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brain-rot-central · 2 months

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Sonnet of the Lone Cardinal

A/N: This is a working title. I reserve the right to change it going forward, lol. This is also my first AA fic! Can't believe it took me this long. Also feel free to note any other tags I may have missed. I'll add them as I go.

Rating: E Word count: 5.1k Pairing: Ascended Astarion/Fem!Tav Warnings: 18+, post-canon, PiV sex, creampie, angst, stalking behavior, obsessiveness, possessiveness, manipulative behavior (overall A's not really the greatest in this), use of derogatory language (though not at anyone specifically), messy break-up, depictions of gore, break-up (maybe make-up?) sex

Summary: Astarion has performed the Rite, becoming someone unrecognizable. Tav leaves him after settling their business with the Netherbrain, refusing his proposition to become his consort. She uses these last 6 months to heal her broken heart, mourning all they were and what they could have been. Hopefully all her hard work has paid off, because he's decided he wants her back and drops in for a visit.

♥ Next Chapter ♥ Link to Ao3

“It's awfully dangerous for such delectable morsels to leave their windows open this time of night.”

The whimsical voice comes from behind. With it, a rush of cold air sweeps through the quaint upstairs bedroom. Curtains lining the double panes of the front windows dance as the breeze blows in. Papers on the dresser scatter about the floor.

A young woman dressed in a sheer linen nightgown sits at her vanity, combing through her long red hair, when she freezes.

A familiar scent dances beneath her olfactory nerves - heady, rich, citrus. She breathes deeply, the warm spice of the cologne sweeping through her. Waves of heat pulse throughout her body as her ears pick up the sound of footsteps drawing closer.

With a sigh, the woman closes her eyes as the assailant reaches her position, their footsteps coming to a halt behind her.

It's him, she realizes. She’s never been more sure of anything else in her life.

Many months have passed since their last meeting. Passion burned as hot as an Infernal forge on that night. Promises of love, of pleasure, of power poured freely from their lips as their bodies intertwined. At that moment, she was prepared to give him everything - her life, her freedom, her body, soul.

She would have, had she not come to realize it was all an elaborate farce.

As she cracks open her eyes, daring to look up, the woman catches his reflection in the vanity mirror. With an audible gasp, it quickly dawns on her that this is the first time she’s seeing his face reflected in a glass pane.

Their eyes meet in the mirror, her chest suddenly heaving.

It is him.

And by the Gods, he's even more devastatingly handsome than she remembers.

“You never know what sort of monsters are out lurking the streets, hm?” he purrs, bringing his face close to her ear.

Assaulted once more by the warm spice of his cologne, her head spins.

“Astarion,” the woman whispers, nearly breathless. “What are you doing here?”

Craning his head, Astarion dips down into the nape of her neck, inhaling deeply. Her pulse quickens as he draws near, heart hammering away in her ribcage. His lips curl, fangs gleaming in the faint candlelight illuminating the room as his tongue sweeps over his teeth.

“I needn't an invitation to go where I please now, pet,” he pants against her neck.

A cold shudder shoots down her spine.

There was a time when her body would come alight from his many terms of endearment.

Darling, dear, sweet, pet, love.

Love.

“Nothing special, of course. You're only the first person I truly care for.”

His words echo in the far recesses of her mind. The words of her companion and partner, her lover… of a man who no longer exists.

That night in the ritual chamber, he changed.

The sound of the staff hitting the stone floor reverberates off ancient walls. Cazador and his spawn playing their parts, bound together in blood by the Rite. Astarion, levitating at the center, eyes burning red as an aura of blood envelops him. He's chanting the words - the Infernal seance that was once meant to be his end.

Her tongue lay heavy in her mouth. Words fly across her mind; desperate pleas begging him to reconsider, to stop this. None ever make it past her lips.

Suddenly, the spawn pop. One after the other.

Pop, pop, pop.

Astarion laughs, loud and boisterous, relishing the new found power that comes with each death.

Finally comes Cazador's turn.

He screams - a true blood-curdling scream. The type you hear moments before a person knows death has come, all too late. His voice carries on as she stands in the chamber, helplessly watching Cazador succumb to the ritual. He bursts at the seams into a pile of pulverized matter, dripping onto the floor below, completely unrecognizable.

Then suddenly, the room is engulfed by a haunting silence.

The Ascension… is complete.

The aura around Astarion fades and he drops down onto the platform below his feet. He remains kneeling for a moment. The sound of his breathing is all that fills the chamber, companions too stunned to speak.

He rises, slowly turning to face their leader. Looking upon his face, she sees the horrible truth lay bare before her.

Her lover is no more.

She's mourned him, the promise of them, ever since that night. Cried tears until her head throbbed and her face swelled, cried until nothing but sleep could soothe the ache in her heart.

And here he stands behind her, a scowl littering his visage as their eyes meet yet again in the mirror.

Her heart pounds in her throat, tears welling at the corners of her eyes. She swallows, asking, “Why did you come here, Astarion?”

Astarion pulls himself back, taking a few paces away from the woman. Folding his arms over his chest, he replies, “My darling Tav, I've come to take you home.”

“Home? I am home,” insists Tav. Turning her body, still seated in her chair, she scans him over.

Moonlit curls sweep elegantly across his forehead, framing his face. Ruby gems glint in the dim light of the room. He's wearing a black and silver doublet, blood-red dragons delicately embroidered on the lapel. Every bit elegant and refined; elite.

Astarion's face softens. He draws closer again, Tav’s breath hitching as his hand cups her chin. Tilting her face up toward his, he states, “I've given you more than enough freedom.” He cranes his head, bringing his lips a breath above her own as he whispers, “Don't you think?”

The velvet grace of his voice makes her dizzy. Tav realizes she feels heat radiating off his skin as their faces draw closer in proximity; a stark contrast to his usual aura. Her face burns - a fire that quickly spreads down into her belly. Tav tries to speak but Astarion closes the distance, lips capturing hers in a delicate embrace. His kiss is soft, alluring, unhurried.

Gentle, she thinks to herself. He's being so gentle.

“Astarion-” she protests, logic returning to her as she breaks the kiss. Tav scans his face, drawing her head back. Heavy lids fall over his eyes as they transfix upon her lips. He’s hungry, in more ways than one.

She knows that look. It's the very same he'd give her night after night in his tent, when all he wished was to share his body with her. Instead, they'd find other ways to partake in the ecstacy of one another until they were left breathless and panting.

But that was long ago.

Astarion's tongue darts out to lick over his lips as he says, “A lord is nothing without his dearest consort.” He moves to kiss her again, but Tav quickly ducks out of reach. She stands, hands clenched in tight fists.

“No,” she insists, locking eyes with him. She furrows her brow. “I will not be made into your personal plaything!”

A chuckle rumbles from his chest. Astarion tilts his head, a smirk forming on his face. “‘Plaything?’” he reiterates. “Do you believe I think that little of you?” Astarion brushes his knuckles over Tav’s cheek. “My darling treasure,” he begins, “I have many playthings, though none are quite like you.”

Tav’s pupils blow wide.

Astarion means to make her jealous with talk of other lovers. He means to fill her mind with images of him making love to unknown beings. To make her think of him finding pleasure in others who are not her.

She will not rise to it.

“Your chosen harlots aren’t enough?” Tav sneers. “I thought Lord Astarion Ancunín had everything he desired?”

With a scoff, Astarion replies, “You don't get it, do you?” A twinge of impatience can be heard as he says, “You helped make me what I am. We are bound to one another, until the end of time.”

Tav shudders as his hands come up to hold her face. She pulls in a sharp breath, expecting the cold sting of death from his usual chilled palms. Yet, they're completely warm as they cradle her jaw. Another reminder that he is now very much changed. Alive. His cologne assaults her senses once more and her eyes flutter closed as she settles into the strange comfort of his touch.

“My heart will never stop calling for you,” Astarion speaks softly. “No other can satisfy that hunger.” He brushes over her bottom lip with the pad of a thumb and feels her tremble below him. “You are to be my consort, my bride,” he insists, voice stern but low. “That is your role in this.”

Tav falters beneath his touch, allowing herself to be walked back to the wall next to the vanity. Her hands come up to wrap around his wrists. “Such honeyed words,” she retorts. “If I didn't know any better, I'd actually believe you.” Her back connects with the wall and she gasps.

“Tav, look at me,” Astarion demands with urgency. She doesn't comply, turning her head to the side. Slipping a hand from her cheek to grasp her chin, he forcibly turns her head back toward his. “Look at me!” he spits again.

Hesitant to look upon Astarion’s face, Tav cracks her eyes open. Opening them fully, it's not anger that she finds there. Her stomach flips. No, not anger or even disappointment. Instead, she sees… vulnerability.

“I wish I could replace you. I’ve tried,” Astarion bites out through clenched teeth. His face falls as his eyes settle on her. “Nothing can fill the void your absence has left.” He shakes his head slightly before adding, “Something within me screams for you, as if I were alone in a decrepit crypt and only you can save me.”

Her heart beats wildly in her chest. She feels as though she may suffocate, or that her heart may give out at a moment's notice. Tav begins to feel the tendrils of desire dance across her abdomen. They start low in her groin and quickly spread upward, causing a rhythmic contraction of her walls. She cannot fall for this again, she simply must not. All he's done is spout pretty words and step into her presence. And yet…

His breath pants against her face as he rests their foreheads together. The scent of freshly chewed mint whirls beneath her nose. Her vision spins.

In her stupor, Tav hardly notices Astarion's hands slipping under her nightgown. His palms rest on the backs of her thighs and he lifts a leg, allowing more room to slot himself against her core.

Tav groans as their centers meet, arching her back. Her chest presses into his and she moans, hands seeking purchase in his hair as he rocks himself into her once again.

“Astarion,” she pleads, wrapping her leg around the small of his back. A bolt of pleasure shoots up from her groin. She feels her walls clench again in desperation as his hardened cock brush against her cunt, straining against the fabric of his trousers. Her body remembers him and is all too eager to receive him once more.

Astarion knows. He recalls exactly how her body reacts almost on instinct to his touch. He pants against her lips with each roll of his hips into hers. “Come home with me, Tav,” he groans out. “Please, darling. I need you.”

His voice comes out ragged, stressed. Astarion leans against her chest, slipping his face into the nape of her neck. Inhaling deeply, a fire begins smoldering low in his belly. Her scent is of fresh mountain dew in early spring. Floral, sweet, and holding the promise of possibility. His cock twitches in anticipation.

Tav moans, loud and unfiltered. Her knees grow weak and she nearly buckles off the wall if Astarion weren't holding her up. She throws her head against the wall behind her, back arching once again.

“I mourned you,” Tav tells him, nearly breathless. “I mourned us.” She doesn't protest as Astarion lifts her other leg to join in locking around his waist. Tav doesn't fight how he grinds himself into her again, trapping her between himself and the wall. She feels faint, her vision growing fuzzy at the edges, though she manages to huff out, “You don't get to come here and make demands of me, Astarion.”

Astarion pulls his head back leisurely to meet her eyes. “You left me, remember?” he says low in his throat.

