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#and about like how she survived without drinking blood
calisources · 3 days
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𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐋 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒.
All of these sentences are mostly taking by my own mind and i'm not joking. It was hard finding material quotes regarding tournaments in historical or fantasy setting. Some are from shows or media but eighty percent is all from my own mind, please give credit if use these. Change pronouns, names, locations as you see fit. All of these involve the medieval event of a tournament and what happens around them.
I fear I am already bending far too many rules just by taking you, my young princess.
Show me your hands, you will have blisters soon.
Lady Eglantine doesn’t believe in love, only lust.
In the world of competition, only the strongest shall prevail.
A true champion is not defined by their victories, but by the obstacles they've overcome.
Victory is sweetest when it's earned through sweat, hard work, and determination.
Will you not participate in the tourney, my lord? 
May I have the honor of wearing your favor today, my lady?
Good luck to you, my Prince.
The tournament is not just a test of skill, but a test of character as well.
Is it always this bloody? Will those poor men die? Someone must see them.
I want him to wear my favor.  Only him. 
If he wins, the knight has the right to name his Queen of Love and Beauty. And at the feast, they shall dance.
Be careful. A tourney is a grand place for courtly love, but also, for blood to rise and affairs to appear.
Call me what you like, say I'm without honor, I don't care. I'm not getting on any more horses to whack you people with a stick.
Kings may be chosen by God, but they still make the mistakes of men.
When even those who rule can sink this low, it is not possible to change anything.
It's my lucky charm, be sure to bring it back to me.
My favorite blue ribbon. Take it.
It will bring you good fortune and you will return from joust unharmed.
I was hoping to ask for the Princess's favor.
How about a kiss, for luck?
Courtly love was the culture around the performance of love at court.
And now, rather than admit these feelings, you're dancing around one another with this mind-numbing and frankly boorish mating ritual.
The knights take on the duties of shadows with pride.
Whoever wins the tournament, shall become the prince/princess’ new betrothed.
You want to marry my daughter? Prove yourself worthy.
Petyr survived only because I begged Brandon not to kill him.
When Petyr heard of my engagement, he challenged Brandon to a duel. 
You do qualify to marry my daughter.
What matters most is who she will give her favor to. 
Her face is one that can create dynasties or crumble empires.
I was hoping for a word before you rode on the tourney, my Prince. 
My brother is the one competing against you, please be gentle with him.
The games are done for the day, please, feast and drink as you wish. 
You have been staring all day, my lord. I was beginning to wonder if I had something in my face.
Any damsel that's in distress - she'll be out of that dress when she meets Jim West.
Great men do not seek power... they have power thrust upon them.
My daughter seems. . .infatuated with you. I have yet to see why.
The princess is naive and thinks any man who is kind means well. A tournament will only show her the reality of life.
You honor the arena with your combat. May your swords and shield preserve the peace.
In the songs all knights are gallant, all maids are beautiful, and the sun is always shining.
I will be brave for Princess Pea.
As a squire, your first duty is to your knight’s armor. Your knight’s armor is more important than your own life. 
You will be knighted and you will have earned your knighthood.
You are hurt. At least let me tend to your wound.
The men laugh and fight and the ladies search for husbands.
Nothing like a good tournament to find a husband, or a companion for the night. 
Rumors are always spread with ease in these.
Can I have your daughter for the rest of my life?
You say I'll never get your blessing till the day I die.
We're married now, but we still haven't told your dad. This is the right time.
Are you promised to someone?
My sister's getting married. It's a love match. A rare thing. I’m not so lucky. My husband is to be chosen by who can hold a sword the longer.
Why can’t women participate in the games?
There are games for the ladies, Your Grace. But they are less. . .gruesome. And of course, the dancing.
Princes and Princess all over the realm and across the sea are coming for this event. You must shine brighter.
Let me help you with your armor. It appears loose.
As I promised, I return your favor to you, my lady. 
The Prince never loses a joust. He will crown his queen and then all will be well.
I do not understand the appeal of this. 
I spend days making these favors, let me stay a little longer.
My lady, I do not need your favor to win, but perhaps, a kiss of good faith. 
I do not care who wins these games, your hand is already arranged for another.
Men are scoundrel, specially when blood runs hot after a good battle, stray away from them.
These games are done in honor of the king’s heir.
The lord’s daughter is said to have bloomed, and the man chooses to announce it like this. 
A tournament is for men to boost their strength, fathers sell their daughters like mares and for affairs to happen.
I saw you on the stands today, my lord. But you did not participate on the games.
My brother wishes to dance with you, my lady. He is all too shy to ask himself.
You were injured. Have you allowed someone to heal them or are you too stubborn to let them?
Princess, you must not stray too far away. 
Mother is too drunk and annoyed to care, she won’t mind. 
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pagannatural · 1 day
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2.09 Croatoan
-my beloved
-The brothers go to Oregon because Sam has a vision of Dean shooting someone who pleads for his life.
-Sam thinks Dean is violent and out of control because of his grief but he’s actually violent and out of control because he’s losing his mind over Sam.
-Sam looks very Scared Little Brother when they realize the town has no phone signal. He stands really close to Dean. Sam is right. I forgot how scary this episode is.
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-Sam hesitates to kill the son who had the mom tied up, and Dean berates him. Dean calls the son a “monster” and Sam says “it was a kid.” Dean likes a clean line between monster and human.
-Sam is always the one who comforts the victims and tells people everything will be okay, another way in which his role in the relationship is traditionally feminine. He’s the one women find non-threatening. (And he’s too distracted by Dean to be attracted to them).
-When the mom, Beverly, says “one minute they were my husband and my son and the next they had the devil in them” the camera cuts to Sam and Dean. This line could be Dean describing a blood-drinking Sam: one minute he was my husband and my son and the next he had the devil in him.
-One of the armed men blocking the road out of town asks Dean to get out of the car to “talk a little,” and Dean says “you are a handsome devil but I don’t swing that way, sorry.” It’s easy to forget that in the early 2000s, this kind of throwaway joke on network tv didn’t usually hint at a character’s hidden sexuality, it was just a vaguely biphobic little joke. But I do think there’s a reason it’s here.
The Croatoan virus is a demonic virus spread from blood infection that’s not visible just by looking at someone. So we have a little AIDS parallel. It’s also a similar concept to Sam’s demon blood. His blood represents choice and sin and the human mixed with the monstrous. Blood is also associated with family.
Incest and queerness are taboos that have often been conflated in fiction (and in history), and both have been strongly associated with monstrosity—think predatory sexuality, birth defects, infertility, rejection of the natural order. A desire that’s dangerous and wrong and destructive, that must stay hidden and can only survive in the shadows. The homoerotic incestuous monster hunters are the perfect storm of gothic queer horror.
Whether or not either brother is queer doesn’t affect the plot, and isn’t the point. I can see Dean grappling with being in love with Sam without questioning his sexuality at all. Sam is a category unto himself to Dean, and Sam doesn’t appear bothered about his sexuality aside from his feelings about Dean. But the confluence of these taboos—incest and queerness—with blood is central to the plot of the show and the question of what evil is. Really their love for each other and their shared blood is what saves them, keeps them human.
-Another of my absolute favorite underrated wincest moments is when Beverly is begging for her life from the utility room and Dean asks Sam “are you sure she’s one of them?” Sam barely nods and it’s enough for Dean to shoot her three times point blank. He doesn’t need any more information, just for Sam to nod slightly.
-Sam suggests that they need to leave to warn others of the virus and Dean tells him he has a good point. They respect each other’s input and work together well.
-Duane shows up and the situation becomes very tense. Sam is standing with his whole body facing Dean. In moments of extreme stress, Sam often seeks Dean’s protection rather than focusing on the threat.
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-Dean has a gun on Duane with some urgency but Sam says “I gotta talk to you—now” and Dean leaves the room with him immediately.
Sam argues that they should wait and not kill Duane in case he isn’t infected. Dean says “what’s that buy us?”
“A clear conscience, for one.”
“Well it’s too late for that.” Is Dean talking about his guilt over John’s death? Or is this more about his general self hatred around never being enough to be everything for everyone, to give Sam everything that he needs and be the perfect son and soldier and brother and father and mother?
Sam tells him “you don’t act like yourself anymore, Dean. You’re acting like one of those things out there.” Dean does feel lost. He needs Sam to save him so that he can save Sam.
-Sam is so devoted to Dean this season. He spent season 1 gradually giving into his complete trust and commitment to Dean and now he’s been losing him or at risk of losing him in different ways all season. He fights tooth and nail for Dean every step of the way to get him to listen, to talk, to come back to him.
-Dean pushes Sam out of the way and locks him out, aiming to kill Duane. He says “it’s not him, not any more” and “I’ve got no choice.” But then Dean decides not to shoot him.
-When the doctor asks if it’s alright to untie Duane, Dean and Sam seem to have a wordless conversation in which Dean defers to Sam’s judgement, and Sam tells the doctor it’s okay to untie him.
-Sam is Dean’s morality. Dean is submitting to Sam, needing him to help him make the right choice. By doing this he’s also believing in Sam’s ability to stay good.
-Sam says about Dean not killing Duane “you know I’m gonna ask you why.”
Dean replies “yeah I know,” not looking up, focusing on keeping his hands busy making Molotov cocktails.
“So why? Why didn’t you do it?”
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Dean looks at Sam with his chin tucked, like it’s hard to meet his eyes. He doesn’t answer. He clears his throat and says “we need more alcohol,” basically asking Sam to leave for a moment so that he can pull it together. He gazes after Sam with this raw, shamed look.
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It’s the first of two parallels in this episode to their conversation in 1.19 where Sam says his reticence to date is mostly not about Jessica, and Dean asks “then what is it about?” and Sam just looks at him, implying heavily that it’s about Dean.
The question Dean was asking Sam there was essentially, Why can’t you love anyone else?
The first question Sam asks Dean is why he didn’t kill someone, but it’s also why Dean wants to do the right thing and not lose himself, and the answer is because of Sam.
-After Sam is attacked, he reaches for Dean’s hand to help him up off the floor and then just leaves his hand outstretched after Sarge holds Dean back and tells him Sam is infected. It’s like his muscle memory of reach-out-hand, Dean-pulls-me-up hasn’t caught on.
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-The whole time Dean argues with the others about Sam, Sam only looks at the floor or at Dean. He’s not watching the conversation, he’s watching Dean because he’s scared and he looks to Dean when he’s scared.
-Dean says “no one’s shooting my brother”
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He’s so protective. He was about to kill someone who might be infected just in case, but when it’s Sam he would simply rather die in a murder suicide and that’s that on that.
-Sam asks for the gun so that he can shoot himself, saying “I’m not gonna become one of those things.” This episode is pure foreshadowing for the end of s5. Sam refuses to become a monster, Dean chooses to stand by him and die rather than kill him. Because of their faith in each other, because they waited, things work out.
-Dean hands over the keys to the impala. He’s not fucking around. He tells the doctor “oh actually we’re not really marshals.” He’s in a truth telling mood, fuck it.
-Sam asks Dean to leave him and keep living, looking at him with incredulity and gratitude and love and fear.
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Dean leaving him alone to die or become a monster would fulfill Sam’s deepest fear—left behind, not belonging, because something is wrong with him. But he still asks Dean to go, he throws a fit, he tells him “this is the dumbest thing you’ve ever done.” It reminds me of that scene from Titanic, Jack telling Rose “you’re so stupid” for staying with him instead of saving herself.
He says “it’s over for me, it doesn’t have to be for you.”
“No?”
“No. You can keep going.”
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“Who says I want to?”
This scene is so dramatic and romantic. Close shots of their faces, Sam looking up at Dean with his eyes full of tears, begging him. Dean tells Sam he doesn’t want to go on without him.
Sam asks, what?
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For a moment it almost looks like he’s taking this as the confession that it is, before Dean puts some distance between them and leans against the wall. This is the second scene is this episode to parallel their conversation in 1.19, this time even more closely.
Sam thinks Dean doesn’t want to go on because their dad died, but Dean says “you’re wrong. It’s not about dad. I mean part of it is, sure, but-“
Sam interrupts to ask “then what is it about?” and Dean gives him this look,
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this look of love and tenderness, like he’s willing Sam to understand.
This time Sam’s question is Why don’t you want to live? And the answer is that Dean doesn’t want to live without Sam.
I love how this scene makes clear that Sam’s romantic partners compare directly to Dean. It confirms what Sam was thinking about in 1.19, because for these scenes to rhyme they must have been thinking about each other.
-The brothers share a romantic beer at the lake. Sam asks Dean what he was talking about last night in a way that honest-to-god sounds like he’s referring to pillow talk. Dean doesn’t want to tell so Sam keeps pushing, but their tones are teasing and light. They really sound like they’re flirting. Dean suggests that they go to the Grand Canyon.
Sam keeps questioning him, gentle but insistent, as Dean talks about taking a break.
-Where is our Grand Canyon episode?
-Sam looks so scared when Dean says John told him something about Sam before he died. I wonder what’s running through his head. There’s this feeling that people with Sam’s negative core belief often get, which is a fear that something is deeply wrong or rotten in them and that eventually other people will find out. He’s probably thinking that’s finally happened.
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sweetiecutie · 5 months
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🖤Fuck or Die part 2🖤
Part 1
Pairing: slasher! König x fem! Reader
Warnings: Dead Dove Do Not Eat, mdni, smut, non con so rape, violence, obsession, drugging, face-slapping and nose bleeding, choking, kidnapping, mention of murder. If you feel triggered by any of these warnings - just scroll past!
A/n: this took me way longer than I expected but yay, I finally wrote the second part!!! Also absolutely not me incorporating a quote from the movie bc I think it’s impossibly hot🤭
Reading part 1 is recommended for understanding the plot
Your life will never be the same. That damned evening changed you, everything around you, splitting your life into before and after.
Your memories of next few days after the murder were a sheer blur of events and conversations - numerous interrogations with police officers and detectives, psychologists trying to soothe you out of your stupor still, your mother crying her eyes out at the sight of you right after police arrived at the place of Paul’s death. And, of course, nasty journalists trailing behind you, watching your every move, invading your personal space unapologetically.
Of course, you were quite a catch - the first and only one who ever survived a meeting with König. Everyone wanted to know what he looked like - any particular details, scars or tattoos, a fucking skin colour - anything you could remember would be of huge use, giving at least any clues to a dead unmoving case. But there was very little you could help with - König took great care of covering every centimetre of his skin in black clothing, his voice changed, he smelled of nothing but earth and sickening metal of your boyfriend’s blood. Bastard was even smart enough to not cum inside nor anywhere actually, so that police couldn’t get his DNA samples.
A few months had passed since that horrific attack and there were still no traces of König.
It was midday when your parents had to leave to attend your grandma’s birthday - your mother was reluctant, not wanting to leave you all alone. You were never alone actually - a few police cars always patrolled right outside of your house, not allowing even postmen to get too close to your family’s property. It took a lot of reassuring and encouragement from your side to get your mother off your back, convincing her that you’ll be just fine by yourself and that you want your parents to have some fun. She then gave up with a deep sight, promising to be back in only a few hour’s matter.
You heaved a heavy sigh, closing and locking the front door after waving your parents goodbye, heading to the kitchen to grab yourself a drink. A pile of dirty dishes stacked in a sink caught your eye, the sight of its ugly mess on otherwise clean and tidy kitchen caused an itch somewhere deep in your brain. Without second thought you rolled up your sleeves, pouring dish soap onto the sponge and foaming it up.
As you were halfway through the dishes loud trilling of your landline phone calling startled you, causing you to jump on your spot. Your head whipped around, looking into direction from which the sound came. Wiping your wet hands on the kitchen towel you grabbed the phone, tucking it in between your ear and shoulder after accepting the incoming call.
- Hello? - you said, coming back to the sink, swiping foamy sponge over another plate, cleaning it of any grease and leftover bits of food.
- Hello! Um, can I speak to Paul? - your movements halted abruptly. You stood there silently for a long while, muscles stiff and unmoving, eyes staring blankly at some invisible point in the space before you.
- Excuse me, are you still here? Do I have the wrong number? - the man on the other end of the line said, his voice sounding concerned. It seemed to bring you out of your stupor as you drew in a long breath, exhaling noisily.
- Um, can I ask you how you got this number? - you said, already sensing something weird about this whole situation. But cops were all around your place, there was nothing to be worried about, right?
- Paul gave it to me himself. Said to call here if I needed to reach out to him, - man explained. That was strange but not unexplainable - Paul often hang out at your house, you wouldn’t be surprised if he knew your home phone number better than his own. - So am I calling right?
- Oh, yeah, sorry it’s just… Paul’s dead, - you said, teeth sinking into the inside of your cheek, sweet metallic taste coating your buds, but you couldn’t care less, nibbling deeper into small wound, feeling of slight pain grounding you successfully.
- Oh god, what happened? I’m so sorry, I didn’t know. But who am I speaking to then? - the man said, his voice now sounding genuine and apologetic. Everyone around Y/n suddenly sounded genuinely and apologetic. She heaved another sigh, resuming her scrubbing on the plates.
- He was murdered. And I’m his girlfriend, - you said in a calm tone, free of any emotion or feeling. Paul’s death was pretty much the only thing you talked about with others - police, detectives, police again, his parents and friends, your parents and friends. It seemed like such a sensitive topic turned into a rough callous way too quickly. - Well, I was his girlfriend, - Y/n mumbled after a short pause, faint clatter of porcelain audible in the background.
- Sorry about your boyfriend, - man on the line said. There was a brief moment before he added: - all those muscles didn’t help much, did they?
You froze. Silence settled in, interrupted only by occasional electric noise humming through the speaker. You heard your own pulse humping rapidly in your ears, your breathing fast and shallow, all muscles in your body tensing in alarm, straightening your back. Your eyes shoot up, looking out of the window above the sink. There were a few trees growing shallowly - barely an orchard - separating your house from your neighbours. No one was there.
- What’s that, sweet girl? You can’t see me? - a voice taunted, erupting herds of goosebumps running down your spine. - What a shame, I can see you clear as day.
