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bouncybongfairy · 2 months

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Freezer Burn

Prince Zuko x Fem Reader Smut

Summary: Tensions are running high which causes a argument between Zuko and yourself. He bruises the confidence you have in your hunting abilities and reaffirms your fear of being a burden. Wanting to prove otherwise, you go out in the cold to hunt. Feeling guilty about how he treated you, he goes out to find you. The two of you find some innovative ways to keep warm.

Word Count: 2.0k+

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Everyone was having a rough day of travel, even Appa was reaching his limit. It was freezing and the optimism of finding a warm place to sleep was fading in everyone. Anng found a small cave that would work for the night. It was on a small mountain and overlooked an even smaller village. Zuko started making a fire while Katara and yourself set up the tents. Yang and Sokka were already asleep, curled into Appa’s thick fur. You were hungry but so was everyone else.

“Are we going to be able to hunt for food soon? Or get some water?” you asked.

“We could but I don’t think the cold would allow us to be out there for long. Not to mention there wouldn’t be any animals out, it's just too cold,” she said.

“Not to mention you’d barely come home with anything in good weather,” Zuko grumbled, poking at the fire. He’d been making cracks at you all day, at first you could ignore him. Excusing his behavior on fatigue and hunger pains, but now you were taking it personally.

“You’re not a prince among us, so stop acting like it” you say in hopes of lowering his ego.

“I am the best fighter and hunter, the past two battles you’ve only slowed us down. Maybe if we had a successful kill earlier we wouldn’t be hungry now,” he said.

“Zuko don’t say that!” Katara snapped.

All day you’d been beating yourself up over that mistake. Deep down you knew the rest of the group was irritated about you costing them the meal earlier. It just reaffirmed your insecurity. Grabbing your bow and arrows, you start putting your clothes back on while preparing for a hunt.

“We’re all really tired and yes we may be hungry but you’re not the sole reason for that. Zuko is obviously just grumpy, don’t let his outburst get to you,” she says, grabbing your arm.

Deep down you wanted to listen and calm down, rest for a while. Your pride however wouldn’t allow you to stop yourself. As you left, you could hear Katara yelling at Zuko to apologize. The feeling of dread bubbled in your stomach, you didn’t want to make anyone worry but your ego was clouding your judgment. Everyone in the group had their own ways of helping and at times you did feel like a burden. Extra weight that Appa had to carry on his back. It wasn’t that you were mad about what Zuko said, you were more frustrated that it was true. At this point it felt like you’d been walking for hours. The snow was coming down hard, without any signs of lightning. Not eating and your lack of rest was starting to get to you. Your stomach felt like it was eating away at itself. Eyes burning and muscles starting to stiffen from the cold penetrating your clothes. You tried not to go too far, knowing you couldn’t carry an animal in the cold that far. But you had to get some distance between you and the cave in order to find any wild game. Finally spotting a young Moose Lion, looking lost and confused, you almost hesitated when readying your bow. After successfully hitting the animal, your body floods with adrenaline. This quickly fades as you realize you’ll have to drag the thing home. Seemingly underestimating the size which caused a struggle when walking back. Even though it was freezing, you’d broken into a sweat. Starting to feel lightheaded, you took a moment to catch your breath.

Katara was pacing at the entrance of the cave, anxious for your arrival. He wouldn’t admit it, but Zuko was feeling his own regret about how he’d spoken to you. He didn’t mean to let his anger get the best of him, it just sort of happened.

“I think I should go out to look for her, she could be freezing to death,” she said, starting to get dressed.

“You can’t, it’s a full blown blizzard,” Zuko said, standing up.

“Well we can’t just leave her to die out there!” Katara snaps, upset that he would even suggest stopping her from leaving.

“I know, but only a fire bender would have the resources to survive such severe weather. I’ll go,” he said, making the fire sustainable for the time he’d be gone for.

“Just be careful,” Katara said as he walked into the cold.

Once he felt just how bad it was outside, his guilt intensified. It wasn’t true what he said about you being a burden. He was just feeling insecure about his own place in the group. Simply projecting his inner turmoil onto you. Knowing it pushed you this far was getting to him. He took a deep breath and started following the faint track you left. Even though a fresh layer of snow was now covering the foot prints, it was still enough to follow. At times Zuko would use his fire for warmth and light. Getting desperate, he began calling your name out. Fatigue was starting to affect him as well. He finally thought he saw you, laying against the animal. He assumed you were just pulling the arrow out but when he got closer he noticed you were passed out. He immediately started assessing you, looking around knowing he had to find shelter that was closer than the rest of the group. Using his fire, he melts a coating of snow and ice, covering a small cave. The animal luckily kept you warm while he wasn’t there but he was still worried about your fingers. They had practically no color and your lips were tinted blue. Once he got you inside the cave, next to the fire he created, he brought the animal in. Impressed that you shot it right through the chest. Taking off his outer layers and bundling you up in them. He was relieved to see the color coming back to your fingertips and cheeks. Checking every once in a while to make sure you were getting too close and burning yourself.

The two of you wouldn’t be able to make the trip back any time soon, so Zuko began skinning and sectioning off the meat. Washing his hands with melted snow he was slowly collecting. As he roasted the meat, he couldn’t help but admire your beauty. Your eyelashes were long and the light from the fire was illuminating your face. Sleeping with your lips slightly parted, hair completely unraveled from the tight bun it once was in. After a couple hours, you slowly began to come too. Sitting up rubbing your eyes, Zuko rushes over to you.

“Are you okay?” he asks, brushing the hair out of your face. He grabbed a bowl of water, bringing it to your lips,

“Sit closer to the fire,” he said, helping you sit up fully. Still weak, you were wobbling while you sat criss-crossed. Still shivering a bit because your back was cold, not able to feel the heat from the fire. Zuko notices this and comes to sit behind you, stabilizing and warming you up. He was using a stick to roast the meat he’d prepared from the animal. It smelt really good, and was the only reason you were keeping your eyes open. He brought the stick to your lips but you were too weak to rip a piece off. Trying to bite a small chunk but not having the strength to actually get a bite. He laughs at your attempt and rips a small piece off, bringing it to your mouth. He repeated this a couple times, giving you sips of water in between. Letting you digest, he rests his chin on top of your head and keeps cooking. After eating, you could feel yourself gaining strength and energy. Becoming more aware of your surroundings.

“What happened?” you asked, looking around and noticing it was only you and Zuko.

“You went out to hunt and passed out. I came looking for you but the storm was too powerful to travel back to camp with you and the kill. So we're camping here for the night,” he explained, adding more wood to the fire.

That was when you slowly started putting the pieces of your memory back together. You were grateful to be sheltered now, definitely counting your blessings. Noticing that Zuko wasn’t wearing a shirt, you took off what he gave you. He accepted it but didn’t put it on right away, instead just laying it on his neck like a scarf.

“I’m sorry for egging you on like that, and for not stopping you from leaving,” he said, moving his chin from your head to your collarbone.

“It was my decision, I knew it wasn’t a good idea. It was my stubbornness that put both of us at risk,” you said.

“I like that you're stubborn, that you don’t listen to people who underestimate you,” he said.

“I thought you hated me,” you chuckle.

“I know that’s what I show but it couldn’t be further than the truth,” he spoke softly.

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” you asked, moving your back closer against his chest.

“As mean as I’ve been, you always are so nice and understanding. Even when I don’t deserve it,” he said.

“Zuko you always deserve it, you’re easy to love,” you say, turning to face him.

His face was bright red and for the first time you were seeing his vulnerability. Just slightly, like he didn’t want to give too much away. You move his hair out of the way and look at his scar. Although he looked a little embarrassed, he tilted his head so you could get a full look. Without thinking, you started kissing the skin around his eye. He ended up catching your lips with his. Immediately you move so that you’re straddling his lap. His back was pressed against the wall of the cave, your back was facing the fire. Running your fingers through his hair, admiring how soft the strands were. He moaned into your mouth as you pulled and tugged. Rocking your hips against crotch, your stomach tightening after feeling him get hard. You take in a sharp intake of breath and narrow down, focusing on rubbing against his shaft. Zuko’s hips began to buck involuntarily, which led to his taking his pants off. You follow his lead and do the same, also removing your top. Using his hands to rock your hips against his. Partly because he liked spreading your wetness along himself but also enjoying watching your chest bounce. He takes one of your nipples into his mouth, you let out a strangled moan. The pleasure was so intense the rocking of your hips was becoming erratic. Seeing you react so intensely to his touch made him go somewhat feral.

Flipping you over so your back is against the cold ground. He was feverishly kissing your neck and chest, at times making you giggle. He smiled down at you, taking in how beautiful your eyes were in the soft glow of the fire. Your entire body felt like it was burning down to your core. Pulling your knees to your chest, taking the hint he sat up. He was now towering above you, his member laying on your front. Leaking pre-cum onto your lower stomach. He grabs himself, slapping his dick on your pussy. Enjoying the moans and whines coming from your mouth every time he rubbed his tip against your clit. He enjoyed watching you beneath him, desperate for his touch. A relief only he could provide you. Unable to take any more foreplay, he presses into you. Muttering curses as he is overwhelmed by your heat. How tight you felt around him and your moans matching up with his movement made him feel overstimulated. Like he couldn’t slow his heart rate down. Watching as your tits bounced with every thrust, how braindead you were from pleasure. He presses his hands down on your stomach so he could feel this cock pounding in and out of you. The sudden pressure was enough to send you over the edge. Pulling Zuko down and raking your nails down his back,

“Fuck!” he said it loud, right in your ear.

His thrusts were unrelenting as he chased his orgasm. Groaning and moaning into your shoulder as he finally came. Rutting into you as he came inside you, pressing himself as close as he could be to you. Petting his hair and whispering encouraging things into his hair. He laid down beside you, pulling you into his chest before covering the two of you with a woven quilt. Giving the fire one last hit before drifting off to sleep with you.

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mystellenia · 3 months

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hello love!! hope you're doing well :)

can i request ellie x reader first time? not having found the right moment for a while, maybe reader bought lingerie for ellie? fluffy would be nice :)

first time with needy!ellie ୨ৎ

summary: you and ellie cuddle up on the couch for a night in but it escalates quickly to become your first time together. you're shocked when ellie says she has a surprise for you...

content: fingering (r receiving), cunnilingus (r receiving), a little bit of loser!ellie being like sheepish with starting things, then quickly replaced by needy!ellie 🤤🤤 that's about it hehe

notes: like no plot, jumping STRAIGHT in 💕 eventual smut under the cut. sorry to the anon who requested this because it took so long to be able to update it since daddy tumblr decided to shadowban me. ALSO sorry because the request asked for ellie to be the one wearing the lingerie, but... i just can't imagine that and then write that when seattle and santa barbara ellie exist... i hope the change wasn't too bad <33

(wc 2.3k)

the windows rattled from consistent gusts of wind, chilling drafts seeping in through the edges. the weather had been particularly bad the past week, alternating between heavy downpour and whistling winds. with this, you and ellie mostly stayed in, cooped up in the comfort of fleece blankets and old cable reruns.

the two of you now sat on the couch, your intertwined legs covered by the large throw blanket the two of you shared. ellie absentmindedly traced figure-eights on your upper thigh where her hand rested, her arm draped limply over your waist. you glance up to watch the colors of the tv dance across her face, painting multicolored hues on the freckled apples of her cheeks. reaching up, you delicately rake her hair back from her face, your hand trailing down to cup the back of her neck.

at this, ellie rears her head back to catch your stare from where your cheek lay on her chest, your eyes flicking between both of hers. “hi,” she prompts with a curious tilt of her head, a lazy smile teasing her lips.

you hum in response, your gaze tracing the freckles adorning the high points of her face, the caramel flecks arranged like a constellation—a constellation you’d recognize in the dark, like a fingerprint.

ellie moves to grab your chin and press her lips to yours in a slow and simple kiss. after a moment, she pulls back to swipe her thumb over your cheek and drags her hand back to cradle your head.

“you’re just so pretty,” she mumbles while looking at your lips, her eyes quickly flicking up and slightly widening in realization that she’d said that out loud. you smooth her hair back with both hands before interlinking your fingers behind her neck, and a rosy blush covers her cheeks at your silent stare. you pull her back in by her shoulders, feeling the heat radiating through the thin cotton of her long-sleeved henley. her tongue prods the seam of your lips in permission, which you readily grant as you give an open-mouthed kiss.

in no time at all, the kiss grows rushed and desperate, your hands tangling in her hair and hers clawing at your shoulders. your hands begin their way down her back when she abruptly pulls away in what seems to be self-restraint, her eyes screwed tightly shut as she rests her forehead on yours.

“hey, hey, i’m here,” you assure, easing her back to meet your eyes.

“i’m sorry,” she starts, “i just… i…” she trails off as she finally looks into your eyes, brows drawn together tightly in almost pain. the vibrant green of her eyes had almost entirely vanished, replaced by the black of her blown pupils, her intentions now clearer than ever.

it wasn't like you two hadn't kissed; of course you had. they'd even gotten heated like this very kiss, but ellie had never displayed such hunger in her eyes, such restraint.

you guys didn't want to rush anything. after all, you had all the time in the world together, so why speed through things when you could take your time exploring each other?

but now you were ready. you had been for a while, and you find the words leaving you before you even realize what it means.

“yes,” you breathe out, eyes darting across her face in anticipation as you await her response. she begins to ask what you mean but is cut off by your hands on either side of her face pulling her into a bruising kiss, teeth clashing in a fervent dance, answering any unspoken questions.

she deeply hums into the kiss, grabbing on to your wrists and easing you back to lay against the cloth cushions of the couch. fingers teasing the hem of your shirt, she swiftly pulls it over your head and discards it somewhere in the room, leaving you in your simple bralette as she returns to her brutal determination in dismantling you.

you thumb the waistband of your sleep shorts, your fingers beginning to untie the bow securing them to your hips. ellie watches you shimmy your shorts down your legs slack-jawed, then pauses their journey down, blurting out, “wait, wait. i have something for you.”

she darts off you and into your shared bedroom, beckoning you with a call of your name. you enter the room to a dark blue gift bag on the bed with a name written on it in gold script that you wouldn’t even try to pronounce. pushing the black tissue paper aside to peek in, your eye catches on the lacy strap of what seemed to be a bra, a shade of red so dark it looked black in the dimmed light of the bedroom.

fidgeting with her hands, ellie finally addresses you. “it’ll look nice, i think. go try it on,” she instructed, her head nodding to the cracked bathroom door.

you follow her instructions and head to the bathroom with the small gift bag in tow, the door shutting behind you with a click. you’re met with your reflection, eyes wide and mouth agape in desire. setting the bag on the counter, you begin to remove the tissue paper to reveal the set. with the better lighting of the bathroom, you begin to see the intricacy of the lace and stitching.

pulling the bra out, you hold it up to your chest and examine it in the mirror. a wine-red bustier style bra greets you, with tulle panels along the sides and laces running down the back for corset-style tightening. setting the bra down, you reach for the matching panties of the same red color. along with them comes a garter belt embellished with silver decals, laced scalloping trimming the edges.

after taking a moment to gather yourself, you begin to carefully slip on the pieces of the set, careful not to tear anything. you secure the bra and position the garter belt to sit snugly on your hips and smooth your hands down your body in satisfaction; it did look nice.

you quickly wipe the giddy smile off your face at the thought of ellie’s reaction and fix your hair, finally turning to exit the bathroom. as the door slowly opens, you see ellie quickly standing up from the bed to meet you, her chest caving at her audible gasp as her gaze leisurely rakes down your figure. suddenly shy, you glance at your feet and trail your hands down your sides to dry them off.

trying to calm the rapid rise and fall of her shoulders, she shuts her mouth and begins her journey towards you, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides. “jesus,” she hisses, her hands landing on your lace clad hips and venturing to your lower back to pull you into a slow but sensual kiss, evoking a shudder to rake down your spine.

she spins you around to walk you back to the bed, the blanket tickling the backs of your thighs as she folds over you. as she crawls over you, both of her legs tighten around one of your thighs as she nudges her knee into your core, pressing your damp underwear to your clit and making you moan into her mouth. her kisses move to your neck, and you cage her head in with your forearms, hugging her head and willing her to stay where she was. her hand moves to your left breast to experimentally swipe a thumb over your nipple, the friction from the lace making you arch your back into her hand to chase the sensation.

ellie slowly but surely pulls back to give you a starved stare, her arousal visible in the flush of her cheeks and the huffs and puffs of her chest. your eyes meet hers as she gives you one loaded stare—a silent plead for permission to take things further. her cold palms slide from their previous position on your boobs down to your waist, then your hips as she pushes the hem of your underwear down just a hair. you place your hand over hers, agreeing with her unspoken words as you move her hand with hers to push your underwear down to your mid-thigh.

her hand stutters on its way down your thigh, stopping your underwear on its journey off your body. she simply stares at you, at your glossy cunt and how swollen it is from neglect. her index finger trails through the crease of your thigh and hip, created by your bent and spread knees.

you take over and completely remove your underwear and fling it to a corner of the room. ellie quickly pulls her tank top over her head, leaving her in just a sports bra and startling you in the process from the sudden movement.

finally, her hand moves to your core while she swipes a thumb up your slit, eliciting a throaty moan from you. she begins circling your clit, her gaze locked on your face and feeding off of your little whines and cries. you fold over and yelp when she inserts her middle finger inside you, her thumb still expertly moving around your pulsing nub.

her fingers still moving in tandem on you, she breathes, "god, you have no idea how pretty you look right now. my pretty, needy girl." you moan at her words, and she nods, as if approving of your reaction and asking for more.

the finger moving inside you was just constantly hitting that soft, spongy spot that she found so effortlessly, and you desperately clawed at her wrist and pleaded, "waitwaitwait- el i’m- i’m gonna-" she kisses you to shut you up, but ultimately obliges as she slows her movements down to a stop.

she brings her fingers up to look at the mess you've made of them, then moves them to your mouth before ordering, "clean 'em up, baby."

you do just that, propping up on your elbows to take her fingers in your mouth and swirl your tongue around them, humming at the tangy taste. looking up through your lashes, you see her face and how her bottom lip is pulled into her mouth, how her eyes lazily focus on yours.

she lays down beside you and pats her chest before saying, "come sit."

"what?" you question.

"come sit—like on my face," she clarifies.

"oh, i- you don't have to do that."

"i know that, i want to," she insists. "now come on."

she grabs your waist to guide you up as you straddle her torso, the cloth of her sports bra deliciously tickling your glistening cunt. as you shimmy up, she locks her hands under and around your thighs, strapping you close to her mouth.

her warm breath feathers across you, and you stifle a shudder at the sensation. you feel her nose touch your clit and you jump up, causing her to huff in frustration.

"i swear, if you don't fucking—" she pulls you by your thighs to sit flush against her mouth, "—sit down." you harshly drop against her lips and she hums into your vulva, making you groan against the back of your hand.

you nearly scream as she licks one flat stripe up your slit, then your hands shoot out to catch your weight as your body threatens to fold flat over when she starts making out with your cunt. kissing on you as she would do on your mouth. your knees lock around her head as you thread your fingers into her muddy hair, rocking into her sloppy kisses.

the room now smelled of sex, your moans and cries dancing with the vulgar smacks of her tongue. she switches from sloppy kisses to calculated flicks, her tongue bringing you closer to the edge just so.

the vibrations of her pleased moans on your clit make your legs twitch each time, and she speeds up her movements, moving down to begin fucking into you with her tongue. your body takes over as you rock into her mouth, riding the slow buildup of pleasure while rolling your hips for your clit to meet her nose with every back-and-forth.

but when ellie sucks on your clit so hard it makes you see stars, your orgasm catches you by surprise and drowns you in an all-consuming wave of ecstasy, your vision blurred by unshed tears as you cry her name out. she doesn't stop, though—her tongue continues its violent assault, sliding through your folds with ease thanks to your endless supply of slick.

once you come down from your high and your eyes focus once more, you see ellie's eyes, still closed, and her tongue peeking out as she cleans you up in long, flat strips. her hands guide you off her to lay on the bed next to her.

perched up on her elbow, she looks down at you and chuckled at how you still struggled to catch your breath.

"jesus, you taste good. i can't believe we went that long without doing anything," she announces, looking lovingly at how your hair splays around you in a halo.

"yeah," you breathlessly respond, "that was... that- i was..." you resort to just shaking your head to convey your disbelief at her sheer skill.

"did i fuck the words out of you?" she teases, earning an annoyed glare from you. "relax," she laughs, "i'm just playing. you don't have to answer, i already know i did," she mumbles. you would fight her on it but can't seem to find the energy to when she scoops you into her arms and kisses the crown of your head.

ellie's "g'night, my love" is the last thing you hear before falling into a deep sleep, warm from her embrace.

a/n: so glad to get this OUT OF MY FUCKING DRAFTS i got this req prob 19 years ago and i've just had the worst writers block. i hope u like it anon :)))

click here!! oh and here too!! ˶ᵔᵕᵔ˶

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yashirix · 1 month

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•ESCAPISM: Yandere Satoru Gojo x Fem Reader

Synopsis: Filled with curses and betrayal, Satoru Gojo realizes he is far from sane. Linking his six eyes on a young sorcerer who captivated him, the ‘chosen’ one makes foolish decisions. She's petrified.

Slow burn?

Warnings: Age Gap, Power imbalance, Satoru Gojo is his own warning, Manipulation, Top Satoru, Gore, Delusional sorcerer, Explicit content?, Comedy, Bad humor, Reader is a little too strong, we love a badass female character. Characters might be written a little ooc.

Part 1/Introduction of Escapism.

_____________________________________

Satoru Gojo was far from sane; the sorcerer knew so himself. It felt rather isolated due to the absence of his best friend. His one and only at that.

A fragment of his facade vanished when Geto tagged along, for Gojo found solace in being able to express himself and his weird interests to someone who wasn't as strong as him. Yet, Geto always acknowledged him as human. Their friendship of Yin and Yang once so unbreakable, was no more. It's no longer present; it doesn't exist because his best friend's deceased. It crushed him into a state of despair.

No longer would it be the same anymore. There was no one in the world that could ever replace their friendship and experiences altogether. Especially since there was no one around to help him stay mentally sane. After all, the world of Jujutsu is both a lie and a curse, it sucks the living daylight out of your soul, like a repulsive leech waiting for its next course of meal. It leaves once it's satisfied from hunger- and filled with vital fluid. When will the strongest ever feel protected?

Silly question! Satoru Gojo should know better than to have hope in a world full of fucking misery.

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Becoming a teacher was no different. He was now 20- as handsome as 'ever' stated by his fangirls who came up to him during the days he went out to buy kikufuku in his casual attire. It felt suffocating at times when being complimented for your appearance only- yet it only built his ego farther than a normal being. He wasn't really necessarily human after all. If anything, it felt eccentric.

The sorcerer never had a girlfriend even after putting thought into it. He was also still a virgin. Of course, he did look at sexual magazines once in a while, but it felt sickening to touch someone who could never understand him as his best friend did. He wanted to feel genuine love in a way- it was pitiful. The least he could was get complimented by women who easily latched themselves onto him.

However, Gojo was insecure. He felt unloved and unworthy of finding someone compatible for him. Maybe he should try one night stands? maybe that'll knock some sense into him. Was sex good? ew probably not. He mentally grabbed those thoughts and walked towards the trash can where he flung them. The sorcerer needed to get a hold of himself.

He'll stay a virgin as long as it takes.

__________________________________

Or NOT. Satoru Gojo finally caved into his intrusive thoughts at the age of 21 and did one night stands like it was some sort of hobby. The females were and felt like nothing to him, but the sensation of release felt like euphoria for at least a couple of seconds. He could go for various rounds- but his fuck buddies would pass out not so long after the second round. He needed a far better release. Of course, he'd lie about feeling satisfied afterwards and let them stay at the hotel for a couple of days payed straight out from his pocket- as he strolled back to Jujutsu High.