“What choice did you leave me with?” Tav exclaims in frustration. “You wanted me to sacrifice my life in order to prove my love for you. You would have never asked that of me before that accursed Rite!”

“I only wish to live out the rest of eternity together,” Astarion replies. “I promised I would protect you, that no harm would ever come to you.”

Tav stares into his face as realization registers in her mind, mouth falling slightly agape. She's gotten used to reading between the lines of his words, so often laced with duplicate meaning. True to his former life as a rogue of the night.

Her mortality is a threat to his oath.

Astarion cannot fathom going through the rest of time without her. Or, he does, and the thought is too painful for him to ever risk becoming reality. That is what he means to say, though apparently incapable in this new state.

“Isn't this what you wanted?” he asks, quietly. “To be together? Forever?”

Tears well in the creases of her eyelids and Tav sobs. “You are a fool, Astarion Ancunín,” she chides.

Astarion hovers his mouth mere millimeters above hers. “Only for you,” he says. “Always for you.” He captures her lips in a gentle embrace, breathing deeply through his nose as he pushes further into the kiss.

Tav moans into his mouth as she slackens her jaw, creating enough room for their tongues to begin exploring one another. She gasps as Astarion carries her from the wall to her bed on the far side of the room, grabbing at his shoulders for leverage.

“Tell me I may have you,” he asks, breaking the kiss as he lays her down over the mattress. He climbs over her, mouth descending upon her neck. He peppers chaste kisses along the underside of her jaw.

Tav writhes beneath him, whimpers escaping her throat as he licks and suckles on the delicate flesh of her throat. With resolve quickly waning, her hands find purchase again in silver locks as she finally says, “You may, but only for tonight.”

Astarion freezes above her. Hesitantly, he pulls himself back, looking her over as he begins shrugging off his doublet. “Are you sure?” he inquires softly.

This is the perfect opportunity to ask him to turn and leave. To not start this over again, to not return down a path in which she knows there is no favorable end. Though, Tav also cannot deny just how much she has missed him, as well.

“It's only sex, Astarion,” she tells him, sitting up to undo the ties of her nightgown. “That's all this will be.”

His hands come to rest atop hers, replacing her motions as he pulls gently at the laces of the gown. With the last tie undone her gown falls open, revealing her bare breasts to his heated gaze. Astarion sucks in a sharp breath as he meets her eyes.

“Only sex,” he ponders aloud as he furrows his brow. “But what if I want-”

“No,” Tav interjects, voice firm. “This is all I can give you. You either take this, or you have nothing.” Her breathing comes uneven as she stares back at him, chest heaving. Her nerves have come alight; she cannot fall in love with him again, but she can at least offer him this.

With a curt nod, Astarion replies, “As you wish.”

His expression is guarded as he fumbles with the laces of his trousers. He pulls his undershirt up and over his head, dropping it unceremoniously onto the floor behind the bed. Standing up, he peels off his boots, pants, and underclothes in one fell swoop. He returns to Tav on the bed as bare as the day he was born, following her eyes as they roam down the long plane of his torso. They come to rest between his thighs.

Astarion’s cock stands ready at attention, jumping in tandem with his heartbeat. Saliva pools thick on her tongue and she slips the nightgown down and off her arms. She's left naked before him, not having time to fully dress before his unexpected visit. Tav hears him groan as he looks her over.

A surprised gasp falls from her mouth as he cups her sex. She feels him drag two fingers through the arousal that has already gathered between her folds, and watches as he brings those same fingers to his mouth. A bolt of desire pulls behind her navel as she watches his slick-soaked fingers slip between his lips. He suckles around them, moaning his approval.

With a wet pop, Astarion pulls the two digits from his mouth and places them against her cunt again. They're saturated with his spittle, softly prodding at her entrance.

“A-ah!” Tav gasps as his fingers sink in. It's only two, but Gods how she's struggling to take them. They glide in and out, Astarion occasionally curling his fingers to pass along the spongy spot inside her that turns her vision white.

It's not long before he's pulling his fingers out and lining himself up along her entrance. Astarion spits into his hand, giving himself a few languid strokes. The weight of his cock slaps down heavily as he drags his length through her slickened folds once, twice, before he's finally slipping into her.

Screwing his eyes shut, Astarion lets out a guttural groan as he feels his tip pop through her tense entrance, her warmth enveloping him as he seats himself a bit further before halting. Her walls spasm wildly around his shaft; it takes every ounce of willpower he has not to sink the rest of himself down into her inviting wet heat.

Tav sighs as she finally adjusts, body relaxing around him. She hadn't necessarily forgotten that taking Astarion is no small feat, though she did forget how it feels to actually do so.

“You can move,” she tells him meekly.

He doesn't respond with words; a simple nod of his head is all Tav gets before he's leaning over her, hips slipping further and further toward the backs of her thighs. Wrapping his arms around her thighs, Astarion pulls her into him, pelvis meeting her backside. He growls, cock twitching as his tip brushes against her cervix.

Tav shudders under him as he pulls out, feeling the dragging of his length within her cunt, only for him to push back in with added force. Her body jerks upward from the power of his thrust. An audible string of whimpers falls freely from her lips as he does it again, and again, and again.

Astarion catches Tav’s hands as she tries reaching for him, pushing them back toward the bedsheets. Confused by his gesture, Tav tries again, only for Astarion to once more shove her hands off of him.

Stunned, Tav looks at his face. Sweat is beginning to gather along his brow, though he keeps perfect composure. There is no lust nor passion to his expression. He looks… removed. Distant. Aloof.

Just… having sex.

“Astarion?” Tav asks, concerned. “I can't touch you?”

He scoffs above her, grunting as he slams his hips again into hers. “Touch is a rather intimate thing,” he says, sarcasm saturating his tone. “Intimacy isn't welcome when you're just having sex.”

“Stop,” Tav demands, hands pressing against his stomach. Astarion immediately ceases his movements. “This is too cold, Astarion,” she says quietly. “This isn't us.”

Above her, Astarion sucks in a large breath. “It is when it's devoid of emotion,” he clarifies, patience wearing thin. “That's what you wanted, isn't it?” He tilts his head, craning his neck to look down upon her. “Just a quick romp?”

“I-”

Venom seeps from his pores as he quickly adds, “If you were ever curious as to how I treat my harlots, well, now you know. It's rather different from our last time, eh? I wonder why that is?” Astarion feigns an inquisitive glance, placing a finger to the side of his mouth as his lips form into a pout.

“Astarion, I-”

Tav tries desperately to interject, but is disrupted again by Astarion snapping his fingers. “Oh, I know! It's because I made love to you!” he sneers, lips curling over his fangs as he leans closer to her face. “You were never a conquest to me!” he growls. “Never one night it's best to forget.”

Astarion exhales, eyes falling closed in an effort to regain his composure. “If you insist on me treating you like a whore in a brothel, fine,” he says, “I'll do it. But know it's not done willingly.”

Tav remains silent, words failing her. Her body trembles as the full weight of his confession echoes throughout her mind. Pulling in ragged breaths, she questions, “Would you make love to me again? If I asked?”

Astarion huffs out a laugh, his expression softening. “I would raze an entire city for you,” he confirms. “You need only ask.”

A sense of despair enshrouds her as she stares into his ruby red eyes. He still loves her, Tav realizes. As much as, if not more than, the day she left him. Her head pounds; she needs to stop this from going forward. The voice in her head is begging her not to continue, to not risk reopening the wound she's spent the last six months delicately stitching back together.

Their last night together replays in her thoughts. She recalls the all-encompassing feeling of want that radiated off Astarion, that night. He carried her into a world of pleasure she never dreamed possible, all while singing praises deeply into her ear as he rocked in and out of her core. They joined as one, body and soul. Or so Tav thought, until the following morning.

Astarion looks at her now with that same compassion in eyes. He means what he says; he would destroy anyone and anything should she ask it of him. He's already destroyed himself, all in a vow to protect her.

Choking back a sob, she accepts final defeat in the battle her heart fought so desperately since he first came through her window. “Make love to me then, Astarion,” Tav tells him, pleadingly. “The way you used to.”

The flame of the single candle in the room dances in his eyes. The ghost of a smile tugs at the corners of his lips. “Oh, my sweet,” he purrs, “There's nothing I'd like more,” Astarion brushes her cheek with the back of a palm. His arousal has flagged, still situated within Tav’s warmth, though it stirs back to life as he captures her lips in a hungry kiss.

Tav groans as she feels Astarion's length swell within her walls, noises swallowed by his mouth over hers. When he grows stiff enough, Astarion gives shallow thrusts between her legs. It isn't long until he's back to full virility, rolling his hips into hers in a steady rhythm.

She cries out as he breaks the kiss, one last deep thrust before he's pulling out of her. Pushing her legs back, knees almost hitting her chest, Astarion slips back into place between her thighs. Tav’s knees are being held up by his shoulders as he bends forward, sliding his cock back into her slickened cunt with ease.

Astarion groans as his cock slides down, down, down until his tip nudges the end of her tunnel. Tav gasps as he settles himself impossibly deeper, hips giving a soft push that leaves her womb pulsing. She claws at Astarion’s back when he pulls his hips up slightly, only to crash into her again.

Astarion rests his forehead against Tav’s. He drops his hips repeatedly into her center, eyes locked with hers as he does. The air pushed from her lungs from each of his thrusts passes over his face and he greedily sucks it in. Her face is flushed shades of red and pink as blood rushes through her veins, singing her desire loudly in his ears.

Nails sink into the tender scars on his back and Astarion hisses. With half open eyelids, Tav struggles to keep his gaze, pleasure threatened to overwhelm her. But when she finally does, she sees it. There, in his eyes, is him. The man she fell in love with.

Astarion's eyes are soft, round, pleading. The eyes of the man she gave herself to repeatedly all those months ago.

Each night she spent being devoured by his mouth, pulling the very essence of her body into his, she felt it - the sanctity of her oath dangling in the balance. Should she have stuck to her teachings, Astarion would’ve been staked through the heart at first discovery of his true nature. And yet, night after night, she willingly succumbed to the lustful desires that only her blood could provide him.

She moans as he angles his hips sharply on the next downstroke, the head of his cock brushing deliciously up against her spot. The rhythmic fluttering of her tunnel over his shaft pulls a throaty groan from Astarion, who quickly buries his face into the nape of her neck as the sensation wracks through his body. His arms envelop her torso, using her as leverage to increase the pace of her thrusts.

Tav feels her arousal leaking down the cleft of her ass, carved out from her with each plunge of his cock into her cunt. The tip of him rams against her spot repeatedly and she shakes in his arms, pleasure coiling tightly in her belly with not much left to hold onto. “Astarion,” she pants against his ear, mindlessly mouthing at his lobe. “Gods, Astarion…”

He groans again against her neck, skin muffling most of it. The sounds of their joint arousal fill the room, and Astarion pulls his lips back in anticipation of his impending climax. The smoldering fire in his belly has erupted into hellfire, threatening to consume all and any in its path if not quelled soon.

Fangs press into the delicate skin of her neck and Tav shivers, hands flying into his hair and grasping, pulling. “Do not bite me, Astarion,” Tav says, panicked.