- Neighbourhood is packed full with cops, you sick son of a bitch. If you only fucking dare coming anywhere close to my ho-
- Now-now, Y/n, - slasher interrupted you unapologetically, his voice hard and cold, causing thin hairs on your arms to rise. - Control your fucking language when you speak to me.
Your eyes dropped down onto the sink, fluffy dish soap foam was sparkling, playing with all the rainbow colors under the sun rays pouring in through the window. You clasped the phone in your non dominant hand, your dominant one reaching out and grabbing a kitchen knife from the drying rack, handle still wet and a bit slippery in your grasp.
- My, my, a dangerous thing that you’re holding. Be careful and don’t cut yourself, dearie, - König taunted, making your teeth clench. All blood drained out of your face, making you as pale as paper. Your eyes were fixated upon your window, peering into the orchard, desperately trying to spot any movement.
- What are you planning on doing? Everyone will hear if I scream. And cops will get your ass into prison, right where it belongs, - you spat out, pushing off the counter; your eyes ran all around the kitchen, looking for your cell phone with detective’s number saved, trying to keep the current call going so it’ll be possible to track it down.
- Oh will they? Then you better not scream, silly, - König snorted, making your blood boil. You were frightened still, terrified even; but the remorse of what he did to you, to Paul, was fuelling into your spite, making you a tad bit braver.
Failing to find your phone you entered the living room, rummaging through cushions and blankets piled on the couch, failing to find the stupid thing.
- Looks like you lost something. What’s up sweetheart? - you threw soft cushion back on the couch violently, huffing in annoyance upon not finding what you were looking for. You straightened and turned around to head to your bedroom, stoping in the middle of your tracks, freezing to the spot.
In the doorway leading to the hall stood König - dressed in all black, with heavy leather boots and his huge dagger strapped firmly to his thigh with a sheath, white scream mask staring right back at you. One large hand was pressing the phone to his ear, the other one was holding up your cellphone - the exact one you were looking for.
- You looking for this? - he asked, his own voice reverberating on the line because of your proximity.
You threw the phone to the side clutching onto the knife tightly. You dashed to the kitchen - there was a back door you could slip through - and outside was filled with neighbours and cops. Just pathetic six or so meters. Just a bit…
A scream tearing through your throat was muffled by a huge hand clamping against your mouth, the other one squeezing your wrist so tightly that for a fleeting moment you thought your bones were snapped, causing your grip on the knife to loosen, it falling down on the floor with loud clatter. König kicked the knife away across the kitchen, folding your arm back which caused your back to arch in pain - it felt as if he wanted to tear your limb from the rest of your body.
- Where do you think you’re going, Y/n? - König growled next to your ear, picking you up effortlessly and dragging your kicking form back to the living room.
Hauling you onto the floor König hooked one meaty thigh over your squirming body, putting bigger part on his weight down onto you, momentarily halting all of your struggle. One huge hand took ahold of both your wrists, pinning them to the floor above your head with frightening ease, his other hand was clasping your mouth still. He crouched down, scream mask was mere fifteen centimetres afar from your face as he seethed:
- Now you shut the fuck up and listen closely to what I have to say, and no one will get hurt, you get that? - he said, waiting until you gave him any sing of agreement. But you offered none. - You get that?! - König growled impatiently, bumping your head against the hardwood floor, causing black spots dance in the corners of your eyes for a long minute. You gave a weak nod, feeling hot tears running down your temples, getting lost among your hair.
- I’ve been thinking about you. A lot, - König sighed, hand that was on your face squished your cheeks together painfully, making your lips pucker out. - About this gorgeous mouth and pretty lips…
König crouched down, barely leaving a few centimetres between your faces.
- A this tight little cunt of yours. Remember how you clenched around me? How good my cock was filling you up?
- What do you want from me? - you weeped quietly, voice barely audible, broken by faint sobs and hiccups.
- Very little, dove. Just be an obedient girl and do as you’re told and no one will get hurt, - König tutted, taking in the sight of your crying face. Gosh, he was a sick fuck - his cock was already getting painfully hard, straining against his pants.
Letting go of your face König reached behind his back, withdrawing something from the rear pocket of his jeans. Just as you opened your mouth to cry out for help he shoved that thing inside of your cavity, slapping a hand over your lips so you won’t spit it out. The thing momentarily dissolved on your tongue, leaving a bitter aftertaste; you tried to struggle against killer’s strong hold, thrashing violently, but it led you nowhere.
Suddenly you felt hot - as if you had a really bad fever. Your mind clouding up rapidly, thoughts muddling, muscles becoming weaker by the second. You huffed out in frustration; moving your limbs a few centimetres seemed like impossible labour. World was spinning around you, blurring sharp and distinguishable features of König’s mask into a white haze.
König let go of your face once again, his now free hand slid down your body, cupping your sex through numerous layers of clothing separating you two. Sudden pleasure surged through your weakened body upon the contact; a loud moan that rolled off your tongue startled you - and suddenly you realised just how aroused you felt.
- Jeez, that dude didn’t lie about this shit, - König laughed out excitedly, watching your eyes widen in terror. You could barely move by now, not speaking of trying to fight off a man twice your size. His size. In a blur of all events, words and pain you never came back to just how fucking huge he was. You never mentioned that in any of your interrogations. How fucking stupid, huh?
Killer let go of your wrists cautiously, watching you closely - you rose your hands, resting your palms on his chest and pushing with all the might you had left, but it wasn’t enough to even push a cat off the chair - so that was the limit of your strength in this state?
König barked out another laugh - he was going to have so much fun with you! His hand never stopped massaging your crotch, noting a small wet patch forming on your shorts - you were soaked through your panties and now soaking your shorts? Gosh, he better buy a few dozens of these aids. Psycho’s eyes shot up to your face upon hearing a sob - tears ran down your eyes like small diamonds, turning your eyelids a pretty shade of red. König shifted forth so that his mask was almost touching your nose:
- Oh baby, I’ll be much gentler with you this time, I promise, - König cooed, pressing cold plastic of his mask against your flushed wet cheek, as if giving you a comforting peck.
Slasher shifted a bit, changing his position from sitting on your thighs to being in between them, yanking you towards him by your knees. He did quick job of taking your shorts and underwear off in few fluid moves, impatiently discarding them somewhere to the side. König felt his heavy cock twitch inside his jeans at the sight of your puffy cunny, all shiny from slick that practically oozed out of your fluttering hole. He swallowed hard, saliva was practically pooling in his mouth, having to restrain himself from tearing his mask off and devouring your cunt, exposing his face too early. You whined out something unintelligible, still trying to pry his fingers off one of your knees.
Your skin felt hot even through thick fabric of his gloves, so when König took one off and plunged two of his thick fingers inside of your tight hole he was surprised at how hot it was inside of you - one of the drug’s effects, he guessed. You couldn’t help but mewl at the pleasant feeling, your brain barely functioning, controlling yourself was beyond hard.
- That’s it, sweetness. Lemme hear all the pretty sounds you make, - König encouraged, plunging his fingers in and out of you, increasing the pace. Rough thumb coming to circle your slicked clit, causing your whole body to jolt softly. Scent of your pooling arousal was strong and prominent, seeping even through König’s mask, making him throb in his pants.
He couldn’t wait any longer. König was dreaming about your pussy being spread around his cock since that first night, he needed to be inside or else he’ll lose the remnants of his mind. Slasher slipped his fingers out of you, quickly undoing his pants, sliding them down as much as knife holster on his thigh would allow. Your breathing increased as you tried to close your legs, man’s bulky form making it impossible for you to do so.
- No, no please.. not again, - you begged, tears rushing down your temples, your voice meek and barely audible, so König just ignored it.
Pulling his girthy cock out König pumped it a few times with gloved hand, aligning pink swollen tip with your leaking entrance. It one smooth movement he bottomed out half of his impressive length, your body - flushed and pliant - taking him inside without any resistance. Low groan rumbled through his broad chest; König’s head fell backwards, hands gripping soft fat of your thighs, leaving pale marks of his fingertips on your skin.
You hated every second of it. Hated how his hips collided with yours with every thrust, how you felt him throb and twitch inside of you; hated how his hands wandered up and down your sides, rubbing your waist and palming your tits. And you hated how fucking good it felt. Hated how your body, despite all your attempts to resist, to fight off the effects of the drug, gave into the pleasure.
- That’s it baby. Just take what I give you, - König breathed out, his words slurred with pleasure. - See? See how good it can feel when you shut the fuck up and do what I tell you to? Just be a obedient little girl and feel good, I’ll take care of everything else yeah?
It felt as if a ball of bile got stuck in your throat; your face scrunched up in disgust as much as your jelly muscles allowed it:
- Fuck you, - you barely managed to choke out, your tongue struggling to form right sounds.
For a few moments you were sure König didn’t hear you, given the lack of any reaction nor acknowledgement of your words. But the next thing you knew was searing pain in your left cheek, the impact of man’s wide palm with your face jolted your head to the side, sudden change of its position made you felt dizzy. Now world was spinning around you even more so, you felt something warm trickling down your cheek - blood from your nose, you figured. Killer’s fingers roughly gripped your chin, yanking it back so that you were facing him once again.
- You wanna say that again bitch? Come on, I fucking dare you, - he spat out, movements of his hips halting completely, leaving his cock buried deep inside of your rippling warmth.
Your head shifting so harshly once again made you nauseous; you could barely see anything, dark purple circles were dancing all around, changing their shapes and giving way to greens and yellows to flood your vision.
- That’s what I fucking thought, - König gritted out. His hand let go of your chin, coming lower to wrap strong fingers around your neck. His hips started working with even more vigour, forcing his dick in and out of your drugged cunt on the pace that was almost inhuman.
Firm clasp of maniac’s hand around your neck made it nearly impossible to breathe. Both your hands wrapped around his mighty wrist, too weak to actually get him off you. Your vision started to darken rapidly, white noise trilling in your ears, barely allowing any other sounds to filter through.
- From the very moment I laid my eyes on you I fucking owned you. And I own you right now, and forever will. This is my fucking cunt, and I’ll use it whenever I want to. And I need you to fucking. learn. it. - König growled out, emphasising each of his last words with hard deep thrusts of his hips against yours, his cock making your stomach bulge, surely bruising your cervix.
- Oh but I’ll train you. Mould you into my personal cocksleeve, ready to be used whenever I feel like it, - his pace was quickening, thick cotton of his denim pants muffled filthy sounds of his mighty hips snapping against your ass. The grip of strong fingers never eased; König shifted part of his weight onto his hands which were wrapped around your neck, white mask hovering right in front of your face - milky white of it was a harsh contrast to blackness pooling in the corners of your eyes.
With that your conscience started to slip away. You felt your body jolt with every ferocious thrust of man’s hips, his cock buried deep inside of you, bruising your insides with its persistent bullying. Acute lack of oxygen burnt your lungs, and you prayed to all gods that König held your neck a tad bit too long - just enough for you to not wake up the next time. And just before you slipped into heavy delirium, your mushed up brain picked up König’s growl, penetrating through thick noise humming in your ears:
- You’re mine. Forever and ever.
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Street was filled with all kinds of noise - sirens from police cars were going off triggering dogs from nearby houses, neighbours were crowding a bit afar, frowning and shaking their heads, everyone having their own theory of what happened. Loud cries of Y/n’s mother shook the air, putting everyone further on the edge. She is such a sweet girl, she’s never done anything bad! Oh god, why is this happening to her of all people?!
Some people were saying that the girl simply snapped, breaking under the pressure of events and finally fleeting the country without telling anyone to not give any clues about her whereabouts to the killer. Some said she just went out to unwind from being constantly watched by police and have some alone time - she’ll show up anytime soon. But everyone knew that it was one of murderer’s deeds - he did something to her. And everyone knew, deep down, that they’ll never see Y/n again - alive, at least.
A young lanky policemen, obviously green and not experienced in his job, was babbling out his report to the superior, all the other cops that were patrolling with him as well stood around silently, too scared to pipe in.
- Sir, I swear we were patrolling the area all this time, there was literally no one but the neighbours, but they were staying at their pro-
- Then you were not doing it well enough! - city commissioner barked out, his mighty vice silencing everyone around for a short moment. His face was red, fuming with rage; nostrils flaring with intensity of his heavy breathing, angry vein popped up on his temple, pulsating in tandem with his rapid heartbeat. His heavy gaze shifted between all the poor officers, their faces pale as chalk.
- You had one fucking job. ONE fucking job - to keep the girl in the sightline - and where is she now, huh? I’m asking you motherfuckers - where is Y/n?! - Mr. Lindner barked out, his heavy voice making everyone jolt. Younger officers stared down on their shoes blankly, not daring to meet eyes with their boss.
- You may consider yourselves lucky if you’ll still have your licences by the end of the week, - commissioner Lindner tsked, spitting onto the ground in remorse. Turning around, he headed to his police issued car, shouldering all those nosy ones who were brave enough to approach him in this state. Getting inside Mr. Lindner closed the door with a loud bang, starting the engine and pulling out of the driveway onto the main road.
Commissioner Lindner drove in full silence, blue eyes fixated on the road ahead; it was barely past midnight, but the darkness hung thick all around, being slit by two yellow rays of his car’s headlights. He gripped steering wheel tighter, one hand coming to comb back his grown out hair out of his eyes, a small smile played in the corners of his scarred lips.
Soon he’ll be home - maybe the effects of drugs will wear off by that time and he’ll watch Y/n wake up slowly, those pretty doe eyes of hers gazing up at him drowsily. He will cook her dinner - all of her favourites - and maybe even spoon feed her, if she’ll allow it. Then he’ll bathe her and tuck her in her new bed, locking up the door for the night and watching her sleep through the cameras.
Everything was going as smoothly as ever. No one has accidentally seen him dragging unconscious Y/n out of her house and hauling her into the backseat of his car. No signs of struggle or fight were found - kitchen sink was still half-filled with soapy water and dirty dishes, clean ones drying off on the countertop, a knife with all the fingerprints being drowned among other dirty utensils. Y/n’s parents approved that everything was on its original place - as if the girl just disappeared, dissolved into thin air.
No one suspected a thing. And, of course, no one suspected a respectable city commissioner Lindner with years upon years of experience, a veteran with impeccable reputation, a person no one could speak badly of.
This was the beginning of your new life, life in which everything revolved around König, causing you to cling onto him as if he was some kind of goddess. Life in which you no longer belonged to yourself, but to your abductor. Life in which you finally understood that you don’t need anyone or anything else because you had König, understood that König was your life itself <3
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Slasher! König Masterlist
A/n: I apologise for giving König a half assed name, but I thought it’d be really cool for the plot😌
Once again, feedback is highly appreciated! I’m making this a series so feel free to send in your suggestions for more slasher! König content<3
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taytrashmouth · 4 months
Note
hello lovely!! would u consider writing a peeta x reader, where ur both in the quarter quell, but reader is separated from peeta from the start and goes through mutt attacks/blood rain/jabberjays by herself and when peeta and the group find her on the beach she is injured and traumatised. hurt/comfort, where he looks after her afterwards and comforts her, washes her in the water and stuff? loooads of gentle comfort and fluff. sorry for my bad english!!
Okay I am absolutely obsessed with this request!!!! Omg can’t wait for you to read this!!! Ahhhh! Okay okay I hope you love it 😊
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Peeta x reader
(Catching fire)
Requests are open so don’t forget to send them in!!!! Prompts under my profile!
:readmore:
When you woke up the morning of the games in Peetas arms you somehow felt safe. It was like you weren’t being sent to die that day. He kissed your head and told you he’d be by your side.
You had dreamt about the last games, how you were separated and the only reason you survived was because he became allies with those horrible kids from 1 & 2
When you eventually found each other, all you did was help Peeta get better, applied the ointment and comforted him. He did all the killing, he saved you.
You only survived the first half by dumb luck, that spear was supposed to hit you…not Rue. If only you hadn’t moved out the way.
The whole lovers idea was Peetas too, only it was true. Deep down you both knew you’d liked each other since kindergarten back in 12
But here you were in the little glass tube that sucked you straight into hell. You felt sick but you really wanted to throw up when you couldn’t see Peeta.
“Peeta!” You screamed as the countdown started. Sweating and getting panicked. You couldn’t do this again, not without him. You had a deal: stay together.
The games had begun. You needed a weapon. You jumped off the platform into the water swimming for the weapons.
Once you found your feet at the cornucopia, you began to hear screams and watched people start to fall. You grabbed a machete and ran for the jungle on one of the thin arms of rock.
“Peeta!” You screamed from the beach. But no answer. That was when a knife flew past your head and missed by an inch.
You couldn’t kill somebody. So you ran.
You shoved past trees and vines running deep into the jungle.
You found a spot hollowed out under a tree. It was hot- and you needed water.
That was when you heard his voice. Peeta.
You screamed for him as you ran towards the sound.
“Help n/n!” He yelled.
“Where are you!?” You frantically turned around. “Peeta?”
That was until his voice became overwhelming. Your ears started to ring. His cried for help, his screams.
You began to cry, realising this was some cruel trick of the capitol. “STOP IT!” You yelled, throat raw. You screamed as loud as you could covering your ears to get it to stop but it didn’t help. It was overwhelming. You tried to run but a forcefield locked you in. You screamed and banged on it but nothing worked.
You grabbed your machete and banged at the field but it just ricocheted.
You sunk to the floor, covering your ears and cried. You were there for what felt like a decade but was probably only an hour.
When his cries suddenly stopped you felt a strange sense of sadness. The screaming had been awful but you were worried about him. What if he was dead.
You began to walk deeper into the jungle, sweating and with tear stained cheeks. You had never been so thirsty before, after screaming so loudly in what felt like 100 degree heat.
As desperate as you were you stumbled across a little pool of water. You smiled dryly and lay on the floor, drinking out of the pool. A sigh escaped your mouth as you quenched your thirst. You splashed your face. And sat up leaning against a nearby tree.
This is where you would sleep. You gathered sticks and placed them in a circle around the area, to ensure that if someone walked by you would hear them.