The second way of Gojo's reliefs was to cry himself to sleep. His tears felt pathetic- for there was no one in the world who would take their time to cradle him and ask if he was doing alright. He was tired of living like some sort of puppet- entity whose position was to only rid the world of curses every damn hour and moment of his existence. Killing the higher ups might've miraculously appeared on the bucket list.

—————————————————————————

YOU paved your way around the supermarket and the cashier aisle. It felt euphoric being able to stroll around the area; grasping both vegetables and items that would relish in your cooking skills of perfect seasoning. Well, not really... in reality the food you made was edible but somehow you ended up burning eggs in a matter of seconds no matter how much you watched YouTube tutorials. Cooking was a hobby- yet you managed to either add a lot of salt or so little.

One time, you cried out of frustration and threw a tomato across the wall, but it bounced back and somehow managed to knock you down with a thud. You loathed tomatoes after that. It wasn't your fault- it was the intimate objects for being... well intimate!

You were stupid sometimes. Being 16 was not a pain in the bootiehole, because you wanted to stay young for as long as it takes. Having to pay taxes sucked and you wanted no part of it. Instead, you found solace in being able to enjoy yourself with some free time by killing curses. Yes, you still had your parents, but they were on a brink of divorce. Your mother lost love for your father after he cheated 8 years ago and finally broke down once she couldn't bear it anymore. She wanted nothing to do with your father even after he remade himself for the better. You loved him for that.

Nevertheless, it hurt. It hurt seeing them like this because there was nothing your meekly hands were able to do. You couldn't cook a divorce- well obviously not! that was impossible. Consequently, you spent some afternoons looking for curses and exterminated them with a slap to the face. It felt sort of peculiar being able to only see them yourself, but you were convinced your mother could see them as well. There were times where you saw her bat an eye directly to a curse, for she raised her finger and with perfect aim and-

BAM

The curse would instantly disintegrate into ashes. You admired her from afar, and wanted to shout at just how wonderful she is, but you couldn't. You were hiding under the dining table at the time. Well, at least you had evidence that she's also powerful! talk about beauty and strength.

The way you exterminated curses was concerning. You felt pitiful for having to slap them, but throwing a punch would be more harsh, so out of respect, you slapped them and placed a flower where they once stood. However, one curse was quite literally more vicious than the other and attacked you from behind, but you placed force on your leg muscles and flew upwards doing a backflip and gently kicked the curse onto the busy road. It was enough to kill them, for you were glad you somehow had a special case of "pinkie" senses. However, you still felt guilty. There were also times where you started flying midair and felt a sense of 'divine' energy flowing through you. It was natural, only until you tried flying like Superman doing the pose but instantly fell face flat to pavement. Ouch.

So many unwanted circumstances led to a higher curiosity of wanting to understand just what was going on with you and your family. Keeping it a secret is simple, but one of these days you'll unexpectedly start floating midair when eating- in a perspective that would make you look like you got possessed by Annabelle. 'Hilarious' you'd think.

Sometimes you'd wish curses would look like a handsome demigod sent from the Greek heathens above. Sculpted magnificently scrumptious where you'd go on your knees and beg for mercy. When in reality, you'd ask to touch their waffle chiseled abs and then open your arms where you'd find peace in being mutilated by a hot male. You needed serious help, but it's not your fault- it's the hormones! anyone would be fathomed and down horrendous below the trenches.

You made friends throughout the years, especially after accidentally bumping against a male by the name of Yuji Itadori. He was very handsome, for you speculated for him to be around your age. It was the start of your friendship with one another. He was just as sweet as the taste of Ferrero Rocher, as you exchanged phone numbers with one another. It has been only a week after meeting- as you hopelessly developed a crush on him rather quickly. The way he messaged you concerned on what you've delt with throughout the years- and the way he gave you a hug when hanging out brought a sense of appreciation and admiration for the salmon haired boy.

He was someone you could quickly confide in and have a picnic with. It felt safe when he held you close, for he too felt rather close to you. You hoped you stayed friends and grew old together- and just maybe you'd be able to open up to him and explain how you can easily exterminate things you'd call "curses." Surely enough, you were convinced that the start of your friendship would end in marriage- where you'd own 3 hamsters, 6 dogs, 4 cats, and a turtle named Jeffrey. Itadori agreed on the animals but not marriage- because you wouldn't tell him. Not yet! you guys just met and your 16, you both were too young.

You hope nothing would get in the way of your friendship. Yuji was a sweet boy, and he secretly adorned you as well.

————————————————————————-

A/N: Whew. That took a little long to write, but it was enjoyable! I hope the first chapter is to at least one persons liking. I wrote this on my feels as my grammar isn't good since I don't really proofread. It's my first time publishing a story LMAO. I apologize, the reader is a little stupid because I based her off myself at some moments. But she has her cool moments don't worry. The first chapter is just an introduction, so there will be dialogue. If there is confusion Gojo is 21 and Y/N is 16. This is purely fiction so Gojo is a delusional creep as the story progresses. That dude has some attachment issues even I’m scared.

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theold-ultraviolence · 1 year

Note

ooooh how about something with jealous and protective aemond 🖤🖤

Shepherd of Fire • Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader • 18 +

Summary: Aemond gets possesive of his Lady wife after a guard keeps ogling at her. One night, he plans on making it clear to him whom she belongs to. CW: oral sex (f & m receiving), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, cockwarming, PIV sex. Exhibitionist kink kind of. Words: 3.5 K

A/N: JO! Thank you for dropping this thought, I seriously took it and ran with it lmao. This is pure filth with some plot. Disclaimer that I'm a GOT newbie so apologies if I'm a bit off with the lore and with my use of High Valyrian, literally used a translator app for it. As always, title comes from an A7X song.

Blood is replaced by vitriol in Aemond’s veins whenever he catches another ogling his wife.

Don’t they know you’re his? Or do they wish to get a taste of his blade down their throats?

Feel it slashing up their heads, for having turned it in your direction as you passed the hall in a light dress when the seasons warmed.

Everyone in the Seven Kingdoms knows not to take their chances, to be respectful or else they’d witness, firsthand, the titanic wrath of Aemond Targaryen, that matches the potency of the flames that erupt from Vhagar’s fire breath.

But this time, it’s some new guard – one whom Aemond hasn’t even cared to learn his name – sworn specifically to keep watch of the passageway that leads to your shared rooms. He’s quite young – younger than Aemond, even – with a full beard, broad shoulders and rugged facial features. Unlike Aemond, he has both of his eyes, bigger and brown, like that of the richest liquor.

Those eyes are always wide and alert as they should, but their expressiveness gave away the thoughts that crossed his mind when he got a glimpse of the princess. Lust, pure and unabashed lust displayed on his widening pupils, making Aemond tighten his hold on your arm when you’d be passing by.

You’ve told Aemond not to fret, have proven your devotion and loyalty over and over, with the strength of your embrace and the urge and tenderness of your kisses, and the tight grip of the muscles of your core when he’s inside of you. You soothe the jealousy that might creep up on him given the guard’s handsome complexion, but that’s only a superficial concern.

He knows it’s not you, he does not fear you might ever betray him. What keeps him awake at night — with his hearing sense heightened for a lack of a perfect vision, fixed on the sounds coming from behind the door — is the possibility that this bastard might try his luck and molest you.

Aemond worries that one day he won’t be by your side when you walk to your quarters and the man will take full advantage of it, pull you to the side and do things he doesn’t want to imagine. While you’re no damsel in distress in the least, he knows what men of a certain caliber are capable of when provoked, even if they’ll never be able to rival Aemond’s own strength.

As your husband, he swore to love and care for you, to protect you.

He’s a watchful tower when it comes to his wife; sneering if he passes the guard, paralyzing him with a glare so intense it could kill. He should just rip both of his eyes and extinguish the hunger that should not be found there.

For the man’s stare still lingers on you, despite it all.

His eyes wander around your breasts, before tentatively scurrying downwards to the hemline of your dress that brushes your calves. Aemond can tell, even if the guard remains still, he can tell that he’s salivating at the exquisite sight you make.

One evening, Aemond finally snaps.

You’re returning from a banquet, scheduled on the hottest day of the season, which prompted you to wear one of your more revealing dresses in order to withstand the heat throughout the length of the evening. By the time you return to your rooms, there’s a thin layer of sweat that makes your gorgeous skin glisten in a most enticing way. Aemond himself couldn’t wait to reach the marital bed and take you, but one look at the guard’s leer and all blood rushes in his system like an impending tide.

He tightens his hold on your arm while defying the guard with his gaze.

Aemond’s eye remains fixed and daring as he turns the lock of your bedroom door, gently ushers you in and lingers by the door frame with one final look at the man.

“I expect you to keep a close watch.” He orders, in that soft but threatening tone of his.

“As is my duty, your grace.” The guard nods courtly, though unease coils inside his gut when he meets Aemond’s wicked grin before the door is harshly shut in his face.

Then, Aemond turns to you in a flash.

His beauty, his darling Lady wife looks like a goddess, as you remove your dress in front of the fireplace, with your arms outstretched behind you to unclasp the cords that tighten it. Aemond’s on you immediately, gently pushing away your hands so he could finish the deed, revealing the line of your back that demands to be kissed.

He’s peppering desperate kisses from the nape of your neck and down your spine while his hands settle on your hips. Each kiss gets bolder with a tease of his tongue as he reverently dotes on the valley between each shoulder blade.

“Husband,” you sigh, “that feels wonderful…” you melt from his touch, arching your neck back to guide Aemond’s affections to it.

The prince emits a low growl as he sucks on your earlobe, licks at the shell of your ear then quickly spins you around and pushes you to the bed’s edge, before kneeling, lifting and dropping you on top of it.

“My, your grace, we’re in a different mood,” you squeal and tease, easily sliding the dress and everything else off of you. He smiles devilishly, staring at the plains of skin languidly draped along the satin sheets while mirrors you, deliberately unclasping each leather garment, until the last thing to be off is his eyepatch, leaving Aemond entirely bare before you.

He pounces, capturing your lips in his to lick and nibble and bite all sloppily, when he’s usually more meticulous in this regard.

Now he’s overcome with possessiveness. Messy and raw.

He wants you all marked, wants to see your lips swollen and chin dripping with saliva that marks the trail that he takes down your jawline and to the side of your ear, to whisper in High Valyrian, “I want you to scream for me, as loudly as you can. I want everyone in this hallway, everyone in the vicinity, to know that you’re mine. I want them to know who’s making you scream, who ruins you and leaves you begging for more. I won’t stop until you’re a sobbing mess, my wife. You’re mine, my love.”

“Mirre,” he growls, shivers alighting every centimeter of your skin, “ñuhon.”

He accentuates the word with a gentle bite to your neck and the tight press of him grinding his cock against you – rock solid and thick, already leaking precum down your leg.

All Mine.

Too soon in this game you’re a whining mess and all he had done was whispered huskily into your ear, with those delicious rolls of his tongue as he spoke in the language of his ancestors.

Aemond is mad for you, but he doesn’t even imagine what monumental effect he has on you.

You’d move the stars if he asked. You kneel happily and willingly before him every time without him even having to command you to it.

You’re grasping at his shoulders, seeking for something to hold on to as he becomes a hurricane of a man, roughly grabbing you by the meat of your thighs, dragging you to the center of the bed all bent up in half and settling in front of your cunt.

He wastes no time in drinking you in, in lapping a firm line across your slit before his tongue dives deep inside of you and it twirls, and prods and curls, intent on coaxing every single drop that spurts from you to swallow down greedily, while his hands knead and squeeze your thighs, pressing them tightly to frame his face.

Your toes curl, grazing the spot in between Aemond’s shoulders to edge him on, plead for him to keep going, and going, and going and never stop, not when his quiet grunts reverberate deliciously into your walls and you can’t help but fist the sheets, grab a handful of his hair or else you’re sure you’ll soar away from this bed.

Aemond brings one thumb to press on your clit, two fingers to spread out your lips for him so he could latch his tongue to that sweet and sensitive bundle of nerves.

Once his tongue finds that perfect interval of sucking and licking on it, his fingers slowly venture right inside your cunt – teasingly at first, but steadily inching deeper and deeper, knowing that he’s reached the perfect spot by the way your legs tense and a noose tightens around your neck that makes your moans and gasps become ragged.

He keeps going, increasing the pressure by the minute, the speed – ardently gazing at your figure unraveling.

How your eyes scrunch shut and you go all silent and strained before one lengthy moan escapes from deep within your gut, and your hands desperately grasp the back of his head to keep him in place and support yourself as you cum.

He starts chuckling, looking up at you.

“Aemond…” you mewl, mind blank except for the lingering pulses that still send bolts all over your nerves. “Husband, please…valzȳrys kostilus.”

You want him close, want him on top of you.

But Aemond is looking so sinfully at you.

He’s looking as if he’s a shepherd of fire, here to guide the embers that are crackling within you into a powerful blaze.

That impish smirk just widens for he goes in to greedily eat out your cunt once more, leaving no room to recuperate.

Your eyes roll back, planting your feet on the bed as your hips lift desperately into an unstable bridge.

He steadies you with one of his arms locked around your tummy while his opposite hand entwines itself with your own, determined to make you come again only using his mouth.

And oh, he does, he does, he does.

He’s never been one to not meet his resolutions.

Always been a man that achieves his goals effortlessly.

“Husband!” you hiccup, white knuckled and burning from inside out, sensations so heightened that you’re wiggling to get away if only for a quick break but he’s relentless. He’s snickering right into your cunt as he reigns you back in place and practically buries his face in the puddle that has become of you.

He’s at it vigorously, akin to a starved man savoring his last meal on earth, wetly grumbling with pleasure at the taste, at the feel of you dripping endlessly.

Until, quicker than expected, the fire rises once more and you yelp, “Aemond, please!”

“That’s it, my love, keep going. Scream for me,” he grunts in High Valeryian – and Gods, the fucking sound of that tongue is enough to coax the orgasm to throb into the third one.

You’re one body aflame — vision going black and voice having been burnt a while ago, leaving your mouth agape around a silent scream.

And he doesn’t even let a second pass.

He slides his hand off of yours to fuck two fingers into your cunt again in a tantalyzing pace, so slowly dragging the pleasure out to drive you wild.

“No, no, no, husband — Aemond!” you shriek, “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t!” you blabber and sob into your pillow, stretching away from him like a cat would. “Daor, Aemond!”

But he’s as untamable as a dragon is, no matter what language you use.

His fingers keep digging, loving but firm and insistent, adding a third one and curling upwards while quickening the speed of his wrist.

Suddenly everything in the whole room gets hazy, and the obscene sound of your squelching cunt and Aemond’s heaving breath seems amplified, echoing like the ripples that build at the pit of your stomach once more.

The last orgasm has you feeling like you're flying across the skies on top of Vaghar – suspended in Westeros’ skyline, yet secured on the saddle, safe because you’re always enveloped around Aemond’s body when you ride his dragon with him. You reach the highest point in the sky to then free fall and crash down into an ocean of bliss.

Aemond carefully detaches from you with one soft kiss to your clit; your throat is so hoarse now that all you can do is take one big inhale of breath that you let out with a frail whimper, and your legs give out and tumble down away from his shoulders.

He kisses his way back up, all along your drenched body, reaching the galloping pulse point in your neck to soothe it gingerly.

You tighten your hold around his shoulders and kiss him – all lazy licks from how exhausted you’ve become – and he has the gal to smirk and laugh right into your mouth.

“What –” you try to speak, all breathy and tired but grinning after such a thorough fuck, “what was that about?”

“Do I need an excuse to ravage my wife?” he grumbles, but by the way there’s still some tension in his shoulders, you know there’s more to it than he lets on.

You massage his shoulders, cradle the side of his face and tuck a strand of silver hair over his ear – his half-ponytail hairstyle was no more with how you’d yanked at his locks all throughout.

All tamed with how your fingers brush his hair, his head nuzzles the crook of your neck, turns slightly towards the door on the wall opposite your bed and you know.

The guard.

You use his tactic against him, you use his ancient tongue to whisper all sultrily, “You needn’t worry, my husband. But if we’re playing this game, why don’t we show whose cock is the only one I want. Who’s the only man I get on my knees for?”

His eyes widen, length twitching against your leg, all ruddy and thick, looking as if he was about to burst by your words alone. You softly push him off of you by the shoulders, onto his back, quickly settling between his legs and drooling at the sight of Aemond.

All that power, all that might. Such a massive man, willing and spread like the most lavish feast before you.

You never break eye contact as you lick your lips, press one hand down on the toned surface of his abs, stroke the coarse patch of hair that marks a path from his belly button to his cock – while the other takes the base of him, and leads his leaking tip right into your mouth.

“Hīghagon, husband.”

You moan, all wanton and debauched and urge him to do the same thing he’d asked of you earlier.

Scream for me.

Aemond’s never been vocal in bed – or generally in life – but you want him to scream for you, just like you had for him.

You want him to scream as he uses you to fuck himself with your mouth, and groan so loudly at the sound of you gagging on his throbbing cock.

Though he bucks his hips into your mouth more roughly by the second, though you're moaning like a brothel whore as you come up and down and hollow out your cheeks and slobber all over him, he still seeks out your hand that had been resting on his navel and grips it firmly, earning you a loving smile when you come up for air.

“Hīghagon, Aemond,” you mewl before you suck on him again, before you lick the underside of his head with your tongue in tight, teasing circles until his muscled legs tense and arch, until he’s a growling mess, grabbing you by the crown of your head to push you further down so your nose is all pressed up in his pubic hair while your throat contracts around him.

“My love, stop…” he wheezes, fighting the internal urge in him to cum in your mouth when he’d plan all along to last the whole night.

“Stop…” he murmurs lovingly, guiding you off of him.

You detach with one crude pop, seductively licking at the string of precum that spurts from his head, before excitedly climbing on top of him and showing him just how good he tastes as you lick into his mouth with a pleased humm.

You both take one moment to come down from your shared high, just kissing one another – muscles pliant, exchanging breaths and caresses and sweet nothings whispered between kisses.

His wandering hands skim your sides, settling on your lower back while you continue to kiss.

And soon, those greedy fingers reach your ass, fondling it and squeezing it, using it to press your cunt against his cock and start gently rocking you against him. Just grinding, not entering you yet.

Just warming yourselves up, enjoying the closeness and the contrast in texture – him, all hefty and veiny, against your soft, puffy lips. It’s intoxicating, and his absolute favorite feeling in the world.

“Avy jorrāelan, Aemond,” you sigh as you take the initiative to grab him and lead his tip into you, slowly sitting on his cock while his hands stroke your sides up and down encouragingly, reaching to fondle your breasts while he kisses your neck.

I love you.

It makes him yearn, even if he has you right here with him.

He’ll never stop yearning for you.

Will never stop aching to feel as close as possible to you.

He’s so overcome by it that he can only nod feverishly and hold on to you so you’ll know that he means to say it, but words have always managed to flee from the tip of his tongue when he needs them the most.

It doesn’t matter though, he shows you – lavishing your neck with kisses until they travel to your tits and broadly lick and suck each of them zealously.

Then he just grunts as you start to ride him.

Slowly, so slowly building up to it, using this round as an active break. You arch your back to elongate the lines of your body, lines that he follows with his hands as they seek hold on your plump breasts.

The movement of your hips is careful, tentative. Circular motions that serve more to bask in the feeling of his massive length inside of you than to climax immediately. And Aemond looks so ruined and blissed out beneath you that you can’t help but bend – at the same time that he rises up – and meet him halfway in a passionate kiss.

A sinful part of you hopes that the guard will hear the more quiet, wet noises and infer that you’re just kissing. You hope he’ll know that what you share is a stronger bond than what he’s able to imagine. Stronger than just the brute strength that a guard possesses due to physical training.

You’re obsessed with your husband, as he is with you.

And no one will ever, ever come between you.

With renowned motivation, Aemond suddenly manhandles you on your back and hoists your legs up on his shoulders, thrusting inside of you swiftly.

You huff out a laugh and bite your lip, framing Aemond’s face between your hands and exclaiming, “Harder, husband. Go harder!”

He smiles and growls as he quickens up the pace, pistoning in with an unforgiving rhythm that has you half laughing deliriously - half moaning. “Kessa, Aemond!”

Yes, yes, yes, you’re screams reach a higher pitch with each thrust while your nails claw at his back savagely, wishing to leave your mark on his body just like he’d done with yours, as you’re sure you’ll be walking around the court trying to hide the hickeys that will bloom as soon as you’re finished.

Good. Let them see. Let them all see.

But that comes tomorrow.

Right now, what matters is that they hear.

Your cries are feral: wails augmenting in pitch the harder he fucks you, while his groans just get deeper and more resonant.

Yes, yes, yes, the mountain’s peak is right there, and you let Aemond now by digging your fingernails deeper into his taut flesh, by clenching around his cock with forceful pulses.

It hurts so good it makes you weep.

And that’s before his thumb finds his way to your clit.

Then you’re really seeing stars – your screeching is no longer just for show. That’s just your response to the way it feels as though Aemond has touched you with a vibrant torch that lights all over your body as quickly as a forest fire does, leaving nothing untouched in its wake.

You barely register the moment he slips out of you, grunting as he gives his cock the last vicious pumps that soon paint the expanse of your stomach with his cum.

“Ñuha ābrar…” he whispers, “my life. All mine.”

“Fuck, Aemond,” You sigh into each other’s mouths, grinning all stupidly in love and endlessly pleased. “You think he heard?” You snicker while sweetly pecking Aemond’s lips, face all cradled in your touch as he remains on top of you.

“I’m sure everyone in the Red Keep did.”

And it’s precisely what he wanted.

When, in the middle of the night, he slithers from your chambers to ask a handmaiden to refill his jug of water, the sight of the Guard – standing by his post all jittery and drained of color – fills up his chest with unadulterated pride.

And it’s not long after that, that the man resigned from his post.

And after that, he was never to be heard of again throughout the whole of King’s Landing.

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #female reader #reader insert #fanfiction #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen smut #hotd #house of the dragon #smut #ewan mitchell #my writing

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onlyareyyyy · 4 months

Text

the only sounds that could be heard in the room was the vibration of your small pink vibrator and your harsh breathing.

'satoru', you whispered his name softly like a prayer.

you have been in love with the white haired sorcerer since you were teenagers. him being your senpai you we're always trying to gain his attention, wanted to him to notice you, recognize you, but it never happened. it was as if you we were never on his radar, just another random person in the crowd.

however, that never mattered much to you, because even if he didn't notice you. you noticed everything about him. the way his hypnotizing blue eyes always seemed to twinkle when he was causing mischief. his perfect teeth and slightly crooked smile whenever he was laughing with shoko or geto. his longer fingers, middle crossing over index, when uses infinite void.

'nngh- please' you moan loudly as you struggle to keep the vibrator firmly pressed against your clit while your grind your hips up and down. usually you're more careful, cautious about the sounds you make when you please yourself, you live in the apartments provided by jujutsu high after all. but tonight there's no worried, satoru's apartment is next to yours and you'd die of humiliation if he heard you pleasuring yourself, but tonight satoru is on a mission half way across the world and not returning until the end of week.

'please, satoru please!' you choke out a sob, moving the vibrator from your clit and slowly pressing it into your sopping wet cunt. it's been a while since you've been able to pleasure yourself. between teaching the kids and supervising missions you've been run ragged, exhausted. but tonight you knew you'd have time and you've been cherishing it. the night started with a lovely meal you prepared yourself and warm relaxing bubble bath.

you laid on your bed with fresh clean sheets, grab the vibrator from the top drawer of your nightstand and let your mind wonder. it didn't matter if you watched porn or not while you masturbated, your mind always went back to gojo. you wondered if he was rough in bed or not, or if he was kind and gentle. you wondered if he'd wrap those long fingers around your neck and choked you if you asked.

the more you though of him the wetter you got, your breathing picking up. you'd been edging yourself for a while, not knowing when would the next time you'd have time like this and you wanted to last but now, now that you the only thing you could think of was gojo and his cock replacing the vibrator inside of you were you ready to cum.

back arching off the bed, eyes rolling in the back of your head, a high pitched wine leaves your mouth. the hand fondling your breast moved to pinch your clit. 'yes', you sob out.