Humming his disapproval, Astarion reluctantly pulls his head away from her neck. He rests his forehead against hers again. “Where do you want me, Tavaria?” The question comes quietly, unguarded. Strained.

Tavaria.

The sound of her full name on his tongue sends pulses of desire through her belly. He's close, Tav realizes. Astarion pants against her face as his thrusts grow more uneven. Moving a hand to his jaw, Tav holds his cheek, rubbing his chin with her thumb. “However you want,” comes her reply.

Astarion shudders, a moan slipping past his lips, eyes rolling to the back of his skull momentarily. He blinks back into focus, chest heaving as his breathing becomes labored. He's barely lifting hips into Tav, instead giving short stuttering thrusts that have his tip kissing her cervical os.

“Tav, please,” he begs. “Tell me.”

Silver strands of hair stick to his sweat-soaked forehead. Brushing them out of the way with a hand, she plants a kiss between his brow. “Inside,” she coos. “It's okay.”

Carnal desire flares behind Astarion's eyes. He grunts, raw and guttural as he dips his head back into the crook of her neck. He feels his cock begin to swell, a telltale sign that his release is imminent.

Tav whimpers as Astarion rams over her pleasure point again and again, the fattened head of his cock dragging along her walls. It doesn't take much longer before she's screaming out her completion below him, nails digging into the skin of his marred back.

Astarion roars out his own climax above her, balls pulling up tightly as fangs sink into the pillow next to her. He floods her channel with his seed, tiny rolls of his hips pulling groans from his chest as he rides out the wave. Tav’s walls are more than willing to massage the rest of his spend from his balls and into her greedy womb.

They lay together panting, post-coital haze in full effect. It isn't until Astarion shifts to pull out his softening member that Tav feels it - his spend dribbling from her entrance and onto the nightgown under her. He's the first to leave the bed, shaking his head while running a hand through tousled locks. Tav watches him disappear into her washroom as she slowly sits herself up onto her elbows.

The sound of water running into the tub can be heard and Astarion reappears in the doorway. He returns to the bed, Tav gasping as he scoops her up into his arms and carries her toward the washroom.

“What are you doing, Astarion?” she asks, mind still clouded by her peak. She loops her hands around his neck, lolling her head against his shoulder.

A chuckle rumbles from his chest as he kisses the top of her head. “Taking care of you,” he answers, bringing them both across the threshold of the washroom.

-------------------------------------------

Tav awakens the next morning alone, tucked snuggly in her bed. The events of the night are hazy as she slowly regains consciousness. She doesn't recall when or how she fell asleep. Peeling off the covers and giving herself a quick look over, she realizes she's dressed in her nightgown again. The ties are neatly in place, eerily similar to how she had them before.

Looking around her room, there's no evidence that Astarion had been present. The papers she swore fell to the floor are all stacked neatly on her dresser. The candle has been hushed out, and her windows closed.

Was it a dream? she ponders, heart rate rising as her confusion grows.

Her eyes scan the room frantically in an attempt to find a single piece out of place. Finally, she finds the answer she is searching for laying atop her vanity. Rising out of bed, Tav walks over to find a single rose laid across the top of the desk. He was here, Tav notes to herself, bringing the rose to her face. She inhales its sweet scent, dread filling her heart as the heavy weight of last night begins to actualize.

No, it was very real. And it’s only just beginning.

#astarion #ascended astarion #bg3 #bg3 astarion #astarion smut #astarion ancunin #fanfiction #astarion angst #astarion x tav #astarion romance #astarion x female tav #my writing #bg3 fanfiction

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yelena-bellova · 1 year

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Twenty Years Later: Joel Miller x F!Reader - Chapter Two

Chapter Two: Strangers in the Night

Plot: Joel and Y/n try their hardest to ignore and avoid their past while waiting on the cover of night to leave the QZ.

Warnings: M for violence, gore, language, allusions to sex, alcohol, unwanted advances (16+)

Word Count: 6.9k

A/N: Okay, let me just say, did not expect such a big reaction to this little 2.2k fic I thought up randomly. You guys wanted a series, so here’s a series. It’ll be 16+ from here so please specify your age in your bio if you’d like to be tagged. I’m really excited to write this one, hope y’all enjoy it! It's gonna be a wild frickin' ride...

——————————

May 9th, 2002, Austin Texas

It was unseasonably warm for spring in Austin. Summer was making an early entrance and driving everyone indoors. The bars were packed each night, but especially on the weekends. Something about the heat always inspired people to drink more.

The Miller brothers were seated at a table in the far corner of Dane’s, each nursing a Budweiser. Despite it being a Saturday, they’d worked overtime on a garage apartment conversion. It was in Joel’s neighborhood and he needed the money. Jobs hadn’t been ripe for picking lately, in going the extra mile with the clients he did have, he could bank on a few referrals.

“We’re runnin’ short on the 2x4s,” Joel told his brother, “And it wouldn’t hurt to-“

“Dude,” Tommy made a slicing motion with his hand, “You’re off the clock. Switch off for a while.”

“I’m just trying to get ahead,” Joel replied.

Tommy smiled, lounging in his chair, “Look, you’ve got two modes: work mode and dad mode. And guess what? You never come out of either. It’s a Friday night, you’ve got a sitter, why not just try being a single, not-offensively unattractive, guy?”

Joel’s eyebrows were permanently furrowed, especially around conversations like this. Tommy meant well, but he’d been trying to get Joel to find something outside of work and his daughter for years. It wasn’t happening.

“So you’re sayin’ I should focus less on keeping a roof over my daughter’s head and makin’ sure she’s happy?” Joel asked, leaning back in his chair, “I get that right?”

Tommy chuckled and shook his head, “I’m just saying…you’re gettin’ more and more like an old man the longer you’re by yourself. Wouldn’t hurt to find someone that makes you happy.”

It was easy to ignore Tommy’s ramblings, but Joel couldn’t deny there was some truth to what he was saying. After Sarah’s mom up and left them, he kept his heart guarded from the world. Sarah and Tommy were the only ones he had the space to love. No, not the space. He had all the capacity in the world to hold someone else close to his soul, he was just too afraid of getting hurt again.

A few feet away at the bar, Y/n twirled her wine glass in her hand. Navigating a new city and a new job was taking it out of her. There had been no catalyst in her decision to move to Austin. She wasn’t running from a bad relationship nor did she need space from her family, she’d just wanted a change. So far, aside from the random heat wave, she was enjoying herself. The people were friendly, the neighborhood was quiet…she could see herself eventually calling the place home.

As she enjoyed her own company, a muscly man approached the seat next to her. He didn’t even do her the courtesy of asking if it was taken.

He flashed a pearly smile at Y/n, “Havin’ a good night?”

“Mm-hm,” she nodded, not looking up from her glass.

“Haven’t seen you around here,” the man continued, “You new to town?”

Y/n politely smiled, wishing he’d taken the hint. “Sure.”

“Findin’ your way around alright,” he put his elbows on the bar, indicating he wasn’t going anywhere, “Or are you thinkin’ you need a tour guide? Someone to show you around? Help make you feel a little more comfortable?”

Y/n was fighting the urge not to laugh, she’d seen dogs in heat more subtle than this guy. “I’m doing fine on my own, thanks,” she replied, her will to smile fading with each second he stayed.

“I don’t know,” the guy dragged his fingers up and down the condensation on his beer bottle, “You seem a little lost to me, darlin’. I got a hog outside, we could head out…night scene’s pretty wild here.”

Y/n took another sip of her wine, “Not really a wild kind of gal.”

The man’s lingering stare was beginning to make Y/n’s skin crawl. It was like he was staring straight through her clothes. He leaned in to her, his arm grazing hers, as if the close proximity was imperative to what he was about to say.

“I got this theory that inside every woman,” he lowered his voice, “There’s a wild girl just waitin’ to come out. She just needs the right cowboy,” he paused, a smile spreading across his lips, “To let her loose.”

Concealing her annoyance, Y/n looked down at her glass bashfully. She peeked back up out of her eyelashes, “What’s your name?”

“Jacob,” he answered.

“Jacob,” she repeated sweetly, leaning in closer to him, “Going around trying to prove how big your dick is ain’t gonna make any woman want to touch it.”

Jacob pulled back a little, shocked at both the comment and how easily being foul mouthed came to this woman. Y/n scrunched her nose and gave a sugary smile before moving to get up from her stool.

Jacob grabbed her shoulder, not prepared to lose the battle. “Hang on there, sweetheart.”

“Let go of me,” Y/n was quick to say.

“I don’t think you quite understand what I’m offerin’ you here…”

“Let,” Y/n gritted her teeth, raising her voice slightly, “Go of me.”

Jacob began to close the space between their faces, “What’re you gonna do if I ain’t ready to say goodbye to ya yet?”

“Hey.”

Y/n turned to the two men who had approached while she was fending Jacob off. The one with the mustache swung his fist and landed a shiner on Jacob’s nose. The whole bar gasped as he stumbled backwards, clutching his now bleeding face. The mystery man placed an arm in front of Y/n, making himself the barrier between Jacob’s advances and her safety.

Once Jacob caught his footing, revealing just how tipsy he was, he clumsily stalked back towards them. The second man stepped forward and effortlessly threw a punch to Jacob’s abdomen, knocking him off his feet and to the ground. The other patrons actually clapped and cheered at the knockout.

The man shielding Y/n and his friend grabbed Jacob’s arms and pulled him to his knees. Dane, the owner, came out from around the counter and marched towards the door. The men dragged Jacob through the bar, taking no care to his hands and feet as they knocked into chairs and tables. With Dane holding the door open, they threw him out, earning another round of cheers from the bar.

Y/n watched it all with a hand over her mouth. The whole thing had left her more anxious than she cared to admit.

Her two saviors made their way through the room, earning pats on the back from most of the patrons.

“Are you okay?” The man with the mustache asked when they reached her.

“Yeah,” Y/n answered, trying to hide how her hands was shaking, “Are you?”

“Not the worst we’ve seen,” the clean shaven guy smiled, flexing his bruised hand, “But I think you’re gonna have to take a shower to get that creep’s touch off ya.”

Y/n chortled, the feeling of his fingers digging into her skin hadn’t left yet. “I’m really sorry you had to step in,” she said earnestly, “I’m not great with following through on my smack talk.”

“Nah, you were holding your own,” the cheerier of the two men laughed.

“Hey, can I buy you guys a round?” Y/n asked, ��It’s the least I can do.”

“There’s no need,” the quieter guy shook his head.

“No, I want to,” Y/n insisted, looking between the two of them.

The one who had done most of the talking so far was the first to relent. “Fine, but we’re spotting your next glass. Just to try and restore the ever-deteriorating reputation of men.”

Y/n laughed heartily for the first time of the night. She liked them.

“Hey, Dane,” the talkative man flagged down the bartender and turned to Y/n, “What’re you drinking?”

Y/n held up her dwindling glass of rosé.

“Another rosé for the rosebud,” the man finished, winking at Y/n in a way that felt more playful than flirtatious, “I’m Tommy, by the way.”

“Y/n,” she took his extended hand and shook it before turning to the other man.

“Joel,” he pressed his palm to hers.

