, someone to call home.

Hallow Thy Self all i could think of when i read this was Bucky

Bucky had spent so much of his life with no control over it. Someone was always waiting around the corner to take it from him whenever he felt like perhaps he was starting to gain his own footing. So many years spent existing in his body against his own will. When he came-to in Wakanda, it was the first time in a long time that he didn't have anyone telling him what to do. There were no missions. There was no fight. There were no orders to follow. That in and of itself was enough to provide respite for a moment. But there were still things in him that were broken, things he thought were irreparable until the woman sitting in the grass beside him told him otherwise. She said it with such conviction that Bucky found himself believing her. Even though he believed her, though, he knew that to obtain what she was offering him, he was going to have to do it again. He was going to have to give up control. But she was asking. She wasn't taking it. Maybe that counted for something.

Thank you soooooo much for these! This was such a fun little exercise! Who knows, maybe I'll actually sit down and write one of these out one day haha. Even if I don't, though, this was such a nice time for my brain. Thank you! 💖

Send a made-up fic title and I'll write a summary!

#ask #asks #title game #caplanbuckybarnes