'cumming! satoru i'm-',

so lost in the pleasure you were giving yourself you didn't notice the energy shift in the room. the crackling of cursed energy as the man of your affection, satoru gojo, appears in your room out of thin air.

'hey I forgot my keys-' he starts before noticing you.

unfortunately for you, the one time he notices you, you don't notice him. eyes shut tight, body taught, you scream as you orgasm. squirt shooting out of you onto the sheets your body collapses against the bed. you jerk with the aftershocks of your orgasm, blood pounding in your ears, heart beating rapidly in your chest you take deep breathes trying to relax yourself.

after a couple deep breathes and a few moments you open your eyes staring at the ceiling and that's when you finally notice him. you scramble up the head of your bed gripping the sheets and covering your body. you both stare at each other for what is only seconds but feels like a lifetime.

'what are you doing in here' you say as calmly as you can muster. noticing that he's not wearing any eye coverings and he's looking, no staring at you with a look you can't place. hunger, you think to yourself. your eyes roam his body and you notice the bulge at the front of pants.

'I-', he starts, before clearing his throat, taking a moment to gather himself. 'I locked himself out, and I was hoping you'd let your precious senpai send the night' he says. his voice is different than usual. a bit deeper, you think yourself.

you take a moment before you respond. your turn to gather your thought but before you answer he speaks again. 'how long?", he asks cocking his head to side slightly. 'how long what?', you answer trying to be oblivious. he just stares at you.

'since high school', you say voice about a whisper.

high school you see him mouth, once, twice, like he's trying to wrap his mind around the concept of you wanting him for so long.

you become self-conscious under his gaze. your mind now just starting to realize that you're completely naked under this thin sheet and not only did you just scream his name you squirted in front of him. getting ready to bolt into the bathroom and lock yourself away he speaks up again.

a sly smirk spreads across his face as he starts taking off his jacket, 'i'd like to watch you cum screaming my name again but this time, I want to use the vibrator'.

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oftenwantedafton · 3 months

Text

A New Afton - Stepfather Steve Raglan/William Afton x Stepdaughter Reader

Chapter 7

Rating - Explicit

Warnings - sexual content, daddy kink, praise kink, mild breeding kink, Springtrap suit sex

Also available on AO3

You awaken to find Steve watching you.

It’s Friday morning. You've almost made it to the weekend. Tomorrow you’ll be able to sleep in and spend the entire day with your stepfather.

“Good morning, Daddy.”

He smiles at you, soft and lazy. “Good morning, Princess.”

“How long have you been awake?”

“Just a few minutes.” He reaches out to brush back some errant strands of hair. Traces the curve of your cheek. Smoothes over your bottom lip. You suddenly remember you’d gone to bed without panties.

You push back the covers and climb on top of him, straddling his hips, your hands shoving the fabric of his shirt up. You trace the patterns of his scars and grind yourself down, feeling his clothed erection pressing against your bare pussy.

“You really want Daddy’s cock inside you, don’t you baby girl?”

You nod, biting your lip. “Yes, Daddy. I need you to fuck me.” You can feel the wetness of your arousal dampening the fabric of his pajama pants.

Steve groans, glancing at the alarm clock.

You know it’s time for both of you to get washed and dressed and leave the house. You don’t want to stop.

“Tonight, I promise you. When we have time and we don’t have to rush.”

You sigh, ceasing your rocking motion. You know you’re pouting. Your stepfather sits up, hugging you against him. “It’s your first time, baby girl. Need to make it special for you. It’s not because I don’t want to, okay?”

“Okay, Daddy.”

“That’s my good girl. Let’s go get ready.”

***

This is the longest shift of William Afton’s life.

He normally stands and shakes his clients’ hands, guiding them to their seats and walking them back to the door.

Not today. There’s no fucking way because his erection will not relax. He’s finally going to have you tonight. That tight pussy that’s never known another man’s cock, all for him. You’d been so sexy, grinding yourself against that stuffed rabbit the night before. Rubbing your bare pussy against him this morning.

A knock at the door. He tucks his chair further under the desk to conceal what’s happening further down his body and forces a smile on his face. “Come in.”

***

You’re waiting for Steve when he opens the front door.

Without hesitation he pushes you back against it while closing it. Bends to kiss your mouth. Your hands twine around his neck. You’re still in your school uniform. He drops his briefcase and car keys on the floor. “Hey, sweet girl.”

“Daddy…” He hears it in your voice. The raw ache. The hunger.

“Come upstairs with me. I want to fuck you in my bed.” Somewhere along the line it had become that. No longer one shared with your mother. Just his.

And now yours, too.

***

You follow your stepfather up the stairs. This was it. It was finally happening. Your heart is pounding. Your pussy has been throbbing all day, panties soaked. You want him so badly.

He pushes you onto the bed. One hand drags roughly against your school blouse and the threads securing the buttons loosen, the bits of plastic scattering. You’re already working on the one holding your skirt fastened on the side. Steve removes his glasses and tosses them on the nightstand, then unknots his tie and unfastens his cuffs and pulls everything over his head all at once, undershirt and dress shirt together. You unhook your bra and drop it on the floor. He unfastens his belt. Pants and briefs shoved down together simultaneously. His shoes are next to yours by the front door.

You start to remove your knee highs but he halts you. “Leave them on,” he says. His voice is so coarse. It’s the desire chafing it, you think. His own pair of socks he tugs off unceremoniously. His palm caresses your covered calf, making sure the edge of your sock is properly pulled into place. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, kissing one knee. You touch his hair. “Lie back, baby.”

You obey, flopping down somewhere near the center of the bed, shoving blindly at the pillows beneath you until they cradle your head properly. His fingers curl over the waistband of your panties and pull them off of you. You part your legs for him.

“It’s going to hurt in the beginning…” he cautions, resting a hand on one thigh.

“I know. I don’t care. I want you.”

“After that you’ll love it, baby, I promise.”

You nod, watching him as he moves, positioning himself at your entrance.

***

William could have prepped you a little first, of course; used his mouth and his fingers. But that’s not what he wants. He wants to violate you at your absolute tightest. He sees how wet you are, how your eyes plead with him, and he stops hesitating and pushes into you, immediately feeling you tense and clamp down, your body resisting his intrusion. You wince and suck in a deep breath.

“Relax, baby girl. It’ll be easier for you. It’s ok, I’ve got you.” He pushes a little further in. Christ did you feel like heaven. So snug around his fat cock. Another whimper of pain, but you’re being brave about it. A little further. Another gasp. He shoves the rest of the way in.

“Daddy!” Your back arches, lifting your torso off the mattress.

“Okay, baby. You did it. I’m all the way inside you.” He pauses there a moment, just taking in the sensation of being fully sheathed. Moves out a little, then thrusts back in.

“Oh, you feel so good.” He lowers himself down, shifting his weight onto one forearm, kissing your mouth. “So tight around me, baby. So perfect.” You’re still rigid. Your mouth is stiff against his lips. “Relax, sweet girl.” He moves his cock back and forth, never quite in and never all the way out, just trying to get you accustomed to the feel of him. Gentle thrusts. He caresses your cheek and smooths your hair. You’re getting wet again. Your hips are moving slightly, your mouth now responsive. “There you go, Princess. You’re such a good girl.” He moves a little faster, now withdrawing further and shoving back inside to the hilt. “Fuck, baby. Look at how good you’re taking me. That pussy was made for me.” His free hand finds your breast and begins massaging it, pinching and rolling your nipple. “You’re so, so gorgeous.” Your sounds have evolved. No longer pained. You’re starting to enjoy it. He feels you grinding back against him, lifting to meet him.

Time to change positions.

***

You thought you’d been prepared, but that first feeling of your stepdad’s cock entering you had really hurt.

The burn and stretch of it. You’d thought at one point you’d just break around him. There was no way he could fit.

But he had. And that sharp pain had started to become muted because there was a new feeling suppressing it.

It felt good fucking Steve.

He’d been right as usual. Once you’d stopped tensing up things had gotten a lot better. His cock slid in and out smoother. You like the feel of it pummeling you deep inside. He’s still holding back; you know it will get rougher later. You want it to be.

His body shifts, no longer hovering over you. He lifts your stockinged legs so they rest on his shoulders. He thrusts forward and oh, this is new. You like the angle he’s hitting you at inside. Like the sound of his body slapping against yours. It drives each moaning breath from your lungs. You see a trail of perspiration leak down from his forehead. You reach for his hand and he locks your fingers together, watching the reactions play across your features as the pleasure washes over you.

Another change in position. You’re seated on top, straddling him like you had that morning. You rub the head of his cock against your clit before guiding it inside of you. It’s a little awkward until you get yourself at just the right spot to sink down onto him. Oh, God. This was amazing.

He smiles at you. “Feels good, doesn’t it, baby girl?”

“Yes, Daddy,” you gasp. He wedges his hand against you, his thumb stroking your clit and the sensation heightens. “Daddy…”

“Look at you riding that big cock so well.” You mash yourself against his hand, grinding down on his prick. You’re lightheaded. Your nails dig into his ribs. His hips batter against you, shoving him deeper inside.

***

William’s got you bent over in front of him now. He slaps your ass cheek and squeezes the globe of it. Pushes back into you. Your cunt is absolutely drooling. His hips snap sharply and you moan as his cock drills into you, making you lose your balance as he shoves you against the edge of the mattress.

He fucks you hard for a few minutes, then eases up. Enjoys every gasp and moan and murmur and sigh. Slaps you again, harder, bringing color to your skin. He could easily finish this way but it’s not how he wants to. Not this time. He wants to see your face when he takes you apart.

Afton pauses just long enough to indicate he wants you to move. Climbs back on top of you and slides right back in. His mouth covers yours. You’re both drenched in sweat. He tastes the salt of it on your lips. He snakes a hand between you to stroke your clit again. Sees you frown and gasp. “Cum for me, sweet girl.”

“Daddy…” The hand you rest on his shoulder tightens, nails digging in. Your eyes are locked with his. “I love you, Daddy.”

The words surprise him; his climax arriving earlier than he’d anticipated. He feels you spasming around him, milking every last drop of cum from him.

He takes his time in the shower with you afterwards. Gently cleaning your sore sex. Planting little kisses on your shoulder underneath the spray of the shower. He makes you pasta for dinner and you put another horror movie on. He cradles your body against his. You’re drowsy.

“Baby girl?”

“Mmm…yes Daddy?” Barely awake. Struggling so hard.

“I love you, too.”

You sigh happily. Afton closes his eyes.

***

Steve promises you an unrestricted day of shopping at the mall to begin your Saturday.

He helps you choose a new skirt and a slinky dress. Several sets of lingerie, one of which is lavender lace. You know purple is his favorite color so you’re not surprised. A necklace that’s a silver heart that rests on the notch at the base of your throat.

It’s pouring out today, one of those rare days when Hurricane finally gets some humidity built up into the atmosphere. Your stepfather pulls off the road. You’d gotten changed in one of the restrooms at the mall before you’d left. You’re down to just the new lingerie and the necklace now. The rain drums on the roof of the car.

“Back seat,” he says. You squeal when the downpour strikes your unprotected skin. You lie down. He climbs over you, grinning. A drop of rainwater falls from his hair onto your lips. He kisses you. Touches the pendant that’s shifted to lie against your throat and the smile softens.

His thumb hooks in the crotch of your new panties and he pulls them to the side. His cock eases in. His breath huffs beside your cheek. “You like it, sweet girl?”

“I love it,” you reply.

“Yeah, me too.” His pace is unhurried. Just gentle but deep thrusts. You feel the edge of the material dragging along his shaft with each thrust. “Going to fill you up so good…”

“I want it.” You knot your fingers in his damp hair. “Breed me, Daddy.”

His steady pace falters. You’ve surprised him. He’s only mentioned it the one time. “You want that?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“You want me to get that belly all swollen? Make a baby with you?”

“Mmm-hmm.” Your pussy throbs around him. Your womb very much likes the idea. You tighten your legs around his waist. “As many as you want. I’d give them to you,” you whisper by his ear, lapping at it. “I wish I was your wife. I want to be yours forever.”

His face moves so he can see your features, his hips still. “You really mean it, don’t you?”

You nod, touching his cheek, the graying beard smooth beneath your fingers. The rain is drumming louder now.

He says your name and thrusts back inside. You roll your hips against him. His mouth is rough against yours. “Oh God, baby, I want…I want…”

The words are lost in the noise of the storm. You come undone. He follows.

***

Later that night you return to Freddy’s.

Your stepfather leads you by the hand into a security office. There are stacks of monitors on the desk. You look a question at him.

“You’ve got to wait here for your surprise, okay?” He drags a large hardback chair from the corner of the room into the center. You sit. He loosens his tie and wraps it around your head, blindfolding you. You’d been wondering why he’d dressed up today. “No peaking,” he whispers beside your ear.

“Okay, Daddy.”

A few minutes go by. A few more. You squirm a little in your seat. You hear footsteps, but they’re not like Steve’s. These are heavy sounding. Metallic. You can hear mechanical joints whirring with each step.

“Daddy?”

“It’s okay, baby girl.” His voice sounds different. As if it’s being processed through something artificial. Modulated. You feel his hand on your cheek. That, at least, seems normal. Then it’s just as quickly replaced with a larger one. Cold. Steel or something like it. “Stand up for me, Princess.”

You rise to your feet uncertainly.

“Turn around. Hold onto the chair here. Now bend over. That’s it. Lift up your skirt, sweet girl.”

You obey with trembling hands. You feel the metal hand grab your panties and pull. They surrender instantly beneath the force he’s exerting, torn from your body. You can feel the air on your exposed pussy. The unencased hand caresses your cheek. A quick drag through your arousal. You whimper and squirm. You hear a foreign sound. A compartment opened? You’re still struggling to process what’s happening.

The metal hand rests on your lower spine. You shiver. Then you feel Steve’s cock plunge into your sex.

“Daddy…” It’s not just his erection pressing into you. He’s wearing something. Something soft draped over something unyielding. It’s fur touching your skin. Artificial fur, like the plush bunny you’d masturbated with the other night. He was wearing one of the animatronic suits.

“—Wait, Daddy, no. The springlocks—”

“It’s okay baby. I know what I’m doing…mmm….ah. You feel so good. You’re so wet for your Daddy…” He begins pumping into you hard and fast. He likes wearing the suit, you realize. It’s erotic for him. “You like it, baby?”

“Yes, Daddy.” You’re not entirely sure how you feel about it. It is kind of hot, but you’re worried about his safety. It seems like an awful lot of risky movement. You don’t really understand how the springlocks work, but you think they weren’t meant for this level of activity.

“Baby,” he says.

“I’m worried,” you admit.

He sighs, the noise strange in whatever headpiece he’s wearing. “Alright. Let’s try this then. Straighten up. Take a step over here. That’s it. Step out of your shoes. I’m going to sit down. I want you to climb into my lap. But facing away from me. Okay?”

“Can I take the blindfold off?”

“Yes, I suppose you can.”

You pull the tie off.

There’s a seven foot tall yellow rabbit standing in front of you.

The costume has seen better days. There are rents in the fabric and deep gouges in the metal in places. Part of one ear is missing. The teeth that are meant to be parted in a perpetual smile seem more like a rictus grin. The eyes are bright white lights. You know exactly why he’d wanted you blindfolded. It was more than a little intimidating.

You watch as he presses something on the side of the headpiece and lifts it free, setting it on the desk nearby. His hair is damp. It must be hot inside the suit. He sits in the chair with more grace than you would have thought possible give how cumbersome the robotic suit looked.

“Come give me a kiss, baby girl.” You much prefer this voice. His own face. You bend and kiss his mouth. “Ride my cock.”

You’re not sure about it. It takes some maneuvering. Trying to balance yourself, especially facing away from him. You bare feet dig into the furry thighs. The metal hand braces you against the torso of the suit. The plastic buttons meant to simulate formal attire press into you. Steve’s hand assists you in aiming his cock into your pussy. You’re nearly there. You lower yourself slightly. One foot slips and his cock is buried in you.

“Fuck, baby girl,” your stepfather hisses at the feeling of being fully inside you again. You push yourself up, then back down again. The artificial hand holding you helps you maintain your balance, aids in your movement. You’re starting to get into a rhythm.

You’re starting to enjoy it.

The places where the fur touches your bare skin. The places where the metal presses warmly against you. It is like fucking a giant stuffed animal after all.

“Daddy…it feels good…”

“I knew you’d like it, Princess. I know what my little girl needs.”

You continue to impale yourself on his cock. The metal hand across your chest moves to your breasts, sliding inside your shirt to touch them. You wonder wildly in a lust filled moment if he could fuck you with those metal digits or if it would ruin the suit.

His encased hips snap upward. It’s starting to be a lot of movement again. You should be more cautious. But it feels too good now. You’re keening and mewling when you shove yourself onto him. “I’m gonna cum, Daddy, I’m…Daddy…” You make good on your promise. Steve grunts, hips stuttering and you feel him spill inside you.

***

You’re seated in the car outside of the closed restaurant. There’s a foreign taste to your stepdad’s throat. From the mascot suit, you think. Metallic. Musty. Something old that’s been waiting for a long time to be rediscovered.

“You had a good time, baby?”

Your lips part from his neck and you nod, smiling. The smile wavers when you think about how tomorrow is the last night of the weekend. You’ll have to get up early for school. You’ll have to be away from him the entire day. And in another week, your mother will return.

“What’s wrong?”

Your face is such an open book. “I’m just thinking about how fast this week went by. And before you know it another will pass. And then…”

“I’m not giving you up. You’re mine. That’s not going to change.” He reaches for one of your hands and squeezes it.

“But…but how will we…what are going to do?”

“I don’t know yet,” he replies. “I’ll figure something out.”

You don’t see how. He’s married to your mother. It’s really as simple as that. Your only other option is to try to sneak around. Risk getting caught. And then what?

“Princess. It’s not for you to worry about, okay? Like the springlocks. You need to trust me.”

“I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“I don’t want you getting hurt, either.” He leans over to kiss you. First a chaste brush. Feather light. Then firmer. Your pussy tingles again. Forever hungry for him, never sated.

He exits the car and you follow. Lays you out on the hood. Licks you until you climax again. You wonder if he can smell the suit on you; taste it.

He kisses your mouth before you leave the parking lot and you have your answer.

***

Sunday morning. You’ve slept in. You stretch languidly. Arms, legs, toes curling and uncurling. Steve reaches for you beneath the covers. Starts tickling you and you squirm and weakly try to get away. You like being caught. He pins you beneath him and grins.

You think you hear the front door open and close. No, that’s impossible.

The smile on your lover’s face evaporates.

“Hey, where is everyone?”

Your mother’s voice calling up the stairs.

She’s home early.

***

William’s blood runs cold. Why was your mother back a week early? Robbing him of the extra time alone with you. He lays a finger against your lips. Sees your eyes widen. Panicked. “Go into the bathroom.”

You nod, sliding out of bed. You’ve got panties and one of Steve’s shirts on.

“And take that off!” He hisses. You fish around in the hamper looking for something that’s yours. He’d been planning on doing laundry today.

You just manage to make it into the adjoining bathroom when your mother enters the master bedroom. He evades most of a kiss by pleading morning breath.

“You slept in late. I’ve never seen you in bed at this hour.”

“Yeah, I was tired. What are you doing back so early?” He tries to make his voice light. Tries to make it not sound like an accusation.

“One of the other women had to leave early. The mood kind of shifted after that. Susan’s mother just got diagnosed with cancer with mets to the bone. Just didn’t feel right staying…”

Afton stops listening, murmuring noncommittal sounds of sympathy. He thinks he hears the faucet running.

“Where’s my daughter?”

“Uh, I think I hear her in the bathroom.”

“I wouldn’t mind a shower myself after breakfast. I didn’t bother with it this morning. You could join me…” Her hand strokes along her husband’s chest, trailing lower. His cock is still thinking about her daughter. “Steve! You did miss me, didn’t you?”

He sits up, moving his body away from her questing fingers. “We shouldn’t…she’s right there,” he says quietly, nodding towards the bathroom door.

His wife sighs. “Alright. Later then. I’m going to pop in to say hi and then I’ll make us all breakfast. Okay?”

“Sure, sounds great.”

His knuckles blanch around a fistful of sheets.

***

You can hear your mother and stepfather’s conversation. You press a hand to your mouth when you realize she’s touching him.

Your eyes fall to the tray on the counter where the wedding band still lies. You tuck it inside the medicine cabinet behind a bottle of cough syrup. You begin brushing your teeth. Scrub until your gums bleed. Rinse and spit out. Look at your reflection in the mirror.

“Honey, can I come in?”

“Um, I'm getting ready to jump in the shower. I’ll be out soon.”

“Just a quick hug? I miss you.” Your mother enters without waiting for a reply. “How’s my girl?”

“Yeah, good. Welcome home.” You hug her stiffly.

“Thanks, sweetheart. It’s good to be back. I’m going to get started on breakfast, okay?”

“Sounds good.” You try and fail at a smile.

She pauses by the door. “You shouldn’t walk around the house like that. What if Steve saw? We talked about this.”

“Sorry. Forgot.” The door closes and tears immediately begin spilling down your cheeks.

The adjoining door reopens and Steve closes it hurriedly behind him.

“Baby girl…” His thumb swipes at the tears.

“That’s it. It’s over. I can’t…” You’re trying to be quiet but you hiccup a sob.

“No, baby girl.”

You open the medicine cabinet and retrieve the wedding band. “You have to put this back on. I have to go hide the roses. I don’t know if there’s anything else left out that shouldn’t be seen…”

”Princess. Calm down. Look at me.”

You shake your head. You take his left hand in yours and begin sliding the ring back in place. Pause and lift tear stained lashes. “I do.”

A shuddering sigh. His palm cups your cheek. “I’m not letting you go.” He captures your lips. His hands grasp your waist and he sits you on the counter. Already moving your panties aside and pulling his cock free of his pajama pants.

“Daddy…”

He pushes into you. Clamps a hand over your mouth as he fucks into you rough and hard. You nod your understanding and he uncovers your mouth again. Your eyes keep going to the adjoining door, the one that doesn’t have a lock. Steve bites down on your shoulder. Sucks until the fragile vessels beneath the skin burst. Marking you.

You knot your fingers in his hair. “I love you,” you whisper.

He marks you inside, claiming what’s his.

#william afton x reader #william afton x you #steve raglan x reader #steve raglan x you #springtrap x you #springtrap x reader #dividers credit @saradika-graphics

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nocturnesmoon · 4 months

Text

The Edge of Desperation

Archaic Blood Masterlist: TF141 x Vampire!GN!Reader Callsign: Solis

-A new source to quench your thirst-

Ever since you were turned a lot of things changed. The blood beneath your skin froze, your complexion got duller, your eyes changed color. Now, there was an irresistible lust in your veins, to sink your teeth into a creature and drain their lifeblood.

It was the pinnacle of who you now were if you couldn't control it.

After extensive training and time spent dancing on the edge of insanity, you had been able to train yourself into only needing to feed 2 times a month.

It was a careful line of desperation; you had tasted the claws of madness a few times before. The few hours before your brain would switch off any logic, and you'd turn to something far worse. You had very little fears now, but that was one that stuck with you, no matter how much you tried to shake it. The creeping feeling of the beast beneath, demanding sacrifices like a demon, it scared you.

Though the fear never disappeared, you managed it. You rationed what you had, and you got your blood bags restocked occasionally. You didn't like to resort to it, but when you were in the field you could also hunt for animals and drain them dry.

Even if it did the trick, you only really hunted to stimulate your instinct. As soon as you started hunting with the purpose of killing and draining, it turned into something you didn't like. So much about your being came down to desperation, the want to survive and continue, fueled by grueling methods and unethical practices.