Y/n smiled, her eyes lingering on the man as they shook hands. There was a peace to him that she already knew she liked.

Y/n ended up at Tommy and Joel’s table, each of them sipping a victory drink and talking up a storm. It was one of the easiest conversations any of them had ever had.

“So you just picked up one day and,” Tommy made a swooping gesture, “Came to Austin?”

Y/n shrugged, “Just needed a change.”

Tommy whistled, “That’s brave.”

“I mean, it’s Austin,” Y/n chuckled, “It’s not New York,” she took a sip of the free rosé, “What about you two?”

“Nah, we’ve been here forever,” Joel answered, holding his beer to his lips.

Tommy raised his bottle to his brother, “Can’t even get this fucker to take a vacation somewhere.”

“Workaholic or homebody?” Y/n asked.

Joel was inhaling to answer when Tommy spoke up, “Both.”

“Nothin’ wrong with working hard or staying home,” Joel replied, throwing back a swig.

“Nah,” Tommy replied, smirking, “Only when you do it.”

Joel glared out the sides of his eyes at his brother. Y/n laughed against the rim of her glass.

“Well,” Tommy leaned against the table, “If you ever need a tour guide, we’re at your disposal. We’ll show you the real grimy hole in the wall places. Best food or beer in the city are always in the places you’d least expect it.”

Contrary to Jacob’s thinly veiled advances, Y/n took Tommy and Joel for exactly how they presented themselves. They were funny, they were gentlemanly, and they were the first people in Austin she’d met who she felt truly comfortable around.

Joel, who was naturally more quiet than his brother, had never felt more lost for words. He was trying to keep himself in check considering the happenstance of their meeting, but all he wanted to do was look at Y/n. When she laughed, something inside his stomach twisted. When their eyes met, his chest tightened. There was something about being around this girl that felt very, very different than anyone else.

“Well,” Y/n checked her watch, catching the late hour, “I’ve got the morning shift tomorrow and I can’t be too hungover. Thank you both for the company and the wine,” she smiled at Joel, “It was a big improvement on how the night started.”

“Yeah, we’d better go too,” Joel announced, rising to his feet with Tommy, “Gotta get a head start tomorrow before the storm moves in.”

Tommy gestured to his big brother, smiling at Y/n, “What’d I tell you?”

“I gotta side with your brother here,” Y/n smiled, scrunching her face a little, “Everyone needs a break. That’s kinda what weekends are for”

“See?” Tommy said, “Maybe you’ll listen to her.”

Joel was on the verge of busting out in to a grin. “Not my problem if you two are lazy,” he shot back.

Y/n and Tommy each gaped with laughter. Joel smiled, he’d wanted to hear her laugh one more time before they parted.

“Well, you two have restored the name of ‘men’ quite admirably,” Y/n grabbed her purse, “Thank you for what you did, really. If you hadn’t stepped in, tonight would have ended much worse.”

Tommy shook his head, “Don’t mention it. Just learn how to throw a punch,” he slapped his hand against Joel’s shoulder, “And I think we’ll both sleep better at night.”

“I’ll get on that,” Y/n chuckled. She wasn’t sure if it was the kinship she felt or the rosé had simply relaxed her, but she reached over to Tommy and gave him a one-armed hug.

“See ya around, Rosebud,” Tommy said, keeping his hand respectfully high up on her shoulders.

“See ya,” Y/n replied, pulling back to look at Joel. She wasn’t sure what she expected to happen, only that she wanted to memorize his face before she left. “Goodnight,” she said with a small smile.

Joel tried to ignore how his heart was thudding in his chest. “‘Night,” he replied.

His eyes followed her all the way to the door, till she stepped out into the steamy evening air. He wasn’t sure why he had to urge to follow her.

“You,” Tommy gripped Joel’s shoulder a little tighter, “Are fucked.”

Joel rolled his eyes at his little brother’s laughter, “The hell’re you talking about?”

Tommy fell back down in his chair, a hand resting on his chest, “You were fuckin’ smitten with her.”

“‘Smitten?’” Joel cringed, taking his seat and his beer, “What’re you, 14?”

“Fine, hot for, taken with, enamored, mesmerized,” Tommy chuckled, “Whatever you wanna call it…you liked her.”

Joel shrugged and took another drink, “‘Course I liked her. You liked her too.”

“Not like you,” Tommy shook his head, still grinning, “I think she liked you too.”

Pushing down the way his stomach jumped when Tommy said that, he glanced over at the door again. He looked back to the table, checking to see if she’d left anything. Maybe she’d have to come back. What would he do if she did? Would he ask for her number? Or was that too forward? He didn’t want anything he did to remind her at all of the asshat they’d tossed out-

“She didn’t leave anything, dude.”

Tommy’s voice brought Joel out of his thoughts. He hadn’t realized how long he’d been staring at Y/n’s empty seat. There was no reason for her to come back.

“You’re fucked,” Tommy brought the conversation full circle, patting his brother’s shoulder and taking a drink.

Joel hid his disappointment, just like his infatuation; well, but not well enough. He looked down at his bottle, “Doesn’t matter. We’re not gonna see her again.”

Tommy shrugged, “Austin ain’t that big.”

Outside, Y/n was making the three minute walk down the street to her apartment complex. Her mind was no longer focused on the douche whose name she was already forgetting, all she could think of was how Joel smiled like he had a secret. How his laughter was reserved only for when he found something hilarious. How whether he was sitting beside his brother or punching out a handsy creep, he was completely relaxed. How his brown eyes were so warm, one gaze into them had given her goosebumps…

Y/n shook her head at herself, completely thrown for a loop. One encounter with one guy and she felt like there was some invisible string tugging harder with every inch of distance she put between herself and the bar. The chances of bumping into Tommy and Joel again in a city as big as Austin were slim. It was a reality she had to face. It was just one of those meetings that left you feeing like you’d experienced true magic. She was saddened at the thought of never sitting across from Joel again.

Into the night, with a total distance of seven minutes unbeknownst between them, Joel and Y/n each retired and prepared for their respective early mornings. Joel paid the neighbor who’d watched Sarah, Y/n called and checked in on her sister, who’d just had a baby. Joel kissed his daughter goodnight, Y/n finished up a load of laundry. They each changed into their pajamas, brushed their teeth, and turned out the lights. It was then, in the sweet space between sleep and consciousness that they let their minds drift back to each other….

—————————

2023, Boston

Of course it was raining. Rain made everything easier.

Joel, Tess, Y/n and Ellie trudged through the streets of what was once downtown Boston. Y/n kept a hand on Ellie’s back at all times, untrusting of both the people around them and the ones they were traveling with.

Even with the utter chaos they were in the middle of, Y/n’s mind was overtaken by the holes being burned into the back of her head. Joel’s stare was unfaltering. She wanted to turn around and scream at him, but that would garner the attention they were trying so hard not to attract. That was fine, she had more than enough anger and more than enough time to let him feel it.

Joel, whose every move was made with vigilante like precision, was struggling to keep his thoughts in order. The past was so easy to put behind you when you never had to look at it. Faced with the person who knew it all, had seen it all…the second he’d laid eyes on Y/n, it had all come flooding back. He had to get himself in check. Y/n’s unfiltered hatred was helping him there.

They made it to Joel and Tess’ apartment without any trouble, the four of them filing down the narrow hallway. Y/n pulled as far away from Joel as possible while they waited for Tess to unlock the door, which wasn’t very far. Once it was open, Joel impatiently waved for Ellie to enter, saving the same glare for Y/n. Ellie entered apprehensively, while Y/n knew enough to know that they were Joel and Tess’ leverage. Without them, they couldn’t get their battery. They were safe, for the time being.

“Give us a minute, all right?” Tess stated more than asked, heading back out to the hall.

“What the fu-“ Ellie started, the door silenced the last two letters.

Y/n put a finger to her lips, standing beside the door and listening to the other side of the door. Tess and Joel were discussing which route to take, something that infuriated her. There was only one child in their party, she refused to let Joel make her anything other than an equal.

She threw down her backpack and threw the door open. “If you two are planing on excluding me from the planning side of things, let me know now so I can strangle you both,” she said, smiling sweetly.

“You wanna tell us what we’re really doing with this kid?” Tess fired back.

“Not particularly,” Yn replied.

“Then you don’t get a voice here,” Tess looked to Joel, “We leave after dark. Stay with them.”

Joel took a step forward as his partner walked off, “Wait, why do I have to — Tess! Tess!”

Tess turned the corner of the hall without ever breaking stride.

Joel sighed loudly, eventually looking over to Y/n.

“She’s lovely,” Y/n snarked, earning a signature Miller scowl.

Joel nodded towards the door and Y/n slipped back inside, he kept an overly safe distance between them. Y/n unzipped her backpack and grabbed her first aid kit, sitting down at Joel’s table to tend to her bullet wound. Joel shrugged off his pack and threw himself on the couch. Ellie was splitting the distance between them, holding a large book in her hands.

“So,” the girl started, “Who’s Bill and Frank?”

Joel looked up confused, as if he couldn’t imagine how she could have possibly heard anything from the other side of the door.

“Oh, come on, Tool Time,” Y/n chortled, as she opened the bottle of disinfectant, “This whole place is paper thin.”

“The radio’s a smuggling code, right?” Ellie asked, “60s song, they don’t have anything new. 70s, they got new stuff. What’s 80’s?”

Joel got off the couch and ripped the book out of Ellie’s hands, throwing it to the side. He glanced over at Y/n, who was struggling to keep her grunts quiet as she cleaned her wound. A twinge of pain ran through his chest as she scrunched up her face, trying to keep her breaths steady. His fingers automatically twitched to help her, but it wouldn’t actually help anyone. Instead, he fought his instincts walked back to the couch and laid down.

“What are you doing?” Ellie asked.

“Killin’ time,” Joel said, his drawl particularly noticeable.

“What am I supposed to do?”

“I’m sure you’ll figure that out,” his eyes were already closed, just like the conversation.

Y/n began to use a q-tip to spread antiseptic cream over the wound, the cooling sensation dulling the pain.

Ellie took back the book and walked past Joel, “Your watch is broken.”

Four little words froze Y/n, hunched over the table with her supplies. She didn’t have to look to know that Joel’s eyes were open again. It was the second time today that they’d been perfectly in sync. The first was pulling their guns on one another and, to be honest, Y/n would have preferred to stare down the barrel of his pistol. Bullets were simple and easy to dodge, memories were more cunning and hurt significantly more.

Y/n finished dressing her wound, zipping the kit back up and throwing it in her backpack. She laid her jacket out to dry on the back of the chair and finally took a good look at her surroundings. She couldn’t have chosen a place more opposite to Joel’s 3-bed 3-bath in Austin. The floors creaked, the walls were stained, and the ceilings were uncomfortably low. Home was a fluid concept in the world they lived in, and the kind Y/n was thinking of was lost entirely.

“He’s fun,” Ellie grunted from her seat at the window.

Y/n scoffed, “You have no idea.”

If they’d be using the cover of night to travel, Y/n knew Joel had the right idea to sleep now. She pulled out a sweater from her backpack, bunched it up and set it on the ground across from the couch. Without any blankets, she made the call that a nearby rug would be the next best thing. She shook it out and placed it below the sweater.