The music began to play, you looked up at the sky, holding your pin. Praying you wouldn’t see Peetas face. You didn’t. Relief washed over you as the final canon went off.
You barely slept when you felt a warm air hitting your face, as your eyes opened you were greeted with a large mutt, two inches from your face.
You took a shocked, shaky breath in and slowly reached for your machete. It belted a loud noise sending a signal to the rest of his friends.
You closed your eyes as you wedged the sharp end of your blade into the mutt in-front of you.
You pulled the machete out of its body and stood up. Swinging at any that got a little to close. Just as one of the beasts began to jump at you, you decided the best option was to throw the machete and run.
As the mutt jumped and you released your blade, the woman from 6 who had been hiding in the trees tried to save you. And the machete hit her instead. A scream escaped your lips. You had killed someone.
You covered your mouth with your hands, shaky breaths escaping your lips. “No!” You sobbed.
You bent down to try help her, applying pressure to the wound. “I’m sorry.” You cried as she became limp.
You held her to your chest in the hopes it would cause a miracle.
Soon you noticed the mutts had began to run as a white smoked reached the edge of the water, you stood up, knowing something was coming.
One of their claws ripped the back of your calf open as it ran away. “Shit!” You fell into the smoke, immediately screaming and running.
The sun had started to rise, and you were limping with an excruciating pain in your arms and legs with growing boils from the poison.
You screamed as you ran not caring about attracting other tributes. The sun has begun to rise, and you were now an easy target.
You ran through the jungle searching desperately for the beach but it was so overgrown you had no way of knowing.
You stopped in a small clearing. Crying and sitting in the dirt. Desperately wanting to rid yourself of the boils.
After a while of crying A cool liquid hit your face. Rain. You looked up at the sky, hoping the water would help your sores. Opening your mouth to quench your thirst.
It was definitely not water. You gagged. Spitting onto the dirt. Blood.
You sobbed and ran wherever you could and tripped over a log of wood. Tumbling onto the sand of the beach. 
You screamed and cried. Not knowing what to do. You hated the capitol. You hated that you didn’t know where Peeta was. You hated this. You hated that you had to die.
Just then you heard voices. You put a hand over your mouth trying to quiet your whimpers.
Tears running down your face. You couldn’t run anymore. This was it.
You shuffled back, trying to find and escape route but there wasn’t one.
You got on all fours and crawled on the sand, dragging your leg with a gash in it in the sand.
You let out chokes of pain and self pity as they grew closer, you refused to look.
“N/n!” You heard him…peeta. “Oh my god it’s y/n!!!”
You screamed and covered your ears lying in the sand. You would rather die than listen to the jabberjays again. Until someone rolled you onto your back and you were met with Peeta.
He looked so scared for you. You immediately started to cry as he hugged you tightly to his chest. “You weren’t real.” You sobbed into his chest, feeling his hair, his back, anything to make sure he was there.
“I’m real now. I’m here now.” He kissed your forehead and held you again. Until you hissed when he touched your boils.
“Oh shit! I had them too see-“ he showed you the faint scars on his hands.
“I need to get freshwater.” He began to get up but you held onto his hand. “Don’t leave” you whispered.
He stared at you for a moment too long, his eyes laced with concern.
“Finnick! I need water.” Peeta yelled at the group that was a safe distance away.
While you waited, Peeta brushed hair out of your eyes that was covered in blood and sand, just like the rest of you and you squeezed his arm in pain.
“It’s okay.” He kept repeating. Kissing your head despite your state.
When finnick returned Peeta poured water all over your boils and you screamed in pain as they vanished.
“Thank you.” You smiled sadly. Overwhelmed. Peeta often said you were a kind sole, you wouldn’t hurt a fly at home, literally. You sang songs and picked flowers. You weren’t meant for this. Nobody was really….
“Come on, let’s wash you off…if at least half this blood is yours, we’re in serious trouble.” He joked and you attempted to laugh. He picked you up bridal style.
You would argue that you could do it yourself but it just wasn’t true.
He dipped you into the salt water. You hissed in pain, clutching his wetsuit.
“I know it stings. I’m sorry.” He rubbed your arm but kept you underwater.
“It okay. Thank you.” You whispered again, almost scared something bad would happen like it had been. One after the other. Peeta cupped water into his hand and tilted your head back rinsing the blood out of your hair and carefully brushing through it with his fingers.
He washed you off, holding you with one had at all times. Afraid to let you go. He was careful around your cuts and scrapes.
“I killed her.” You let out, staring at nothing.
He stopped his movements and just helped you too his chest.
“Who?” He whispered.
“Six… she tried to save me and-“ you chocked on your tears.
“Hey hey hey, it’s okay…I’m here. You don’t have to talk about it now.” He assured.
You were both wrinkly like the raisins Peeta used in his raisin bread back home by the time you got out the water.
You tried to walk but you could barely stand on your right foot.
“What happened?” Finnick asked before Peeta got the chance.
“Mutts.” You answered simply, trying to see the gash on the back of your calf.
You almost fell but Peeta caught you. He picked you up agin and placed you on the leaves they were using as beds in the sand tonight.
“Now we match.” Peeta smiled at you pulling up the leg of his wetsuit to reveal his prosthetic leg.
You laughed, for the first time in days.
The others were asleep while Peeta took the first watch. You sat in his lap, and wrapped your legs around his torso, like a koala.
Head on his chest listening to his heartbeat as he leaned against a tree looking at the waves.
“I thought I lost you.” He whispered, a tear running down his face. You sat up slightly to wipe it. “Me too.” You assured and squeezed his hand.
“So much for sticking together.” He half laughed.
“Yeah.” You looked at his brown eyes and played with his blonde fringe. He leaned in and Kissed you gently but passionately. Holding your cheek and pulling you in by your back. Carefully avoiding your right leg that was tediously bandaged with leaves and vines.
When you broke apart for air. You smiled softly at each other. Heart still heavy from the past two days.
“I love you n/n.” He spoke with only truth in his tone. It wasn’t just an act and you knew that.
“I love you too…so much.” You teared up thinking about how you were going to have to say goodbye soon.
You resumed your position on his chest and fell asleep to his hand rubbing your back and his whispers of “it’s okay.” And “I love you.”
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churipu · 2 months
Note
can i request the reader being gojo's younger (or little, if that's what you prefer) sister during their highschool days? i think the dynamic between her and geto would be really cute and sweet! meanwhile, shoko would be the tired aunt that has to watch every stupid thing that stsg and the reader does 😭
๋࣭⭑ A CHAOTIC FOURSOME ₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎
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featuring. gojo satoru, shoko ieiri, geto suguru + gojo's little sister
warning. time sequence is during their highschool days (2006) and i'd say the reader would be younger than gojo by a year, so she's as old as nanami and haibara :D
note. i'm actually like so ecstatic to write this because i have so many assumptions of gojo with a younger sister, thank you nonnie for requesting this, ily <;33
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the mother x the dumb x the dumber x the dumbest
no doubt that shoko is the mother of the group, without her the whole group is just well, plainly chaotic. satoru will come up for stupid plans, hence the dumbest. you will undoubtedly follow him, hence the dumber. and geto will think it's stupid, but will follow him, hence the dumb.
"okay, so what if we just — find a way to summon a curse, and sell our soul to it for something in return?" satoru asks with a cheeky grin.
"sounds cool, i'm in!" you replied with a large toothy grin.
"that must be the stupidest idea i have ever heard in my life," geto sighs out, "but let's do it."
"i don't have a soul," shoko mutters out of the blue, sighing out, "and you guys are incredibly stupid, you know that?" at the end of the day, the plan didn't even commence nor did you all talked about it again.
you are the closest with geto, he treats you like a little sister as well — except he's a little less of an asshole than your actual brother.
satoru is an asshole. he's a pain in the ass, no doubt. all three— you, geto, and shoko— can and will admit the fact that out of you four, satoru is the brattiest. however though, being related to him by blood, you were his target most of the time.
"ouch! satoru, did you really just shoot me with a nerf gun? that fucking hurts you ass!" you hiss, rubbing your nape— where satoru just shot with a nerf gun.
"take that, peasant." satoru sings out, attempting to shoot two more bullets at you, one hitting your arm and the other barely missing you.
you ran to shoko who immediately flee, leaving you open to satoru, traitor. before you eventually seek shelter behind geto who was sitting down on a bench, sipping a drink; and oh boy, the bullet managed to hit his face.
"oh shit." satoru mumbled, "it was an accident, suguru."
"damn." you look at geto, before laughing lightly.
geto smiled at your brother before standing up, and the cat-and-mouse chase between them both begin. geto made sure you were alright after, and satoru was— yeah, he survived, just a little bruised here and there.
being siblings is funny, satoru's closet is your closet too.
"y/n, is that my shirt?" satoru asks, pointing at the white shirt you were wearing and you hummed softly, sipping on a carton of milk.
satoru began lecturing you and how you shouldn't snoop in his closet, "lord, save me." you muttered out, walking in between shoko and geto while your brother constantly turned towards you to lecture you about asking for permission.
"are you even listening to me, brat?"
shoko grunted, "make him shut up, please."
"it's not her fault that she looks better in your shirt, satoru," geto laughed lightly, and that somehow managed to shut your brother up for the rest of the day— until he opens the door to your room late at night with a pout on his face.
"my shirt does not look better on you, for your information."
"oh my god, satoru you're so childish!"
as much as satoru teases you, when it comes to protecting you— he's number one, and he will always worry about you. he will not hesitate to tell someone off if they're bothering you.
"so, who is it?" satoru asks, his eyes not leaving the television screen.
you sat next to him and hummed in confusion. earlier you had gotten home with a small bruise right next to your lip, and as hard as you tried to cover it with make up — satoru still noticed the bluish purple outline of the bruise.
"what do you mean?"
"who gave you the bruise?" he asks again, calmly. way too calm for your liking, to be honest.
"i fell."
satoru finally turned to look at you, "doesn't look like you fell, just tell me what happened, it's not like 'm gonna do anything—maybe." he mumbled out the last part under his breath.
you sighed out, knowing the male won't drop the topic unless you tell him about it, "you know that one guy who wouldn't stop bothering me just because i beat him up in middle school for ruining my comic book?"
"the one i already try to tell off last time?" you nodded at him, "damn it, i should've gotten rid of him that time. want me to hollow purple him or do you prefer a more friendly approach?"
you chuckled, "i can fix this myself."
"nu-uh," he rolled his eyes, "hollow purple it is."
"'toru!"
"sheesh, fine friendly approach it is."
shoko and geto tries their best to look after you and satoru, but they don't get paid for this and always ends up giving up halfway and just joins in the "fun".
"oh, come on satoru, this is like the worst plan ever!" you tell him, crossing your arms.
"what? why? is it because i made it?" he argues, crossing his arms as well.
"no — okay, yes, maybe. but still it's a shitty plan, right?" you look over to geto and shoko who only nodded in forced affirmation, in all honesty, they didn't know what was happening between you and your brother or whatever you both were talking about.
"suguru, even you?" satoru whines out, "traitor."
"see? what about we go for my plan instead?" you offered, and satoru immediately declines, arguing with you.
it took you both two hours to finally settle on doing nothing because you got tired, and satoru got too angry that geto had to drag him away.
when satoru was supposedly "killed" by the sorcerer killer, toji. you were fucking destroyed. until he actually shows up, looking more alive than ever.
"oh, you're alive?" you asked slowly, although in disbelief.
satoru chuckled, opening his arms for you to fall into, "don't say it like that, might think that my own sister doesn't love me," not like you spent the whole time crying over him.
"fucking ass. i hate you so much." you hugged him.
"i love you too."
satoru spoils you. and when he does, he makes sure geto and shoko gets little of it too (because you told him to do it so they would feel loved).
"i was thinking — satoru treating us three to shabu?" geto immediately agrees with no hesitation, no thoughts, he just agreed to what you said.
satoru looks at you and smiled sweetly. a fake one. but it was fun watching him like this so you didn't care, "shoko?"
"free food? hell yeah." shoko nods her head with a smirk.
satoru ended up feeding all three of you like a mama feeding her child, and you ended up getting a scolding from him and a threat that goes a little like: "that's the last time i'm spending my money on you, loser."
but you know he didn't mean that. just watch how he'll probably get you something the very next day.
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© CHURIPU 2024 , DO NOT COPY OR REPOST ANYWHERE
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nsharks · 1 year
Text
bleeding blue | apocalypse au
part eight —other parts
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pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader words: 3.2k tags: death. blood. zombies of course. reader menstruates. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn't here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival. a/n: let's see how this trip goes
A neon-yellow lighter. A comb with a few teeth broken off. A deck of cards. That is what you have scrounged so far in this little convenience store that Blue convinced Ghost to stop in— the only stop in the village he will allow on the way to the military base. She spotted a rack of magazines from the window and the child in her begged him.
Fuckity fuck, Ghost. Please. Please. Please.
You’ve decided to sweep through the aisles to make this forced trip at least a little worth it for you. Broken glass and dust lay under the soles of your boots. All the food in here is gone, of course. The lighter you found can be useful.
Oh. You also found a corny romance book. You are in need of something to read, too. You left behind your old copy of A Farewell to Arms. You imagine that it was flattened to something unrecognizable by the mass of Greys.
You go to the aisle for toiletries. Again, these shelves have been licked almost clean. You fish your hand all the way to the back to see if anything could be there. You didn’t have time on your first trip to do much searching for anything other than medicine.
What your hand manages to knock against is a box. You pull it forward to inspect it. Gold packaging. Faded letters. It’s a box of condoms. First, you feel annoyed. It is useless to you. Expired, anyway. But then some memories come to mind along with a stir in your stomach.
Sex. Right. At one point, these were useful to you.
What you had told Blue the other day was mostly the truth. Coursework and exams meant that a steady relationship wasn’t on your mind back then. You were too young for it, anyway. You liked going out. You liked dancing with your friends. You liked meeting new people and sipping on drinks that were sweet enough to go down without a wince.
But what you didn’t tell Blue, and what you haven’t thought about in a long time, is that the last guy you had sex with was a little more than just someone you enjoyed the company of.
You trace your finger over the letters on the box, recalling the buried memory. A few weeks before the outbreak, you met him at a pub. He chatted you up. He was kind-eyed and sleek. A few years older than you. A jaw like the man in Blue’s magazine.
You didn’t even go home with him that first night. You just spent hours talking. And then texting. And then he took you out to that sushi place you loved in London three times because he saw that you were obsessed with the sashimi. He teased you for it. Finally, he invited you to his flat. He was different. He didn’t touch you until you touched him. You can remember it, that last time. The kissing. You whispered in his ear to take you to his room. He pulled out a box of condoms just like this.
The morning of the outbreak you remember telling your sister you might want something more from him.
She was thrilled to hear it.
There were a few people you texted that day to see if they were okay. Your parents, some close friends, and him. You never got a response from any of them. As you fled with Paul towards the forest, you’d dropped your phone. You only realized it later than night when you wanted to take it out and read over your old messages with him as a source of comfort.
Anyway, he was never your boyfriend, and he is now likely dead. Or Grey.
You haven’t thought about him for at least three years. Just another singed thread of an old life, unimportant to you now. Those losses are easier to deal with than the losses you had to actually witness.
You are just about to put the box back when a poke arrives on your shoulder.
“Hey, Twix, look what I found.”
Blue holds a solid stack of magazines against her chest. In her other hand, she holds up two bracelets with plastic, pink beads on them.
“Bracelets,” she smiles. “One for you and one for me.”
You raise a brow, then glance around. You spot Ghost at the front counter stuffing his backpack with cigarettes. His own treats, you suppose.
You look back at her. “Are you sure?”
She nods and offers one to you. As you slip it over your wrist, subconsciously hiding it under the sleeve of your coat, she says, “One of the books Ghost read to me talked about friendship bracelets. That can be this for us. I mean— we’re friends, right?”
“Oh. Um. Do you want to be my friend?”
“Well,” she slips her own bracelet on and waves her hand about, “Grim is my friend and he never saved my life before or gave me chocolate. So—” her voice turns hushed as if sharing a secret, “—I guess you are a better friend than him, huh?”
You bite a smile. “I guess so.”
Then, her eyes drift to the box still in your hand. “What did you find?”
“Huh?” You raise it up, almost having forgotten about it, and feel a warmth spread over your cheeks. “Oh, nothing, really.”
“What is it?”
“I-I don’t know, actually,” you splutter quickly.
“Maybe Ghost knows.” She rounds her lips as if ready to call for him but you shush her.
“No, no. Don’t ask him."
“Why not?”
“Because he—” you slide your eyes around, looking for the right excuse, “Because he doesn’t care for me, okay? I don’t want to bug him.”
“It’s not that he hates you or anything,” she assures you, sighing. “He just doesn’t trust you. Really, he isn’t so bad. He let you play would you rather with us, right?”
She is referring to the game that consumed the four-hour walk to get here. As you stepped over the same tree roots from your first journey, Ghost and Blue began a rather dark game of would you rather. Asking each other which gruesome death they would prefer. A humor she must get from him, you figured. Blue finally asked him: Can Twix play, too? He flashed you a look, jaw stiff, and you wanted to hide as you watched his eyes process this new name his daughter has chosen for you. To your surprise, he allowed it. Maybe to keep her calm, entertained, or both. You can’t say it wasn’t awkward for you, though.
Before you can protest again, she calls his name, and you regret not just telling her what they are.
He is quick to make his way over.
“Twix found something but she doesn’t know what it is,” Blue chimes, taking the box from your hand and passing it to him. You inch backward, your spine pressing into the shelves as you watch him realize what it is. Then, he offers you an unreadable glance, probably wondering why the fuck you would be looking at these.
His eyes shift back to her.
“Well,” Blue clicks her tongue. “Is it useful?”
“No.” He hands it back to her.
“What is it? Do you know?”
“Jus’ nothing useful,” he repeats, and she huffs, giving you an apologetic look and mumbling a sorry before tossing the box back on the shelf.
“Got ‘em all picked out?” He nods to her magazines.
She nods. “Yeah, I found some good ones.”
“We’re leaving, then.”