Methods you'd have to call upon now, much to your dismay. The mission you had been sent out on had been going on for too long, weeks full of meaningful work and great results. The kind of results that were good but also prolonged the mission, driving towards a success that seemed finally within reach for your teammates.

It wasn't as great for you, you had been told it would be 2 weeks max, and you had even packed so you'd have enough food for a whole month just in case. It was bordering a month and two weeks now. Not a lot was happening on the mission itself, even when you went scouting it was mostly quiet now.

It didn't help distract from the hollowing hunger in your stomach. You had used your last supply of blood bags 11 days ago. You could feel it deep inside you, the craven urge, every thought you had stirred you in a direction that involved blood.

It made it extremely hard to work properly, you tried to hide it to the best of your ability, but you knew that the others had started to notice. Your energy was oddly depleted, you were a lot more confused, and your work efficiency was lowered greatly.

The carnal need for plasma would only get harder and harder to control, and you could feel it deep in your bones. That line of insanity you never wished to tip toe on, one you were too familiar with both externally and internally. The one that had your youngen vampire brothers and sisters lose themselves to it.

You never wished to become like that, to lose whatever was left of you to an ancient urge that plagued you wherever you went. You needed to feed, and you needed to do it very very soon. It had you using the scouting for anything other than what you were supposed to. Your work was the least of your problems at the moment, you were out hunting.

It was something you hadn't had to do in a very long time, trying to outrun the poking desperation in the back of your brain was a hard one. Every turn you took, every new area you uncovered in the dense forest made you more and more frustrated. How the hell were there no animals out here?

Maybe you were losing your touch, your meaningful survival instincts that made you able to hunt could have been dulled after so many years of food being provided, like a pet. It disgusted you, made you want to gag up your own empty stomach in annoyance.

It was late at night, the moon high above on the sky, shining amongst the glinting stars. Beautiful on all accounts, and something you'd have loved to admire if you weren't in such a ferocious state. You stalked through the woods, keeping your senses sharp in search of prey, but the only thing you detected were the critters in the trees.

You finally lost it when you spotted a delicious deer up ahead. You sprung forward without thinking, without planning, and it was really no surprise to you when you lost track of the fleeing animal deep into the woods.

A deep growl escaped your throat that would send a little fear into anyone around to hear it. It was bad enough you were starving for blood, but now your only chance at a big meal just escaped your fingertips.

You were almost about to give up, but then the air around you change for just a split second. A sweet aroma, a scent your nose catches by just a fraction. It's far but it's potent, must be some kind of wounded animal, an animal you could drain.

You stalk forward, finally back on quest to find the wounded thing and finally get back on track, your last chance. This time you're careful about it, checking where you're stepping and making sure to avoid anything that would make you known.

You follow the scent for a long time, all the way back. You've never felt so focused on one thing, you didn't even notice the familiar surroundings and the fact you were heading back towards the cabin safehouse you had all been holding up in.

The first thing that brought a sense of reality into you was a yell, it made you stop in your tracks, your goal was clear, but you only just now realized who your goal was.

"Who's there- Solis you're back!" Price rose up from his chair, taking a step off the porch to assess you in the dim light. By then you had no idea, but you were supposed to have been back a good hour ago.

"Bloody hell you had me worried something was up, you missed the check in" you don't register a word he says. The pounding is in your throat, your head feels like it's gonna explode, and the guilt within you worsens as you realize.

Your eyes are fixated on the very small clump of blood on his thumb, from a cut most likely stemming from a harmless accident. The scent is so much stronger here, so close to the source of it. Oh, how you'd do anything to be able to let your teeth sink into the soft warm flesh, to drain the veins of the person in front of you and savor the sweet scent on your own rough tongue.

But you couldn't, this was Price you were thinking about, he had never given any incentive he wanted to and there was no way you were forcing your way to the blood without digging your own grave afterwards.

But that was the problem, you were hungry, you were starving. The last bit of control you had in your body was holding you back from pouncing on him and licking his wound dry.

"Solis…What's going on" Price sounded inquisitive, tilting his head as his eyes searched over your stance. You looked different, the red glow in your eyes were no longer just a trick of the light, it was there, and your slight pant only raised his concern more.

You held your hands in tight fists at your sides, every thought you had both told you to control yourself while simultaneously urging you towards him. He was right there, and he had no idea what the small droplets of his blood was doing to you.

One step forward, and one more whiff of the scent of blood had your knees buckling. You'd have hit the ground if he hadn't leapt forward and caught you in his arms, his grovel voice getting through to your ears.

"Woah what's going on," he helps you balance yourself, and let's out a surprised noise when you latch onto him. Your nails feeling oddly sharp as you grab his shirt and refuse to let him go. It was even better(worse) up close, the droplet of blood now so much closer.

"Please…" You panted out, trying to claw your way closer to him, as if you weren't already pressed to his chest. "I just need…" you struggled to form your words; your thoughts scrambled "Just…." He tried to listen and coax the words out of you with little success.

By some miracle he seemed to understand, he had likely already thought about this situation. A day when you'd need to depend on them in an almost intimate way. Later on, you'd likely be sure that the entire team had thought about it, if not discussed it amongst themselves.

He gently let his hand travel down to your wrist, pressing his thumb over where a pulse point should be. His other finding the nape of your neck and guiding you over to a small bench pressed up against the wall of the cabin.

He's never felt you so compliant before, the power he held over you in this moment, like commanding water to take shape. If only you were that good at following orders in the field when you got excited.

You weren't excited now; you were barely even here. You looked like you were fighting a losing battle to the void of unconsciousness. He wonders how long you've been like this if it only got to this point tonight or if they've been watching your deteriorating state for weeks now.

He sits you down on the bench, and takes a place next to you, leaning both your bodies so you're facing each other. He doesn't overthink it, does it like it's in his very nature as he brings his wrist closer to your lips. He feels like there's nothing to second guess, it's you, and he trusts you despite how scary you sometimes can be.

He knows you, and right now he knows that you need the help.

As the warm skin meets your lips it's like a bolt of lightning goes through you, bringing you out of the distraught daze. You don't waste any time, opening your mouth and sinking your razor-sharp fangs deep into his flesh.

He lets out a hiss of pain, trying to take his hand back out of reflex but it doesn't budge. A newfound strength lights up in your body, your grip on his arm only tightening as you drink the blood that pours out.

The sweetness hits your tongue and overwhelms your senses, it's been a long time since you've tasted blood that good. A masterpiece in its making, it's dark and sweetly, bordering a good sour. It's the blood of both a fighter and a caretaker, a person that cares deeply and protects like it.

"There you go Vamp," He chuckles but it falls on deaf ears. His free hand rests on your lower back as he watches you feed. He had expected it to hurt a lot more than it did, but the worst part yet was only the shock of your teeth penetrating his skin. A quiet daze falls over the two of you, the only sounds being the slight slurping from you and Price's deep breathing.

Neither of you notices the passing time, not that it could've been that long. The click of the door opening has Price's head snap up, his eyes watching the sergeant’s careful smirk. "Am I interrupting something?" Gaz asks with a sly smile, stumbling upon something that he had hoped to see one of these days.

A calm smile fell on Price as he jerked his head to the side, a motion to get Gaz to take a seat next to the two of you, of which he did. "Just sit down Gaz" his voice rumbled, "make sure this one doesn't drink me dry."

"Rough night then," Gaz walks past the two of you, taking a seat next to you and gently moving some of your hair out of your face so it didn't interrupt your desperate feeding. You had barely even noticed Gaz's presence, too focused on the blood on your lips.

Price nodded, a flicker of concern returning to his eyes as he watched you again. "I think they ran out of their supply weeks ago but didn't say anything." He sighs almost disappointed, he had hoped you had greater trust in them by now, a bigger desire to rely on them just a little more than you do.

"Probably didn't want to trouble us," Gaz mused his eyes darting between his Captain's bleeding wrist and his face. He watches carefully, counting in his own head as he sees his captain become a little more dazed by the second.

Gaz's hand finds the nape of your neck, taking a gentle hold and prying you off Price's wrist. "Easy now Solis, you're gonna bleed the man out" he chuckles but all he earns from you is a whine as you try to go back to feeding.

He tightens his hold on you, pulling you away from the captain and into his chest instead. His other hand finds your jaw, craning your neck upwards so he can see the way the blood coats your chin. Dripping down slow as you try to lick up the excess, you're still whiny for more, your eyes blown and your movements sluggish from being sated.

"Fucking hell, you still hungry?" he asks but already knows the answer, the only type of response you can manage to give him in your desperation is a pathetic tug at his shirt. "Don't say i never do anything for you," he sighs and tugs down his collar, allowing you the space to create a new wound on his neck.

This time around you don't rush it, your nose burrows against smooth skin as you let your sense guide you to his pulse. The small thrumming of blood in his veins, beckoning you closer, your bodies pressed and blending your own senses with his. A small gasp escapes him when he feels your bloodied fangs ghost over his neck.

You find a good spot, gently sinking your teeth down so you don't create a messy wound that would be hard to clean. You're lazy about it, using his shoulder as a headrest while you feed, almost feeling full and just topping off the last bit of hunger.

You're almost surprised when the taste of his blood is so different to the captains. It's a little thicker, sweeter in taste, and reminiscent of a wild spirit. The blood of someone who cares deeply about their topics, one who fights for what is right, and keeps their friends close.

It's been so long since you've fed on a willing human, you've forgotten how much you can tell about a person from their blood. You used to hate it when you fed on unwilling victims in your earlier days of being a vampire. When you'd take the blood of people with loving families, knowing there was a chance you'd have to kill them afterwards.

It was depraved state of your own survival, one you'd never want to return to. But now, tasting the blood of your teammates who so willingly gave it to you like it's nothing. It's a feeling that swells in your chest, and indescribable show of trust and safety, and a decision you won't take lightly.

You feel Gaz's hand filter through your hair, he lets out a deep huff once he realizes you've finished your feeding. You lick up the excess, gently cleaning around his wound in an attempt of staying longer. You'd never thought it'd be that blissful to stay close to them like this, your bodies pressed together and protective gestures to keep each other close.

"Lean back love," Price's voice fills your ears, and gets you to look upwards into his eyes. While you had fed on Gaz he'd gotten himself patched up, and brought a cloth to clean the mess you no doubt created on Gaz's neck.

He gently cleans around your mouth, babying you in a way that you'd have yelled at him for in any other scenario. He takes note of how quiet you've become; how tired and sleepy your state slowly drifts into despite it being nighttime.

Price moves on from you when he's finished wiping the blood away from your mouth. He bends the cloth and brings it to Gaz's neck, gently rubbing it over the wound that slowly stopped bleeding. "Thanks Cap" Gaz mumbles, letting you go when you moved to sit more beside him against instead of literally on top of him.

Getting the wound clean and patched wasn't anything hard to deal with, neither of them were certain how, but your bite wounds healed quickly once you were done feeding. You lean you head against Gaz's shoulder, closing your eyes briefly and letting out content noise that has them both chuckling.

"Thank you…both…" you say sleepily, taking slow turns to look at each of them sincerely. It meant more to you than either of them could possibly know. They had kept you from falling on the wrong side of an insanity you needed to avoid.

"Don't worry about it Solis, you can come to us anytime, we're a team" Price says turning his attention to you but still keeping a hand on Gaz's shoulder. "You can rely on us, you know that" he adds and pulls away, tugging the cloth into itself, "Now let's get you inside, looks like you could use a nap."

Been thinking about this one for awhile now. I like the idea that everyone's blood will taste different, kind of the same way everyone has a scent that's personal to them. You can get a lot of information out of someone just from their blood. I tried doing something for describing Price and Gaz blood but it was just my thoughts in the moment, it's one of those things where im most likely gonna feel different on it tomorrow-

#noctmoon fics #Archaic Blood #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #john price #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #john price x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #tf141 x reader #captain john price #tf 141 #tf141 x vampire!reader #gender neutral reader

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prettyprettypaci2 · 5 months

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Squire - Part 3

👑 Part 1 👑 Part 2 👑

"That was a disgraceful effort! Do it again."

You sigh mournfully from your splayed position on the oriental rug, so weak and exhausted you can barely drag yourself to your knees. Your "frollicking" lessons had been difficult enough before Madame Matilda secured your new shoes to your feet. Their glossy black leather is tight and unyielding around your toes and ankles -- almost as painful as the ever-present pink collar clamped to your throat. Standing on the towering 5-inch heels makes you feel like you're walking on stilts, which is made no less difficult by the odd weight of the sagging diaper fastened to your hips. Such ridiculous shoes are worn only by the concubines of hedonistic emperors, noble women of notorious reputation...and by you, a reluctant squire-in-training to Her Majesty.

"Have you gone deaf, squire? If you cannot so much as frollick without falling over, how do you intend to dance, or trot, or bend over on command? Get back on your pretty heels and do it again."

Knowing the consequences for failing to obey Madame Matilda, you dig deep for the strength to clomp one heel against the pink rug, then the other. You feel dizzy as you hoist yourself to a standing position, and your vision blurs as the squiring hall seems to spin around you. You fight for balance by taking a step back on one of your heels and closing your eyes. You're sure you would not even have the energy to open them again if Pig had not snuck some table scraps to your room last night. Your fellow squire -- the only other one you have met -- has taken to bringing you such gifts on their regular visits, supplementing your meager diet in exchange for a bit of companionship. As strange as Pig's desires are, you've come to look forward to those intimate moments when they crawl into your bed and comfort you after the long, punishing days of training.

"What are you forgetting, squire?"

Remembering yourself, you curl your lips into a pathetic smile which does not reach your tired eyes. Madame Matilda insists that a squire's demeanor should be flighty and gay, no matter what torments they may be subjected to. Nevertheless, you have found it impossible to fake enthusiasm for the daily humiliations you suffer at the hands of this cruel red-haired matron, and the punishments for failing to grin and giggle at the right times have been becoming more severe. With a deep breath, you attempt to fix the awkward rictus on your face into a more convincing smile, then clutch your feathered skirt in both hands.

You wobble on the first mincing step, worried you're already about to topple over. Your stomach growls grumpily as you force your body beyond its limits -- but there will be no hope for breakfast until Madame Matilda is satisfied with your frollick.

"Left, right, left, right...it's a frollick, not a promenade! Only one foot should be touching the floor at a time. Kick those knees higher -- one should be able to clearly see the state of a squire's diaper whenever it is at play. And have you never laughed? How should the Queen's guests know to laugh at you if you are not laughing too?"

You fight the temptation to grimace, and manage to keep the false smile plastered to your lips. The squiring hall is filled with a strange harmony of sounds: the galloping clomp of your high-heeled shoes against the rugs, the loud rustle of your starched feather skirt, the curious crinkling and popping of your thick diaper, and the half-hearted tittering of your fake girlish laugh.

After skipping in circles for endless minutes, Madame Matilda finally signals for you to stop. As you've been conditioned to do, you cross one smooth, stocking-clad leg behind the other and stoop into a deep curtsy, pinching your feathered skirt between your forefingers and thumbs. A wave of nausea hits you as you're going down, and you feel your quaking heels give out. You're once again lying prone on the floor, sobbing with fatigue, hunger, and fear at how Madame Matilda might punish you for this.

"Please..." You groan. "I need to eat. I swear I will get it right, but I must have a bit of food. Just a crust of something...anything."

You wince, anticipating a kick in your side for speaking out of turn. But to your surprise, you look up through tearful eyes to see Madame Matilda nodding unsmilingly in your direction.

"You will have some food, squire. Though your comportment is entirely unacceptable, you have managed some small improvement, which Her Majesty is most generous to reward."

"Oh...oh, thank you, Madame!" You gush. You practically mean it; never before has Madame Matilda agreed to give you food after so little begging and groveling.

Eagerly, you crawl across the floor towards the alcove in the squiring hall where Madame Matilda's handmaidens keep your feeding dish. You yelp when you feel a cold boot press against your back, forcing you to lie still. Your eyes cross to see a thin block rod bury itself in the pink rug, an inch away from your nose.

"The squire will not take its feeding from a dish today," says the familiar deep voice of Blackwood. Your frollicking had made such a racket that you had not heard him enter the squiring hall. As usual, the sallow-faced minister looks uneasy in this lush and decorated part of the palace, but he remains terrifying in his position of dominance over you.

"Minister!" Madame Matilda barks. You see Blackwood shift his weight uncomfortably from your place on the floor. "I am pleased to have your assistance. I fear in this pathetic state, the squire will be unable to drag itself to its new throne."

Your face contorts in confusion. "Throne?"

Without acknowledging your question, Blackwood's rough hands slide under your ribs and lift you off the ground, causing you to gasp with a small "oh!" You've become so thin and frail from lack of food that the tall man is able to carry you effortlessly on his hip without letting go of the rod in his other hand. You squirm a bit so as to ride more comfortably in his grasp, but make no effort to escape, allowing yourself to hang from his arm like a ragdoll.

"I instructed Mouse to prepare the meal; it is waiting in the Squirey kitchens now," Blackwood explains.

You are left to wonder who this 'Mouse' might be as Blackwood carries your limp and weakened body to the exit, with Madame Matilda leading by a few paces. You stare forlornly at your pretty shoes, which pump uselessly in the air as you are forcibly moved to another part of the palace Squirey.

Whenever Blackwood or Madame Matilda have led you through the halls of the palace, you've always tried to pay close attention to where you were going. You understand a mental map of the Squirey would be an essential tool were you ever to attempt an escape from this hell. But the labyrinth of darkened, identical hallways leave you constantly flummoxed. You had once asked Pig if they could help you navigate the palace, but they seemed to sense your motives and changed the subject quickly. As much as you have come to rely on Pig to maintain your sanity, you doubt you could trust them to assist you in any act of rebellion.

At last, Madame Matilda pushes on a heavy door that sits ajar at the end of a lone corridor. The room is windowless, illuminated only by rows of fluttering torches on the walls, which are decorated with an elegant pink wallpaper unbecoming of a simple scullery. Long tables stand on either side of a central wood-burning oven, the smoke from which billows out a sizeable vent in the ceiling. The pantry shelves are loaded with dried fruits, vegetables, and cloth sacks of grain -- a mouth-watering feast compared to the scraps you've been forced to subsist on. In a far corner of the room, beneath the haunting glow of the torches, you see a large contraption that you realize must be your "throne."

The wooden mechanism appears to be a cross between a high-backed chair and a pillory. The pillory framework is anchored to the armrest on a swivel, allowing someone to be placed on the seat and then locked into it with their head and hands restrained in the holes. The seat of the chair is far higher from the ground than normal, and the base is hollowed out in the middle.

Your squirming increases dramatically as Blackwood approaches the bizarre device, although you know with resigned certainty that you'll be locked into the seat in moments. Sure enough, your captor wastes no time in tossing you on the chair in a heap, lifting the top of the pillory to thread your head and hands through the holes before shutting it closed on top of you. You cough uncomfortably as the new weight on your neck joins that of the suffocating pink collar. Even wearing the 5-inch leather heels, your legs dangle uselessly over the seat, unable to touch the stone floor.

"The squire has begged for its morning meal, and it will have it," Madame Matilda says, no longer addressing you directly. "Mouse! Stop hiding in the larder!"

You see a mess of blond hair poke out sheepishly from a small room located off the main chamber. As if concerned there may be some trick, the figure hesitates before mincing into the light. You see a soft-featured face crowning a slender body, wearing a gray fur-lined dress with a flouncy skirt. A red satin sash is wrapped around their waist and tied off in a comically large bow. Despite teetering on a pair of high-heeled shoes much like your own, you imagine this diminutive creature would stand nearly a foot shorter than you. The leather collar wrapped around their neck identifies them as another of Her Majesty's many squires.

"I am here, Madame," a shy voice squeaks. The squire called Mouse is holding a gigantic ceramic bowl of what appears to be a thin barley gruel.

"Our new squire is ready for its breakfast. Feed it."

Mouse bows their head and brings the bowl over to you, almost struggling to carry it. They set the gruel down on a stool by your throne and pick up a flat wooden spoon from a nearby table. Despite the humiliation of being restrained in the pillory, your mouth starts to water at the prospect of at last tasting food.

"Ah-ah! Not yet," Madame Matilda says teasingly. Your heart sinks at the idea that this was all some cruel ruse to torture you, but the red-haired matron reaches into her bodice and withdraws a pink glass bottle. She twists the cork stopper and tips the bottle upside-down, draining a healthy dose of some syrupy substance into the bowl of gruel.

"This is a very special tonic. It is made from pressings of a plant that grows wild in the Far East," Madame Matilda explains, having noticed a confused expression on Blackwood's face. "The plant's resin has a curious effect on the mind. This squire's pride and education have made it a particular challenge to train, but the stupor of this potion can break down those nasty thoughts and leave it much more docile and pliant."

Your eyes widen in horror as Mouse begins to stir the syrupy mixture into the bowl with the flat wooden spoon. These villains mean to poison you! Your stomach cries out in anguish for want of the gruel, but you shudder to think what might happen if what Madame Matilda says is true.

Restrained by the pillory, you're unable to shake your head as Mouse loads a spoonful of the drugged gruel and extends it towards your lips. You clamp your mouth shut and kick your pretty heels furiously. Madame Matilda sighs heavily, as if your efforts were merely a predictable annoyance. With a forefinger and thumb, she pinches your nose shut, rendering you unable to breathe.

Your resistance is useless as you are forced to open your mouth to inhale. As soon as your lips part, Mouse shoves a pile of gruel into your mouth and immediately moves to refill the spoon. You stare pleadingly into the other squire's gray eyes, silently begging for mercy, but Mouse keeps their sad gaze cast downwards.

Not long ago, you would have been insulted to be offered such an unappetizing meal, but your belly rejoices as the thin cereal makes its way down your throat. After a few more sputtering attempts to halt your feeding, your body's desperation for nourishment overcomes your fear of the insidious tonic. Your mouth falls open willingly with each fresh spoonful, and your senses seem to fade into the background as you focus on nothing except sucking and swallowing the gruel that Mouse presents to you.

"Your tincture seems to be having some influence," you hear Blackwood say. His voice is strange, and seems to come to you in echoes despite the fact that he is standing mere paces away.

"Continue, Mouse, until it is full to bursting. I will attend to other matters and return when the squire has filled its diaper." Madame Matilda and Blackwood disappear from your view, which is becoming distorted by the effects of the gruel. Colors and shapes seem to dance and swirl in a way you find oddly amusing. You can't help but chuckle a bit as you gulp down yet another thick lump of the intoxicating porridge.

After a while, Mouse looks around nervously and then whispers in your ear as they continue shoveling slop into your mouth. "Are you far gone? Blink twice if you can understand me."

You furrow your brow as you pump your heels back and forth in the high chair. You did understand every word the blond squire said, but somehow it didn't make sense in your head. You remember the word "blink," and squeeze your eyes shut in an exaggerated way before fluttering them open again. This makes everything appear upside-down for a moment, and you giggle at the absurdity of it all.

"Well, there's something in there," Mouse sighs, taking a moment to stir up what's left of the gruel. "Listen: Pig has told me about you. You're some sort of noble, is that right?"

"Yeeeessssssssssss," you let the consonant slither out of you like a snake. Your voice sounds so funny. "Yeeeesssssssssssssssssssss."

"Please, try to concentrate. I have a plan to leave the palace, but I cannot do it alone. And I have nowhere to run to, even if I succeed. If I take you with me, can your family protect us?"

"Fam-i-ly...wam-i-ly...wam-i-ly wump." You burst out laughing, spraying gruel around the outside of your mouth and getting some on Mouse's dress, which is even funnier. "Whoop-sie poodle!"

"I pray there is some part of you that will remember me," Mouse says sadly, scraping the bowl for the last few bits of gruel and wiping them on your tongue. You drool stupidly. "You aren't broken yet. I know you aren't. And you may be my last hope."

"Last hope a-dope a-dope."