“Try and get some sleep,” Y/n instructed Ellie, “You’re gonna need it.”

Ellie simply hummed and continued paging through the book. Y/n slipped under the dirty rug and sighed, she’d slept in worse places for much longer…

She took the moment of peace to finally take a good look at Joel. His eyebrows still furrowed as he slept, as if he was in a constant state of disapproval with the world. The rest of his face was softer, a strange contrast, but so very him. His chest rose and fell in a perfect rhythm. It was hard for Y/n not to remember how it felt to lay with her ear against his heart, lifting and lowering with him…

The QZ was small, and stories got around. Y/n had known for a while that Joel was in Boston. She’d also heard the stories of the things he’d done, the people he’d killed, and just how far he’d go to guarantee his survival. Despite not owing him anything, Y/n had refused to believe them. She adamantly denied the possibility that she could have ever loved a man capable of such hideous acts. The Cordecyps had changed them all in different ways, but she had to believe that Joel was still Joel…

————————————

“Hey.”

A mumble and a boot kick to the shoulder had Y/n startling awake. She rolled over to see Ellie, still sitting by the window with the book in her lap.

“How do you know him?”

Y/n squinted and sat up, her joints cracking as she stretched her limbs. The sky outside was pitch black, clearly she’d needed more sleep than she thought.

“He’s an…” she began to say, the complexity of the situation hitting her all over again. There was only one answer to give that wouldn’t invite any more questions. “I was friends with his brother a long time ago.”

Ellie’s seemed to accept it, “Where’re you from?”

“Texas.”

The girl’s eyes widened, “You lived in Texas?”

“Just for a little while,” Y/n replied, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes,

Ellie looked down at her hands and then out the window, “I’ve never been out that far.”

Y/n sighed, thinking about what it might be like to grow up never having known what the world used to be like. “You’re not missing much, kid,” she lied. She’d have gone back to Austin in a heartbeat, if it was at all possible.

“What’s ‘rosebud?’”

Y/n’s body went cold, as if she’d just been plunged into ice water, memories slamming into her like waves. A glass of rosé and belly laughter, a backyard game of football, soft lips whispering sweet nothings against her ear…

She looked over at Ellie calmly, “What?”

The girl nodded towards Joel, who was still peacefully sleeping. “He kept mumbling the word ‘rosebud,’” she replied, “Thought maybe it was a code word or something.”

It did serve as a codeword, containing secrets, laughter, and all the love that had once existed in Y/n’s world. Now the mere utterance cut her worse than any blade could.

“If it is,” Y/n got to her feet, not wanting to be anywhere near the word, “I don’t know what it means.”

Joel woke then, startling without any real physicality. He stared up at the ceiling, dazed from his dreams. No, nightmares. That’s what they were.

“You mumble in your sleep,” Ellie said, announcing her presence, “Something about ‘rosebud.’”

If that didn’t wake him up, nothing could. His eyes flitted across the room, looking for the woman who owned every inch of the word. When Joel couldn’t find her, he pushed up on one arm and found her sitting at his kitchen table with her back turned to him.

In his subconscious, he’d seen her as she used to be. Her eyes full of light, her smile like pure sunshine, laughter pouring out of her with a freedom so few people allowed themselves. He’d felt her soft skin against his, felt her lips pressed to his jawline, right between his neck and his ear. He’d known her for the first time in twenty years, only to wake up and find her ghost.

Joel swung his legs over the couch and rose, his knees and back aching. Getting older in a post-apocalyptic world felt extra cruel. He ventured over to the table, ready to test the waters and see just how bad of a time he was in for.

Y/n sighed in annoyance as Joel took the chair next to her. She needed distance she wasn’t going to get, from him and all that he reminded her of.

They sat in the most awkward silence either of them had ever known.

Joel was the first to break it, “You get some sleep?”

Y/n glared out the corner of her eyes at him, the first words he spoke to her after their confrontation and that was the first thing he said?

Joel’s chest tightened at her poisoned stare, he wasn’t going to get an answer. “Wound okay?”

“This whole thing’ll go a lot easier if you stop pretending to give a shit about me,” Y/n said quietly, the sharpness of her tone cutting through the volume, “We both know you don’t.”

The walls weren’t coming down. Joel knew that. He didn’t want them down. But after seeing her, full of energy and joy, he had to check and see if there was any bit of that woman left. His eyes scanned her skin, so many scars and scrapes where there had once been a smooth surface. Her hair was dry, streaks of oil laced like highlights through the strands. Her nails were chipped and caked with dirt underneath. But most noticeably, there were two prominent frown lines across her cheeks. That let Joel know that the woman he’d once loved was absolutely gone.

“What happened to Tommy?” Y/n asked. She couldn’t help herself, but she kept her tone frosty.

“Sent a message three weeks back,” Joel answered, his fist fidgeting against the table, “Haven’t heard anything.”

Y/n didn’t want to take any strolls with Joel down memory lane, but Tommy was…Tommy. She couldn’t deny that she still cared about him deeply. “Do you know where he is?”

“Wyoming,” Joel answered, looking past her eyes at the wall. He didn’t think he could handle speaking about his brother to her, of all people.

“Oh,” she said, “So you’re completely crazy now.”

That earned her a hardened gaze, as if Joel had anything else for her.

“I’ve never been on the other side of the Wall,” Ellie spoke up, “Look how dark it is.”

Y/n got up first, smoothing her tank top back down and leaning against the wall near the door. Joel followed, retaking his seat on the couch. They both pondered the same thing separately: how much life Ellie had missed out on just by being born in the wrong decade.

“You guys go out there a lot?” Ellie asked Joel.

“I guess,” he answered.

“When was the last time?”

“Maybe a year,” Joel quickly replied, he wasn’t enjoying all the questions, “What’s it matter?”

“But you know where to go,” Ellie clarified, looking too much like a kid, “So we’re gonna be okay.”

It was a fair question, and Joel couldn’t fault her for being scared. Fear was all she’d ever known.

“Yeah,” he answered, significantly softer than his last one.

Y/n’s eyes grazed the window, spotting the plastic butterfly that clung to the glass. After all these years, Joel had managed to keep it. It took all the self-discipline she had not to let her tears fall.

“So what’s the deal with you anyway,” Joel asked Ellie, “You some kind of bigwig’s daughter or somethin’?”

Both Ellie and Y/n knowingly smirked to themselves. “Something like that,” Ellie replied, “Oh, the radio came on while you were sleeping.”

“What?” Joel snapped to attention, leaning forward, “What was the song?

“He kept sayin’ like, “wake me up before you go-go?” Ellie answered, making Y/n and Joel feel much much older.

Joel knew what that meant, and it was nothing good. “Shit,” he whispered to himself.

Ellie’s smirk spread across her face, “Gotcha. 80’s means trouble. Code broken.”

Joel got to his feet, having used his patience up earlier in the day. “Listen-“

Y/n was between him and Ellie in a flash, sticking out a hand towards Joel. She was off limits, even for a light scolding. Luckily, the door opened up before anything could be said. Tess had returned.

“The spot under Lancaster looks good,” she reported, turning to Ellie after, “You got a jacket in your pack?”

“Yeah,” Ellie responded.

“Okay, get it. It’s time to go.”

Y/n stuffed her sweater back in backpack and went to retrieve her now-dry jacket. It had been a long time since she’d gone outside of the QZ, she couldn’t decide whether she was terrified or happy to step outside the fence.

Joel on the other hand felt like he couldn’t move. Between the fear over his brother’s safety, being close to Y/n once again and the daunting task ahead of them, he wanted to pause it all for a moment. Tess throwing his jacket at him was a good reminder that he didn’t get to take minutes.

As Y/n went to the window to check Ellie, her eye caught the butterfly in the window again. Much like ‘Rosebud,’ there was another name that she never said. She could practically see it weaved into the fine details of the creature, the bright blue against the dark black. When Joel’s back was turned. Y/n pulled the cling off the window and shoved it in her backpack. If they were going to do this, she needed to feel strong enough to do it. She’d give it back to Joel and face his wrath when the deed was done.

The four of them made it out and into the underground tunnels, landing in a lesser frequented area of the QZ. Joel climbed out first and scanned their surroundings, helping to pull Ellie out after. Y/n came through next, though Joel knew better than the extend his hand to her, and finally, Tess.

“Holy shit,” Ellie remarked, spinning around to take it all in, “I’m actually outside.”

Not half a second later, a helicopter made its round over them, searchlights shining off it. Tess pulled Ellie in and crouched behind a large piece of debris.

“Okay, we’re gonna take the left edge around the buffer zone,” Tess explained, “You stay close and you follow my lead.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Ellie nodded in understanding, glancing over to Y/n as if to get approval. Y/n nodded back, placing momentary trust that Tess would protect the girl.

“Same goes for you,” Joel said from beside her, his voice low.

Y/n glared over her shoulder, “I really don’t think you want me where you can’t see me.”

“Let’s go,” Tess ordered.

The four of them crawled under an abandoned school bus with Joel bringing up the rear. Walking while crouched was hard, but they managed their best and paused behind a car when a FEDRA patrol vehicle passed by. Once it was clear, they made their way through a rusted, metal pipe, stopping when the chopper passed over them again. Y/n caught a peek at Ellie’s face as the light shone on them, she looked terrified. Through her own nerves, Y/n reached over and took Ellie’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

Joel watched the whole thing, if he wanted a glimpse of the woman he’d once known, he’d gotten it. Her heart was still there.

Their team hurried out of the pipe, rushing to hide behind another big piece of debris. A storm was starting, the lightning acting as temporary lighting for their path. Joel was leading the way when their presence was detected.

“Hey,” a FEDRA soldier shouted, “Hey! Don’t, don’t, don’t move.”

Joel hurriedly looked around for more, pushing Ellie behind him. He held his hands up in surrender, along with Y/n, Ellie and Tess. If they wanted to get out of this, they needed to play along.

The FEDRA soldier opened the visor of his helmet, getting a look at Joel. “You gotta be shittin’ me…”

“Okay, let’s talk this out,” Joel said calmly.

“Turn around,” the soldier ignored him.

“Hold on-“

“Get on your fuckin’ knees,” the soldier yelled, “Get on your fuckin’ knees!”

Joel wasn’t giving up, “Now, hold on-“

“What did I fuckin’ tell you, man? I said stay the fuck home,” he pointed to the ground, “Get on your knees!”

Y/n knew if he fought any harder, he was going to get them all killed. Taking matters into her own hands, she dropped. “Ellie,” she said calmly, “Get down.”

“Just get on your knees,” Tess said to Joel, “Just get on your knees.”

Joel listened and kneeled between Ellie and Tess, turning his back to the soldier. Ellie finally followed Yn’s directions and got down next to Y/n.

“Listen, you let us do this run,” Tess bargained, “We’ll split the cards with you.”

The soldier wasn’t having it, “Oh, will you?”

Y/n’s breaths quickened, knowing their chances of escape were slim. There had to be something to do. If she gave herself up, would he let Tess and Joel leave with Ellie? She didn’t particularly feel like dying, but Ellie was too important to compromise. They could get her the rest of the way.