A clear sky hangs over your heads as you continue moving south. On your solo trip, you spent hours perusing Ribchester's streets, whereas now Ghost cuts right through, wanting to search the base before nightfall and then find somewhere safe to sleep.
There is no rain today, luckily. Even though it helps conceal your human scent, it also helps hide their rotten one, making it hard to detect them. It also can make shooting arrows trickier.
There is a light wind that howls like a moaning widow through the empty buildings, drowning out the sound of all three pairs of booted footsteps. Just as you told Ghost, there aren’t many of those fucks here. Their smell lingers in the air but most of them are probably trapped in the buildings and cars. Still, you keep your bow armed and Ghost clutches his handgun. Only one finds you here, but it isn’t much of a threat. A slow and pitiful one with a twisted leg that drags as it clambers out from an alleyway.
It catches the human scent, its pale eyes pointing toward the three of you.
They love the smell of living flesh. From your experience, they love the smell of fresh blood even more, but luckily none of you are bleeding, or else more of them certainly could've been drawn out like cockroaches.
Upon one look at it, you can tell this Grey must have been infected years ago, a woman tattered without any hair left on her skull. The thing is, the longer they have been infected, the longer their muscles have been rotting away. They grow slower.
For some reason, Ghost doesn't pull the trigger of his gun even though you know he sees and smells it like you do. He doesn't even reach for the axe tucked at his waist. You have never encountered Greys with him. You suspected he'd be quick to kill them. Confused, you aim your arrow and close one eye for precision, but a firm hand falls on your arm and forces you to lower it.
You give him a furrowed look.
He drops his hand and nods to Blue, who has been sticking close to his side.
"All yours, kid."
"Do I have to?" She puckers her lips in disgust and touches the fabric of his black coat.
"Good practice for you."
"With my knife?" she sighs dutifully. "Or the gun you gave me?"
"Knife. Save the ammo.”
The Grey is still a few paces away, but slowly trudging closer, enough that its flayed snarls sound over the wind.
Blue pulls out the knife from her pocket. You stand back and watch as she hurls it towards the head, but the blade pierces its neck instead, splitting the stringy flesh and exposing a larynx.
She winces.
"S'okay. You've got another," Ghost says.
She nods and reaches for the second knife strapped to her ankle. This time, her knife finds the skull, audibly cutting through bone and brain.
“Good. Now go get ‘em.”
You understand why he made her practice this. They don’t encounter them often in the forest, but he still wants her prepared— get her used to doing it on her own for the day she might not have him there. It is a reminder of what it means to be a parent in this world, and you don’t envy him for it.
Blue twists her knife out from the skull, some chunks of grey brain bubbling out, and she scrunches her nose but doesn’t seem too bothered. Before she runs back over, she mouths words to it just as you have seen her do to the dead animals. You can’t make them out.
“Sometimes I wonder what it’s like being one of those fucks,” she announces as you keep walking. She taps a finger to her temple. “I just wonder if you still remember your old life or have dreams and stuff. Or does your brain just not work at all?”
“They aren’t people anymore,” Ghost reminds her gruffly.
“I know, I know.”
“I don’t think they have dreams,” you quietly add. “They don’t sleep.”
“But maybe they are sort of sleeping,” she says. “Like sleepwalking. And maybe they are dreaming the whole time about things they remember from being a human.”
“No,” Ghost says. “They’re as good as dead. Don’t go thinkin’ like that.”
“I’m not saying I feel bad about killing them. I know they aren’t real people anymore,” she mumbles, kicking at a rock. She looks at you. “Twix, what would you do if you got bitten?”
Ghost mutters a Jesus Christ under his breath.
The question throws you off, even though it is something you have mulled over often. You hesitate, before honestly answering, “I think I would just kill myself.”
“Ghost would, too. Well, actually, our plan is for me to shoot him in the head and then run back home. Right, Ghost?”
He hums his response.
It must be a plan he reviewed with her before leaving.
A plan that he has ingrained into her brain from an age too young to fully comprehend the potential reality of it.
There are another ten kilometers to walk to get to the military base. The sore toes cramped in your boots and the growing blister at your heel wishes Ghost took the truck, but whatever his emergency plan is, it must call for every drop of fuel he has.
The terrain transforms back to soil and trees as Ghost departs from the road, and the rotten smell in the air remains faint. The game of would you rather resumes, but Blue quickly grows bored of it. Instead, she begins to poke at you with some questions as she likes to do. She seems to be more comfortable doing it in front of Ghost. It’s not like he can keep her away from you out here.
“So, Twix, how old are you exactly? You never told us.”
You tell her.
“Shit balls, Ghost,” she nudges a hip to his side. “You really are an old man.”
“Fuckin’ hell. I’m not.” He nudges her back, a bit too hard, because she practically stumbles, but it only makes her laugh more. “I’m just your old man, kid.”
Luckily, her questions stick to the minute things, and she doesn’t bring up sex again. Your favorite animal. If you have any tattoos. You should see how many Ghost has. Of course, you have only ever seen the skin of his hands a few times and the skin around his eyes.
The sound of rushing water is what quiets her.
You make it to a river.
Ghost leads you to where a bridge must have been on his map, but all that remains of it is a narrow beam of rusted metal and nothing to hold onto.
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Dad.”
Blue peers down the cliff and you take a look with her. The water isn’t moving too fast, but it must be freezing, and walking around in wet clothes is a sure way to get hypothermia. Ghost doesn’t have much of a choice.
He has her walk close in front of him and keeps both hands firm on her shoulders. You don’t have anyone to help you. You tighten your core to keep yourself upright, watching each step you take. Right, left, right, left. The wind dissuades you with nudges against your left side. You pause for a moment and look up.
They are already across.
You hear Blue shout just as your left foot slips. Air whirls around you and your arms instinctively jut out to grab hold of the beam. You hang from it, breathing hard from your nose. Your bare hand clutches the sharp edge and earns you a cut into your palm, but the pain is easy to ignore. Your ears ring. You muster all your strength to hoist yourself up, but it’s not quite enough, and you almost lose your grip.
Hissing, you look down at the water that laps between rocks beneath you. Maybe you should just fall in. Your skin prickles as you imagine the icy water engulfing you and soaking your clothes.
Hypothermia. Another real threat in this world. You recall the chapter from one of your textbooks. It can set in quickly. There wouldn’t be enough time for you to make it back to the village and search for dry clothes. You should’ve brought your extra pair of old ones. You didn’t even think—
What ends up engulfing you is warmth.
You are pulled up with ease and drawn close to a hard chest. Ghost locks an arm around your waist to steady you and naturally, you lean into his hold, your boots finding their place again on the beam.
You pant. For a moment you just stand there, before you start walking again, this time with him close behind you as he holds your shoulders just as he did with Blue. Because of the proximity, you can detect the rise and fall of his chest against your back. Underneath his thick coat, the muscles of his core are tightened just as yours are in order to keep his balance.
He couldn’ve just let you fall. Blue must have asked him to help you back up.
You find your voice when you are almost across. Blue watches with her hands tucked in her pockets.
“Thank you,” you tell him.
What he tells you, warm brass in your ear that arrives in the quietest voice you’ve ever heard from him: “Don’t become a liability for me out here, Twix.”
It unnerves you, the message that lies in his words. What he means to say is he has no problem leaving you behind if he has to. Letting you die.
But what unnerves you even more is the shudder that hums through your spine from the soft drawl of his voice in your ear, uttering this new name for you when he has never even once used your real name, and the way that his filtered breath works its way down your neck. Even though he has growled threats of murder in there multiple times, you find yourself not minding if he has a few more to offer just so you can hear his voice like this again. So quiet. Probably so Blue doesn’t hear.
But he doesn’t offer anything else.
Maybe you are just in shock. Maybe you are just glad to not be freezing, and his warmth has given a confusing relief. You swallow the strange thought and find a nice burial spot for it next to your grief.
When your boots make it to the soil, his hands drop and you turn around to face him. Annoyance finally finds you. Of course, his help arrives at the same time that he warns you of the limited supply of it he is willing to offer.
Through your teeth, you say, “I won’t.”
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madwomansapologist · 1 month
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doubt comes in | bg3 companions
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Meet Kind!Druid!Tav | More Weirdos | AO3
synopsis: You knew exactly what would welcome you back to camp. The alluring smell of Gale's cooking, the awful noises of Lae'zel working on a sword that don't need to be sharpened, Wyll practicing his dance moves. You clearly weren't expecting to see yourself. Or to be forced into fighting the companions you swore to never harm in order to prove Orin was playing with their minds. [3.4K]
warnings: orin being orin. well, you, actually. "prove who's the real you" trope. i mean imagine the level of anxiety that scenario induces because you want me to act like me? kitten, mommy don't fucking know who she is. bg3 level of violence. a lot of blood. body horror should be a tag? tav suffers slashing damage, but orin suffers psychic damage. angst. happy ending. shadowheart x tav x halsin. companions (lae'zel, astarion, gale, wyll, karlach, jaheira, minsc). camp followers (yenna, scratch, grub). background (orin, gortash, mizora, shar, cazador, silvanus).
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Reaching Baldur's Gate didn't made life easier, but Gods did it helped. Danger is near, sometimes closer than a kiss, but this city is still your home. They can try, but no one can take that away from any of you.
Mizora can bargain and dissemble, but no lie coming from her burning lips will ever change the fact Wyll would do anything for this city. He had his first kiss in one of those bars. Gortash is a threat, but did he started counting his days? Karlach is coming for him, and he had it coming. She can still remember the vinegar taste on her mouth after her first spree.
Shar had her time to mess with Shadowheart's memories, to turn goodness into fear and desires into guilty. Shadowheart is learning how to swin. Long ago, before Cazador could even think of looking at him, Astarion walked on those streets. Cazador can see him as a walking corpse if he so desire, something that fell into decay, but Astarion is alive and free forever and evermore.
The world is a freaking mess, but so be it. That won't stop you from living. That won't stop any of you.
"Soldier! Over here," Karlach called for you, up on The Blushing Mermaid's balcony. You dodged the drunkards and ran upstairs to their table. They saved a seat for you. They always do. "What took you so long?"
They're always teasing you for being so controlling with their gold. That was an act of survival, to save for what matters, but now that you reached the city... You're still controlling it, Silvanus knows Astarion would waste it all without noticing, but you can allow your party some luxury from time to time.
You put the bags under the table, careful to not let them see what was inside them. "Just lost track of time," you sat between her and Minsc. "Did I miss much?"
You turned around, looking for a waiter, but a glass was dragged from across the table towards you. Halsin, sitting across from you at the round table, had already ordered your favorite drink. He always knows what you want even before you say it.
Your smile was subtle, the glass already rising to hide your mouth. You didn't use words to thank him, but your foot met his under the table. You dragged it along his leg, a hidden affection. A secret between you two.
"Oh, yes, Boo. Minsc agrees, her smile really seens different," Minsc whispered. Boo moved on his shoulder, sniffing around. "What are you hiding, my gentle friend?"
Perfume of night orchids, clothes fit for a vampire or whatever Astarion means by that, a recently released tome of evocation, instruments to improve weapons, a music box for a dancing hero, owlbear cub plush, new whittling knifes, a book about adventures Jaheira wasn't part of but is still somehow the main character, and stone sculpture of a certain miniature giant space hamster. "Nothing," you answered.
Halsin chuckled. "There is nothing you can't do, my heart. Except by lying, I must add."
"I just bought a few presents," it sounded almost defensive. Alright, maybe you really were a bit too controlling of the gold. Just a bit. "I'll give them after dinner."
Karlach chocked on her beer. "Are you feeling well, soldier? Have anyone forced you to waste your precious gold?"
"There is a hero coming through to help you, my friend," Minsc hit the table with closed fists. Your drink almost fell on your lap. "Tell Minsc who forced you and his boot shall find your wrongdoer!"
Karlach and Minsc tried to see what were in the bags during the walk back to camp, and you protected them with your life. They started a game of guessing what you had bought, never realizing you weren't participating on it.
Halsin took the bags from you, and with his free hand caressed yours. He kissed your knuckles, then your forehead. You melted against his touch. "Is it duck related?"
You chuckled, eyes still closed. "Fuck off, Bear."
Finally at camp, Halsin followed you to your tent .You saw when Wyll walking out of his tent, hair dripping wet, and smiled at him. Karlach and Minsc sat by the bonfire, still arguing about the possibility of receiving an ax as a gift.
You told Halsin to close his eyes so you could hide everything. "Alright, done."
You walked towards the bonfire, but Halsin grabbed your hand and pulled you closer. You linked your arms around his neck, ready to stand on tiptoe. "It's on your black chest, isn't it?"
You sighed, walking away from him. He tried to stop you, but you dodged Halsin easily. "Of course not," you lied. And he could tell.
You used a branch to stir the fire. You had the feeling it would be a cold night. Yenna was near it, stroking Grub's fur, and smiled at you. So young, so innocent. So unfair.
Lae'zel and Jaheira carried pans with food to the large table Gale conjured, and nodded on your direction. "Fifteen minutes, cub," said Jaheira. "Weren't you on watch?"
You denied with a movement of your head. Jaheira isn't the one to get confused with watches, neither are you. After all, you both organized all shifts.
"Are you hungry?" You stroke Yenna's hair, ignoring Grub in order to not scare him away. Kneeled in front of her, you threw the branch far away. Scratch ran to catch it. "I have strawberry and hon..."
"What the fuck is that?!"
You turned to Karlach, your sword suddenly so heavy on your side. She looked perfectly fine. Following her gaze, you understood it.
Shadowheart had her spear on hands, back from first watch to supper. And besides her, with a hand on the half-elf's waist, stood you.
One thing you can't deny Orin: that bitch is creative. You admit, it was smart. Half of the party left with you, half stayed at camp. It was only a matter of chosing the right moment to appear, making sure to say only the right words, and everything would work on her favor.
Smart, until she wasn't anymore. Because instead of aiming your companions quietly without raising doubts, you are back now. She is surrounded by the enemy. Cornered by her own actions.
You smiled to Yenna, her scared eyes shone upon you. "I need you to close your eyes. Can you do that for me?" As she put her tiny hands in front of her face, you raised from the floor. The smile was still there. "Orin."
She was behind you, but you knew Karlach made Nyrulna find a way to her hands. He's not on your vision field, but you promise Silvanus you'll kill yourself right then and there if Minsc and Boo aren't ready to fight and die beside you. The golden light on your periphery in theory could be from anything, but you knew it was Halsin waiting for your command to transform and attack.
The things you couldn't see didn't surprised you. Quite the opposite.
Jaheira's eyes shone, and without hesitation she turned into a fire myrmidion. Wyll, before careless, casted an armor on himself. Lae'zel had her sword on her back, but her movements showed she was nothing but ready.
They were looking at you.
As easy as that you understood. You're always thinking on the great scheme of things, careful about every movement and choice so at the end nothing will stop you from defeating the Absolute, but this isn't a game of Go. Orin didn't proposed a bet, one where all moves matter and any choice could change the final outcome. No. This is as simple as tic-tac-toe. The results depends only on doing the right first movement.
Orin isn't surrounded here.
You are.
Shadowheart hesitated, the spear uncomfortable on her hands, her skin paler. She gazed at you, at that thing, and you could almost see the doubt replacing the new found glow in her eyes.
"You finally decided to show up again," Orin said. She could immitate your voice perfectly. Even the words were something that could've been said by you. "Now we don't need to hunt you down."
You kept on staring at Shadowheart, ignoring her stained words. "Lua, you know who I truly am." You drew your sword, the golden glow illuminating your face within the light of the setting sun. "Fight beside me, my love. Like you have always done."
"Don't fall for her theatrics," replied Orin. If you didn't knew better, even you would fall for her tricks. "She is playing with your mind. Trying to control it like many attempt to before. Don't allow it."
In a quick motion, her spear cut through Orin's torso. Orin, you, stumbled back. You stood in front of Shadowheart, protecting her with your body from the changeling's response.
All Orin did was to add pressure to the cut. "Get away from her!" A necrotic energy came from her fingers, the same you are so used to control. You shouldn't have left your shield on your tent. "My love, she'll only hurt you."
Jaheira aimed at you, lava dripping from her transformed hand, but didn't attack because of how close Shadowheart was of you. Karlach got further away, now with a better view of camp. Minsc had his sword in hands, just as Wyll had a cloud of darkness aiming at him. Lae'zel was in front of Orin, eyes filled with determination.
They moved faster than you wanted to. The board getting new possibilities, and you worst problems to deal with. What strategy can overpower hers?
"On sight, soldier," Karlach screamed from distance. You could picture the spear on her hands, ready to be throw right in Orin's eyes. "One word."
"Ckh. Enough," ordered Lae'zel. "Pull yourself together before I pull you apart."
"That changeling is playing tricks with your mind, Lae'zel," said Shadowheart. Light came from her fingers. "Don't let her fool you."
"I know my leader," was her response. "You should know too, cleric."
"Can't any of you see her true goal?" Your voice echoed through the camp. "She isn't just trying to end me. She could've done this before, we all now she had chances. Orin wants you to fight one another, to break our bonds and divide us. Stay still, stay alert, and she won't have a choice but to end her disguise and attack with her own claws. Patience: that's the only thing she does not have."
With the noise, Gale and Astarion came out of the kitchen. "Who is..." Astarion didn't even had time to finish.
"It's me," you yelled. You had even forgot about them. Just more players for a game that should be won alone. "For Silvanus, I even said goodbye to each and every of you befo..."
You swear you saw a smirk on your duel's face. She fooled you too. "You fucking bitch."
You barely had closed your mouth when red strings of energy passed right beside you. Shadowheart's illuminated fingers were surrounded by darkness now. Gale's work, you knew.
"She is right," Lae'zel's words made you breath easier. It was more than just a smart move, it was a great plan, but Orin won't suceed for a very simple reason: her main goal is to hurt, and yours is to prevent it. Lae'zel stepped closer, her longsword in hands and eyes on Orin. "The wizard shouldn't have aimed at the Shadowheart, neither was she supposed to fight."