A loud fart escapes your bum and your diaper crinkles loudly as you begin to use it for its intended purpose. It feels warm and squishy and so terribly, terribly funny. You're not sure who this sad-looking person with the spoon is, but they don't seem to be amused. Perhaps if you farted again?

BLAART. "Hope-a-dope-a-dope." BLAAAAART. "Laaaaaaaast hope-a-dope-a-dope-a-dope."

👑 Part 4 👑

#ab dl diaper #ab dl lifestyle #ab dl mommy #diaper pee #diaper sissy #diaper training #diapered247 #diaper gal

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fluffyficsanddreams · 6 months

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When was the last time you smiled?

It was the early afternoon at the Schmidt household, bright sunlight pouring in from the windows and into the living room where Mike and Abby were sitting. Abby, of course, was drawing yet another picture on the coffee table seated on the floor. Mike was dozing on the couch, in and out of sleep as he was still recovering from last night’s shift. The girl looked up momentarily to look at her sleeping brother, noticing the heavy darkness that hung underneath his eyes. She exhaled, not entirely sure of how to help him in any way.

After a few more minutes, she felt her stomach growling with hunger and she wasn’t sure of how to make any food for herself. Abby stood and stepped to her brother’s side, gently shaking his shoulder. “Mike?” She asked.

He grumbled in response, shifting on the couch and turning his head away. Why’d she have to bother him now, when he was finally able to get some peaceful sleep?

Abby huffed and prodded him in the arm repeatedly, to which Mike didn’t budge. She was only met with annoyed grunts, growls and grumbles.

Or, at least, that was until she accidentally missed his arm and poked him in the side. Mike jumped and actually *squeaked*, moving away from his sister as his eyes fluttered open. “Abby.. don’t…” He growled, clamping his arms to his sides as he slowly woke himself up to guard himself from his now mischievous sister.

Abby smiled and continued to prod and poke him in the side as soon as she realized what was happening. Mike covered his face with his hands, hiding his slowly spreading wobbly smile as he stifled chuckles. “Abby..” He growled through clenched teeth, giggling breaking through his tough facade. His sister continued nonetheless, now moving her little hands to his abdomen, which caused the man to curl in on himself and fall into low giggling that he was clearly trying to hide. “St—stohohop..” Mike tried to warn, punctuated by strangely adorable laughter. “I don’t remember the last time I saw you smile.” Abby commented, crawling on top of her brother to scribble her small fingers between his ribs. Mike let out a squeak and fell into a fit of not-so-tired-anymore laughter. He was definitely awake at this point as he struggled to stifle his loud laughter threatening to pour out. “Staahp! Abby!” He arched his back to high heaven as he buried his face in his hands, shoulders bobbing with strong laughter. He was trying so hard not to throw her off, while also trying not to give his sister what she wanted.

“Mikeeeey, you have to just let go!” Abby giggled, trying to get him to uncover his face while also still jabbing her fingers into his side. The man snorted in the middle of his laughing, his face flushing a shade of red as he did so. “ABBS-! Thihis isn’t fUHUnny!” Mike protested, eventually flipping his sister off of him and onto the couch cushion. He heaved for breath, his face still flushed as he wiped a little bit of sweat from his forehead. “You’re such a tease..” He chuckled, poking Abby in the side. Though he wouldn’t admit it, Mike did feel a lot happier now… and he enjoyed being tickled at the end of the day. He needed the laughs.

And… he found himself making mac and cheese 10 minutes later.

#sfw tickle community #tickle fic #lee!mike #ler!abby #fluff #siblings #fnaf movie tickles #fnaf tickles #mike schmidt #short fic

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galebrainrot2024 · 3 months

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Gale x Tav Enemies to Lovers Part 18

Gale's POV: Read on Ao3 Enjoy!

The quiet was disconcerting. Although still engaged at the tail end of battle, Gale was fixated on how different he felt with the orb deactivated, even with the threat of death knocking at his doorstep. To not be in a state of constant pain and discomfort was foreign and it gave him a new sense of vivaciousness. He hadn’t felt so alive in quite some time.

All feeling for the past year was tied to the orb - confusing the orb’s incessant hunger with the tidal waves of emotion and physical sensation, so he found it easier to experience nothing at all. By mastering his emotions, he pushed them away - now, they boiled over tenfold. To be able to feel again, to experience the full range of emotions was remarkable and terrifying.

As they massacred the final shadow, Gale shuddered from the tingling that sung through the threads of his DNA. How there was nothing quite like it, the chemistry when two bodies yearn to become one. Gale felt the pull of Tav so acutely, the way his cells quaked with anticipation, excitement, and fear - fight or flight kicking in full force as he watched her. He forgot the way the body responds to the presence of a lover, or one yet to be.

Gale wasn’t sure what came over him. His mouth was dry and his skin prickled with heat as he glanced at Tav, wiping the sweat from her forehead. Her face was flushed and glistening, her hair a bit matted against her skin where the sweat mingled with the curled strands. Her lips were plump, water dripping from her mouth where she drank. She looked beautiful and he wanted to drink her in, to taste the salt on her body, to worship every inch…

He cleared his throat and shook his head. Perhaps it was the adrenaline from battle, the anxiety pooling in his gullet, the instruction to kill himself - the realization he had such little time left. Her skin seemed somehow more radiant in the blueish-dark night.

He waffled internally, torn between whether or not to be selfish, to pursue Tav in his final moments or leave her to be won over by Astarion. He could offer her no more than a few months at best, but oh… Gale closed his eyes and turned away from her, ignoring the carnal thoughts and gnashed his teeth together.

Now was not the time for romance.

“Keep your torch high - if you step into the shadows, you’ll be felled in a heartbeat. Here - let me mark your map, so you know where to follow. If you want to catch your breath, the inns the only place to do it.” The harper said. He watched as Tav held the map, pencil between her teeth as she studied it while the other travelers moved out.

To distract himself, he began to speak though no one was particularly listening. “I’ve never seen such a concentration of shadow magic. We must forge on, but carefully. It will corrupt any who lack the power to control it.”

“And do you think you hold such power?” Shadowheart said teasingly, her eyebrows raised and a grin played at her lips.

Gale’s cheeks washed crimson and he grumbled, ignoring her goading, “This magic is the antithesis of all the Weave stands for. A magic of confusion and corruption - drawn forth only by those desperate or damned enough to accept its degradations.”

“Why forbid it? Is Mystra truly so afraid of My Dark Lady?” Shadowheart was poking the bear, he knew, and he closed his eyes to try to steady himself to not yield to the bait.

“Mystra being afraid of Shar is akin to saying that I am afraid of you.” Gale pointed his finger and his lips pursed. She didn’t need to know that he was, in fact, a little afraid of her. “These shadows are drawn from Shar - Mystra cannot destroy it, but she can ensure her followers shun its temptations.”

“Hm… not a Goddess worth following if external temptations could lead one astray if you ask me…”

Tav interjected then, “As much as I enjoy you making Gale squirm,” she shot Gale a playful look, “We should move. The less time we spend out here on our own, the better.”

“Fine. Shall we?” Gale cleared his throat, the words coming out like a pitiful squeak. Was she flirting with him? Gale glanced to Karlach who was nodding vigorously as if to confirm his internal thoughts. Was she using the tadpole to read his mind? No… that couldn’t be. Maybe he’d lost the ability to hide his expressions after so long in isolation. When Tav’s eyes met his, she smiled in a new way. It felt like falling off a cliff.

When they approached Last Light, their welcome was lukewarm at best and with good reason, Gale thought. Jaheira was taking every precaution she could to keep the refugees safe and with such indomitable forces out there, one couldn’t be too cautious. Thankfully Mol interrupted the interrogation and spoke their praises, lowering Jaheira’s defenses. Albeit marginally.

“Oh my gods, solider,” Karlach fussed, shaking her fists like an excitable child, “that was Jaheira. THE Jaheira.” Gale, having grown up in Waterdeep, knew little about the Harper other than she and her companions disemboweled a Bhaalspawn. Shadowheart looked confused which encouraged Karlach to continue, “Don’t you know the whole story? Years ago - over a century - Jaheira was a part of a group that saved Baldur’s Gate from Sarevok. A Bhaalspawn trying to plunge the city into war. My mum used to tell us stories about them - the legends who protected the city from evil. She said Jaheira was a powerful druid. Adamant. Tough.”

“You can say that again,” Tav grimaced, shaking out her legs. “Glad I wasn’t the only one lulled to sleep by stories of Bhaalspawn.” Gale breathed Tav’s musk and it forced wicked, hot blood to his core.

“Mate, I’ve told myself the stories a thousand times since. I never thought I’d meet Jaheira. She’s a hero, and I was always…. some Outer City kid. I can’t believe she wants to talk to us about working together. What a day.”

“I’m not entirely convinced we can trust her just yet,” Shadowheart injected and Karlach rolled her eyes.

“How are your legs?” Gale asked, gesturing to Tav to interrupt the squabble. “Those vines looked rather… tight.” Tav winced and rolled up her armor. The streaks of red and purple sent a pang through his chest and before he understood what he was doing, he was on one knee and brushed his fingers against her skin. It felt hot. “Tav…” he pulled aloe from his bag, and looked up at her. “This may do some good.” His eyes flicked to Karlach who was gesturing lewdly. He glanced away quickly, but not before he felt his heart quicken.

“Can you? Apply it, I mean.” Although Tav’s voice was quiet, Gale was certain he picked up on the undercurrent of desire. Perhaps it was just in his head. He smoothed the gel over her skin and as he did, watched as goosebumps rose on her legs. His breath stuck like peanut butter in his throat and he slowed his fingers, relishing in how her body responded to the touch, chasing the rush where his fingers met her skin.

“How’s that?” Gale whispered, looking up at her. He noted how her lips glistened, how her cheeks blossomed with red, how she seemed to lean into his gentle caress. She nodded and looked away, sheepish. Gale stood, his body brushing against Tav as he did so. He ran a hand through his hair and thought he caught her staring in his periphery. When he turned to look her held jolted away.

“Oh hells, this day couldn’t get any better - is that Damon?!” Karlach bellowed, interrupting the shared intimacy. She gestured towards the stables and they looked to her. “We still have the infernal iron right? Maybe he can finally tune me up proper. And you all know what that means.” The devious glint in her iris made them chuckle. Karlach wasn’t shy about her physical needs, how long it had been since she’d so much as touched another person - she was itching for contact and Gale could hardly blame her. He was, too. “Gods, do you think I’ll be able to hug? Get a pat on the back? Holy shit…” she started bounding eagerly towards the barn.

***

“Aha - thought I sensed infernal. What are you doing here? I thought you’d be in the city by now.” Dammon asked, his eyes perking up as they approached. Karlach, despite her best ability to be subtle, turned awkwardly as if she didn’t know what to do with her body. Gale raised a brow, amused by how she melted into a blubbering mess around Dammon. Gale worried for a moment if that’s how he was like with Tav.

“I could ask you the same,” Karlach said, swaying from foot to foot. “Trying to stay out of the shadows. What are you doing here?” Gale withheld his snicker. Despite Karlach playing it off, Gale heard nothing except her gush about the weapon-smith, how she would linger in the hells where he was set up just to get a few glimpses of him. Karlach was anything but subtle.

“We were ambushed by cultists… Half of us were captured. The other half ran here.” Dammon said, looking off into the distance.

“Off the anvil, into the forge. We’ll find them - hopefully.”

Gale noted how Dammon smiled at her, the tenderness as he spoke, “Before you run off into the belly of the beast.. there’s something I need to tell you. Well, two things. Good news and bad news.”

“Obviously I want to hear the good news first,” Karlach said, her voice raising an octave.

“I only need one more piece of infernal iron to craft an insulating chamber that could make it possible for you to -“

“TOUCH PEOPLE?!” Karlach boomed, her face widening with elation. Dammon’s enthusiastic nod confirmed their suspicious. “Oh my gods. It’s really happening. It’s been so long - we’ve got the iron, let’s do this thing!”

“Hang on!” Dammon insisted, “I think you’ll want to hear the bad news, too.”

“Yeah, sure,” Karlach said breathlessly, hoping from foot to foot. “But first, fix me - please.”

Tav pulled the iron from her pack and handed it to Dammon who worked efficiently, Gale mused at how skilled he seemed at the craft and watched as Karlach watched him. He wondered if this is how he and Tav looked to those around them. He hoped he was more subtle, at the very least.

“Same as last time - you’ll need to install it yourself, but this should do the trick,” Dammon said, gingerly handing the piece to Karlach. She manipulated it into her chest and the loud rumbling surprised Gale.

“There… so… did it work?” Karlach looked to them all, her eyes tentative and longing.

“Only one way to find out,” Dammon said.

Gale watched as Tav stepped forward, widening her arms the moment it seemed Dammon was about to do the same. Karlach fell into Tav’s arms, cautious at first and then with abandon. “I can’t believe it…” when Tav stepped back, Karlach wiped her eyes and Gale stepped up behind her, placing a hand on her shoulder before pulling her into a hug too.

Shadowheart, ever the ice queen, gave Karlach a gentle pat. “Wow, even a pat from Shadowheart,” Karlach smiled, “This is amazing. Thank you, Dammon… may I?” Karlach extended her arms in request and Dammon opened his, welcoming her into an embrace. Gale’s stomach stirred, elated for his friend - perhaps he could learn a thing or two from her bravery and courage.

When Dammon stepped back from her, a hand remained on her arm. “It’s the least I could do. Before you go, there’s something I need to tell you.” Gale heard the trepidation and his stomach clenched. “I don’t enjoy saying this, but there’s no two ways about it: your engine is going to blow. It’s contained for the moment, but it’s just too hot to exist here on the material plane indefinitely. And I can’t fix it here, I’m not sure anyone can. I know you know that, but the thing is, there may be a cure. I wasn’t making any headway with the mechanics, none at all. The environment here is just too cold to sustain materials like the ones inside you. You have to return to Avernus - for good - or this thing is going to burn you up from the inside out and sooner than you think.”

Karlach frowned, shaking her head and her voice trembled with anger, “The minute I set foot back in Avernus, Zariel will force me back into service. I’m not doing her bidding again. I’d rather die.” Gale was hit with a gut punch. He looked at Karlach, seeing how her face fell, recognizing how she was struck with a similar finite end as he. The sorrow drained from her face and was replaced with exuberance, “But still - you’ve given me the ability to touch again, safely. That ought to be celebrated.”

“I get that… and don’t rule it out. The world just might be better with you in it, even in Avernus.” Gale looked to his friend, seeing the glimmer of hope when Dammon said this, he seemed to be pleading with her. Gale tried to control his facial expressions and the urge to tell them to get on with it as Karlach had to him countless times. “I won’t stop trying to figure out a cure.. but at this point, I think we all have to face the inevitable.”

“We’ll have to make the inevitable evitable then,” Tav said confidently, shaking Karlach’s shoulders.

“You read my mind,” Karlach sighed. “Thanks Dammon, really. You’ve given me more than I can repay.”

“Maybe there’s a way for you to reapay him later…” Gale murmured, looking at his hands and his eyes widened when he realized he spoke the words out loud. After the short silence, they erupted into a chorus of laughter, a product of the intricate vines of tension that wove between them.

“I didn’t think you had it in you, Gale,” Shadowheart nudged him. “If only you could take your own advice.”

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galacticgraffiti · 5 months

Text

☾✧ Blacklit Night ✧☽

Rating: Mature (for heavy themes) Summary: Astarion meets Sebastian. You know how this ends. Wordcount: 5k TW: angst, vampiric compulsion/Cazador's compulsion on Astarion, references to past abuse and torture, memories of past NonCon, verbal abuse.

Author's Note: This contains spoilers for Act 3 of BG3, specifically Astarion's companion quest. As always - don't like don't read. Even though there are no explicit sexual themes, I would prefer minors did not interact with this post or my blog.

Masterlist ⋆ If you prefer AO3

• :•: • :•: • ☾ ☼ ☽ • :•: • :•: •

Blacklit Night

The night is dark, and the sparse light of the stars speaks of violence, not peace.

One would think that a city like Baldur’s Gate never sleeps, but it does. There is a moment, when all the fishermen have come back from sea, when the workers have returned to their homes and their children, where the lords and ladies of the upper crust stare silently at each other from across long dinner tables. That moment is the holding of breath before the first death of the night:

The sun still shines just barely, dark creatures lurking in the safety of the darkness, not yet able to step out of the shadows. Warm lights begin to glow from windows as the sun sets, as families have their hearty meals, as the nobles retreat to quietly behold each other, to joke about the peasants or hate their rich counterparts in peace. The world breathes one last breath of golden sun, the sea turns red, and the last of the light fades.

The nightlife begins: Taverns grow loud with song and fun, drinks are poured, first one, then two, then one too many. The hardship of the day is washed away, travellers finally arrive at their destinations - slipped in at last light, we got so lucky - and dutiful students of the Society sneak out of their bedroom windows to get high on mushrooms from the Underdark and kiss beneath the pale moonlight.

The life of daylight is one Astarion barely remembers. It has not been long, a few months, maybe a year or two. Who can tell these days? It’s always dark and there is always pain. When he is not allowed to leave the palace, time passes differently. Godey tells him weeks have passed, but Godey lies. Astarion does not dare ask his siblings. He makes notches on the wall behind a rotting coffin, but the only marker to go by is hunger, and the hunger is eternal.

Yes, it has not been so long since the life of daylight - his life, a life that belonged to him - was taken from Astarion. Even if he can’t tell exactly how long, that much he can say. On the nights he is allowed to go out - to hunt for prey - he can see that the fashions haven’t changed much. He can tell that the bartenders have not aged (not visibly at least), nor been replaced with someone younger and better looking. There is still the same elven girl behind the bar, with the blue hair and the brown eyes who always smiles at him when he orders a drink he carries around all night to look like he belongs. He never smiles back, afraid to reveal his fangs on accident, afraid he would scare her much more than he ever could by being stand-offish and rude.

Astarion misses the daylight more than he misses anything else about his old life. He misses the sun burning his skin that was pale even before death took him. He misses the warmth of it- a kind of warmth that can not be imitated by anything else, a warmth that seeps into your bones and makes you feel like soothing embers glow inside your bones. Nowadays, he is always so cold. Cold in the way a forgotten graveyard is, devoid of life and devoid of comfort.

Astarion pulls his cloak tighter. It is finely embroidered with black and silver peacocks, complimenting his own silver hair and his pale complexion - or so Leon tells him. Mirrors do not show Astarion’s image anymore. The cloak is finely woven, just good enough to make it seem like he might have a little more money than he lets on, but not so garish as to catch the attention of heaps of thieves and robbers. Attracting prey is a delicate game, and Cazador has perfected it. Not that he ever needs to do the dirty work himself, of course.

No, it’s Astarion’s hands that will be bloody, Astarion’s lips that will feel numb, Astarion’s skin that will burn at the memory of a loving touch unwanted, and Astarion’s mind that will be burdened with the knowledge of what their face looked like in the moment of betrayal. How their eyes begged for mercy that he does not have the power to grant.

Cazador loves it when they arrive scared to death. Cazador drains the pain and the fear and the suffering from the air to swallow it whole, to gorge himself on it until he bursts. He strokes Astarion’s silver hair, he tells him that he gets better at it every time, but this one still is not good enough.

“At least you are trying to make yourself useful the only way you can,” Cazador says, as if Astarion had any choice, any say in the matter. “At least I won’t have to tell Godey to have to punish you again. It really is a shame, bruises heal so slowly on your delicate skin. Although the screams make it nearly worth it, don’t you agree? Come now, boy. Won’t you dine with us?”

The memory of Cazador’s rotten voice seeps into Astarion’s bones when he turns around a corner and nearly trips. His tongue tastes the blood of putrid rats a hundred times over, and it’s all Astarion can do not to retch. He closes his eyes for a second to breathe, stumbling for just a second.

A warm hand wraps around his upper arm before he can catch himself.

“My gods, have you been walking long? You are freezing!”

“I’m fine, I just have-” Astarion’s words die on his tongue when he looks up at the man who caught him.

Maybe man is not the right word - still nearly a boy, with long hair and a deep voice that won’t rightly fit his delicate features. His lips are full and his eyes are dark, and the fingers wrapped around Astarion’s wiry arm have a strength to them that one would not expect. He makes Astarion wish his heart could still race just to get high off that feeling once more.

Astarion stiffens and pulls back from the stranger’s grasp, cursing his mind for being so soft and so stupid even after everything that has happened.

You are just a silly boy. This behaviour must be corrected. You will learn to obey. Obey.

“I am fine. I can handle myself.” Astarion says again, straightening his collar, his voice cold. He rips his arm from the boy’s warm grasp impatiently. If he is too nice to him, the boy will follow, the boy will ask-

“Would you like to join me for a drink? I was just about to go in.”

No.

Panic rises like bile in Astarion’s throat.

You will learn. Never let it be you inviting them. Make them think it’s their idea - lull them in safety, spin a web around them while they bask in your beauty and attention. Make them think they have caught you, not the other way around. Find me the most beautiful of them, and bring them to me. Godey will have a wonderful time breaking your bones if you don’t. Find the ones that make your heart ache and betray them. Bring them to me. Obey.

Astarion opens his mouth to decline, tries to deny the seed the Cazador’s commands have planted inside his chest. He can’t do it- he never can.

“Of course. Tell me about yourself.” A pleasant smile settles in the corners of Astarion’s mouth, plastered on by Cazador’s words. Bring me the most beautiful of them. Never decline the offer of a drink.

The stranger holds the door of the tavern open for Astarion, his frame taller and broader than Astarion’s own. His face has not the shadow of a beard and his hair shimmers in the golden light. His eyes are kind. He does not look like he comes from a noble family. There is too much excitement, too much of a need to prove himself worthy. The only thing that could have saved him- gone.

No noblemen. Never noblemen, never their children. They will bring unwanted attention.

Astarion closes his eyes for a moment. There must be something that can save him- there must be something he can do-

The stranger leads him to an empty table in a low lit corner. With the darkness gone, he looks a little older now- his features less soft, his nose stronger. And still…

“I’m passing through town,” he explains with a gentle voice. His hands lay on the table, open and inviting. “I am a jeweller, and I heard there is good trade to be made in the city proper. I had some… complications on the road. I- my name is Sebastian.”

Sebastian.

Astarion hates it when they tell him their names. He can never forget them, they carve themselves into his dead heart and burn him with the acid of his betrayal each day like snake venom dripping down his throat.

Sebastian. Each letter a drop of poison.

Press your lips together, maybe the words won’t slip out. Maybe it’s not too late to save him, maybe-

“My name’s Astarion,” says his treacherous tongue. “I’m a magistrate in the city.”

Sebastian’s eyes light up.

“Astarion… my first acquaintance in the big city, and he is named after a star. I must immortalise our meeting in a piece of my work- a necklace maybe, or a ring…” His voice drifts off when he realises that Astarion’s hand is gripping the table so tightly his knuckles are white with pain. “Oh, I- I am sorry. I have been told I can come on a little strong. All I meant was- what a lucky coincidence to have stumbled upon someone who knows the city so well! How lucky for you to have accepted my invitation!”

Astarion’s unbeating heart aches at the excitement in Sebastian’s voice.

“How lucky indeed,” he says, Cazador’s eternal smile making his lips ache. Never stop smiling. Make them feel like they are wanted- like they are the only thing you have wanted all night. “I was already on my way back home- I had given up on the night somewhat, you see. To have stumbled into such a dashing stranger- it was me who got lucky.”

His words weep the false sweetness of a lie, but Sebastian seems not to notice that Astarion’s throat burns like acid.

“You flatter me,” he mumbles. “I know I- you don’t have to be nice to me if you would rather wish to go home. I would not blame you.”

Everything in Astarion’s body screams, every muscle fighting against the inevitable command, every nerve alight with panic and hatred: Hatred against Cazador, and against his own weakness. Astarion watches with wide eyes as his own pale hand moves across the table to cover Sebastian’s. He cannot stop it, just like he cannot unhear Cazador’s whisper in the dark. Find out what they like and give it to them. No matter what it is. Most of all - make sure it is you.