“Hands on your head, eyes forward,” the soldier instructed. It was the eyes forward bit that bothered Joel the most. They wanted to control what they couldn’t even see.

“Hands on your head,” the soldier screamed, startling them all into doing it. He came up behind Tess, holding a device to her neck. Checking to see if they were infected.

Y/n’s heart stopped in her chest. Shit.

“Really, man?” Tess complained.

The soldier was undeterred, “Yep, we’re doin’ this by the book.”

Ellie nudged Y/n with her boot, signaling she knew what was coming. Y/n wasn’t sure how to offer her any assurance that they’d be okay.

“Unauthorized exit,” the soldier reported, “They’ll hang you for that.”

“Fine,” Joel tried again, “Everythin’ off this run and half off of all the pills.”

Their voices faded in Y/n’s ears. If she could move quick enough, she could spin around and shoot the soldier before he knew what was happening. It would give Tess and Joel a few seconds to get away.

Before Y/n could make a decision, Ellie stole her move and stabbed the soldier in the leg.

“Ellie!” Y/n and Tess cried in unison.

The soldier was momentarily dazed, stumbling backwards and trying to figure out where the injury was. Y/n took the opportunity to shove Ellie behind her. Joel did the same, jumping to his feet and standing in front of Y/n. It was pure instinct.

“Get out of the fuckin’ way,” the soldier yelled, aiming his gun past the adults.

Joel could talk his way out of a lot, but this looked grim. That didn’t mean he wasn’t going to try.

“We can fix this,” he tried, holding up his hands as a barrier between them and the soldier.

The soldier was done listening to their pathetic attempts. “Move.”

Joel didn’t budge.

“Move.”

Y/n had been on the recieving end of a lot of guns, held by people who thought that God had abandoned the post-apocalyptic warland and it was their job to fill His seat. But the military regulated weaponry, the uniform, the expressionless face that wouldn’t fill with guilt the moment its body pulled the trigger.

It transported her back twenty years.

And she knew Joel was there with her.

He surged forward, letting out a gutteral cry as he tackled the soldier to the ground. He climbed atop him, pinning him, and began to throw one merciless punch after the other. The crunching of bone and squishing of flesh formed an awful, perfect, rhythm.

While Ellie watched and felt something awaken within her, Y/n felt something die. She watched the man she’d known in her past life as loving and tender become a necessary monster. People thought mourning was only for those who left the earth, but there were plenty of dead souls still breathing. If there was any debate as to whether or not her version of Joel Miller was truly gone, the proof was now and forever burned into Y/n’s mind. Someone else now inhabited in his body.

When the job was done, Joel sat heaving over the man’s body, looking down at his bloody and bruised fist. It was the closest he could ever come to avenging her. When he looked up, his eyes first fell on Ellie, who didn’t seem to mind the violence at all. It seemed she actually liked it.

Y/n’s eyes told a different story.

A well-timed lightning strike lit her up, and Joel saw tears pooling below her y/e/c pupils. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, anxiety mixing with terror. Joel knew exactly what she was thinking about him and for a singular second, he felt guilt. He felt guilt for causing her pain, for forcing her to see him as anything other than the man she’d known.

It passed as quick as it came. It had to.

Tess grabbed the dropped scanner and read the bright red screen. Y/n hurried back to the present pulled Ellie by her jacket away from Tess.

“No, no,” Ellie yelled, “No, I’m not sick!”

“Joel,” Tess called, beginning to panic.

“She’s not sick,” Y/n backed Ellie up, “She’s clean!”

“Joel,” Tess yelled again, putting space between Y/n and her.

Ellie pulled her jacket sleeve up to reveal her arm, “Look! Look! This is three weeks old! Nobody lasts more than a day! Does this look a day old to you?”

Tess examined the bite site, it looked more like a bad scar than an infectious wound.

“You would have fuckin’ killed me!” Ellie said in horror.

“I should fucking kill you,” Tess bit back, looking up at Y/n, “What the hell’s Marlene trying to pull?!”

“It’s true,” Y/n said, keeping one hand over her pistol in case Tess didn’t listen, “She’s clean.”

She looked past Tess’ shoulder and over to Joel, who was still watching her. It was a long shot to get him of all people to listen to her, but now, she was happy to bank on their history in hopes that he’d believe her.

“I swear it,” Y/n held a hand up, her eyes digging into Joel’s, begging for him to not raise his gun.

Joel stopped short at Y/n’s vulnerability, he was shaken in every direction just from the last thirty seconds. He felt his will to argue with her slipping away.

“They’re gonna catch us if we don’t run,” Ellie stated, she wasn’t wrong. They could argue elsewhere and keep their lives.

“Joel, we gotta move,” Tess called, interrupting the stare-off between Y/n and him, “We gotta move, Joel.”

Ellie and Tess were already making their way to the fence, but Y/n and Joel stayed a second longer. Neither one had much credibility with the other, not after the last time they’d been together. But at the moment, Joel had two choices. He could either die at FEDRA’s hands, or he could follow the woman he’d once trusted most in the world and believe her one more time.

He chose the latter, though he was far from believing.

Joel picked up the soldier’s rifle and gestured for Y/n to move, the two of them ran after Tess and Ellie, who were already slipping through a hole in the chained fence. Y/n pushed through it, coming to stand on the other side of the QZ’s limits and pausing for Joel. She knew he trusted her as far as he could throw her and she wasn’t totally confidant in turning her back to him. She waited till he came through and the two of them ran after Tess and Ellie, into the night and into the unknown…

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Joel Miller Taglist: @xsnak-3x @xmoonknightlyx

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller imagine #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #twenty years later

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gaiathemexicanbeauty · 3 months

Text

"what makes you think you can..?"

(bingo challenge prompt #2 :D)

pairing: re4!leon kennedy x gn!reader word count: 693 warnings: arguing? does that count idk, angst maybe??, mentions of ashley (my queen), leon throwing disses at you for sure, no kiss kiss :(, unrequited love?, leon's a man of few words yall

takes place during re4 :3

"what makes you think you can just walk away?"

leon's voice is icy, brimming with poison when you turn your back to ashley and him. there's no doubt in your mind that he has his gun aimed and at the ready where you stand at the bottom of the dirt path. "leon, stop-" "ashley, you've been amazing company but i can fight my own battles." you say firmly, slowly turning back to face leon to show you mean no harm towards them. "don't worry, i think you can drop the act by now." he says with a glare, rainwater glistening off of his gun and drenching the three of them. you only hum in response to that, looking over at ashley: it'd really only been a few days since you'd been tagging along with the pair, but the look ashley was giving you was like you'd just kicked her dog.

"what tips you off that i'm with the bad guys, hm? am i too friendly, too giving?" you say, crossing your arms against your chest as leon tightens his grip on his gun. he doesn't respond, just keeps glaring at you with this indiscernible look in his eyes. ah. you muster up as much face as you can, trying not to both relish in and repent the way you can sense his hurt from a mile away; maybe ashley was picking up on it, too, it would make more sense as to why she'd been so willing to bond with you while leon kept you at arms' length. "who will i tell, leon? who could i possibly working for that needs to know if the president's daughter gets home safe or where she is? i don't exactly see the locals welcoming me with hugs and kisses." you say, earning a scoff from leon that makes you swallow thickly. "something tells me this is a need to know basis. but i'm also not gonna end up being the one 6 feet under when i find out who needs to know."

you let out an incredulous laugh at that, shaking your head before smiling coldly up at leon; god, you wanted to smack that stupid gun out of his hands and shake him. "i bet you used to be fun at parties. i really don't know what else i can tell you to let me home free." you say, the three of you unmoving as thunder rumbles somewhere in the distance. leon seems to just stare at you (or through you) almost in shock though it's not evident on his face. his features falter for a second, one of those 'blink and you'll miss it' moments and then you see it: under the grime and rage and stress and years he'd never even been a shadow of a thought in your mind, you see him. the boy he'd told you only bits and pieces about that explored a strange city and a strange police station ravaged by destruction and gore. the boy who never had his famed first day. the boy who's job first and foremost was the protection of others.

the moment's gone before you have time to process it, watching leon put his gun away and turn on his heel in the opposite direction; anything you wanted to say was lost to him now. ashley is left to look between the two of you, unable to meet your gaze and her eyes meeting leon's back. "ashley, let's go." "leon-" "on me." ashley's lips part in shock a bit as leon keeps walking, not looking back even once. she looks over at you, worry obvious in her expression. you finally meet her eyes, giving her a smile that says 'what can you do?' and waving her off. she doesn't take her eyes off of you, walking hesitantly before eventually turning away to catch up to leon. you watch the two of them disappear behind a patch of trees, standing in the rain for a bit longer; you tell yourself it's to show him you won't follow them but if he glanced your way for even a second, you'd join them again in a heartbeat.

◦°˚\(*❛‿❛)/˚°◦

I MISSED LEON KENNEDY SO BAD, he was actually going to be my first prompt but this one helped me create that sweet sweet drama

thanks for reading once again! im having such a good time writing for this challenge and being able to do small pieces instead of one big piece. i hope you all are enjoying it too! :3

next prompt:

one finds the other crying

PSSTT here's the link to the bingo masterlist to find all the prompts in one spot ;3

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honeybadgerwritings · 2 years

Text

Every Step You Take

Pairing: Dark!Peter Ballard x Afab Fem!Reader - Dark!001 x Afab Fem!Reader

Requested: Hi there! First I wanted to express how in love I am with your work! I honestly think you're an amazing writer and that your works are bliss istg! ♡ I just read that you're closing your requests and I wanted to see if I could leave one, if you don't wanna answer it it's okay I understand ♡I wanted to request a Peter Ballard x fem reader (if you want the reader can be one of Brenner's kids but ofc the reader's of age) with the prompts 1, 9 in fluff, 22 and 23 in smut, 19 and 25 in angst, all from him and in the order you want!

Summary: Chaos erupts in Hawkins lab. What’s happens when your close friend Peter is the reason why?

Warnings: Heavy Mentions of Blood, Gore, Violence, Death, Manipulation, Claustrophobia, Panic Attacks, Smut, Age-Gap, Oral (Fem Receiving), Fingering, Edging If You Squint.

Please Please Please let me know if I missed anything.

A/N: The reader is 18+ in this fic. If I had to give her an actual age I would say roughly 21-22. Peter is roughly 28-29. Any sexual acts are fully consensual. This is also tagged as Dark!Peter, and while that is true, it’s mostly just regular Peter, because he himself is a walking red flag, and his character is already very dark. Just wanted to make that known.

Prompts:

1. “I want you by my side.”

9. “Just trust me alright?”

19. “I know you’re mad at me, but I’m only doing this to protect you.”

22. “So good for me, look at how much you came.”

23. “Where did this attitude come from hm?”

25. “Please don’t make this more difficult than it has to be.”

This is not yet edited, I will get to it ASAP

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⚠️ This fic is 18+ so minors DNI ⚠️

Please read the Author’s Note and Warnings above before continuing!!! Thank you!

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Chaos.

If there’s one word you could pick to describe the situation you’re currently in, that would be the word to choose.

Everything around you is in utter chaos.