A sign of trust coming from her of all people could convince them all. Lae'zel cares, deeply, and wouldn't do something without being sure of it. You glared at the others, hoping Lae'zel's words had calmed them down. And it did. Their eyes were softer towards you. But those weren't the eyes you should've been watching closely.
You didn't saw when she moved. Didn't noticed the smell of danger floating on the air so near you. Didn't heard anything that would've warned you to defend yourself.
But you felt as Lae'zel rip your chest apart.
So much blood. You never would've guessed a mortal vessel could carry so much blood. It stained the silver, dripping from the longsword, splashed her face. It ran down your body, penetrated the ground and its roots, fed the plants..
Red. It was all you could see. All you could think about. Your lungs only had space for it. They burned. Your trembling hands moved towards your ripped belly, your insides staining them, and held the sword. It cut your palms.
"Bloodlust won't solve our problems," someone said. You knew that voice. Was it yours? Lae'zel forced the sword down, then pulled it out of you. "The changeling's is all we need to spill."
You were on your knees. Did you fell? Were you kicked? Are you praying? You must be. You probably were. Who do you pray to? Have you ever prayed before?
Kneeled beside you, a woman talked to you. Her mouth moved, a red liquid dripping from her face and hands. Her touch was warm. She felt like home. Shadowheart. Her eyes reflected a golden light, but they dissapeared so quickly.
"Let me go!" She tried to fight Lae'zel's hold, but the warrior was stronger. "She'll die because of you. She'll die and I will never ever forgive you for that, you damned gith!" The screams turned into cries. "She saved me, let me save her!"
"It's me," the doppelgander said. She held Shadowheart by the cheeks, trying to get her to calm down. "Lua, love, it's me. Just me."
"Get out of me," Shadowheart spat on her face. Lae'zel pushed her away, trying to prevent Shadowheart from doing something she would regret. "Why no one here listen to me?!"
"Stop squirming," Lae'zel hissed. "Look into her eyes. Look and tell me you don't see our leader."
Shadowheart eventually stopped fighting, her body exausted from crying. The changeling was in front of her, you were in front of her. She smelled like you. Talked like you. Felt like you.
"Is that really you?"
"Of course it's me," lied Orin. "Please, look into my eyes. We were together all day. You know I haven't left camp. Please, please, trust me."
Spikes grew, surrounding Orin. She hissed, the ivy twining around her legs and tearing the skin open. Halsin were throw to the ground before he could end the healing spell.
"Halsin!" Shadowheart screamed. She almost escaped Lae'zel's hold. "No!"
"She was with us all day, Halsin," Wyll said as he paralised the druid. "We know it's her. Don't fight back."
That didn't stop Karlach from throwing her spear near the Blade's feet. "You fucking idiot!"
Mizora clapped, enjoying the show.
Jaheira burned Mizora before losing her wild shape. She will come back, she always does, but that never stops Jaheira. At least they will have some moments of respect.
She wandered towards Minsc. He kneeled on the floor, and for a moment she feared something happened to him when she wasn't paying attention.
"She told me not open my eyes," cried Yenna. "I can't open they yet. She told me not to."
"Have you ever seen my miniature giant space hamster?" Yenna didn't react to him. "No, Boo, she nee..."
Jaheira kneeled beside him, her hand resting on his shoulder. "You did well, cub," she forced herself to laugh. "You were so brave. Let's get you and your red cat something to eat, alright?"
A dry sound reached their ears, stopping every and each one of them. You fell to the ground, as firm as an empty sack, whimpers leaving your mouth as you slipped into unconsciousness.
No fighting. No yelling. A quiet end. A peaceful one.
So easy.
Astarion grabbed Gale's shoulders, whispering so the others wouldn't notice. "It smells like her," Astarion swallowed hard. "I know it."
"Are you really sure of that?" Gale watched you, saw all your blood spreading through the ground, and looked into his eyes again. "Because if you're not, if your guess is wrong, then it will be our guts on the ground. Do you really trust your nose that much?"
Astarion gave him a smirk, but Gale could see the fear he was trying to hide. "Will you cover me, darling?"
"What's your plan?"
"Please. If you think I have one, then you don't know me at all."
As the spike dissapeared, Orin held Shadowheart's face again. "Think of everything we faced together. The nautiloid, the grove, the shadows. Wasn't I beside you all this time? Have I ever turned my back on you?"
"No." That Shadowheart knew the answer. "Never."
She looked up to the moon, praying for assistance. When her eyes fell down, she saw the body on the floor. And what surrounded it.
Scratch sad down beside you. He nudged your shoulder with his nose, waiting for you to stop with that game. He didn't like it. It wasn't fun like the others. But as he moved your body, she saw something reflecting the sunset. A flask. Concentrating, Shadowheart saw the contour of something. Of Astarion's body.
Gale had blue rays of light coming out of his eyes.
"Exactly, my love," her cheeks were pinched. The long nails digged on them for so long. "I've never turned on you. Not when you tried to kill Lae'zel. Not when you lied to me again and again. Or when you showed us how low you would go for your goddess. Remember the fear on the Nightsong's eyes? Remember how I pretended not to know all you would do to her if I wasn't there? A cleric who doesn't know where to lay her faith, a torturer so easily deceived, a coward unable to make the right decisions. That's why you never turned on me, right? Because I make the decisions you can't. I carry all the guilty for you. Because it's easier when I control everything. Don't you like it? That you don't need to use your brain when I am around? Wouldn't you give your memories to me if I asked? I know you would. I know you will."
Your head fell. The bone cracking, the skin stretching. They could hear as it moved, as it turned into something else. The shoulders falling, elbows breaking in half, the spine bending until it touches the bloody ground. The last snap, deep and long.
And from a thin cloud of dust, Orin appeared.
"Look at it. Crawnling under my fe..."
Nyrulna wasn't near Wyll, deep on the ground, neither did it came back to Karlach's hands. With accurate aim, the trident pierced Orin's ribs. Her blood joined yours, and the pale body fell where yours once lay.
Taking your time, you walked towards her. Stepping on the changeling's stomach, you ripped the trident from her insides. "I will give you a glorious death," you growled. "I'll make Bhaal wish I was his chosen."
You kneeled beside her, pressing the trident against her neck, then lowered your face until her ear. "I'll make him regret ever settling for you," you whispered.
Her eyes shone. "How... you know," she could barely say anything. "My... sib..."
You squeezed her cheeks, shutting her up. Then you caressed it, getting her skin dirty with your blood. "I know shit about you," you replied. "But I can tell you would never be anyone's first choice."
Orin can believe she escaped, if it's that what she desires. That you were too slow to stop her from teleport to wherever she deemed safe. That you were all bark and no bite. The truth is that she was wrong about you from the start.
You like the hunting.
You dropped Nyrulna to the ground, and threw yourself into Shadowheart's arms. “She lies,” you whispered. "She deceives and hurts and maims. Nothing was true. You're nothing that she said."
Quietly, Shadowheart hugged you. She breathed in your scent, felt your touch, heard your voice. You, you, you. She cried against your body. You.
Looking at the rest of your party, you breathed in. "We need a code," you said. "If we ever get into this sort of situation again, we need to say..."
You bite your lips, trying to think of something. Something you wouldn't use in another situation. Something that would be unique, impossible to confuse the meaning.
"Gold," you chose. "Or the rest of us are allowed to go for the kill."
Lae'zel cleared her throat. "Fair enough."
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BALDUR’S GATE 3 TAGLIST: @citrusbunnies
@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.
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animeshotsh · 28 days
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Omg I love your makima reader!!! But like what if there was Denji reader👁👁
Like reader is like easy to fall in love with everyone and all that and having Chainsaw abilities just by her heart, and doing basically what denji have done, now that denji reader is in hell what happens when the ey meet the whole characters at the hotel
I see user don’t know lucifer since reader thought hell was actually the hell they went to (let’s call it purgatory where all embodiments of fear lives) but they’re In hell where lucifer rules, what are the characters first thoughts about denji reader
Keep up the good work on ur fics!!🫶🏽🫶🏽
Take some breaks and drink some water🫶🏽🫶🏽
Thanks anon for this amazing idea! And your sweet message 💕 ~
Eh? | Various x Denji!Reader
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After dying (finally do you know how much power it takes to kill the chainsaw man?) You end up waking up in a place that resembles a city. A very dirty and bloody one.
Of course you are confused, this cant be hell, hell has lots of doors and its all dark. So what is this? A demon power? A travel to another universe?
Whatever it is you dont care, seeing that you still have your powers its enough. Also, being back to having to steal to survive feels like nothing.
Turns out people here give zero shit towards any type of law violation so of course you end using your powers to attack and defend yourself.
Why are you picking up a pig and why a Demon who looks like a spider its coming towards you?
Angel its a lost of words as you give his little friend back, your body all covered in blood and the chains coming from your arms not suprising him.
More the fact that you look like a lost puppy as you ask what this place is and why he looks like a spider.
~☆~☆~☆
Angel its quick to flirt with you, getting you all flustered and confused. You think you are in love as he takes you back to the hotel.
Thats till you meet Husk who could not care less about you but now has to deal with you asking for drinks and seeing your pathetic attemp to flirt.
~☆~☆~☆
Once Charlie meets you and does break the news to you, you are lose in words...then she offers you to stay for free and have food as long as you dont cause trouble.
Its paradise to you.
~☆~☆~☆
Alastor thinks you are stupid but likes to see you do something and fail, he takes note on how the smallest things brings you joy. The first time he saw you fightning he was suprised to say the least.
~☆~☆~☆
Oh and when you meet Lucifer.
"I thought you would be scarier than Darkness demon was worse...and taller"
Lucifer its now questioning why he is so short and why you were talking to him only to end chasing off one spider.
~☆~☆~☆
You would end being a overlord without knowing you are one. The "meetings" seems more like friends gathering together. The other overlords cant take you seriously at all.
Its thanks to Rosie and Alastor that you end staying during the meetings even if you fall sleep most times.
~☆~☆~
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bookish-whore · 8 months
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Haunted
Azriel x Reader
Words: 3k
Warnings: Descriptions of sexual assault, violence, discussions and flashbacks to SA
A/N: this one is a request sent to me by the lovely @ominisgoldie I hope it is everything you wanted and more, I had the most wonderful time writing it.
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“Come on dear, give us a twirl” her voice crooned
I spun, trying to use my hands to cover my exposed breasts from the prying eyes of the fae gathered here but my efforts were in vain as a tall male approached me, a set of irons in his large hands.
I frantically met the violet eyes of my friend, my one protector in this place and his wild look told me that she was in no mood for games tonight. she was out for blood.
“Please Amarantha, m-my queen I- I don’t know anything” I screamed retreating the few feet I could to escape the male approaching me.
“We’ve been over this dear, this isn’t about you” she sneered from her throne “Loras, you may continue with your assigned task.”
“NO” I screamed “PLEASE”
Loras quickly approached me, shoving a piece of fabric in my mouth. Amarantha hated to hear me screaming the last time she said it spoilt her fun. He made quick work securing me to the wall my arms over my head, so I was unable to fight back.
I took a deep breath, a familiar darkness entering my consciousness that told me Rhys was in my mind “Y/n it’ll be okay, I’m here, I am with you. I promise he will suffer for this.”
“I can’t Rhys, not again” I said back my eyes pleading with his to end my suffering, to kill me or break my mind so I wouldn’t need to face the guilt of what was going to happen.
“You are so strong y/n, she cannot break you, you will make it back to him. I promise”
I closed my eyes, listening to the soft clinking of metal as Loras and another male closed in on me. I could smell his breath, rotten like decay as he leaned in close, his accomplice prying my legs open as he lined himself up with me. I squeezed my eyes tighter hoping that it would lessen the pain if I refused to watch.
“Come on darling, show me those pretty eyes while I take you” Loras said
I jerked awake in bed, the events of my captivity fading from my mind as I tried to regulate my breathing. The same phrases repeating themselves on a loop in my head:
I survived, she was dead, I was safe now, I was home. I survived, she was dead, I was safe now, I was home. I survived, she was dead, I was safe now, I was home. I survived, she was dead, I was safe now, I was home.
As my room settled around me, and my heartbeat returned to its normal rhythm, I knew exactly what I needed, and where I needed to be. I threw on my dressing gown and without a second thought I made my way up the stairs to the rooftop. I pushed the door open quietly, my senses picking up the familiar scent of rain and citrus. He was here, he was always here.
“Fancy some company” I called out alerting him to my presence.
“From you?” Rhys said not bothering to look behind him “Always.”
I made my way to the edge of the roof where he sat perched, his wings relaxed behind him. He patted the space beside him, and I quickly took my seat. He passed me a bottle of dark liquid, no doubt from his personal collection knowing that I needed my senses to be dull at this time of night, especially after the nightmares.
“The same?” Rhys asked finally looking over at me.
“Yep” I answer “you?”
“Mhmm” he agreed.
A few moments of silence passed between us.
“Azriel’s worried you know” Rhysand finally says grabbing the bottle back, before taking a long drink from the deep amber liquid.
“I know” I reply softly looking down at the sparkling city lights below “I just don’t know how to separate him from everything else, in my head I know that he loves me, that he would never hurt me but when he touches me it just instantly takes me back there, back to her games”
“Have you told him anything about under the mountain?”
“I don’t know how to tell him Rhys, I mean how do you even start that conversation ‘hey please promise you still love me even though I was repeatedly unfaithful to you because I was drugged and forced to please various men for Amarantha’s entertainment’ he’ll never look at me the same way and I don’t know if I can take that kind of rejection”
“You’re mates, all you have to do is let him in, let him see. y/n I have known him for centuries and there is nothing you could tell him that would make him love you any less”
“I’ll talk to him soon, I swear I just-” I grabbed the bottle from his hand taking another gulp, the burning sensation numbing my senses “I just need more time”
“I of all people am not rushing you, nor am I saying Az is entitled to know what happened before you’re ready. What I am saying is that of all people he is the most qualified person to help you and it is killing him that he can’t” Rhys said
“Do you think the bond is enough” I asked quietly
“Enough for what” he asked.
“To fix all the broken parts of me” I said, the tears I was holding in freely falling.
“Hey, hey, hey” he said softly, attempting to soothe me “there is nothing broken about you. you are a survivor and I know if you gave Az a chance, he would tell you the same.”
“How can you be sure?” I said wiping my face with my hands “would you be able to forgive me?”
“Would you forgive me?” he asked
“For what?” I asked
“For not doing enough” he admitted solemnly
“You did everything you could given the situation” I took his hand in mine “Rhys you endured for decades as her personal pet to protect everyone back here and you were there for me in every way you could be.”
“If only you could give yourself the same grace you give others”
“I know that he has an idea of what happened, and I’m sure that his imagination might be worse than what actually happened but would confirming his suspicions really help? Or would he look at me like I was a stranger. Could he still love me knowing what h-happened to me?”
“Only one way to find out” he said.
Rhysand winnowed me to Azriels apartment, well rather the street leading to his apartment. After we talked for a while, he told me that I should try to do this but still gave me the option of running away.
I anxiously wrung my hands together as I walked the familiar steps up to what used to be our apartment. The memories came flooding back of all the excitement I felt moving in here with him, accepting the mating bond and all the nights spent whispering our future plans to each other, the fights we had over paint colors and how he broke my favorite bowl. but that was before, and could he still love who I was now? Who I had become to survive that place and its tortures?
Standing here I debated my options then I nervously rapped my knuckles against the door.
What the hell was I doing? I thought suddenly realizing he was probably dead asleep considering it was well past midnight.
As I turned to leave, my resolve disintegrating with the effects of the alcohol, I heard the sound of the lock turning and the door opening. I quickly spun around, coming face to face with a very disheveled looking shadowsinger. My heart swelled in my chest at the sight of him.
“Hi” I croaked, my throat suddenly dry at the thought of sharing everything with my mate
“Sweetheart?” he asked running a hand through his hair “A-are you hurt? Is everything alright?”
“I- I didn’t mean to wake you, and now that I’m here it seems so ridiculous. I- I should go” I spun on my heel, practically running down the stairs that led back to the street.
“Y/n wait!” he called after me, I heard the loud flap of his wings as he flew into the air, landing directly in front of me, halting me in my tracks his arms grasping my shoulders to keep me still, in his panic he didn’t mean to touch me and rationally I knew that, but my body was instantly revolted by his touch and my reaction was out of my control.
“NO!” I screamed “PLEASE NOT AGAIN”
I collapsed into a ball on the sidewalk, retreating from his touch, unable to control the tears that streamed down my face or the fear that pulsed through my veins.
“Please y/n, j-just let me- fuck- just let me help you” he pleaded, his shadows swirling anxiously around us as he fought every instinct driving him to comfort me. “Please come inside, you don’t have to say anything. I just- I just need to know that you’re safe.”
I reluctantly accepted and stood wiping the dirt from my bottom as I made my way back up the steps. He followed behind me, careful not to touch me as we walked into the space. Everything was eerily the same as the day I was forced to leave it.
“Can I get you some tea?” Azriel asked tentatively.
I nodded “I’ll take-
“Black with two sugars and milk?” he said instinctively, cutting me off, his eyes met mine and were frantic like his interruption would send me running back to the townhouse.
“That would be perfect” I said with a reassuring smile that I know didn’t meet my eyes
His back turned to me, his wings tense as he started the kettle and got our usual mugs prepared. It only took a few minutes before he was approaching handing me my favorite cup with my tea exactly how I liked, I set it on the table in front of where I was seated on the sofa and he took the seat opposite me, also placing his mug on the coffee table while it cooled.
“You look- better” he said softly “T-than I last saw you, I mean.”
“I feel better than the last time you saw me” I replied my voice hoarse from screaming earlier
I was worried he would interrogate me immediately about why I was here at this hour of the night, but instead we sat in silence, but somehow it didn’t feel tense. He was waiting to see what pieces of my fractured soul I would offer up eager to take whatever I could give him.