“Nonsense,” say Astarion’s numb lips. “There is nowhere I would rather be than here. Why, your company is much better than the silence of my bedchamber.”

Sebastian smiles a tentative smile, his eyes lighting up at the touch of Astarion’s hand on his.

“So you have nobody… waiting for you?” His voice shakes a little even as his fingers glide across Astarion’s smooth, pale skin. He has never done this before. Astarion can tell. “Nobody to get home to?”

The question makes Astarion’s head spin. The bond won’t allow him to talk about Cazador. When they ask you where you live, where you are going - lie. Lie convincingly.

“Some of my siblings live around here,” Astarion mumbles. “I stay with them when I am in the district.”

“Ah.” Sebastian’s voice is an odd mixture of relief and disappointment. “You know, I-”

They are interrupted by a barmaid asking for their order. Astarion breathes, digging his nails into his palm until he draws blood. He can’t do it, not with this one. He is too sweet, too innocent. All he wants is a taste of the excitement of the city.

Give him that taste.

No.

Yes. He wants it. You provide.

Conversation with Sebastian is so easy. As the wine flows, his hands wander, drumming on the table, tugging at his shirtsleeves, playing with a family ring. He is never still, and Astarion is enraptured by it. Sebastian’s whole life story could probably fit on two pages, but Astarion always finds new questions to ask him.

Show interest. Make them feel wanted.

No. Astarion asks for his own sake. He begs Cazador’s command to let him care about Sebastian, this sweet stranger. To drink the wine, to joke and show interest just because he wants to. Just this once.

Sebastian does not notice. Sebastian talks and smiles and laughs, his hands in the air, on Astarion’s shoulder; then on his thigh when Astarion places them there. And Astarion finds himself not minding to be touched. Not by him. Sebastian’s touches are not one of hunger or desire, they speak of interest and intimacy in ways Astarion had forgotten.

With some time, even the compulsion of Cazador’s voice fades into the background. Astarion’s attentions are fully focused on the delicate man with the strong hands across from him. Sebastian’s voice is gentle and deep as he tells of his journey from his village through the wilderness. He passed by Moonrise - so far away from the city, where Astarion has never been! He tells tales of his family and growing up in a small village, of his childhood helping out on a farm and of the smith that took him on as an apprentice years ago. He speaks of his work with a deep reverence, and Astarion’s pretend-interest soon turns into real fascination.

The way Sebastian describes his work is almost magical. How the metals come alive beneath his hands - it’s like Astarion can see it now, the heavy swing of a hammer, the delicate touch of fine tools and strong fingers to fit precious stones and bend any material to their will.

Enchanted by the other’s presence, soon their fingers intertwine, their heads so close together they can taste each other’s breath, smelling of honeyed wine as the other patrons fade away into the background. It’s only the two of them, in their own little corner of the world, lit by candlelight and sweet attention.

“I’ve never met anyone like you,” Sebastian whispers, his breath warm on Astarion’s face. Warm in the way the sun is. How much he has missed it.

“I could say the same.” They are the first genuine words Astarion has uttered in a long time. “I have met many travellers, but none of them have been like you.”

Sebastian’s eyes darken for a moment, his fingers playing with Astarion’s paler ones.

“None of them?”

Astarion grits his teeth, pressing out a truth that terrifies him.

“None of them have made me want to protect them the way you do. I’ve barely known you one night, and I cannot bear the thought of your suffering.”

Sebastian laughs the easy giggle of someone who has never known real pain.

“Why would I suffer? I am here. And… I’ve found you. A little star among mere mortals.”

No! You didn't find me. I found you, Astarion wants to scream. Run. Run while you still can.

Cazador’s frigid voice seeps back into his skull like the cold embrace of death, and Astarion’s happiness leaks out of his heart and drains away through the creaky floorboards of the tavern when his Master’s compulsion grips him tight once more.

Give them what they want. Then bring them to me.

He doesn’t want to. He tries to shut his mouth, tries to pull his hands away, but he can’t do any of it. Sebastian smiles at him, his eyes only speaking of newly found adoration and interest. Astarion wants to shove him away, but the closest he can get is pressing out a few words, as close to the truth as he can manage, though his body barely allows those.

“Oh darling, I think it’s me that found you.” Astarion’s smile burns on his lips. “You should lea-”

The words burn in his throat like bile, and as much as Astarion tries to get them out, there is nothing in all the hells and all of this world that could overcome Cazador’s command. Astarion chokes, then clears his throat and wipes away Sebastian’s concerned hand on his face, holding the sun-warmth of his hand gently. He is so full of life.

“I’m fine, my love. Just a bit of… wine stuck in my throat. Do forgive me.”

Sebastian smiles softly, his hand settling on Astarion’s pale arm, restlessly drawing intricate patterns.

“What is there to forgive? Do you need anything? Do you want me to get you something, a cup of water perhaps? Let me help you.”

“A drink would be lovely.” Astarion is desperate. Never has his heart seized like this in the face of his prey, never has he wanted to get away from a target as much as this one. Never has he hoped to forget a name as desperately.

Please, just this once.

He would beg on his knees, he would give up the last of his dignity if he had any left at all. Not this one. Not Sebastian, with his gentle eyes and his sweet smile and his delicate hands. Not Sebastian who has never done anything wrong in his life other than come to Baldur’s Gate and try to help a stranger. Not him. Anyone else, but not him.

Astarion stares after Sebastian when he gets up from his seat. A soft touch of the shoulder and Sebastian vanishes into the crowd filling the tavern, on his mission to help Astarion. If only he could be helped. If only a glass of water could fix what is broken inside him.

Astarion tries to get up, he really does. If he can leave, maybe Sebastian won’t find him, and Cazador will never have to know. Better to be bruised and beat up and hungry for an eternity, better to be degraded and burned and starved for months than to see the look on Sebastian’s face as he realises that Astarion has betrayed him. Better to let Godey break all of his bones a hundred times over than to know that Sebastian is dead because of him.

It does not help. Astarion’s fingers prickle with hatred when he digs them into the table, trying to will himself to get back up, to leave and never return. To hope that Sebastian is gone by the time Cazador lets Astarion leave the palace again. Even to be dead and buried would be better than betrayed and drained. It’s all Astarion’s fault. He should never have let it get this far, should have run the second he saw the kindness in Sebastian’s eyes.

It’s all for naught. Astarion’s skull is pounding with Cazador’s compulsion when Sebastian returns to the table, a cup of water in his hand.

Someone who makes your heart ache. Bring me them so I can make you watch, make you scream and cry and beg for their life. You know nothing you say could ever move me to let them go, but oh, how sweet it will be to hear you sing and pray to me for their release. And pray you will, boy.

Astarion smiles at Sebastian and hates himself for it.

“What are your plans for tomorrow?” he asks, even if the venom nearly clogs his throat - knowing that tomorrow will never come, not for Sebastian. He will die tonight with Cazador’s fangs in his neck, going limp like a doll as the sunlight of his life is drained from him. And Astarion will have one more name to carve into his heart.

“I’m going to the market!” Sebastian is vibrating with excitement. His hair shimmers in the low light when he bends closer. “I brought some pieces with me, and I want to see if I can get a licence to sell them, maybe down at the market by the docks. I heard there is a forge near here, I might try to find that as well. I just… I want to see as much of the city as I can before life catches up and I have to return to work.”

Astarion digs his nails into the roughed up wood of the table, but not even that pain can keep the next words from slipping over his traitorous lips.

“To the market, hm? That’s exciting, my darling. Quite the journey from here though if you want to get there early enough to ask for a trading licence. Do you know where you will stay tonight?”

His heart shatters into a million pieces at the look on Sebastian’s face: surprise that quickly changes into tentative excitement, like he can’t fully believe what Astarion is implying. He can see the flush that creeps into Sebastian’s cheeks, smell the treat that has been forbidden to him ever since he has craved it. Not even the hunger hurts as much as the inevitable pain of losing this beautiful stranger to Cazador’s greed and bloodlust.

“I was hoping I could rent a room here. But you are right, maybe it is a little far from the market,” Sebastian says, his eyes now lingering on Astarion’s lips, on his exposed neck. His heartbeat betrays him: fast and uneven, stumbling with desire Astarion was hoping would never bloom.

Take the room, he wants to say. Take it and don’t leave it until the sun is up and creatures like me have crawled back to where we came from and can’t hurt you anymore.

What he says instead makes the tips of Sebastian’s ears go flushed and rosy.

“This place is not exactly known for its trustworthy clientele either. I know… someone in the city. I’m staying at his place - if you come with me, I promise we won’t be disturbed.”

The smile on Sebastian’s face is tinted with tentative lust, his eyes wandering where he has not let himself look. Astarion curses himself as an alluring smile appears on his own lips. All he wants is to slip out of his skin and leave behind a beautiful shell, empty and void of any trace of him. Anything not to have to feel like this anymore. Dirty and used, an instrument to another’s thirst for power.

Sebastian leans in closer, his breath mingling with Astarion’s own. He smells sweet, like honeyed wine and thyme.

“What exactly are you planning to do with me if you have to make sure we won’t be disturbed?” He sounds genuinely curious in a way that makes Astarion’s breath stutter.

Another man would ask the same question, already knowing the answer, relishing the implications, the innuendo. Another man would already have his hands on Astarion’s thigh without being invited to, would already be kissing his neck without even paying attention to the telltale scars on his throat. Another man would never have taken the time to try and get to know him, would not have invited him for a drink in the tavern but shoved him up against a wall and had his way in the dark of the alley. Another man would have let his hands wander where they don’t belong, Cazador’s words stopping Astarion from doing anything about it as unwanted fingers cling to his thighs, and unwanted lips caress his chest. Another man would have deserved death. Sebastian is not another man. He deserves better, and Astarion cannot give it to him. The moment Sebastian laid eyes on him was the moment he died.

Astarion tries to find terrible solace in that as he leads Sebastian outside, their fingers interlaced as they wander through the quiet alleys of the lower city.

“Where does this friend of yours live?” Sebastian asks, his eyes full of wonder as he takes in the view of the city in the moonlight. “I- I need to paint all this tomorrow night, it’s beautiful.”

Astarion does not answer, but his fingers squeeze Sebastian’s for a second. It’s enough to make the other man turn to him. Sebastian’s face goes soft, a smile tugging at his lips.

“It’s not only the night that is beautiful. So are you,” he whispers, stepping closer, cupping Astarion’s jaw in one large hand. “If anyone could inspire me, it would be you. How did I get so lucky- my first night in the city, and I find the most beautiful man I have ever laid eyes on. I have never… no one has ever caught my attention the way you did. Not even at home- there was never anyone-”

He is rambling now, and yet all Astarion can hear is his heartbeat, so fast and excited, so nervous as he moves closer. Astarion wishes he had the strength to stop him, but even if there was any way to resist Cazador’s compulsion, his body is weak. It always has been. It has always betrayed him.

“What I mean to say is…” Sebastian hesitates. He cocks his head, unsure of how to proceed. His heartbeat is so fast Astarion thinks he can feel it in his own chest, and his hand on Astarion’s chest is warmer than the sun. “I… I have no experience in these things. Nobody has ever- well… taken me home with them. I don’t- what I mean is- will you kiss me?”

Astarion freezes, and his whole self shatters at the sweet question that nothing could have prepared him for. Sebastian’s words are extinguished by Cazador’s cold voice in the back of Astarion’s mind.

Make sure it is you they want.

Astarion is good at what he does. Better than he wants to be. They all want him. None of them ever ask if they are what he wants as well.

Sebastian’s lips are soft when Astarion’s own meet them. He is warm, so warm he seems to glow from the inside. His hands are careful, not greedy, and if Astarion could let himself, he would shatter beneath their touch. The kiss is not much more than a gentle touch of lips, not driven by hunger or desire. Sebastian’s only desire is to be known, to be tasted. It is the only wish Astarion can fulfil before he leads him to his death.

Sebastian’s breath is staggered when Astarion pulls away from him, his hands tangled in Astarion’s silvery hair. He closes his eyes and shudders, reaching out to pull Astarion against him as his back hits the wall.

“Again. Please.”

Astarion trembles. How could he say no?

He kisses Sebastian with all the desperation of someone with everything to lose.

Notice, he begs silently. Notice that something is off- wrap your hands around my neck and feel the scars- tell me how cold my skin is, see how my eyes glow in the dark- run, and I will try to let you get away.

Sebastian makes a noise in the back of his throat and parts his lips to let Astarion in, and he is lost. Astarion closes his eyes and lets it happen. There is nothing he can do, and he is so tired of fighting the inevitable.

They are both breathing hard when they break apart, Sebastian’s hands on Astarion’s waist, Astarion’s fingers digging into his shoulders as he pulls him in when all he wants to do is push him away.

“You’re incredible,” Sebastian whispers. “Astarion-”

“Sebastian,” he breathes, and that one word holds more reverence than all his prayers ever did. “Sebastian, you have to g-”

The night air changes, and all the warmth Sebastian’s presence has brought to Astarion’s bones vanishes in an instant. The cold creeps back in like iced water, and it is the coldness only death brings.

“Astarion, who have you brought me tonight?”

Astarion closes his eyes. Not here. Not now- they were supposed to have a moment more- never outside, Cazador never comes outside. He waits in his chambers like a cat waits for the mouse. Long fingers pull at his shoulders, and he can’t do anything but limply let go of Sebastian. Sebastian, whose voice is still gentle, but also scared and confused. Sebastian, who slips away as Cazador commands Astarion to leave.

When before, all Astarion wanted to do was tell him to run, he knows now that it is too late. And he wished for the impossible: To die by Sebastian’s side.

“I- what? Astarion, what is-” Sebastian’s voice is rough with terror, and Astarion can’t look at him. Cazador’s fingers dig into his skin.

“Did you think you had found the love of your life? Did you think he would save you?” The world sinks into darkness as Astarion is dragged away. Cazador hisses the words, and there is no telling whether he is speaking to him or Sebastian. “Oh, come now, boy. You should know better than that. He is not your saviour- he is your ruin.”

The sharp hand lets go of Astarion, and suddenly, cold lips are near his ear, whispering words addressed only to him.

“Keep your eyes open. I want you to watch.”

There is a fraction of a second where Astarion can scream, but it’s too late already. Sharp fangs sink into Sebastian’s neck, and Astarion watches, wide-eyed. His throat burns with words he wishes he could have spoken before, and his cheeks are suddenly wet with tears.

“Sebastian!” Astarion does not recognise his own voice, broken and bizarre in the face of this impossibility he knew was coming. “Sebastian, I’m so-”

The last thing Astarion sees is the hatred in Sebastian’s eyes that burns like a thousand dying suns. Then, Cazador’s staff comes down and the world goes dark.

The return of Angstarion. I hope this concept consumes you all as much as it has consumed me.

@purgetrooperfox @ashotofspotchka @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @ulchabhangorm @samspenandsword @rescuethewretched @pinkiemme @baba-fett @witchklng @ladykatakuri @certified-anakinfucker @fanfiction-i-llike @voidinfernal @foxferret02 @rosieofcorona @savagemickey03 @perseny @margoisthemoon2 @shiiunn @saucyhedgehog @tonysoffice @pupshr00m @supercalifragilisticprincess @palpipeen @silly-gooseastarion @mila-bee @shit-i-say-throughout-the-day @idkwhatsgoingonwithme @aeryntheofficial @jekasha @gub @nogitsune-the @solarrexplosion @hexqueensupreme @unofficialavenger90 @frankiesghost @curtaincaramba @kimiheartblade @niqhtfell @campfull-of-weirdos

Extra special mention to @babygirljoelmiller for being so brave and finishing Cazador's palace.

#angstarion #astarion #bg3 #astarion x sebastian #sebastian bg3 #oh lord this took a toll on me fr #nsft #baldur's gate #angst

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iamgodsoopsie · 3 months

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Astarion Headcanons (that you probably WILL like) Pt. 1:

More Astarion headcanons that are mostly me projecting onto a fictional character to help me process my own trauma but this time they're HAPPIER!

BG3 does an excellent job at depicting SA trauma and the beginning of the healing process/journey. Many of the headcanons I've seen floating around (intentionally or unintentionally) gloss over the uglier side of healing from (prolonged) trauma. I'm not judging anyone for magically healing him, he's fictional after all, but I'd like to make some more ...realistic... headcanons.

Disclaimer: Everyone's healing process looks different, but they tend share commonalities. These headcanons are based on my own experiences. Not everyone who is healing from their trauma will experience what I have or have experienced it like I have.

[Please don't message me with explicit details about your trauma. I am at the point in my healing journey where I can share my experiences, and commiserate with other's similar experiences, but I am unable to support others in a more personal manner at this time. I wish you the best of luck in your healing process/ journey.]

Spoiler Warning!

Mental illness, SA, & DV Trigger Warnings

These headcanons are based on an Astarion who is still a spawn and romantically involved with a Tav who honestly loves him and isn't abusive or manipulative. Also Cazador is dead and Astarion got to stab him. They also assume that he himself does not turn into Cazador 2.0 or Wish.com Cazador.

He didn't realize how much tension he was carrying until he started healing his trauma.

-> He was inflicted with so much pain on the daily that the tension caused by chronic stress didn't register.

->-> One day he realizes that being tense is no longer his default. He is relaxed in a way he didn't know was possible.

->->-> He feels free. Well and truly free.

He still has panic attacks and flashbacks, but they're lessening in frequency and intensity.

-> Finally being in tune with his body, he is now able to feel when he is getting to a not so great headspace.

->-> He is able to stop the panic attacks/ episodes before they even begin.

->->-> He is very proud of this. As he should be!

↑ He feels actual self-pride and has good self-esteem. What was once a haughty façade is now a proud reality.

-> He's still an arrogant little shit, but now he is one (almost) purely for trolling lmao. He's a high elf after all, snobbery is in their nature.

Restful sleep/ trance!

->->The first time he sleeps/trances through the night day without nightmares or horrific memories plaguing him is a big day for him.

He likes being "alive". Even though he can't enjoy life in the sun (for now). Even with his ever present hunger. For the first time in a long time the good outweighs the bad.

He has hope again. And it almost feels better than freedom, almost.

#astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion hc #astarion headcanon #astarion headcanons #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 spoilers #cw #tw mental illness #tw sa #bg3

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shimmerwindow · 2 months

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I Never Really

Part Fourteen

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: None

Playlist | Masterlist

Tag List: @jazzyfigz @dont-go-home-without-me @poochiesworld @stardustcatcher @83rkblogs @jaketsguitar @dannys-dream @gretavanfan @do-it-jakey-baby @gvfpal @ignite-my-fire @gardensgatekeeper @torniturntomyarrow

You weren’t sure if it was the morning sun creeping in through the windows, or the chattering next to you that woke you up. You turned over, feeling drained but light as a feather, and Sam was there. The night before came back in pieces, slowly, one by one as your hungover mind could process them. You were in Sam’s bed, in his house, staring at him while he slept. And he was talking in his sleep. It was all nonsense mumbles, but his face contorted as if he was having a regular conversation with you.

The urge to be closer to him was something you could not fight. You pulled a bit closer to him, draping an arm over his waist under the covers. He stirred, mumbling a few more words before going quiet, one eye cracking open to look at you. A smile formed across his face almost immediately upon seeing you.

“Did I wake you up?” You whispered.

“Yeah, but I’m glad you did.” His voice was cracked and sleepy, barely more than a mumble.

“Good morning.”

“Morning, sunshine.”

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you tight to his chest and letting out a contented sigh. “How’re you feeling?”

“Hungover.”

“Me too.”

You would have laid here with him until the house crumbled around you if you could. His warmth, the scent of his skin, the feeling of his lips softly pressing a kiss to your forehead, it was purely divine. A high you’d never thought you could reach, nor deserved to. You still didn’t feel worthy, when he tilted your face up with a finger on your chin to kiss you. There was no way you were lucky enough to be able to watch those amber eyes close and those soft, pink lips turn up into a smile before they met yours.

You were in and out of sleep for who-knows-how-long, your positions changing, but never breaking contact. Even in sleep, you needed his skin against yours. The sound of the front door loudly closing behind someone was what finally shook you from your dozing, likely the last passed-out partygoer finding their way outside.

“You want breakfast?” Sam mumbled into your ear, his body cradled around yours. “Or, I guess…” he grabbed his phone from the nightstand, flashing it at you to show you the time was nearly noon. “Lunch?”

“Breakfast-lunch?”

“Blunch?”

You giggled, nuzzling yourself closer to him. “Yeah, I’d love some blunch. But I think most people call it brunch.”

“Let’s go. I’ll make you something.” He rolled over, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to eat much,” you warned, taking note of the nausea that washed over you occasionally.

“Eat as little as you want, I won’t be offended.” He looked down at you with a grin, offering his hand to help you up.

He led you downstairs, grabbing you a blanket from the linen closet, practically demanding you make yourself comfortable on the couch. You stared at the beams in the ceiling, listening to the rustling and rattling of him in the kitchen. As the scent of food started to waft into the living room, you were struck with a deep calm, and an intense hunger you didn’t think you could feel after how much you'd drank.

It was cozy here. Despite the coldness that old houses tended to harbor, there was a distinct warmth to it that you couldn’t quite place. Maybe a combination of everything, you guessed. It must have been the welcoming environment, the decor, and the fact that you always felt whole here. The house seemed empty, to your knowledge, but it still held the bright energy of the party the night before – and it wasn’t just the empty cups and cans strewn about every surface.

“Where is everybody?” You called to Sam.

“Josh is out, he texted me earlier. Daniel is MIA. Jake is here, or at least his car is.”

There it was again, that knot of anxiety that would sprout up any time he was around. You tried to push the feeling away, skirting around it in your mind, focusing on the outside world instead.

“D’you like eggs?” He asked, over the sizzling sound of the stove.

“Depends if you’re a good cook or not.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” He peered around the doorway at you. “I was born to cook.”

“That so?”

“I was born with a whisk in my hand.” He disappeared back into the kitchen, returning later with two plates. He danced over to you to the beat of whatever song was stuck in his head, handing you a plate with a flourish. “Your blunch.”

Any remnants of nausea chased itself away, looking down at the feast he’d made for you. It looked delectable. Everything you liked, and all of it was done picture-perfect.

“You made this so fast,” you commented, taking it from him and scooting yourself into a sitting position.

He sat down next to you, and gave you a proud smile. “Course I did. I’m hungry.”

The two of you ate in silence – it was too good to be interrupted with words. The occasional stunned glance and point of your fork was all you needed to communicate.

When the dishes were empty, piled in the sink for someone else’s part of the chore list, he wandered over to his piano in the connected room. “Wonder if this will make my headache better or worse,” he laughed. “Do you mind?”

You were looking at him over the back of the couch, his hands extended towards the piano. “I don’t mind at all. As long as you don’t suck.”

“Guess you’ll have to be the judge of that.”

He started up a soft, slow melody, something you’d never heard before. It was quieter than you’d expected. The most you knew about piano was randomly poking at the keys, you didn’t know it could sound like this. You laid back down on the couch, breathing deeply and trying to cement this moment into your mind. The ceiling was no longer unfamiliar to you, you realized.

You hadn’t noticed how dull your world had become until now, when everything was filled with so much color. The sun shone brighter, the paint on the walls was more vibrant, your blood coursed under your skin with a renewed vigor. Like you were finally emerging from a dark night, the sun was returning to your sky. Your eyes slipped shut, lulled into a deep sense of relaxation by his gentle playing. You hadn’t even realized the music stopped until you felt the back of his hand graze across your cheek.

“You must be tired. I should get you home.”

You checked your phone, sighing as you realized there were only a few hours of daylight left. You hated these short days.

“I don’t wanna go.”

“I know. I don’t want you to go, either.”

“My clothes…” you looked down at yourself, still clad in the clothes he’d given you.