Alarms are blaring, the fluorescent lights over head are flickering, screaming echoes from somewhere throughout the building, and everyone is tumbling past you. It’s all a blur of white uniforms and clicking heels as someone shoves you out of their way. They’re all more concerned for their own safety than yours, as you stand there, utterly clueless, in your hospital gown.

This doesn’t upset you though. In all honesty you’re not really worried about yourself either; If it comes down to it, you’d use your powers for protection. The only thing you’re actually worried about right now is finding him.

Finding Peter.

Peter is your….friend? Companion? You’re not really sure to be honest. All you know is that the two of you had grown close in recent months, bonding over shared experiences with loneliness. You both found solitude in each other, and he made sure you knew that you could always come to him for help, advice, or comfort.

And you did, almost every day in fact.

Being so much older than all of the kids easily made you an outcast amongst them. They didn’t disrespect you at all, in fact they’re all borderline terrified of you, but that didn’t stop the exclusion. Papa never really acknowledged you anymore, other than when he needed to run some tests, and all of the workers treated you like you were five. You were so lonely and had no one to talk to for a long time, spending most nights wandering the halls instead of being alone with your thoughts in your room.

It wasn’t until you had first bumped into him in the hall about a year ago that you even knew of his presence. He’d been so kind and gentle with you that day, helping you up from the ground and guiding you back to your room.

“How did you even manage to sneak out?” He’d asked, and you’d been forced to meekly explain that after many freak outs, Papa instructed workers to leave your door open a crack every night.

You’re insanely claustrophobic, and your room really doesn’t help. You don’t have control over the lights, so it’s almost always dark in there, and it’s such a small, confined space that it makes it hard for you to breathe.

You’d expected him to roll his eyes and scoff like every other person who’d heard the story, but he didn’t. He threw his head back with a laugh, joking that you must have caused a lot of trouble to get Papa to agree to something like that.

He wasn’t far off, but you didn’t feel like going into detail.

He’d guided you into your room, and waited for you to get situated in bed before wishing you goodnight with a wink, and leaving the door open a crack.

The whole interaction left you both flustered and confused, wondering why this absolute stranger had such an effect on you, and why he spoke to you with kindness instead of authority like everyone else did.

You began to notice his presence more often after that. He would always offer to play chess with you in the rainbow room if you seemed bored, sometimes he’d be the one to deliver lunch and dinner to your room, and on occasion he would stay and chat with you for a few minutes.

“On occasion” quickly turned into most times, and “a few minutes” turned into an hour or two. He was easy to befriend, an you both had plenty in common. He made you feel safe, and warm, and dare you say even loved. He’d promised to always be there for you and protect you, and he’d kept that promise. Any time you were threatened with a punishment or put in harms way by another child, he would stick up for you, keep you safe.

So you can’t help but feel like it’s your turn.

Gunshots ring out somewhere in the distance, and you flinch as the screaming around you becomes louder. Another person bumps your shoulder, and this time you’re knocked onto your ass. You groan, covering your head with your arms as you attempt to protect yourself from getting trampled. You’re surrounded by a stampede of incompetent assholes who’ve bossed you around your whole life, and honestly you’re starting to feel more annoyed than scared.

Finally after a few moments the screaming subsides, and you’re left alone in an empty hallway, sitting in the middle of the floor. You shake your head, beginning to pull your aching body up from the ground, until you pause. You hear footsteps coming from the hallway to your right.

You take a moment to listen, registering their movement. They’re not quick paced, scattered, or scared like everyone else. These ones are calm, collected, menacing even. And of course, they’re headed right towards you.

You barely have any time to register this observation before the person rounds the corner in front of you. You make eye contact with them and the tense feeling in your chest dissipates, your shoulders immediately relaxing with a sigh. It’s just Peter.

For a second, he has a wild, crazy look in his eyes, but then it flickers to confusion with furrowed brows, then fear. He’s tense, more tense than you’ve ever seen him. “What are you doing out here?” He sounds frantic, like he didn’t expect to see you here, in this building, that you’ve never left.

“Uhh-” you’re cut off as he lifts you up from the ground by your arm. You yelp, but not in pain, more in surprise than anything as he half escorts, half drags you down the hallway with him. “You’re supposed to be in your room.” He sounds like he’s scolding you.

“I was, until I heard gunshots and screaming. They don’t latch my door Peter, you know that-” you remember the chaos that had surrounded you moments ago, “Hey what’s going on?” He doesn’t respond, whipping his head around as if he’s looking for something, “Peter.” You try again, desperately waiting for an answer.

He only grunts in response, leaving your question unanswered once again. You quickly become fed up, as he drags you down empty hallway after empty hallway. Eventually you pull your arm from his grasp in annoyance, backing away from him. He spins to face you, attempting to snatch your arm but you step back, dodging him.

“Stop it! What the hell is the matter with you? What’s going on?”

He tries to grab your arm again, failing.

“Peter!”

“I’m trying to protect you!” He finally spits out, and your eyebrows furrow, bottom lip beginning to tremble at his tone.

“Protect me from what? Peter, please, you’re scaring me. What’s happening?” His eyes soften significantly as your face falls, and he steps closer to you, lacing his fingers through yours. His thumb delicately strokes the back of your hand and you sniffle, absolutely lost.

“I know, I know you’re scared. But I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” He glances around once again as if to make sure the coast is clear, before looking back down at you, “Just trust me alright?”

You shouldn’t have nodded as quickly as you did. You should have held out a little longer, pestered him with more questions, and refused to go with him until he provided you with the answers that you so desperately wanted. But this was Peter, he’d never given you a reason not to trust him, so how could you start now?

“Good girl.” He squeezes your hand in response before turning on his heel, and dragging you with him. You have very little time to process the affect those words have on you before you slam into his back. He’d stopped abruptly, listening for something. You can’t help but listen too, hearing many sets of footsteps heading down the hall in your direction.

“Shit.” He curses, before quickly pulling you into a room off to the right. He shuts the door behind him, leaving the two of you in almost pitch black, the only lighting coming from the small glass panel on the door. You stay completely silent as the footsteps rush past you. In all honesty they sound like guards. But why would you being hiding from the guards?

He turns to you once they pass, gripping your wrists firmly in his hands to gather your full attention. “I need you to listen to me,” he speaks in a hushed tone and you nod, “I’m going to go back out.”

Your brows feel like they’ve just been permanently furrowed in confusion, because why in the actual fuck would he want to go back out there? You feel yourself shaking your head before he can even finish his explanation.

“No…no you can’t Peter.” He releases your wrists, gently cupping your face in his hands.

“I’m going to go back out there,” he repeats slowly, “and you’re going to stay here.” You almost burst out laughing at that. You? Stay here? Absolutely not.

“No.” You shake your head, “No way- not happening. At least let me go with you, I can protect you!” You try to reason and he chuckles, like you had just said something so unbelievably adorable and he found it endearing.

“I appreciate the thought darling but I don’t need you putting yourself in harms way. I can protect myself.” You cross your arm’s defiantly, twisting your head out of his grip.

“Well if you leave, I’m sure as hell not staying-” you glance around, trying to figure out exactly where the two of you are. It looks like another bedroom, which is the last place you want to stay, and he must know that, “-in here!”

He sighs, backing away from you and towards the door. “Please don’t make this more difficult than it has to be.”

You’re staring to become angry now. Angry that he thinks he can keep you in here. Angry that he thinks that this situation is more difficult for him than it is for you. Angry that he’s not giving you any information other than the fact that you “need to trust him.”

“If you leave this room I’m coming with you, end of story. Now get out of my way.” You huff, wishing he would stop trying to boss you around. You try to push past him to get to the door but he doesn’t budge. You try again and still, nothing. With the way he’s looking at you he almost seems amused, and that pisses you off.

You extend your arm, ready to shove him to the side with your powers, but before you’re even given the chance, you’re slammed up against the wall, being held up by nothing but air. It knocks the wind out of you and you wheeze, looking up at him in shock.

What the fuck?

“Do not-” he looks irritated, the wild look in his eyes returning as he steps towards you, fingers reaching out to firmly grasp your chin, “Do not ever use your powers on me. Do you understand?” Your eyes widen and you nod frantically, regretting even thinking about it. This is not the Peter you know, and you’re afraid to set him off even further. So many questions run through your head, unable to process them all at once.

Is he just like you? How is he doing this? Is he going to hurt you? Are you going to be left here alone? What if-

He watches you carefully as you tremble under his touch, knowing that your brain must be moving a mile a minute. The last thing he wanted to do was reveal his powers to you like this, but he has no other choice. If you aren’t going to listen, he’s going to have to force you to. His hand slips from your chin to cradle your cheek, and you whimper in fear.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbles apologetically, “I’m sorry but you give me no choice. I’m not letting you out there.” He slowly steps away from you, “I need to keep you safe.” He makes his way towards the door and your eyes widen.

“No- Peter don’t you dare. Don’t you fucking dare!” You’re angry, but your voice comes out frantic and scared. You attempt to flail your limbs in an effort to escape, but to no avail.

He pauses in the doorway for a moment, contemplating letting you come with him, but that thought quickly diminishes and he shakes his head. He knows you’d be even more upset if you knew what he’s about to do. He glances at you over his shoulder, “I’ll be back, I promise.”

The door shuts behind him and you drop to the ground, hard. Your knees smack on the tile, but you pay no mind as you scramble up towards the door. You try to tug on the handle but it doesn’t budge, as expected. You don’t even try to use your powers to open it, you know it won’t work, it never does. You pound your fists on the steel door, beginning to panic.

“No… no no no Peter please! Please don’t leave me here! I-I can’t- it’s dark and- I can’t do it- please!” Thankfully he’s still there, watching you with sad eyes through the glass panel.

“I know you’re mad at me, but I’m only doing this to protect you.”

You open your mouth to beg him again, but you’re cut off by the abrupt sound of yelling and gunshots. And just like that he’s gone from your view. You cry out, slamming your fists against the door until they’re bruised and bloody.

There’s no way. There’s no way any of this is actually happening right now. You pinch yourself, attempting to will the screams and gunshots away by waking up, but you don’t. This isn’t a dream, if anything it’s a living waking nightmare and you’re trapped in it.

Literally.

You bang on the door in one last attempt to be let out, before collapsing onto the floor in a heap of panic. It’s so loud, everything is so loud and the room is so small and you can’t fucking breathe. You find yourself scrambling back into the corner by the bed, covering your ears with your hands.

It feels like the room is closing in on you inch by inch, like you’re about to get crushed between the walls while the war outside rages on.

But then it stops. It all stops.

Not your panic, god no. If only it could be that easy, but you do hold your breath as everything outside the door— no everything in the facility stills. The screams have stopped, the echoing of bullets have faded, and all that’s left the sounds of your wheezing. You want to get up and peek outside the door but your legs aren’t exactly working right now.

But the silence must be a good thing right? Surely whatever caused the disturbance is gone?

All you can do is take deep breaths and hope that someone will find you soon, someone will come to your rescue and let you out of this godforsaken room. Those hopes however, are soon crushed as your eyes trail under the door, watching as blood begins to slowly seep under the crack.

Oh god.