“I know you’re probably wondering why I’m here” I finally said
“This is your place too y/n, whether or not you currently stay here you are always welcome. No excuse needed”
“Az- I- I came here tonight with the intention of telling you some things, about what happened while I was- while I was gone”
“You don’t need tell me y/n, not unless you’re ready” Azriel said softly
“The thing is Az, I want to tell you. I want to tell you more than anything I just- I just don’t know how to get the words out without you hating me, or- or looking at me differently”
“There’s nothing you could have done that would change my opinion of you.”
“Don’t say that” I begged
“It’s true” he said desperately, I managed to meet his gaze, as I stared into those beautiful hazel eyes that had seen all my scars and loved me anyways I strengthened my resolve. He deserved the truth.
“Don’t say that until you’ve seen everything”
I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, searching for the bond. It had been so long since I felt the effects of the mating bond, the glowing rope that connected our very souls. As I searched my mind for the familiar pathway back to him a pit formed in my stomach, I was nervous to tell him, nervous for his reaction. But regardless of the outcome this was a step towards healing, for me. I found the string in my mind, deconstructing the mental barriers that had shielded Azriel from our connection and with a thought, I tore it down.
Azriel gasped suddenly, breaking the silence between us.
“I’m sorry, it’s just that I- I can feel you again” he said softly grasping at his chest where his heart is, I felt a rush of emotion, it was comforting and familiar, like coming home after a long time away.
“I can feel you too” I whispered tears glistening in my eyes.
“I don’t think I can tell you what happened” I said softly “b-but I can show you.”
“I just want you to know that you don’t have to y/n” Az said “you being alive, being here…it’s enough- it’s enough for me”
“I know Az- but I want to. I need to. I need you to know what I went through and why it’s going to take a long time for me to be okay again”
“okay” he agreed “If you’re ready.”
I took a deep breath, unlocking the mental door that kept all my memories from Under the Mountain at bay, and I imagined myself walking through it taking him along with me. I held his hand as I showed him the early years of torture. The starvation, the beatings, the general cruelty that came with Amarantha’s abuse, but as we walked further into the recesses of my memory the images became darker. The first time she drugged me and forced me to dance naked on every male under the mountain, how she would let her favorites have their way with me whenever they pleased. How she would force Rhys to watch knowing that I was a friend of his from the outside word.
I felt him tense through the bond, rage and despair flowing through the bond as he watched the last assault, the one that gave me nightmares, the one that left me injured and unable to speak for weeks.
I brought us back to reality, and noticed the way he wiped the tears from his eyes, trying to hide the effect my memories had on him, but it was like a dam breaking and before I knew it his head was between his knees as his body was wracked with sobs, his shoulders and wings shaking with the force of his grief.
I slowly inched over to where he sat, until our knees were almost touching. almost.
“Az-” I said softly, my hand bringing his chin to my level.
“I shouldn’t be the one breaking down here, I should- I should be comforting you but how can I? How can I help you? C-can I touch you?” he begged “Please- I-I just want to hold you”
I shook my head “Az- I know in my head that it’s you, and that you would never hurt me but somewhere along the way the signals get twisted and I’m back there, with her…with them and I just can’t figure out how to stop it.” I met his tortured gaze “All I want is for you to hold me and tell me it’s going to be alright but-” I choked back a sob “I don’t think it is”
“Hey- hey- listen to me y/n” Azriel said getting to his knees on the floor in front of me, but still maintaining enough distance that we didn’t touch. “You are my mate, my love, my life, my very reason for existing. If you need time, I’ll give you an eternity so long as through it all I can stand by your side. I could go the rest of my life not touching you so long as your heart is beating. I waited a thousand years to know you, and if I must spend another thousand getting to know who you now; then so be it. Time is nothing to me, it means nothing to me…you mean everything to me and I will spend the rest of my life making sure that you know that.”
I couldn’t stop the tears that flowed down my face at his confession. I had been so sure that he would be revolted, that he would want nothing more to do with me, that I was tainted but I was wrong.
“So, you still love me” I managed to choke out meeting his hazel eyes, emotion swimming in them.
“Until the stars are a whisper of dust in the sky, Until the sun rises in the east and sets in the west, until the oceans run dry and ramiel is carried away like a leaf in the wind. There is no part of you that I do not see that I do not love; that I would not worship if you let me.”
I flung my arms around him, needing to feel the steady beat of his heart to know that this was real. That I was safe. He didn’t dare move a muscle; his body frozen as I clung to him desperately. “You can hold me,” I said softly, without a second thought his arms wrapped around me finding their place as I sunk into his lap. He brought his hand to cup the back of my head and simply held me while I cried, while I released the tidal wave of emotions I didn’t realize I was holding in. he pressed a delicate kiss to my temple while he sent feelings of love and reassurance down the bond.
And finally, after five decades I was home.
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oatmilk-vampire · 3 months
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mdni 18+ part 2(technically prequel)
When Eddie Munson came back from the dead, it didn't phase Robin too much. After all, it wasn’t the first time someone in Hawkins had seemed to come back from the dead. Just look at Will!
It was an accident. She let herself into Steve's place with the spare key he had given her. In her defense he wasn't answering the phone!
She only meant to walk in on Steve, she'd heard running water and didn’t care what she might see in the bathroom. He was practically her brother and she needed to demand ask him to give her a ride to the bookstore, she'd gotten word from Dustin via walkie-talkie that Vicki is there and she thought it'd be a great meet-cute if the two of them reached for the same book, which she would definitely make happen.
But then she walked in on Eddie when he was brushing his teeth, brushing his fangs. Now that wasn’t normal.
She had a momentary freak out while Eddie desperately tried to calm her down with his placating gestures and toothpaste foam dripping down his chin.
Eventually she heard his words and came to the conclusion that if Eddie had been back for a month already and none of their friends were dead, and the news hadn't reported any strange animal attacks, she must be safe. He must not be a bad vampire.
That didn't stop her from pushing her way to Steve's bedroom to find him peacefully napping without a hair out of place.
She closes his door much more carefully than she threw it open.
Steve may be fine but that didn't stop her from threatening Eddie saying she'd find out what exactly would kill a vampire if he even thought of snacking on anyone she cared about. Especially her platonic soulmate Steve.
They'd survived too much just for Steve to die by way of juicebox.
He assured her he'd never hurt anyone, especially Steve.
She thinks she believes him. After all, Steve and Eddie had seemingly gotten closer since Eddie returned from the dead. She wasn't sure if Steve just finally found another friend his own age, or if he may finally be giving into the glaringly obvious bi-tendencies he had. Either way, he hasn't seemed like he's been in any danger lately. He actually seemed the most happiest she's ever seen him. Maybe it's because he hasn't been getting rejected by every young woman in Hawkins? Then again, she hasn't seen him flirt either... Unless it was when Eddie came to the store to pick up a movie... Hmm.
When she realizes Steve won't be able to drive her she leaves in a huff, deciding she'd just ask Nancy to take her to the bookstore. Eddie offered, but she declined.
If Eddie was there while Steve was sleeping, then he must be expecting him to be there when he awakens. Whatever the nature of their relationship may be, she didn’t want to jeopardize Steve finally being happy.
What she didn’t know was Eddie had been snacking on Steve just fifteen minutes before she'd barged in and was washing the evidence from his mouth. He'd been snacking on Steve for just over two weeks now.
That's how their little friends with benefits arrangement began. Eddie got to eat without needing to hunt or steal from the blood blank, and Steve got off.
It's not Steve's fault he liked being drank from, liked the way Eddie’s lips felt on his neck and fangs buried in his skin.
Originally it was an innocent offer on Steve's part. He was more concerned it would hurt the way the truth serum injection did when he was being interrogated by the Russians a few years ago, or like the sharp bite of the demobats themselves; but instead of fainting when Eddie latched on, Steve popped a boner.
Maybe with all of the concussions he's endured he got a couple screws knocked loose, maybe that's why he gets horny just thinking about Eddie drinking from him.
Eddie doesn't mind it one bit. Sure he was worried with that initial gasp Steve let out, but now that he knows it was a good kind of breathlessness he drinks to his heart's content and allows Steve to rut against him to his heart's content. If Steve doesn't finish while Eddie is drinking he'll give him a handjob until he does. It's a pretty good arrangement even if it does leave Eddie hard in his jeans.
It's not that Eddie doesn't want to do more with Steve, he just doesn't trust himself to drink from Steve and be intimate at the same time; and he's too nervous to just try to be intimate with him sans feeding.
What if Steve isn't into Eddie like that? What if he's really just in it for the assisted masturbation and the moment Eddie makes a move this'll all end?
Eddie doesn't want that. He can't. He can't go back to drinking the gamey blood of animals that leaves him feeling more sick than nourished, or acting like a felon to score pints to stock his fridge, which he can't really do either since he refuses to tell Uncle Wayne in fear of sending the poor man into cardiac arrest.
Plus Steve is the best thing he's ever tasted. Better than any sweet, or any food eaten after getting the munchies. Steve is delectable. He's the best high. Plus Eddie likes being able to give Steve his own little high. An orgasm only he could give him. It does wonders for the ego.
Eddie wants more from Steve but he's too selfish to risk losing him for the better of them.
It's okay, though, because he gets a part of Steve no one else will ever have and that's enough for him.
For now.
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chiwhorei · 5 months
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𝐌𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐎’𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐌𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐃𝐢𝐞 - 𝐏𝐭. 𝐈: 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞
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Miguel and Peter have been best friends since grade school. You’ve been in love with Miguel for about that long.
He’s messed with every girl on campus, all of your friends, any girl with a pulse except for you- Parker’s adorable little sister. Even so, there’s plenty of ways to get fucked.
|| 𝐌𝐎𝐌𝐃 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐦.𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ||
Characters: Miguel O’Hara, Parker!reader, Peter Parker Tags: Explicit- MDNI, College AU, Brother’s best friend, friends-to-lovers, house party, alcohol, voyeurism with a third party, sloppy oral, degradation, yearning, sarcasm, shared Marbies and the insurmountable melancholy Word count: 3k cross-posted to Ao3!
Thank you for your patience and encouragement, I survived my first case of writers block since being back. -xoxo, chiwhorei
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You wobble forward on a pair of heels that pinch a bit too tight. Your favorite pair was lent out to a friend, they matched her outfit better anyway. The runner in the hallway slips under the balls of your feet.
The bathroom, that’s your excuse. His room just happens to be right next to the bathroom. You’ll just peek in to see if he’s hiding from the pounding music and drunk college students trying to talk over it.
The fruity drinks Peter keeps making you are starting to tingle in your cheeks. Miguel calls you a lightweight, but you’ve hardly seen him at all tonight. He’s not a very good host, you think, leaving his party guests to mill about without his company.
Most everyone seems plenty boozed enough to not notice, but you would miss Miguel even if you were sedated. You’re certain you could miss him the same, even if you’d never met him. You curse your own hyperbole, God, drunk you is annoying.
“Mmph,”
A muffled groan spills out of the creak in his bedroom door. Sober you probably wouldn’t creep any closer, but she’s long gone. Plus, you have to walk past it anyway, you remind yourself, to get to the bathroom.
Your eyes wander from their strained focus at the end of the hallway and catch on a familiar complexion. Strong arms hold Miguel’s meal against his bed as it whimpers and squeals, muscles flexing underneath the remainder of his summer tan. The space between the door and its fame is just enough for your face- too much, by far, but the blood under your skin seems to pull you as close as possible without it squeaking open any further.
“Calm down, Mami,” He shushes against her, you can hear how wet his lips are, “we’re not going to get anywhere with you squirming.” Miguel’s voice knocks the air from your lungs, it escapes past your lips in a clumsy gasp.
His stare, deep and unblinking, pins you to the doorframe. You’ve gotten Miguel plenty mad, riled him up more times than you could count- but this is different. It’s red-hot, soldering you to the ground below. It’s not anger, not surprise, not the mixture of both it probably should be.
“P- please, I can’t,” her voice is familiar, even broken around a cry, “I can’t cum again, Miggy.” He kisses up her leg, licking at her ankle as it’s pinned to his chest. Pink strappy heels sit limply against the dip in Miguel’s collarbone- the pair you leant her a few hours prior. They matched her dress better, but that doesn’t seem to be a concern anymore.
Miguel doesn't stop, doesn't flinch. You can hear his mouth as it purrs into her again, see his cheeks sitting high on his face- even behind the thighs that obscure your view. Instead of yelling at you to close the door, Miguel smiles wildly. Evil, in the sweet, tooth-rotting kind of way.
“Aw, Pobrecito,” he coos against her, but the words are shot towards his voyeur, “you can give me one more.”
It feels like a bullet in your chest, friendly fire.
“You’re my good girl, aren’t ya?”
“Hey,” A finger and thumb snap in your blank eyeline to rip you from your thoughts, you jump in your seat at the sound, “Are you listening to me whatsoever?”
“Claro,” Your accent lacks any semblance of confidence. Miguel scoffs, at least some of his work is getting through.
You clear your throat and focus back to the textbook in front of you to read off the next prompt, “Write out a response to the following question, ‘¿Qué haces este fin de semana?’
Miguel snorts in response, and your eyes narrow across the kitchen table. He swallows back the snicker he holds in his mouth, hands up in feigned innocence.
“Vale, but this one’s easy, ‘No tengo planes, porque soy pinche abborito-” You clip his last word, throwing the first thing in reach, your textbook, towards his head- hoping to land a papercut.
Your tudor’s braced for impact, catching it with one hand and laughing at your outburst. You huff, arms crossed and posture falling. Miguel and Peter have your parents old dining room set, your chair wobbles as you sink back in it. Just like it always has.
“I got that, asshole.”
“Well, you could have fooled me,” Miguel slides your book back across the wood between you, “You tested out of Spanish 101 and now you're going to flunk out of 205. What was it, hermanita, clerical error?”
God that nickname digs past your skin and into the nerve endings, eating its way outwards. It wasn’t always like this, was it? You can’t seem to remember a time where his voice didn’t ignite every cell of blood.
He must have a talent for house fires, you think, or maybe you’re just more flammable in the days following your little run-in. You retreat ever further into the wobbly dining chair to create some distance, digging your shoulders into the spoked back.
It feels the same as when you were kids. Slinking into your chair and puffing your chest when you and Miguel would pass insults over the table. Your cheeks feel just as hot, your blood just as cold. You’re 13 again and Miguel just told you that boys aren’t going to want to kiss you and get stuck on your braces.
“I did well on the stupid placement test because it was on paper.” You feel like you’re speaking around that mouth of braces again, “I can understand the vocab and stuff, but our final is all oral.”
“If the final is oral,” Miguel chirps, pulling you closer by the leg of your seat with a splintering screech against the floor, “you might as well just drop the class, mija.”
He’s far too close, your skin might start sizzling. This was a horrible idea, one you’re sure you’ll be paying for later. He might as well put it on your tab.
“I’m just going to go to the tutoring center tomorrow, or try to drop, or fail and lose my spot on the dean’s list.” You go to slam your textbook closed but Miguel’s fingers curl over the spine, spreading out to keep it open.
“Cálmate, you’re not doing any of those,” instead of looking dumbly into his stare, your eyes fix on the rings Miguel wears; one for every long, beautiful finger. He mixes silver and gold, and you can’t decide which metal looks better against his gilded complexion. The things those fingers could do, your eye threatens to twitch at the thought, the places those fingers have been. Nearly all of your friends and the majority of Sorority Row.
“I promised you I’d help, I’m a man of my word,” his tone feels earnest for a beat, and you watch a pointer finger come out to barely graze the hand you’ve still got holding your book. It’s hypnotizing, maybe you shouldn't be so hard on the girls that hang off of his every sentence. All of these years you should’ve been inoculated, and you’re still no better. You might even be fatal.
“Plus, your brother bet me that you’d fail your final.”
Fuck him. And every perfect plane of skin. And that lopsided, toothy grin. And that goddamn laugh that makes you feel undercooked and mushy.
You pull your hand away, moving to stand up but those dangerous fingers curl around your wrist. His touch is so familiar, so easy to get sucked in to, like a rerun of your favorite movie. A physiological horror, maybe.
“C’mon, I bet him that you’d ace it. You’re my smart girl, mi nenita.”
The opening you have to throw a smart remark, or maybe another book, is wasted thinking about if you’re the only one who gets called that.
Miguel drops his grip on you as the front door opens. From the corner of your eye, you see his tongue lick over his bottom lip, just like he does every time he’s won. He must like the taste of your turmoil.
“Is our girl fluent yet, Mig?” Your brother’s presence is booming and a more than welcome distraction. Peter’s hands wrap around your shoulders, pressing his stubbled cheek against your face hard enough to squish your mouth to the side.
“Oh absolutely, she’s on her way to nailing that final. We’ve just got to work on her or-”
“Peter,” your voice interjects, a few octaves higher than what would pass for normal, “you got a lighter? I need a break.”
Your brother pats his jacket pockets a few times before tossing you his zippo. You fumble the catch, nerves rubbed raw and bloody. Don’t give him a reaction. You reclaim a bit of your composure and swipe the pack of Marblo reds from the table.
“Hey! Those are mine,” Miguel’s protest dosen’t reach his eyes, and you can’t hide the pleased smile that he pulls up over your teeth, “fucking brat.”
“Put it on my tab.”
The cement fencing around your brother’s apartment is cold against your ass. Your brother’s lighter sparks a few times before you can light up the cigarette. He should get a new one, but you know he won’t. Peter hates change.
Must run in the family.
It wasn’t always like this, you think against the first pull from Miguel’s cigarette, maybe if I keep ignoring it, we can both pretend it never happened.
What’s longer, death, or a life sentence?
You would have gladly lived and died a lovesick puppy, following your brother and his best friend around like Miguel was leash training. Living in between the moments of your life where he was, where he’s always been. Wrestling in the living room, pretending to hate when he’d gain the upper hand and pin you down helplessly under him. Playing tag, playing house. Calling shotgun in his old mustang, giggling every time your brother tried to argue. “It’s her seat, Peter,” he’d say with his arm over the back of your seat, pulling out of the driveway as if he hadn’t just ripped out your bleeding heart, “get over it.”
You couldn’t tell at first, but that open bedroom door was the last straw bending. The last few moments before the break, the aching stretch as you’re snapped in half. You’re not just Peter’s clumsy kid-sister anymore, you’re the drunk college girl that watched Miguel fucking his tongue into your freshman-year roommate.