“I’ll get them to you. I’ll see you soon.” He brought you your coat and your shoes, which had somehow ended up in different rooms, and you followed him out of the house.

“Heard there’s a storm coming in,” he mentioned, pointing out the dark clouds looming on the horizon.

“Thank god I’ve got nothing to do but sit at home.”

“Let me know if you get bored,” he smiled down at you. “I’ll trudge through a snowstorm to get you.”

“Uphill both ways, too?”

“Over an active volcano and across a frozen lake. It’s a terrifying journey.”

You rubbed your fingers together in his car, desperately trying to warm up against the frigid air as he drove off. It was quiet between you for a bit, though you could feel the tension of words building behind both of your mouths.

“So…” you began, a thousand words crashing to the front of your mind all at once.

He looked at you for a moment, his eyes inquisitive. That feeling burst through you again, a bolt of pure electricity so intense it made you jump a bit. It was him. He was here with you. He shared the same feelings you'd been hiding and fighting for months.

“So what now?” You asked.

“What do you mean?”

“What are we…what’re we doing? What do you want?” It sounded so silly, coming out of your mouth, such an open-ended question.

“What do you want?”

“I…” you paused, trying to find words that would not come.

“I mean, I’d love it if we were, like…” He didn’t finish, but you could fill in the gaps just fine.

Your head was spinning, and it wasn’t just from the lingering hangover. You’d really never thought it through this far. It had been such a pipe dream in your eyes, to even be this close to him, that you’d never considered what you would actually do if the feeling was mutual. “I need time.” You didn’t want to say it, but your mind won out over your heart. “I need to focus on school. Next year is my last. I can’t fuck it up.”

The light seemed to fade from his eyes, just a little bit, in a way only you would be able to notice. “I get it. I should do the same.”

“But I don’t want to just drag you along for another year. I…” I love you. “I care about you. I want you to be happy.”

“I’ll be plenty happy as long as I get to be near you. I don’t need anything more than that.”

You almost didn’t want that to be true. It was impossible for you to process that he really could like you that much. After all the convincing of your own mind that he barely cared about you, this was a jarring switch.

“You know, I really didn’t think you liked me that much.”

“Really?” He raised an eyebrow at you. “Did I not make it obvious enough?”

Looking back now, he so clearly had, but you’d been too caught up in your doubts to realize it. “I think I was too busy convincing myself that you didn’t like me.”

“Well, if it’s not clear yet, I do like you.”

Every admission of those words was just as shocking as the first.

“Isn’t this nice?” He added as he pulled up to the dorms, throwing the car in park. “We’re actually just talking for once.”

“It is nice.” There was a long pause between the two of you. Neither of you wanted to part. “I should go.”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Would you mind if I…” he leaned a bit closer to you, wrapping his arm around the back of your seat. He didn't need to finish his sentence, and you agreed wordlessly, cupping a hand around his cheek.

You kissed him, and it felt so different. It was so delicate, the way he wrapped his fingers around your jaw. His skin was soft under the touch of your fingers, you could feel the slightest hint of stubble when you brushed your thumb across his jawline. Everything felt so real, but it was so hard to believe this was your reality.

“You don’t have to ask every time you kiss me,” you said softly when he pulled away.

“Is it so bad to be respectful?” He grinned. “I just…lo–” His mouth clamped shut, stopping the word, but your body stiffened either way. “Like you. A lot.”

Clearly, both of you would need time to adjust before you could hear that word from your lips.

“I know.” You looked him over, tracing your eyes over that flawless jawline. “Alright. I need to go.”

“Yes, go, go.” He waved his hand at you. “And go take care of that too.” He pointed at your bandaged hand.

You sighed, staring down at the gauze wrapped around your palm. “It’s gonna be such a bitch to deal with this. I wish I could just slap a band aid on it.”

“Hoping it heals nice and fast. Glad it wasn't any deeper, at least.”

“True.” You were making idle talk now, coming up with any excuse to not leave his presence. “Okay, I’m actually gonna go this time.”

“Alright. Take care of yourself. I can’t wait to see you again.”

“Same to you,” you smiled. “See you soon.”

You gave him one last kiss before you hoisted yourself out of his car, bracing against the wind and snow until you made it inside. He waved at you, and drove off, out into what was shaping up to be quite the blizzard.

Finally alone in your room, you didn’t quite know what to do with yourself. You went about your usual motions in a daze, turning on the lights and lighting a candle, before sitting in your bed. Staring at your hands, watching your fingers shake, nothing felt real. Like you were a blade of grass that had been ripped from the ground and thrown to the wind, you had nothing holding you down anymore.

The soreness in your body was a poignant reminder of the night before. That, and the way your hand throbbed if you focused on it a bit too hard. He really harbored a deep, genuine care for you, you thought. He’d been so gentle and thoughtful when he was patching you up, and even the sex just felt different than anything you were used to.

Your room no longer had the cold, dark, empty feel you were so used to. It was brighter, warmer, filled to the brim with the love that poured out from your heart. Even as the light started to fade from the sky, things still felt more vibrant than they had in a long time. You couldn’t bring yourself to do much more than sit around for the remainder of the day, listening to music and scrolling mindlessly on your phone, barely absorbing anything you saw. You were too busy thinking about Sam.

Sweet, sweet Sammy. You were a bit anxious, but excited, to see how this all would play out. Who would say that four-letter word first, the one he almost said in the car earlier? What would happen the next time you saw him? You sighed, falling back and allowing your head to hit your pillows. You needed time to adjust to this, to really comprehend that he wanted you. You needed time to focus on yourself, and that was the hardest part.

Worries started to swirl in the pit of your stomach. You had to hope that he would be willing to be dragged along for an entire year and a half. And you had to hope you would actually be able to focus on your degree, the thing that was most important to you right now. This coming semester, and the year after it, were essential. You needed everything to be perfect if you wanted to continue on to a Master’s some day, like you planned.

And there was still the issue of Jake. You groaned and ran your hands across your face, cursing your past self for being so stupid. If you hadn’t been so touch-starved, so eager to fall into the first set of arms that were offered, you wouldn’t even have to worry about this right now. You’d need to start preparing for how you would go about telling Sam. It would be uncomfortable, maybe even catastrophic, but it would need to be done. You refused to live inside a lie, not forever.

The storm outside began to worsen, wind whipping through the screen on your window and making the building creak and groan. You were finally able to pull yourself out of bed to shower once the light had almost fully left the sky, and snow was packed against your window sill. But before you could, you needed to deal with the gauze on your hand.

Gingerly, you unwrapped it, letting the bloodied bandage fall into the trash. He was right, it wasn’t very deep, but it was long, spanning half the width of your palm, across the lines creased into your skin. It would absolutely leave a scar, a permanent reminder of your first night with Sam. It was fitting, and poetic, in a way that almost annoyed you.

When you returned to your room after your shower, there was a text waiting for you, from Sam.

thanks for coming (lol) last night. i had a great time, hope you did too. miss you already

You giggled to yourself, sitting in bed and hovering your fingers over the keyboard, a wave of giggles hitting you every time you re-read his text. You were so hopelessly in love it was ridiculous. You tried to think of a good way to reply as you taped a band-aid to your palm, which had begun to bleed a bit again during your shower.

i had such a great time :) thanks for making me come (lol)

LMAO

hope u have a good night!

you too miss eclipse

You put your phone down, struck by the urge to scream, or throw something, but in the best way possible. A grin was stuck on your face for the rest of the night. It felt so good to finally have someone like him. It stung a bit that he was so close, yet so far away, but knowing he would come over at the drop of a hat was more than enough to sate you. It was not perfect, but it seemed like things were finally, finally looking up.

#a little valentines treat for my wonderful readers #love you guys!#greta van fic #greta van fleet fanfiction #greta van fleet fic #gvf fanfiction #gvf fic #sam kiszka fanfiction #sam kiszka fic #sam kiszka x reader #sam kiszka x y/n #inr #i never really

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clatoera · 5 months

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Always Remember We're Burned For Better Epilogue: I Vow I Will Always Be Yours, For We Survived the Great War

Here we are. The end of an era. I have..so much to say.

First of all..if you do not like the canon epilogue you will not like this. If you do not like the choices Katniss makes you will not make the choices they make.

Secondly...This fic took me exactly forty weeks to write. That is intentional, as forty weeks is the length of an average pregnancy is forty weeks. This is my baby. You have all travelled with me from the middle of my third year until the middle of my residency interview season. I hope you will continue to follow for what comes next, but this is my baby. Today I release her into the world for the last time, and I am incredibly sad about it. Thank you for loving her with me.

Third.. I hope along this journey you have grown to empathize with the four careers of the first Hunger Games Book. I hope you see them as the children they were, I hope you have even grown to care about them. I am a careers apologist (one of the OGs thank you very much) and I hope you have all opened your hearts to them, as well.

Finally.. thank you. I will never be able to thank you all enough for your endless support and comments and likes and reblogs and asks. Thank you to you all. I of course want to give shoutouts as usual. There are so many people beyond this list. Who I don't know well, or I don't talk to enough to want to bother them with a tag (like you @dukeysquid I dont want to bother you). But you are ALL seen. You are all loved.

I cant give one to the og, who has to keep her socials clean, but you know who you are. You are the first person I ever told about this fic, and have been around for allll the changes. Thank you friend.

@mollywog a TRUE og who has stuck around even though this fic is far far from her usual andher cup of tea. She's a real one. I love her. I thank you, friend.

@cyansadness another OG friend. I don't even know what you're into these days..but thank you for listening to the earlier iterations.

@bodyelectric77 a NEW friend, who has given me such insight on Enobaria and the older careers. Thank you for taking a chance on this fic which is not in your usual wheelhouse.

@crookedlyniceperson I am so sad for my last set of memes, but so thankful for the memes that brought us together. Thank you, and I cannot believe the insane AU in our DMs that I'm going to bring up after this immediately in the DMs. Thank you.

@clarascrabarmy ANOTHER OG who I always feel like i'm bothering, but I could COUNT ON YOU to read these when I was dropping them at 4 am when I was on night shift. I love you, and I thank you.

@lwveless my little college baby I dont know if you're even around but I wanted to give you love for loving Marvel with me.

@kentwells a TRUE BACKBONE of this fic. A sounding board of all my insanity. I want you ALL to know that the outcome of Glimmer and Marvel (Namely them not being back together) is entirely her fault <3 It was her idea and it is her fault. I love you. I love you. I love you.

Ultimately, I cannot thank @ohhowwehavefallen enough. In the last nine months you have become one of my legitimate besties. You have supported me here and in my actual life beyond anything I can put into words here. Our constant, non stop Clato aus and talks literally keep me going on my bad days. I love you. I thank you. And of NOTE: She is entirely responsible for the wedding rites of District Two. I struggled so much creating them, it took me forever to figure out and I owe the answer to you. I owe this fic to you. I love you. Thank you bestie.

Fun facts:

The kids at the end are not named because it is hard to name them but I have ideas <3

There are jokes for most of my friends here

The sequel is called Picket Fences, Sharp as Knives (High Infidelity, Taylor Swift)

Alright.

AO3

tumblr masterpost

Title from The Great War, Taylor Swift.

The End.

Thirteen months after the end of the war

“Clove, stand still.” Glimmer clicks her tongue, hands tugging tighter the fabric at the small of Clove’s back for emphasis. “If you fidget I can’t get these buttons. I don’t know what I was thinking when I added them, knowing Cato’s probably just going to rip them off like a heathen–”

“Oh no he won’t, Glimmer, you have no idea how much he’s going to love it.” Clove assured, taking in the length of her body in the mirror. It was the first time she had seen the dress too, and unsurprisingly Glimmer did far surpass any expectation she had. “You missed your calling with design, seriously, this is insane. You made this?”

The ivory crepe fabric was fit like a second skin through her thighs, where it fell freely to the floor, even fanning out a little behind her. The trail end of the train had little windows of lace, with the entire trim a continuous border of hand placed lace appliqués. The top of the dress was similarly overlain with lace, a few pieces trailing up at her hips before coming to cover the entire top half of the dress. The thin v-shaped straps were made of the intentionally placed lace, and though the entire back of the dress was open from the middle of her back upwards, a couple appliqués seem to float along the top of the fabric. Even the open sides are overlapped with the ivory design. The most unexpected aspect may be the deep cut of the sweetheart neckline, and the large strip of open skin from her neck to midway down her sternum.

“Of course I made it Clove! It’s just for you! I even used the lace from that dress, like you wanted. I was worried I didn’t have enough but with the open neckline I made it work.” Glimmer hooks the last button with the use of her littlest finger nail, pushes herself to standing. “It’s going to be the only wedding dress I ever make, though. It’s an honor but I was so afraid of messing it up. Besides…everyone else is dead, already married, or not going to be.”

Clove turns to the side, catching the back of the dress in the mirror so she can fully appreciate it. She could not, no matter even if she wanted, wipe the smile that stretched across her face. “I know you think the deep plunge is a lot, but I don’t want to ruin it with blood–”

“I know, I know, you District Two freaks have a fucking blood ritual.” Glimmer bristles, taking her hand to wipe at Clove’s side, to swipe away some of the golden glitter from her own dress that transferred in the hustle and bustle of getting dressed. “You know in District One we just exchange jewelry like normal people.”

“We do that too.” Clove teases, bringing her left hand up to wiggle her fingers in front of Glimmer’s face. There was certainly no lack of the jewelry aspect either, with a flashy, oval shaped diamond with the equally shining gold band that had come to live on Clove’s left hand. “And it’s not a District Two tradition, Glimmer, it’s a District Two Victor tradition. We are the only ones that are left– we’re also the only two victors who have ever married each other. We have to do it.”

Glimmer grabs at Clove’s left hand, running her thumb over the diamond with a reverence only a girl from One, especially one with no marriage prospects of her own, would manage. “I just want to know how he got it. The diamond mines in one have been closed from the war, this should be impossible to get. I’ll never get my hands on one of these, and my cousin worked in gemstone acquisition. I should theoretically have a whole closet full.”

If she can smile any bigger, she somehow manages. Clove twists at the ring on her finger, exceptionally excited to add another band underneath in just a short hour. “He’s had it for years. From before the war, back before the Quarter Quell....he had it since the seventy fourth games.”

“I don’t think anyone loves anyone else more than he loves you.” There is a wistful edge to her voice that Glimmer tries her best to tamper, though the loss of love still does not sting any less even now, almost exactly one year after the end of the war. “It’s extraordinary.”

Clove grabs Glimmer by her wrists, wrapping the woman’s arms around her waist so they were half hugging, still facing the mirror. Glimmer rests her chin on top of Clove’s shoulder, careful not to disrupt the soft, free flowing curls that were still cooling at her shoulders. “Thank you, Glimmer.”

Clove takes a moment to soak in Glimmer, too. She would have laughed, and maybe stabbed, anyone who told her two or three years ago that Glimmer Belcourt from District One would be standing here getting her ready for her wedding. And yet, here she was.

Looking at their reflection in the mirror she could see there was finally a little bit more to Glimmer, far more like the girl she met in the capitol, and not like the starved skeleton of a girl she found in district thirteen. Her hair was perfectly curled and incredibly shiny. Her skin had the healthiest, most intrinsic glow to it, with the most beautiful pink flush in her cheeks. Even the gold shimmery ball gown– yes, ball gown– that she wore only added to the warm tones in her skin. Oh Glimmer, how she did indeed shine once again.

“Glimmer? Why did you pick a glittery ball gown for a wedding in my backyard?” Clove raises a dark eyebrow, craning her neck to make eye contact with Glimmer directly rather than with their reflections. “It is summer, isn’t all that tulle going to weight you down.”

Glimmer cracks a smile– a genuine, gorgeous smile that Clove had not seen since a time before the war, a time before Glimmer’s heart was broken, a time long ago on a rooftop in the capitol– and gives half a shrug. “I don’t think I'm going to get many opportunities after this. I always wanted to wear one.” She steps back, giving a little spin for Clove to truly appreciate her hard work on her own dress. It was solid gold, glitter covering every spot of the tulle underneath. The dress sat just off her shoulder like a princess, and truthfully the dress moved around her like something of a fairy tale. “Cash always got to wear big princess dresses in her interviews and parties and stuff after she won. I was so jealous, and when I won I was so so excited to get my turn. Cash was always in pink and I was hoping I’d get the same..they skipped the ballgown stage with me and went right to the– yeah. I just…always wanted to wear one. They never let me be pretty, it was always sexy and sultry and glamorous. I just wanted to be pretty. And today is my last chance… Thank you, Clove. For letting me have this.”

Clove’s hand slips down to grab Glimmer’s and gives the softest squeeze. “You look so, so pretty. You look beautiful.”

“You look beautiful, Clove. Thank you for letting me be part of this. Even though I am your only friend–” Glimmer teases, smile never leaving her face, revealing that it is truly just a joke.

“Oh way to ruin me trying to be nice,” Clove taunts, but turns to face the mirror once again. “Thank you, too, Glimmer. For all of it. The dress. Being here. Buttoning me in.”

“Of course! Now, I think I'm about done…oh! Do you need lipstick, I know you’ll just get it all over him, but–”

“Blood ritual, Glimmer.”

“Right. Freaks. Okay!” Glimmer reaches down to fan Clove’s dress out behind her, gently running her hand over Clove’s bare arm. “Okay. You look beautiful. Enobaria should be in soon to do your hair… I’ll see you out there.” She pauses, taking a moment to appreciate her months of hard work, finally coming to a head on Clove’s body. She lets out a content little sigh, approving of her work, approving of the little victor girl in front of her. “I’m just… really really happy for you, Clove.” She squeezes her arm one last time before slipping out the door, a flurry of gold and glitter.

Clove takes her final moment alone to look at herself in the mirror. She looks more adult than she ever has in her entire life, in a tight white dress, long dark curls free around her shoulders. It is different than any other time she has been dressed like this in her life. There is no Capitol makeup obscuring her freckles, no intricate twists and pins in her hair. Notably, of course, are the faded scars along her shoulders, elbows, wrists. In a different world her scars would be wiped away, her skin unblemished and holding no evidence of the horrors she endured. Now her skin bears the proof of her survival.

She had begged Glimmer to give her sleeves to cover them. Glimmer in return had insisted there just wasn’t enough lace for sleeves, and even if it were untrue, maybe now Clove could see that she was right to deny her request.

Her moment alone is only brief, when the bedroom door in her usually untouched Victor’s Village house flies open again. This time, another blonde flurry of tulle rushes in, this one only half the size of the last.

Cora rushes in, in her little white dress. It’s gorgeous, too, with layers and layers of tulle with beautiful hand beading on the edges that make her look like she wears snow covered rose petals. Glimmer clearly spent excessive time on this dress, too.

“What else am I going to do with my time?” Glimmer had asked when Clove insisted she didn’t need to go to all these lengths for them.

Clove turns from the mirror to look at her sister in law, and with the girl’s ever increasing height she doesn't even need to kneel to hug her any longer. “Oh you look like a princess, Cora.” She pulls her into her arms, leaning down to kiss the top of her perfect, ringlet curls. “An absolute princess.” She does crouch down just a little, holding Cora’s angelic little face in either of her hands to look at her from eye level.

“Cato’s jeeeeealous I get to see you and he can’t.” Cora gives her a mischievous smile, one that Clove had seen on Cato hundreds of times and hopefully would see hundreds more. “You look soooo pretty Clove..” Cora reaches her hand out and gently touches the lace on Clove’s hip. “This is so sparkly.”

Clove puts her hand on top of Cora’s, squeezing so gently. “Glimmer really knows what she’s doing, huh?”

At the mention of the blonde woman Cora somehow lights up even more. When Cora met Glimmer it was like the stars aligned for them both. Glimmer, who needed to see this beautiful little girl grow up safe, loved, and far from the grasp of the games and the capitol and Snow’s best clients. Cora, who thinks she has a real life princess in her family, to teach her all the things Clove never got to learn as an orphan girl. “She has a pretty princess dress, too, Clove.”

“You should tell her that, she’ll love to hear it.” Clove straightened herself, afraid to wrinkle the tight fabric of her gown. “Thank you for coming over to see me, since everyone’s probably having so much fun over with Cato.”

Cora gives a little half shrug, bouncing forward onto her toes before rocking back onto her little mary jane heels. “Marvel is lying on the couch saying he’s sick, and he won’t get up. Finnick is telling him to rally.. What does ‘rally’ mean, Clove?”

Clove’s eyes go wide, and she would not be shocked if alarm is written on her face. That is not something she was anticipating explaining to Cora for at least seven or eight more years. “You know, you should ask Cato when you go back, that sounds like a boy thing.”

The little girl accepts that answer, and nods enthusiastically. “Okay! Oh! Clove! I have a present for you!”

“A present for me?” Clove kneels down to her height again, disregarding the fear over wrinkles and creases in the fabric. There was so much more in life than the perfect press of a dress. “That's so sweet, Cora, you didn’t have to do that–”

“It’s yours though!” Cora digs into the little pocket of her dress, fishing out a little silver pile that she holds out in the palm of her hand towards Clove. “You told me to keep it safe, see? Do you wanna wear it?”

It takes all in Clove not to grab the necklace out of her hand, to snatch it and keep it safe as soon as she recognizes what it is. She doesn’t have to, because Cora unclips it for her and gestures like she wants to secure it around her neck for her. With a nod, Clove pulls her hair out of the way, and blinks hard, willing away tears that would otherwise ruin the minimal makeup she was amenable to wearing. Clove runs the tip of her fingers over the script C, the sterling silver chain tarnished and worn, emblematic of over twenty years of wear.

Clove pulls her in, both hands around her little shoulders as her hand comes to cradle the back of her head. “Thank you, Cora Jade. Thank you so much for keeping it safe for me.” She kisses the side of her temple as the door flies open once again.

“Clove lets get this- oh! Cora. Cato is looking for you.” Enobaria warns before she steps into the room. “Something about getting to sample the cookies–”

“Bye Clove!”

The little girl nearly runs out the door and out the door before Clove can process it, and she is left staring at the doorway where Enobaria enters.

“God damn, look at you Enobaria” Clove calls out, pursing her lips and looking her mentor up and down. Enobaria rolls her eyes but leans on the door frame. She’s opted for a well tailored black velvet suit, except that her skin is completely bare underneath the jacket that is held together with a single gold button. Her natural curls frame her face, tamed only by the gold victor’s crown around the center of her forehead. “You look hot.”

“Yeah, well, were you expecting me to be in a ballgown like Glitter, she looks ridiculous. I didn’t know we were playing dress up today.” Enobaria flashes her a coy grin, a grin that is no longer serrated like a shark, but restored to her natural, blunt smile after the war. No need to upkeep a defense when the threat is eliminated.

“Oh be nice, she feels pretty, Baria. Let her feel pretty.” Clove warns, holding her hands out to take the bundle of flowers that Enobaria brings her in her left hand. “And it’s Glimmer, You really should know her name if you’re going to continue to sleep with her sister.”

“Chill, I know her name. And I'm kidding, I had to talk Cash out of feathers this morning. You’re welcome.” Enobaria’s eyes roam from her toes to the tip of her head and she gives just the slightest nod of approval. “You look like such a grown up.”

“I’ve been an adult for a minute, Baria.” Clove reminds her, but does turn her head to catch her appearance in the mirror once again. She feels almost vain for the way she keeps looking at herself, but if there is ever a moment to feel that, it’s now. “I feel like I wore a lot of dresses on the tour that showed a lot of skin, too-”

“And you were a child, then. A little girl playing dress up, even if you didn’t think so. Now, you look like such a woman. You are just beautiful” Enobaria comes behind Clove, and brushes her hair back off of her lace capped shoulders. She looks at their shared reflection a little longer, and Enobaria can’t help but imagine Clove’s mother would have looked all the same.