You’re the still-drunk girl that walked home alone and touched herself to the memory of his wet smile and lashing tongue. The sobered-up girl that came hard on a toy named after him.
Heavy boots stalk forward, tracing the sidewalk and landing in your eyeline. You take another drag, blowing out into Miguel’s face.
“No fucking manners,” Miguel pulls the cigarette from where it sits between your lips, “what am I going to do with you.”
From where you’re perched, you meet his gaze without having to crane upwards. Miguel’s lips wrap around the stain your lipgloss left. You wonder if he notices, if he likes that taste too.
“I think I’ve had more than enough of you today.” Your quip is half-hearted and falls flatly on the pavement between you.
“Ya know, for someone with a stick shoved up her ass,” Miguel steps closer, taking up the space between either knee, “your posture sucks.”
You straighten your back in protest, but a low tree branch pokes into your spine. A yelp splinters from your throat as the wood catches where your leggings meet your sweatshirt.
Miguel laughs, but leans forward and reaches around your middle to snap the branch from where it’s stuck against your tailbone.
“Told ya.” He flattens his palms against the cool cement, you can feel the warmth of his thumbs on either side of your thighs. Rule number three, Don’t let him get too close. But you’re trapped already, surrounded in three of the four directions.
“I think we need to have a little chat, Mami.”
Maybe if you fall backwards into the tree behind you, you could try to make a break for it. A few scrapes and bruises sounds significantly more palatable.
“I think I’m good, I’ve met my heart-to-heart quota for the year.”
You try to stand, but Miguel’s hands keep your hips down where you’re sitting. You can feel the ridges of his fingers where his rings lie, the warmth of his skin, the slight tremor in his left hand.
“Ay coño,” Miguel tilts his face up to give you a smile, his canines look sharp enough to break skin, “no need to play coy now.”
Flashes of wet lips and borrowed shoes run past your vision. There’s no way you’ll make it out of this conversation in one piece, you feel yourself chipping already.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you yank the cigarette from Miguel as he exhales, blowing his smoke from the side of his mouth. What a gentleman.
“I see,” he tuts. You watch him swipe his tongue across his teeth, it takes every ounce of will to keep you from thinking about how your lip gloss tastes in his mouth.
“Maybe I should bring in an outside perspective, I wonder if Peter saw anything on Saturday.” Miguel stands up straight and spins around to feign walking away, “He can help us track down the creep that was watching me fuck your little friend-“
“I don’t know what you want me to say, O’Hara,” your jaw is clenched hard enough to snap wire, “That I’m sorry? I promise I didn’t see anything? I promise I won’t tell anyone?” At least anger is a little easier than shame. Even if you’re the one in the wrong, it feels evil for Miguel to play with his food like this.
“O’Hara?” He laughs, turning back to face you with crossed arms.
“Well, Parker, I guess I’m just wondering,” Miguel takes the spent cigarette from your hand, pulling the last of it with a final inhale and dropping it onto the ground. You hear the crunch of his boot as he puts it out.
“Did you like what you saw?”
His face is only as far away as your eyelashes, two hands coil around your legs, hiking them up behind your knees. His lips are so close to you that you can taste his gum- cinnamon. A flavor so specific to him, you swear that’s the only reason he likes it.
“No,” your voice is barely above a whisper, speaking to someone you wish couldn’t hear it, “I mean, I wasn’t trying to… watch you. I was going to the bathroom and-“
“And you thought you’d stop by for an anatomy lesson? I only promised I’d help you with Spanish.”
Your eyes prick with frustrated tears, it’s either fess up or fall backwards and make a break for it.
“I was drunk,” your voice is louder than it should be, the arch in Miguel’s eyebrow seems to agree with you.
“I was tired, a- and drunk, and when I walked by your room I was… curious, I guess.”
His hands loosen from where they press into your leggings. He hasn’t let go yet, thumbs now drawing circles into the thin spandex. If his touch wandered any farther, you’d be done for- the damp heat spilling from your center outwards is mear inches from the tips of his fingers.
“Little Parker was curious,” his voice croons, “about what exactly? The birds and the bees? What mommies and daddies do when they love each other?”
Miguel’s waist blocks your legs from twisting over each other, there’s no relief to be found, it seems there never is- for you at least.
“I know what the-” his patronizing widdles down any sharp comeback you’ve got holstered until the points are dull, “I’m not a fucking kid anymore. I’m plenty versed in that area of study, and I definitely don’t need any notes from you.”
You’re not as hopeless as Miguel thinks, your first year of college was spent on any ‘anatomy lessons’ you had still been missing. Underwhelming, unsatisfying, clinical even, but the specifics would be buried next to your grave before you’d give them to Miguel.
“Hey Mig, ya ready to go?” Your brother’s voice almost knocks you from the cement ledge you’re perched on.
Miguel doesn’t falter for a second, whispering into the shell of your ear and punctuating with one last malicious smile. Your skin feels sticky, like you’ve just crawled out of a mouse trap.
The words he moved around his lips are left to echo in the now-empty space in front of you. His Mustang whines as it pulls out of the driveway and you try to shake loose from the grip still searing your thighs.
“Just let me know if you need help studying those more private subjects, I’m known to be quite the tutor.”
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baldurs-simp · 5 months
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Un-Holy (Astarion x Aasimar!Reader)
Summary: Your heritage comes out in the midst of a battle, leaving you to confess your past to Astarion, whom you have developed a strong relationship with.
Warnings: strong language, mild spoilers, aasimar!reader, fluff, written at the spur of the moment while slightly tired, a bunch of rambling in the beginning but shit goes down later on
MY MASTERLIST
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You have gone years without a fight until you woke up on the Mind Flayer ship with a tadpole behind your eye. Now, you cannot go a day without fighting for your survival after the ship crashed somewhere near Baldur’s Gate. You are not alone in the fight, however, having met some companions along the way who all share the same affliction you do; the threat of becoming a Mind Flayer.
The first you met was a Gith, Lae’zel, on the ship before it fell, then a Cleric of Shar, Shadowheart. The two don’t see eye to eye, but they keep the peace well enough to not cause a fight within the camp at night. Then you meet the rogue, Astarion, whom you later find out is a vampire after he tried to drink your blood in your sleep. How he’s able to walk in the sun without burning to a crisp is a mystery to everyone, but you think you could be because of the tadpole lurking around in his head. Or perhaps it is the work of the Guardian that visits you in your dreams.
Then you met the wizard from Waterdeep stuck in his portal, Gale. He has his issues. An orb sits in his chest, waiting to explode if it is not sated with magical-infused objects. You normally allow him to consume items that would otherwise be of no use to you. Items that grant you spells that you can already cast. Items useless to you, but not to Gale. 
Wyll you had met after defeating a group of goblins that tried to enter the Emerald grove. Meeting him spurred your quest to help the Tieflings being kicked out by the druids. You plan on clearing the way for them, getting rid of goblins that might attack them west of the Blighted Village. Wyll had his quest to hunt down a devil, whom you found, Karlach. 
Karlach is nothing like what Wyll had described and they finally came to a consensus to not kill each other. The tiefling that fought in the Blood Wars was only enlisted against her will. And she now joins your party in search of a cure for the Mind Flayer tadpoles.
You feel as if you know everyone in your party, and know somewhat about their past from what they shared with you after bunking down for nights while on the road. Yet, they don’t know a thing about your past. They don’t know who you truly are, or what you really are. But sometimes you think it’s for the better.
Battling the Hobgoblin leader, Dror Ragzlin proves to be a difficult fight. With the majority of your companions looking rough and the fight still raging on, you can’t help the necrotic energy bubbling up inside of you. You have to let it out. 
Planting your feet firmly into the ground beneath you, you let out a fierce cry as ghostly skeletal wings sprout out from your back. A necrotic shroud falls over you, turning foes close to you around in fear. Your eyes turn into black pools as your gaze falls on Ragzlin, letting him know that he is your target. 
The fight is quickly won after that and you drop your celestial facade, helping up Gale and healing him of his wounds. “Well, I didn’t know we had an Aasimar in our party,” Shadowheart mentions, causing you to turn your head towards her and see that everyone else stands behind her, staring at you in awe and curiosity. 
“Let’s just find Halsin and get out of here,” you quickly say, walking past them without so much as making eye contact with them. 
“Woah, woah, we’re not gonna talk about how fucking cool that was?” Karlach mentions as the party follows you, stepping over goblin corpses as you briskly walk toward the exit. 
“There’s nothing to talk about so let’s not mention it. This is just something I can do just as you can go into a rage,” you say over your shoulder, pushing the heavy oak door open, shoving the piercing gazes you feel on your back from your companions. You sigh, knowing that they will pester you if you don’t tell them what they want to hear. “Look, it's a long story, okay. I come from a celestial background. It’s no different than Lae’zel coming from a Githyanki background. We all come from somewhere and none of us has pestered anyone about it, so why should it be different with me?” you question, turning around to face them. So, can we please leave it at that, find the druid, and get out of this place?”
From the tone of your voice, they can tell that your heritage is a sensitive topic. And they know you’re right. Everyone has their past and they are free to disclose as much as they want. It prevents tension from rising in camp. So, they suck it up, leaving your story to their imagination. Until you’re comfortable telling them.
Astarion, on the other hand, is not one to let things go. He thinks that he deserves to hear your story after he told you what happened to him and how he became a vampire spawn. Not to mention that you and him have become somewhat close. After all, you do allow him to feed off of you at night when he needs to. That creates quite a bond if he must say so himself. 
As night draws near, everyone tends to themself to rest after a long day of slaying foes in the desecrated temple of Selune. You keep to yourself, not wanting to be involved in conversation as you fear that someone will bring up what happened to you in the fight. It’s a conversation you don’t wish to have. 
You sit by the edge of the lake, looking up at the stars, lost in thought and memory. You don’t even hear the footsteps approaching you from behind as you stare at the twinkling lights illuminating the sky. 
“There you are,” Astarion’s voice calls, pulling you out of your thoughts and back down to earth as he sits beside you on the ground. “I had thought that perhaps you had flown off.”
It was meant to be a joke and you know that. But it does not make you laugh or smile. Instead, you sigh heavily and glance down at your feet. “If only. Unfortunately, my wings are incapable of flight,” you state, looking back up at the water lapping at the shore. “They never used to be, you know. Gods, I used to be so fast, flying between clouds like a blur. Now, I can remember what it’s like,” you say, smiling to yourself as you recall a memory of being in the sky. 
Astarion has his eyes fixed on your face, taking in your smile, something that rarely comes across your face since he’s met you. “What happened?” he asks, tentatively and in a whisper. 
“I fell in love with someone I wasn’t supposed to,” you say, shaking your head in shame. “I fell in love with a devil. He was charming and cunning and I was cast out from my people because of it only to find out that he was toying with me because he wanted to see me stripped of my radiant power. He wanted to see me fall,” you explain, turning to meet Astarion’s gaze finally. “There is no pride in being a Fallen. Only shame.”
He understands now. If anyone, he knows all about shame and it explains more than you know to him why you never told anyone what you are. He wants to reach out and touch you, lay a hand on your wrist as a way to tell you that you are not alone in this. But he doesn’t know if you will allow him to touch you. He knows that if the roles were switched and he told you in extensive detail what Cazador had done to him, he might not know what to do with a friendly touch. 
“I wandered around on my own, living off the land, too ashamed to show my face to others, fearing that they would know what I had done and how far I had fallen from grace,” you say, looking back out to the lake. “I was on my own for so long, until I was taken by those Mind Flayers. It seems fitting now, being a Fallen Aasimar with a tadpole behind my eye.”
“You are not alone in this, you know,” he simply says, leaning slightly forward so that he can hold your gaze. “No matter how far you have fallen from grace, you are not alone, little angel.”
You chuckle at his words, your shoulders relaxing as you shift in your seated position. “I’m glad to have met you, Astarion. I only wish that we had met sooner,” you say, smiling sweetly at him as you cross your legs under you. “Perhaps things would have been better.”
Astarion laughs, throwing his head back slightly as he follows your gaze out to the water. “I do not think you would have liked me all that much. I would most likely have led you like a lamb to the slaughter for Cazador to feast on. And he would have reveled in the taste of your blood,” he says, a low growl in his voice at the mention of your blood. 
You two had talked about what the others might taste like to him, talking - theoretically - how different people’s blood would taste like. You’re sure that yours must taste different than those he had bitten in battle for a bit of extra strength. 
“And I would have tried to kill you if you did,” you tease him, looking at him, your eyes meeting his and you two stare into each other’s eyes. 
“May I see them?” he asks, his eyes shifting to your back.
You know he means to see your wings, even in their dismal state. You feel comfortable showing them to him just as he had felt comfortable telling you that he is a vampire. Giving a small nod, you close your eyes to focus on conjuring your spectral wings, revealing their skeletal form with minimal feathers covering parts of them, some looking as though they are ready to fall off. 
His mouth falls slightly open as he stares at them, shifting himself on the sand of the shore so that he can kneel behind you. You can almost feel his breath on your next as he shifts closer, his fingers reaching out to touch the exposed bone. 
A breath catches in your throat, your head perking up as a shiver runs through your spine, making your wings slightly perk up. Your heart skips a beat, something you’re sure Astarion can hear, and you turn your head slightly over your shoulder to look at him.
You don’t have the heart to tell him that his actions are considered something intimate between your people. Taking another’s wings is something only lovers do. You’ve never had anyone touch them, even when they are in their original, glorious form.
You close your eyes at the sensation, taking in it because you are not sure when you will experience it again. When you feel Astarion moving away, you look at him again and smile. “Thank you. For letting me myself around you,” you whisper, standing up off the ground and dusting off the sand from your hands and legs. 
“No. I think I should be the one thanking you for trusting me,” he speaks, standing up with you as he gazes at your features illuminated in the moonlight. Gods, he wishes he could see you in your full glory. He knows you’re still holding back what you could be. Still, he thinks it could be absolutely glorious to see you as the angel you truly are.
You bid him good night and walk to return to your tent. As you leave him, he casts his eyes to the ground to spot a black feather that has fallen from your wings. He bends down to pick it up, twirling it in his finger as she smiles to himself. 
He’s going to keep this feather so he remembers this moment forever. 
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Before I Go chapter 3
Note: final chapter! Follow up to chapter 1 & chapter 2.
Warnings: angst/fluff, mention of death.
pairing: Sihtric x you (f)
summary: You went looking for your husband.
wordcount: 2k 
Masterlist
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You had lost count of how many sunrises it had been since you had last kissed Sihtric. You hadn't received any news from him nor his whereabouts, and the only thing you caught wind of after some time was that Bebbanburg had been sacked, and related to that event many people had died after they had been trapped in a cave, or something like that. It had caused grave dread in your heart, as you had no idea if your husband was still alive at this very moment. 
And so you prepared yourself to travel to Bebbanburg, in the hopes to find out more about what had happened and, most importantly, to find your husband. Your heart was pounding out of your chest as you travelled on horseback, alone in the night, like a fool. You knew Sihtric would be furious if he found out that his lady, the Lady of Dunholm nonetheless, was crossing the lands on her own and risking her life in order to reach him. But if you and your husband had anything in common, it was being reckless and impulsive at times, as well as doing whatever it may take to reach each other.
You arrived at Bebbanburg after a day's travel and found the town trashed and rather deserted. Those who had survived the attack and had not been injured were slowly cleaning up the ravage that had been left. You looked around and quickly realised you saw no one you recognised. But the people surely recognised you as Sihtric's lady, and they were fast to approach you.
'Have you come to aid us?' an elderly woman asked and hope glimmered in her eyes.
You looked around again, confused and terrified, because where was Uhtred? Where was Finan? Or Ingrith? And where was your husband? Why weren't they here, rebuilding the town?
'There has been a battle,' an old man said, noticing your concerned and puzzled eyes, 'the battle of Bebbanburg.'
'When was this?'
'A few days ago, my lady,' the man answered, 'we heard we won, but… the men have yet to return.'
You felt your heart sink when no one knew where exactly the battle had taken place. If the battle had been days ago and the warband still hadn't returned, it either meant there were no survivors after all, or the battle had occurred far away from Bebbanburg, and who knows how many wounded warriors would not survive the journey back home, which could include your own husband.
You found shelter inside the castle. Whatever was left of food and drinks was provided to you by the maids who had survived, and one of them was able to tell you that she had seen your husband alive and well, together with Uhtred, Finan and Ingrith, just before the men left for battle. You were told about the Lady Eadgifu and that she was also residing in the castle, but you decided to not go and find her. You were exhausted from your journey, as well as the constant worrying about your husband and your friends, you simply needed to rest before you would do anything rash. Such as climbing on your horse again and searching for your husband without knowing where to start. You needed rest. And a restless night it was.
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You were woken up from your slumber the following morning when you heard some cheers erupt outside the castle. Surprised you had managed to sleep at all, you got dressed as quickly as you could and ran outside, towards the commotion. You climbed up on a wooden crate, as more people had gathered outside than you had seen yesterday during your arrival, and you tried to catch a glimpse of what was worth cheering for. 
You held your breath when you realised this had to be the warband that had survived the battle, and everything around you silenced as your blood roared in your ears, and your heart seemed to stop when you suddenly saw Finan. The Irishman was the only one you recognised amongst the men who returned, and he looked distraught. His face was pale with dark circles around his eyes and he overall looked exhausted. A panic began to creep up on you and you felt nailed to the ground when you didn't see Uhtred nor Sihtric, only Finan's traumatised face as he dismounted his horse. 
You forced yourself to climb down the crate you were on and dragged your heavy feet towards Finan, who suddenly looked at you from across the town's square and froze upon seeing you. He shook his head lightly and turned his back towards you, then slumped down on the ground where he sat with his head in his hands. You were already crying, which you only noticed when you tried to get closer to him but your vision became blurred. It felt as if you were barely able to move forward, like a nightmare in which you desperately try to run but an invisible force seems to hold you back and slow you down.
But before you could reach Finan, you suddenly felt two arms gripping you tightly, wrapping around your waist. You were too numbed by your own grief to fight whoever had grabbed you, not a single sound left your mouth as you searched for the strength to scream, and you simply allowed those arms to lift you up and pull you aside. You were turned around by whoever had grabbed you, and as you blinked away your tears you suddenly stared up at the familiar, slightly scarred face you had woken up next to for most of your life. 
Sihtric grabbed your face with his trembling hands and he looked down at you with big and wild eyes, his face pale and almost as exhausted as Finan had looked.
'I… I,' you stammered, eyes wide as if you were looking at a ghost 'I thought you were-'
Before you could continue you were silenced by your husband as he pulled your face towards his to capture you in a desperate kiss, his fingers almost bruising your cheeks, terrified to let go of you to discover you weren't really there. You had no time to even grasp what happened, and before you could kiss Sihtric back, he already stepped back and looked at you again, his trembling hands lightly touching your face all over while his empty eyes darted all over you, and then he suddenly began to cry. 
He pulled you in his arms again and held you tightly, almost to the point of suffocating you while he let his emotions run freely and without shame. You were too stunned to comprehend the situation, and you couldn't remember you had ever seen your husband cry like this. All you could do was wrap your arms around him, after which you both fell down to your knees.
'What… what happened?' you managed to ask, 'Uhtred?'
'Uhtred is wounded,' Sihtric whispered through his tears, 'gravely.'
'And… Finan? He looked-'
'She… she died. Ingrith… she… he- he lost her-' 
You watched your husband gasp for air as his breath hitched, and you held onto him for dear life.
'I'm never leaving you again,' Sihtric cried as he held you, 'I promise.'
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After making sure your husband would eat something and drink some fresh water, you prepared a bath for him. He had cleaned up after the battle already, no war traces left except for the wounds and bruises he had earned whilst fighting, but you knew a warm bath would give him back the colour in his face which he had left on the battlefield. And your husband wouldn't be your husband if he didn't ask you to join him in the water, so you did, wanting nothing more than to be close to one another, and you sat between his thighs with your back pressed against his chest and your head leaning back on his shoulder. You sat in silence for a vast moment, you knew that when Sihtric was ready to talk, he would. But until then he was quiet, slowly tracing his fingertips across your bare skin, and you heard him choke up numerous times while he did.
'Tell me,' Sihtric whispered in your ear eventually, his voice unsteady.
'I love you,' you answered.
'Forever?'
'Forever.'
'Tell me again,' his voice finally broke.
You carefully turned around to face him, and you wiped the tears that rolled down his scarred and bruised cheeks.
'I love you,' you whispered, 'forever.'
Sihtric swallowed hard and he took your chin. 'Again,' he pleaded as much as he commanded.
'I love y-' you were silenced with a sudden kiss, and you felt his lower lip tremble as his lips were pressed against yours.
The salt of his tears seeped through, into your mouth, while you kissed each other desperately, as if it was the last moment you would ever have together, and you hushed your husband once his entire body trembled in your arms and his eyes were hurting from crying.
Once calmed down and wrapped in furs, Sihtric told you everything that had happened from the moment he left you in Dunholm. He told you about how Uhtred was banished and how he and Finan had been lured to Uhtred afterwards, only to come back to Bebbanburg and find it raided. You listened with horror to the story of how they struggled to open the sealed cave and found all the townspeople inside dead, and that amongst them was Finan's wife. And your husband wept as he pressed you tightly against his chest, telling you how finding Ingrith was a turning point and made him realise that if he were to survive the battle, he would never leave you again.
'Never,' he said over and over again, 'I'm never leaving you again.'
He then went on to tell you about the battle itself, and how tough it had been. He told you how had been hurt and had fallen down, and he thought that surely that must have been his death, but he managed to fight back and live to see another day while he watched so many others lose their lives. And lastly he told you about Uhtred, how he had fought bravely and would need serious time to recover from his wounds, and how the three of them had agreed that this was their last battle, for it had been too hard and they all realised during the fight that they were not as fast anymore as the younger warriors were. Battles were becoming too risky, and it had become a risk Sihtric did not want to take anymore.
And you both laid there, on the floor of a temporary bedroom in Bebbanburg in front of a burning hearth, naked and wrapped in furs, arms around each other and legs tangled together as you tried to take his entire story in while you could see the stress leave your husband's face as time passed. And after a while, a small smile began to tug at his lips again while his mismatched eyes slowly regained their spark as he looked at you.
'Tell me again,' Sihtric whispered, smiling softly while the tip of your noses touched.
'If you promise me to never go to battle again,' you said.
'This time I promise it.'
'Finally accepting that you are not that young anymore, my love?' you couldn't help but grin slightly.
'No, never,' he chuckled and nuzzled your nose, 'you keep me young, darling, in many ways,' he murmured and kissed your lips, but then became serious again, 'but… it was close this time. I managed to kill the man before he could kill me, but,' he sighed, 'after everything… everything that happened with Finan and Ingrith… I just don't want to leave your side anymore.'
'Promise?'
'I promise. Now… tell me again.'
'I love you,' you kissed him and smiled against his lips.
'Mhm,' he hummed, 'again.'
'I love you,' you giggled, almost shyly when you finally fully recognised your husband again in the man who held you in his arms, 'forever.'
'Forever,' Sihtric smiled and kissed you sweetly.
And you made seemingly endless love throughout the night, until morning came and you travelled back home together, to Dunholm.
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i-thewriter · 2 months
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How to meet your lieutenant's roommate, with whom he is secretly in love
Summary:
Soap meets Ghost's roommate. She seems a little strange, but that's apparently what made Simon fall for her so hard.
Words: 1,369
Their vacations are short. It's just week to gather strength and lick wounds. Though even then, Soap knows that if Kate finds some trace of new threats to humanity, their vacation may be over before they start.
That’s why he decided it wasn’t worth coming back to the family house. Moreover, he won’t be able to rest if his mom notices the new bruises he got on his last mission. It’s also possible that his mother will call Price again to tell him how to properly take care of her boy. After she did this, he couldn’t look into his capitan’s eyes for a week, while Price couldn’t stop laughing at him.
And although Soap loves his mom, he will not survive this same thing again.
That’s why he decided it was worth complaining to Ghost about it. Over and over again, like an annoying mosquito in a room.
But hey, in his defense, he thought Ghost would understand his problem. Soap seriously doubted that he would have a charming house in the countryside to return to after a long mission. It suits him better to hide in a cemetery with other ghosts as company. He probably has his own comfortable coffin, from which he gets up only at midnight to drink the blood of virgins.
He got an extra bruise on his arm for this joke.
That’s why he is only partially surprised when Ghost says he knows the place. At first, he thinks about a hideout or a motel for hours.
That's why he’s so surprised when Ghost asks him (which sounds more like an order) to join. Soap, being Soap, immediately agrees. He doesn’t even think about how awkward it might be to be locked together in one dingy motel room for a week.
But as they say (no one says that), it’s better to make decisions right away and regret them later.
Making stupid decisions, is not stopping the warmth blooming in Soap’s chest at such a sign of trust from the cold-hearted lieutenant. It’s a transition to the next level of their growing friendship.
(He wonders at what level of friendship he will unlock Ghost’s tragic backstory.)
To say he’s just shocked is to say nothing.
He really expected some kind of dungeon without running water, but not this. The apartment is nice. Flat with three doors, a small kitchen with an island, and a charming living room.
At the entrance, Ghost tells him to take off his shoes and put them by the doormat. He goes deeper inside and sees more things that don’t make any sense. A thick chemistry textbook is next to the sink, along with a Star Wars mug and one pink sock on the couch.
Pink what?
When the rest can be explained as Ghost’s twisted hobbys, it can’t be. Maybe in his free time, the lieutenant reads collage textbooks or blushes while watching Kylo Ren take off his helmet (don’t ask him how he knows who Kylo Ren is), but the sock?
Hell will freeze over before Ghost wears something pink.
But before he can start racking his brain trying to connect all the facts, Ghost asks him if he wants some tea. Like a good host, which of course he isn’t based on how forced it sounds.
And Soap wants fucking answers to questions he will never ask because he wants to live. He doesn’t want a fucking tea made by this speaking Mount Everest. But like a polite Scot who they both know he isn’t, he opens his mouth and says:
- umm.. Yes, please.
Ghost nods once and starts the horrifying process of making tea. He takes three mugs, including the Star Wars one. When Soap stupidly starts to wonder if Ghost will drink from two cups, the front door opens. He almost throws his bag on the floor and reaches for his gun, only to remind himself that he’s in civilian clothes.
- Easy, sergeant - Ghost’s voice makes him relax and he hates how he reacts like a damn Pavlov’s dog to the bell. But at the same time he’s happy that whoever opened the door is not a threat.
- If it’s your other PTSD bullshit- soap does a double take at a woman’s voice coming from the door. Woman visits Ghost?!- I swear to God I’m calling...- she stops as she notices him.
She looks like a deer caught in the headlights, and... she is pretty (and younger than he expected but will never say this loudly). Even though her hair is disheveled, she has dark circles under her eyes, and the crooked collar of her shirt... she looks beautiful. As if she had just rolled out of bed after a long night of... No..NO! He’s not going there. He’s not thinking about her long l..
Soap almost jumps out of his skin when Ghost puts the mugs on the island with a bang.
Fuck, he forgot Ghost was there.
And he stared at his friend/ girlfriend? Like a creep. In his defense, his tired brain just lagged after seeing first pretty girl after that long time. But his mom raised gentlemen, he will apologize later. Her and Ghost to make sure he survive that night.
The girl recovers from shock faster than him (which is humiliating for him and all the military training he has undergone).
For a moment, the three of them stand in an awkward silence that only he seems to be only one who feels nervous. Ghost looks at him as usual, that is, in a terrifying stillness. She, on the on other hand, looks him over from head to toe without any signs of shame. Finally, after what the animals in the zoo must feel like, her eyes meet his and recognition shines in them. Which shouldn’t be because he’s sure as hell he’s never seen her before. Maybe Ghost told her about him?
And then she steps forward, smiles wider than the devil himself, and holds out her hand to him. He carefully takes her hand in his own and doesn’t even marvel at how soft it is. He’s more worried about Ghost’s gaze burning holes in his head.
-Simon didn’t say he will bring a friend from the team - when she talks, her eyes never stop exploring his features—and never said he had friends.
- I have friends- Simon grumbles.
- Soap remembers to take his hand out of her grip before Ghost decides he don’t need friends any more.
- Now I see it. - she says and then introduces herself- I’m his roommate.- she adds at the end.
...they are not together?
But before he has time to ask this question and probably get himself a death sentence, she passes him and goes to Simon. - I started to think you were dead - she says when he takes the bag off her shoulder and puts it on the table.
- Would you cry for me? - there must be something wrong with Ghost’s voice, it should never be so soft.
- I would if you bought me this lucky cat I showed you.
- NO.- Normally, cadets faint under this look. Why not her?
- Then you lost your chance to have me as a weeping widow.
- I think I will survive that.
Then you just stand on your tiptoes, grab Simon by the lopels of his jacket, and kiss him on the check (he’s wearing that creepy mask). Soap’s jaw didn’t have time to hit the floor when it was all over, and you turned around, sat down on the stool, and took a long sip of tea.
It’s hits him like a brick that all these things that don’t fit Ghost are yours. And it hits him like a truck that he hasn’t introduced himself yet.
- I’m John MacThavis, you can call me Soap. -he says this with a slight blush on his cheeks. The twinkle in your eyes at his code name makes him blush so hard he has to hide behind his steaming mug.
Then Simon’s hand brushes against your back as he takes the seat next to you. At this moment, John recognizes a glint of softness in Ghost’s eyes and knows that you are more unavailable than Pentagon.
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Text
Dp x bnha headcanons part 2! Or just weirdly specific things I see happening, idk just my thoughts on stuff.
Tsuyu gets super sleepy around Danny because of his ice powers and almost always struggles with being directly next to him, unlike Todoroki he doesn't have a warm side she can stick to.
Iida almost breaks down when Danny refused to listen to his rules by clicking on his aids (suppression for his sensitive hearing) Bakugou on the other hand finds it hilarious and takes to turning his own aids off when he no longer wants to listen.
Sato invites Danny to his weekly “sugar time” to teach him how to bake as a favour, Danny is surprisingly good at it and eventually him and Sato work together to include ectoplasm into their baking (without it coming to life) so Danny could top up his energy.
^^Bakugou refuses to let Danny near him when he cooks because of that very reason, he'd seen what his ectoplasm can do to food, he does still cook for him on occasion because he's never seen anyone savour his food the way Danny does! It most definitely goes to his head. Danny savours the food because 1. His parents can't cook to save their life. 2. Bakugous food is so much better than any type of take out and 3. He never knows when his next proper meal will be back home and is taking full advantage.
Danny goes to Hatsume for help with making a Fenton thermos (just in case) and she falls in love with the blueprints because what in the world was that layout, it's a mess that she finds thrilling to decipher it. Actually talking to Danny she realizes that no its not a mess he just has ADHD and can't write it down in a way anyone but him understood. (Danny is a genius and you can't convince me otherwise, he just has untreated ADHD 😭)
When Toga drinks Danny's blood her body has trouble with picking what form she changes into and they merge together, eyes changing and flashing in between green and blue and her hair being a mix of black and white. Her face almost looks exactly like Danny but something is off, his eyes are a little too big, his ears are a mix of pointed and normal and his skin has blotches of tan skin and deathly pale. She is fascinated with his green blood though and really wants to taste it, when she finally does get to it burns her tongue and throat and leaves her craving more. (If she separated the ectoplasm from the blood, which is virtually impossible, she'd be able to use the blood for Fenton and ectoplasm for Phantom. Because its the same DNA her quirk registers it as one person when mixed together and that's what causes them to blend)
Stain on the other hand would hate the taste and then finds out his quirk doesn't actually work on him properly, it makes his body heavy and very hard to move but it doesn't paralyze him completely because of the ectoplasm. He also definitely sees the potential Danny has.
Danny info dumps about space to everyone and everything at any chance he can, someone asks a question that shows they have a mild interest in the subject and he's off like a rocket. Izuku joins in with his own info dumping about heroes and their quirks, it somehow merges together and they start talking about space quirks and space themed heros.
Uraraka brings up sending him to space with her quirk halfway through a disagreement and Danny straight up drops it and asks her is she would. "Don't worry I can survive if I'm in my ghost form, it's for science! Hey- No wait don't walk away!" He ends up moping around for a whole week after and when Aizawa asked why he loses 5 years off his life. "Please don't ask your classmates to try and kill you." "But sir I'm already dea-" "get out!"
He duplicates himself so he can hold both of Eris hands to swing her, Eri loves to try and figure out which one is the original and she's surprisingly good at it.
Todoroki uses his fire side to help with Danny's chronic pain, after a while it becomes a habit to hold hands and all their spare time they're glued to eachother, neither of them are complaining.
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mothwingwritings · 8 months
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Ok ok ok. Hear me out. I had an idea about what happened after the series. (Apologies in advance if this is cringe, I try my best 😔)
After reading the mini series of Yujiro being a Step Father™️ and after the last part of the series (Goddamn that was brutal 😭), I couldn’t help but think about how in the end he was like “expect to see me around often-.” LIKE HELLO?!
This man is really gonna pull up to the dojo, where his bbg stepdaughter is at, not giving a shit if all of the guys are glaring at him and Katsumi, Jack, and Baki are literally about to pounce on him for what he did- nah nah, I could see him giving them a nasty smile and asking about where you’re at.
No one says anything and this man has the audacity to be like, “awww is my baby girl recovering from the (censored) that I gave her? It seems she’s gonna need a few more rounds of (censored) with daddy before she can take more of my (censored) without being a lil bitch.”
And then the protective trio are jumping this mf, seeing red and trying to beat the shit out of him.
But sadly, the ogre is demolishing them all and everyone’s too scared to move to step in. He’s especially pummeling Katsumi, taking pleasure in his blood soaking his fists.
It’s only until you come out on wobbly legs, that you plead for him to stop beating up the love of your life.
The ogre only gives you a disappointed look, before saying “now if you weren’t hiding, this would have been avoided. Look what you did you silly girl, this is all YOUR fault.” He just loves to gaslight istg.
You’re over his shit, wanting him to leave and not hurt your loved ones again. “What do you want?”
With the same bloody hands that he used to demolish your lover, he pulls out a black box and gets down on one knee.
Everyone is fucking gasping, they’re watching in horror as he lifts up the top to reveals a shiny Diamond ring.
Baki and Jack are watching helplessly as their sister gets puts in a horrible situation, they wish to intervene. But they’re too weak to move.
The ogre flashes you a slimy smile, one that makes you take a step back.
“Will you marry me? And have my baby?”
The sound of someone throwing up rings out throughout the tense silence.
"So what'll it be," he leers at you wickedly, Katsumi's crumpled body discarded at his feet, "You gonna accept your position like a good girl, or do you need me to keep putting on a show for you?"
You went numb, your limbs collapsing under your weight as you crashed to the ground. Distantly you could make out your brothers screaming something in the background, a warning or possibly a threat, it sounded too muffled to tell.
All you could focus on was Katsumi's bruised and broken face, so puffed up and bloody you could scarcely tell it was the man you loved. His chest still rose and fell, bringing you brief comfort knowing he was still alive. But how long would that be the case? Would he survive if you told Yujiro no?
Tears cascaded down your cheeks as you shifted you focus to the gaudy, massive rock presented to you. It was just as ostentatious as the man who offered it, a vile checkmate you could not escape from.
"All it will take is one word to end this," Yujiro's voice was stern, his predatory gaze drinking in your misery with glee, "I'll even be nice and let you choose if you get a happily ever after or not, princess."
~
GOD THIS WOULD BE AWFUL AAAHHH. Like, can you imagine? All that hell you went through, your loved ones doing all they can to build you back up and protect you, AND THEN THIS?
Dreadful. The worst. Horrid. I absolutely love it.
This was not cringe at all and I adored it, ty anon for making me (and now everyone else) suffer so deliciously. <3
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