“Noone uses that word very often for me, but you all keep saying it today.” Clove shifts the flowers in her hands– she isn’t entirely sure what they are but they are red and white and there is no rose in sight– and swallows her pride as she locks eyes with Enobaria. “You told me I was going to thank you, one day. Back when you told me you were pulling us from the same games. You said I’d thank you one day, and I guess that day is today. Thank you. For not letting us kill each other, or die together. Thank you for keeping me alive my entire life. In so many ways, I wouldn’t be here right now, if you hadn’t been there.”

“Keep telling me I'm right, I like to hear you admit it.” Enobaria teases, but gently squeezes both of her arms. “I’m proud of you, Clove. Do I wish it were literally anyone but Cato, yes, but I'm still proud of you.” Before Clove can refute, she turns her away from the mirror and to face her. “I’m kidding. I’m not kidding about the fact that we all know you should have chosen something other than white to wear considering what you did on national television–”

“Enobaria!”

“I’m proud of you. I mean it. Now. Lift your chin.” Enobaria nudges the tip of her chin up with her knuckle, before reaching to lift the golden band of metal from inside her suit pocket.

She centers Clove’s head, before gently and intentionally placing her well earned Victor’s crown along the top of her head. Once it is settled she pulls her loose curls to the front, untucking pieces from behind her ear. Once she is happy, she places her hands on Clove’s shoulders and twists her to face the mirror. “There. You’re ready. The last Victor of District Two..”

It had been a debate, how many of the traditions to follow. District Two had enough Victors that they had their own marriage traditions. It was questionable, if in a world without games did it really make sense to wear the crowns and say the lines? Ultimately they decided, yes. Because before they were here, before they were considered rebels, before they were even victors…they were partners. Partners who gave their entire lives to end up here.

“Thank you.” Clove emphasizes again, nodding at herself in the mirror. The dress, the flowers, the crown… he’ll love it. “I think i’m ready.”

“Perfect. I’ll see you down there then. If you change your mind just say the word, we can sneak out the front.” Enobaria promises, stepping back, giving her one final look over before turning to leave. “Good luck.”

“Wait!” Clove freezes, suddenly overly aware of the pounding in her chest, the deafening sound of her own heartbeat in her ears. She has not done any of this alone, and she will not start now. “Will you walk with me?”

Enobaria pauses, and cocks her head as if she’s debating it before cracking a smile and holding out her hand. “Thought you’d never ask, kid”

Clove is unsure if she blacks out in the following moments or if time skips on her, but the next thing she knows is she is on the other end of a short aisle from Cato.

Cato. Identical crown on his head, perfectly tailored black tuxedo clinging in all the right ways. She notices the white button down underneath is unbuttoned most of the way down his chest, and if she weren’t so aware of the blood pounding in her ears she’d make fun of him for it.

She wants to kiss that absolutely infuriating smirk off his face, and she’s about to. When Clove looks up and catches his eyes with her own she is sure her heart stopped. She’s vaguely aware of Enobaria to her right, holding her arm and guiding her the twenty or so steps, but all Clove really can recognize is him.

She doesn’t absorb their friends line either side of the short aisle, in perfectly floral lined chairs. Johanna making a face, or Annie and Finnick waving with their baby. She doesn’t notice that Glimmer is sitting directly beside Marvel, her dress acting practically as a blanket over Marvel’s hands. Cashmere and Gloss are there, somewhere amongst the florals. She does not notice Cato’s mother in the front or little Cora in her lap. There are others– kids they went to the academy with, friends of his parents– but none of them matter, not now.

All Clove knows is that the second she’s in reach of him, he grabs her by the forearms and pulls her into a burning, heated kiss with a hand on her face. Clove half heartedly tosses the flowers in her hands in the general direction of Glimmer, and grabs firmly on the unbuttoned edges of his shirt to pull him into her.

“Hey! Not yet.” Brutus interrupts from his place at the head of the altar and the laughs of their friends pull them out of their locked embrace.

Even when they pull away, his hands are still on her hips, holding her flush against him. “Hi.” He whispers, a boyish smile spread across his face, a joy in his eyes that she isn’t sure she’s ever seen.

“Hi.” Clove whispers back, a heat in her face that she is all too aware of as she catches the way his eyes are trailing down the front of her dress and her body.

Brutus must repeat himself once or twice before finally reaching out and breaking the reverie in which they stare at each other by nudging Cato’s shoulder.

“For the third time…” He starts, and the distinct howling laugh of Johanna firmly plants them in reality. “I never thought I would be officiating a backyard victor wedding a year after a war ended the Hunger Games.” Brutus explains, before giving a jerk of his head to signal Clove to take a step back away from Cato, who is still holding her body against his. She obliges begrudgingly, knowing the moments they have left apart are counting down by the second.

As Brutus begins to read from a long book of District Two traditions, Clove feels Cato tighten his grip on both of her hands. “You look incredible.” He mouths, and Clove can’t help but feel the blush rising to her face again.

“Like the lace?” She mouths in response, and sees the recognition fall over his face as his features soften just enough for Clove and Clove alone to notice.

“Like I was saying.” Brutus raises his voice, once again snapping the two of them back into the moment beyond just themselves. “ In District Two, we are not known for verbal displays of love. We do not have deep professions of love through vows. This tradition is rooted deep in the history of District Two Victors. We are raised and trained in bloodshed. We are also aware of the vulnerability of allowing someone to raise a weapon against us, and trust them so entirely not to cut too deeply. This is particularly special for these two, for many many reasons. As all of us know, they are the only two District Two Victors to marry each other, and they will be the only ones to ever do so. What is most special, of course, is that these two were raised to be partners. I remember the day we paired them up, this giant monster of a boy and this feisty, scary little girl. They hated each other and then when they didn’t hate each other was when it became a problem for Enobaria, myself, and the other trainers. We made them too good of partners, because here we are today. What you’re about to witness is the blood oath of Victors. It is tradition to use their weapon of choice. Cato, will be first.”

Their hands fall as Enobaria comes and first, places the hilt of a sword in his hand, before slipping the handle of a knife into hers. Vaguely, Clove can hear Glimmer go “oh my god an actual blood ritual’ from her place in the front row of chairs, followed by a whispered “fuck I hate blood” immediately after from Marvel.

Clove takes a step back, making room for the duration of the silver blade of the sword between them, and tilts her chin up to give him space. She does not flinch when the sharp tip slices through the top layer of her skin overlying her heart, she does not unlock her eyes from his when she feels the sticky warmth of blood pooling and dripping down the front of her chest. It’s not deep, but it’s enough to sting. Her eyes are locked on his, never once breaking when she feels his thumb wiping through the blood on her chest. She feels like prey and a prize at the same time, with the dark look in his eyes locked on her. He breaks their locked gaze to look down at her hand, where he slides a solid gold ring onto her left hand, resting securely above the diamond she already wears.

She does not even wait for instruction that she is next. She steps forward and the knife in her hand closes the space between them, and Clove cannot help but flick her wrist into the shape of a C as she slices into the skin directly over his heart. She hesitates, for only a moment, watching the blood run down the plane of his chest, before she too runs her thumb over the blood. Clove cannot get her hands to work fast enough as she grabs his left hand in both of hers, and works as fast as she can to get the gold band on his hand, to claim him as hers, hers, hers forever.

Brutus is talking again, but it doesn’t matter. He’s got her by the waist, and she’s holding his face in her hands. She brings her bloodied thumb to his lips, smearing his own blood along his lower lip as he does the same to her.

“I love you.” He whispers first, pressing his forehead against hers, pulling her body against his, taking careful care to only touch the bare skin of her back with his bloodied finger, not daring to stain the lace she wears.

“I love you.” Clove responds, and is somewhat aware of Brutus in the background formally announcing them as married in the rites of victors. Cato Hadley and his wife Clove Kentwell Hadley.

Her thumb hovers over his lip, before she threads her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. “You’re my partner.”

“You’re mine.” Is all Cato gets out in response before he crushes his lips into hers.

The taste of blood and each other is familiar and enchanting and all exciting all at once.

It tastes like victory.

Pictures, dinner, all of it passes in a blur.

It’s nearly night now, and drinks are long past flowing. Cato’s mother has taken Cora to Clove’s house for the night, allowing the adult behavior to come out in full force.

Clove is pressed into his side, his arm around her hips, hand firmly grasping the top of her thigh, when the sun starts to go down and Marvel makes a point to gather everyone’s attention.

“Hey guys, you all unfortunately know who I am. Noone asked me to speak, in fact Cato explicitly begged me not to this morning, and Clove threatened that if I did she’d cut off my-”

“Anyway!’ Glimmer interrupts, taking the champagne glass from his hand and holding it at her side and out of his reach. “I also was told not to do this. But I planned this whole thing, and so I think I can say whatever I want. Besides, you owe us this, because we did keep watch while the two of you fucked in the middle of the Hunger Games. Also, the world was convinced for a little while that all four of us were-”

Marvel interrupts before she can continue to ramble on.“Originally, we were going to do this separately. I was going to talk about Cato, she was going to talk about Clove. I’m sure no one's expecting Glimmer and I to be doing this together..this is quite literally as close as we’ve physically been to each other in months.” Marvel begins, and turns his attention directly to Cato and Clove.

“What are they doing?” Clove gets out through clenched teeth, pseudo-rage flashing in her eyes. Maybe it was the drinks, maybe it was the pure joy she felt, but she couldn’t find it in her to actually be angry with them.

“Embarrassing themselves.” Cato pulls her closer, and leans them back in their chairs. “What's the worst they could say?”

“Noone expected us to be friends! We all could have so easily ended up in the same games, all of us dead.” Glimmer begins, a giggle escaping her that had Clove not been with her all day, she would have assumed to have been nervous. But no, that was the giggle of a drunk girl, who had been drinking mimosas since sunrise, that is about to recount something horrendous. “But by all accounts..things worked out for us. The stars aligned, fate stepped in..whatever you want to say. And I know Clove didn’t like me the day I met her. I can’t blame her, I looked at her and said we should have a double wedding and look where we are! They’re married and me and Marvel here can’t look at each other for more than five minutes without one of us leaving in tears–”

“He was drunk crying about her this morning. He had three shots and went down, going on and on about how he threw away the love of his life.” Cato leans over to whisper to his wife, who whips her head over to look at him with wide, amused eyes. “Finnick was literally holding his head in his lap like..stroking his hair. It wasn’t even eight a.m. yet.”

“I heard about that… You need to teach your seven year old sister what rally means, by the way.” Clove admits, poking him in the knee playfully.

“Well one of us wasn’t stupid enough to throw away the best thing we’d ever have.” Marvel gets out, and Clove gasps so loudly at his repetition of the words Cato just whispered that everyone whips their head around to look at her this time. “Anyway! Clove also found me exceptionally annoying, and it’s okay, everyone does!”

“But what Clove has never heard about, is this story. We met Cato during his tour, of course, and he was this cocky kid. We thought he was just a standard District Two victor, nothing special.” Glimmer goes on, this time bringing the glass she confiscated from Marvel to her own lips and draining it. Clearly, the slip from Marvel left her flustered, too. “But, then it was the seventy third games. And Cato would not shut up about how good this girl was. He never looked away from her on screen. He stole all the sponsors talking about how incredible she was. He thought he was being so nonchalant and sly about it…but we all knew.”

“And I remember getting a knock on my door in the middle of the night. It was Glimmer, but I was positive it was someone saying Clove died and that Cato was coming to kill us all. Because I knew, if Clove had died, every single one of us, our tributes, and anyone else he could get his hands on, we're going to be dead.”

“And then it was down to the final few. I remember him sitting on that on that couch, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, rubbing his hands together so so nervous. And she threw this knife and she missed and I saw the color drain from his face. The fear in his eyes when he thought you were going to die, Clove, I wish I could say that was the only time I had ever seen it.” Glimmer shakes her head, the curls in her hair starting to slowly fall and frizz around her face like a little halo. “But then she won. And most of us were there when it happened, most of us remember the way he jumped up. And Clove, without thinking, he pumped his fist in the air and he said “that's my girl.” And we had all known. But the look on his face..I’ll never forget it. That boy was so deeply in love, and today I am so sure he still is.”

Marvel clears his throat, and it is clear from the way his face drops that there is a serious turn about to be taken. “I mentioned that we were originally going to speak only for one of them. But, it is a disservice to the way they love each other to do that. I went through the worst experience of my entire life with Clove, in the capitol, and Glimmer similarly can speak for what she went through with Cato. We’re so uniquely privileged to have seen the way you both love each other so deeply. Most of you know, or unfortunately were part of, the horrific things we went through in the Capitol. Clove…she had it worse than maybe anyone. We all know that Clove is incredibly stubborn, and incredibly strong. What I am unfortunately aware of, myself, is the extent of what was done to her. It is not my story to tell. But I know that all those fuckers wanted was to get her to scream, and she refused. She wasn’t going to give them that. The only thing Clove ever asked for, wanted, and she’s going to kill me for exposing this, but the only time I ever saw her cry in those entire months of torture…was Cato. It was towards the very end, and I was scared, truly scared, to know they had brought her to the point of crying for him even alone in her cell... because I thought that meant we were all going to die if even Clove was at her breaking point. There is a deep, deep, incredible trust and love between them, beyond anything I have ever seen.”

At some point Glimmer had started crying, because it is through heavy tears that she concludes her aspect. “We are so lucky, to be witnesses not only to today, but to the way you two love. Through multiple Hunger Games and forced separation and a war..there’s never been a moment where I thought of you as separate. You are always Cato and Clove. Please don’t kill me for saying this, but I mean it, when I say you are my best friends. I do not think I would be alive without the two of you feeding me and pushing to keep going. I’m also really really excited for you two to have babies for me to be Auntie Glimmer to, I’m already in my fairy godmother dress, so if you two could like…hurry up with that and maybe give me a girl in like…nine months I’d really love that, thank you. We love you guys.”

Marvel’s hand experimentally finds the small of Glimmer’s back, and she doesn’t flinch away. He grabs a champagne glass off a table and raises it infront of him. “To Cato. And To Clove.”

Glimmer interrupts with a smile on her face that juxtaposes the tears running over her cheeks “to Cato and Clove.”

When Cato turns his head to look at Clove, who’s curled into him, he notices the way her eyelashes are clumped and wet. “Are you crying?”

“Shut up.” Clove warns, wiping at her eyes with the heel of her hand, before she more properly turns her body to fully lay against his side.

Enobaria takes the moment, then, to stand up while the attention is still drawn all while drawing the attention away from Glimmer and Marvel, who seem to be heading towards the bar set-up together. She’s also clearly enjoyed her night, her jacket now unbuttoned (and missing the single button), the fashion tape underneath holding it closed, but more notable was the pink lipstick faintly visible along her neck and collarbones.

“I..couldn’t pass up the opportunity to embarrass you.” She starts gesturing towards Clove. “As everyone here knows, I raised Clove. We can say I was a mentor to her, but in reality, I helped raise her. I met her when I was twelve, and she was two. Her mother was my mentor, and we all know that her mother is not here with us now. I only feel so inclined to do this, because of the fact her mother isn’t here to do so. I remember Clove as this tiny tiny toddler, about the same height as now. I remember the day her bitch of a grandmother dropped her off at my house to teach her how to throw knives. What she didn’t know until right now is I really had no idea, and actually had to ask Cashmere and Gloss how to teach her. But hey, clearly, I made her a victor anyway. And then… there was Cato. This little infuriating prick of a kid, who broke her clavicle the day they met. I knew he was going to be a pest in my life, ever since. They were the best partners though. They knew each others moves, their strengths, and their weaknesses. They were good and then when they were teeangers exactly how good of partners they were became all of our problem. Clove..she was traumatized. A dead teenage mother will do that to you. I was not worried about her…repeating…that statistic. Until fucking Cato Hadley won the games and came home a cocky Victo. And then…I caught her sneaking out of his house the day he got home. I about killed her. I went home, and I called Cash, BEGGING her to help me figure out how to keep her from getting pregnant too. Cato, Clove, remember to thank Cashmere for all the years of risk free sex, later.”

“Maybe she should also be thanking Cashmere for all the risk free sex, look at her right now?” Clove murmurs, and the shaking of Cato’s chest underneath her is all she needs to know he is holding back a laugh.

“I was ready to kill Cato, because I was sure he was going to distract her from her last year of training. But to his credit, and I hate saying that, he pushed her harder than even I did. I remember telling him to back off, and when he didn’t, I was so hopeful Clove was going to get over him. Clearly..I had no such luck.” Enobaria gives a smile that is so soft without her filed teeth that it nearly does not look like her. “When she was in the games, and Cato and I went through the fear of losing her together…I decided he was okay. If she was going to pick one, at least he was a victor, too. And as much as I hate to say it..he loved her then, too. When they went into the quell..I knew they were not going to come out without each other. I wanted to kill them, and I do mean that literally, when I saw them covered in that blood and going into the cornucopia, but then…everything went to hell. I was in the dark about them the entire war. I did not know if they were alive, I did not know if they were dead, though I assumed that they were. I’ll never forget when one day, when she appeared on that stupid video and she looked..off. One of the worst moments of my life was when I heard her scream for him in the background of that video. Because I knew…I knew he was not there. I did not know if he was alive, but I did know that if he was, he was going to get to her and get her home. And he did. I cannot believe I am about to say this, but I am so happy to see you marry each other. I am also very glad it is now and not because you were seventeen year old teen parents. Above all else…I am so proud of you both. Cato…Clove..you are both my victors.”

At the conclusion of her speech, Clove pushes herself up just in time to meet Enobaria half way as she leans across the little table to hug her. “Thank you, Enobaria.”

One of the biggest joys of their wedding is to watch their friends enjoy themselves.

“Annie!” Clove grins, throwing her arms open to offer the redheaded woman a hug. “Thank you for making it, I know it has to be hard with the–where is that baby of yours?”

“Oh, Glimmer has him.” Finnick explains, taking his turn to hug Clove as well. He nods his head to the corner of the room, where Glimmer is seated at a little table, gently rocking the three month old baby to sleep. “She also gave us the whole Aunt Glimmer Fairy godmother talk this morning.”

Glimmer is in fact swaying in her chair, clearly singing some song to the boy. The longing in her face is evident, even from across the room, from the way she offers her finger to the baby in her arms to how she holds his bronze covered head intentionally above the glitter of her dress so as to not irritate his baby skin.

“I think she should just have one herself.” Annie remarks, leaning her head against Finnick’s chest. “I think she’s meant for it.”

“Yeah, well, she’s missing half that equation.” Cato recalls, pulling Clove’s back to his now entirely bare chest, his shirt having lost the rest of the buttons throughout the night.

“I don’t think she will be for long.” Finnick suggests as Marvel settles himself in the seat directly next to Glimmer, reaching out to tickle the bottom of the baby’s pajama covered foot. Glimmer gives him a smile before redirecting her attention to the baby, but Marvel, oh Marvel never looks away from the expressions on Glimmer’s face.

Johanna finds them as they’re sitting next to the cake, in their own little world, spooning bites of the confection into each other's mouths.

“Okay, Lovebirds, where are all the hot people for me to go home with?” She remarks, slamming herself down in a seat across from the two of them.

“Nice to see you too, Jo.” Clove murmurs, wiping icing off the corner of her mouth gracefully. “I dunno, I bet Glimmer would be down.”

“Are you serious? Her and Marvel literally snuck off into your house fifteen minutes ago. I don’t want to get in bed with them.” Johanna scoffs, shaking her head. “I thought Cato would have a hot brother or something here..”

“Wait Glimmer and Marvel did what?” Cato interrupts, holding up a hand to stop her from continuing with her subject change. “In our house?”

“Well, in Clovey Girl’s house I think. Marvel had a plate full of cake and a bottle of the good stuff in his hand too, like the kind of shit Haymitch used to hoard at the games…speaking of Haymitch! You didn’t even invite them? Miss Mockingjay I understand, but after all Peeta went through with us..” Johanna clicks her tongue disapprovingly. “Cold even for you two.”

“We did invite them, Johanna.” Cato defends, reaching behind them and getting another slice of cake for him and his wife– oh he could say it in public now— to share.

“Katniss is still on District Twelve house arrest. Peeta didn’t want to come without her. He did make the cake though. That kid can bake.” Clove swipes her finger through the ivory icing, before dolloping it on Cato’s nose. “We tried.”

“Ugh, you two are so gross. I’m going back to the bar.” She pushes herself to a standing position, surveying the room before straightening her dress. “....congratulations, I guess.”

“Thanks, Johanna.” Cato calls as she walks away, before pulling Clove fully onto his lap.

“We did it.” He teases her, pressing kisses along the juncture of her neck and shoulder, “You’re my wife, Clovey.”

“I’ve technically been your wife for years.” She turns so she faces him, her arm languidly draped over his shoulder. Clove strokes his cheek with her thumb, and flashes him a wicked grin. “Now it’s just public.”

“Are we ever going to tell anyone we did this before?” Cato’s hands come to rest on her hips, squeezing, promising of what is to come later in the evening as he leans forward and once again starts kissing from her jaw down her neck.

She lets out a delighted gasp at the feeling of his lips on her. “Absolutely not. This is for them. That? That was for us.”

I gave my blood, sweat, and tears for this.

It is worth saying that life blooms through the cracks of a broken nation, love takes root in the rubble and ash. It is life itself, it is love embodied, that is a true pioneer species rising like a phoenix amongst ash riddled towns.

It is the passage of time that lets life and love flourish in the new panem.

It is friends in District One. Marvel who remembers the way cold aches in the very core of Clove’s body, and always has extra blankets casually lying out for her to take without ever needing to ask.

On a beach in district four, It is Glimmer and Finnick, watching her blonde little girl and his bronze haired little boy playing along the shore, with no care in the world other than their mission to find whole sand dollars and laughing in delight as hermit crabs scurry across their toes. Two children who, along with their siblings and friends, are free. Their childlike innocence intact, their bodies forever their own.

It is Johanna in District Seven, who finds that she had more in common with career victors than she thought. Or maybe, Cato and Marvel just make her feel like a fucking genius when it comes to women, and thats good enough for her.

In District Twelve it is a baker and an ex-revolutionary, who are never quite expecting for literal career killers to show up to a tiny little bakery on the edge of the seam. They come looking for cinnamon rolls and maybe tease Peeta a little too much about the status of his relationship. Peeta never turns them away (even if Katniss does pretend not to be in the shop that day, sometimes).

And in District Two.

It is in the combined efforts of Brutus and Enobaria, in establishing a recreation center for the surviving children of Two. It is far from the training empire it once was, let there be no mistake, but it gives a playground to the ghosts of the victors they once were. It serves as a memorial of sorts to the nearly one hundred and forty tributes who did not come home to District Two.

Cato and Clove, above all else, are happy.

These days, Clove does not have much use for throwing knives.

The ache in her body, the sharp pain in her wrists simply isn’t worth it anymore.

Clove Kentwell Hadley still never misses, but she is so much more than a girl with perfect aim.

Clove is the friend of the only surviving victors, she is the sister to the most affectionate Hadley she knows.

They are Aunt Cove and Uncle Cayo to the identical little daughters of their best friends, who wrap their tiny arms around their necks and smother them in honey blonde curls and pure, unfiltered adoration.

She is half of the best dinner parties– Clove makes the best food, but Glimmer plans the best parties. (It’s a bold statement to call them parties when it’s the four of them and the only other career victors, but Glimmer won’t have it any other way).

And she is loved. So, so, so loved, by the only man she’s ever trusted, wanted, and needed.

Clove is no longer just the girl who never misses.

In fact, three years after the end of the war, the only time Cato finds Clove throwing a knife is in their kitchen.

Her only goal?

Trying to earn the brilliant, infectious laugh of their blue eyed, blonde haired infant son in her arms.

This is the life of a victor.

The end.

#clato #clato fanfic #cato and clove #arwbfb reactions #arwbfb tag #always remember we're burned for better tag #the hunger games fanfic #careers fanfic #the careers hunger hames #marvel thg #glimmer thg #cato hadley #clove kentwell #cato and clove fanfic #thank you. All of you #I love you all so much.

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