Everything stopped,

Because everyone is dead.

Everyone is dead and nobody is ever going to know that you’re trapped in here. You’re going to be locked in this room forever, and nobody is ever going to find you. And Peter- Oh god what if he’s dead too?

A broken sob leaves your lips as you curl in on yourself, whole body trembling. You’re spiraling completely out of control, you can feel your heart hammering in your chest, against your ribs, in your throat, in your head. You can feel it in your ears, it doesn’t matter if you cover them, it doesn’t matter how hard you clench your jaw and push your hands against your ears, you can hear it.

Your breaths are quick, sharp— never really getting enough air. Your lungs burn. You feel dizzy. Fear clings to your chest, to your teeth, to your hands. You don’t even register the loud, broken cries that leave your mouth. Surely nobody will hear them anyway, what do you care?

Your vision blurs, fluttered and unfocused. Soon enough there are tears in your eyes, in your nose, in your throat. You’re crying, terrified, pulling the collar of your gown away from your skin, trying to get enough air in.

That’s how Peter finds you. He approaches the door carefully, wincing as he sees the body pressed up against the door, and hears your desperate cries from inside. He knows you’re claustrophobic, and he hated every second that he had to leave you in there, but once again, he had no choice.

He kicks the body of the guard away in disgust, before slowly pulling open the door. Light finally shines into the room, but you don’t even notice, too focused on trying not to pass out. He spots your trembling body in the corner, curled into the fetal position as you claw at your gown, trying to breathe properly.

“Oh sweetheart…” he sighs, stepping over the trail of blood leading into the room. Any other person would likely start panicking themselves after witnessing your state, but Peter has dealt with this a couple times before.

There was one time another orderly had gotten angry with you, and locked you in your room for the night. When Peter had found you the next morning, everything had been broken and likely thrown across the room. You had sat in the middle of it all in anguish, fresh tears rolling down your cheeks.

You hadn’t gotten a lick of sleep that night. He’d held you in his arms for roughly an hour that day, gently calming you down until you passed out from pure exhaustion. Peter was so angry. So angry that he wanted to kill that orderly with his bare hands for what he’d done to you.

Who could’ve known that it would eventually happen?

He gently kneels down in front of you, staying a few feet back as to not make you feel trapped. His eyes scan over your trembling form and he feels guilt wrack through his whole body. He begins to speak softly, trying to verbally pull you from your panic until you’re calm enough to be held,

“I know, I know you’re scared baby, but I’m here. Just breath and listen to my voice, I’m right here.“

Your face twists into one of confusion when you hear a voice. At first you think you’re imagining it, but it doesn’t go away. It’s muffled and far away, but then it gets louder, closer. In fact it’s beginning to sound like-

“You’re okay sweetheart.”

You snap your head up, tear-blurred eyes searching for the culprit like a deer in headlights, until they finally rest on the figure in front of you,

“P-Peter?” You choke out. It hardly sounds like your voice at all, it’s strangled and raw and it’s forced out between rapid breaths. He tries to hide the way he winces, providing you with a small smile instead, though you can hardly see it through your tears.

“It’s me darling.”

Normally he would have to ask you if you want to be held, but this time you don’t even give him the chance to. You quickly scramble up from your spot on the ground, before hurling yourself into his arms with a broken cry. Right now you don’t even care that he’s the reason you’re so distraught, you’re just glad that he’s okay.

He’s quick to wrap his body around yours, sitting against the wall and cradling you against him. You bury your face in the junction where his neck and shoulder meet, muffling your heartbreaking sobs, “I didn’t- I couldn’t- I thought you were d-de-”

He shushes you gently, cradling the back of your head as you weep into his neck. His other hand is placed on your back, his fingers slowly gliding up and down your spine.

“I’m okay, I’m not going anywhere. I’ve got you.” He turns, placing a kiss in your hair, “I need you to take some deep breaths for me though okay? In through your nose, out through your mouth.”

You try your best to follow his instructions, struggling for the first few minutes, but he’s patient with you. He so patient with you, in fact, that he lets your tears and snot stain his shirt. Though in hindsight that’s not saying much, considering it’s already covered in blood.

You finally manage to suck in a breath, and he praises you, continuing to guide you through it until your breathing is finally back on track. Your tears haven’t quite subsided yet as you pull back from his grip to face him, hands resting around his neck.

“W-why did you leave me?” You sniffle, “You know I can’t- I hate-” you can’t even get the words out before another sob wracks through your body.

“Shhh…” He pulls you back towards him, cradling your face in his hands as he rests his forehead against yours, “I know baby, I know. I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to leave you here, but I had no other choice.” He grips your chin gently, lifting your head up so your eyes meet his, “You’re the most important thing in the world to me. I don’t know what I’d do if you got hurt.”

You sniffle, nodding your head as you attempt to understand his reasoning, still not really understanding why he left in the first place. “I-I was so scared. I didn’t know if you were hurt…I-I thought I was gonna be stuck in here.” He’s shaking his head before you can even finish, wiping the tears from your face with the pads of his thumbs. He gently grasps one of your wrists, guiding your hand to his chest, placing it over his heart,

“You feel that?” He asks, and you nod, feeling the gentle thump of his heart beating against his chest. It’s calm, collected, like he knows everything is going to be fine, “I’m alright. I promise. I would never leave you alone if I didn’t think I would be okay.”

You nod again, sniffling as he continues to hold your hand in his, examining it. He frowns, seeing how beaten and battered it is, wasting no time to grab the other one, examining that one as well. He tuts, looking up at you in pity,

“You poor thing-” he lifts your hand up to his lips, placing a gentle kiss on each knuckle, before doing the same with the other one. Your heart flutters in your chest as he does. How he manages to be so calm and soft with you in a moment like this will forever baffle you. He’s always been like this with you, when nobody else was. He’s so sweet, and kind, and gentle, and-

He’s covered in blood.

You’re pushing away from him before he can even try to stop you. Your scramble up from the floor, backing yourself against the opposite wall.

“Whose blood is that?”

He stands, hands outstretched like he’s trying not to frighten a baby deer. “Darling-”

“Peter…whose blood is that?” You ask again, a frightened edge to your tone. He doesn’t answer you.

“Is that why you- you-” your breathing picks up again as you put two and two together, “Is that why you locked me in here? Did you do all this?”

“I did what I had to…” he confesses, carefully taking a step towards you.

“What you had to?!” You let out a hysterical laugh, “I don’t understand I-” you’re trembling again, thinking about all of the screams and the bodies that had been pushing past you not even 30 minutes ago. Are they all dead? Did they all spend the last few seconds of their life fearing the man in front of you? And what about-

“Oh my god Peter, the kids…”

“The kids are fine. They’re all safe.” He’s lying through his teeth, but he has to. If he doesn’t he’s going to lose you completely. You aren’t as strong as he is, you’re softer, more fragile. He has to take that into consideration, otherwise you’ll never forgive him, “They’re all safe in the rainbow room. I made sure of it.”

“But why?” You hiccup, “Why do all this? Why kill everyone?”

He clenches his jaw, wondering if you’re really ready to know. Although, with everything else going on, he figures it’s as good of a time as any. He reaches down, slowly rolling up the sleeve of his perfectly cuffed shirt. You squint your eyes to see what he could possibly be trying to show you and- oh my god.

Your face contorts into shock and you take a step closer to him, making sure your eyes aren’t deceiving you. You furrow your brows, glancing back and forth between it and your own tattoo, lifting your arm to compare them. Sure enough, his 001 perfectly matches the shape and size of the 002 on your wrist.

He watches you carefully, gauging your reaction. “That’s… not possible.” You whisper, and his eyebrow raises in slight amusement.

“No?”

You shake your head, so unbelievably confused. Your whole world- everything you’ve ever known has come crashing down on you in the last hour and you can feel your brain malfunctioning.

“Papa said-”

“That 001 isn’t real? That I don’t exist? That you’re the original?” It almost sounds like he’s taunting you, but when you look up he just looks sad, like he’s disappointed to be telling you this. “I’ve always been here, locked away in this godforsaken place. And I’ll be the first to tell you that I’m no story, I am very much real.”

You’re at a loss for words, unsure of how to process this new information.

“I was once free you know,” you look up at him, curious as to what he means, “I had a life outside of this place, a home. But then he took me away. He took me away from all of it when I was only a child.” He spits, beginning to circle you, as if he’s the predator and you’re his prey.

“He used me, tested on me; he didn’t care how much it would hurt.” You assume he’s talking about Papa. It isn’t news to you that he’s selfish, backstabbing man. “But then, he decided one of me wasn’t enough. He tried to copy me, clone me. And just like that, you were born. And eventually, there were seventeen others, who were all treated with respect- no painful tests, no beatings, no going hungry… and I was locked away. Forced to keep my identity a secret for so many years while…all the little brats got everything they ever needed.”

You flinch at his tone, and he stops behind you. You can feel his gaze eyeing you up and down, unsure if he’s upset with you or not. You’re startled when you feel his hand slip around you, cradling the side of your face, and turning your head to look at him over your shoulder. It’s an awkward position, but the intensity in his eyes is back, and you can’t force yourself to fight him.

“Except for you,” He hums, pressing his body lightly against yours. You feel a heat rise to your cheeks, not being used to this level of closeness with him, “You know what it’s like to be isolated, excluded, unappreciated… you’re different from them. You always have been.” You feel your eyes slowly slipping closed, not from exhaustion, more so letting yourself relax into him as he speaks, taking in every word.

“You’re so special, and much more powerful than the rest of them. Almost as powerful as me, you just haven’t realized it yet.” You don’t really believe it, but it feels nice to hear. It feels nice to finally have someone notice and appreciate you after all this time.

“I did this so I can be free again… so we can be free.” Your eyes peel open once more, confusion written all over your face. You? Free? That’s something you’ve never really known.

“Me?” You whisper timidly and he nods. You frown, spinning to face him, “You mean… we’re leaving?”

He nods again, a soft knowing smile resting on his face. Of course leaving would be scary for you. You’ve lived your entire life here, and now you’re being asked to leave it all behind for him. “I want you by my side.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, processing all of this. You’d never seen the outside world before, and frankly you’ve never given it much thought at all. But with Peter it couldn’t be so bad right?

“I-I don’t know if-”

He steps even closer, pressing his body completely against yours, and you’re cut off by your own surprised gasp as you look up at him. He smirks, seemingly knowing the affect he has on you.

“Oh but there’s so many things you’re missing out on sweetheart. So many things you’d never be allowed to experience here.” You gulp, widening eyes never leaving his as you chew on your bottom lip. Curiosity finally gets the better of you and you gather the courage to ask,

“Like what?”

His gaze flickers between your eyes and your lips as he leans down, gently cupping your cheek in his hand, “Like this,” he mumbles, before pressing his soft lips against yours. You can’t help but squeak in surprise as he kisses you, not really knowing what’s happening. He chuckles against your lips, wrapping his other hand around your waist, “Just follow my lead.”

You try you best to keep up, slowly beginning to get the hang of it. You’re loving the feeling of his lips on yours, never wanting it to end. You clench your fists a few times, not really knowing what to do with them, and he takes notice, gently guiding them up and around his neck.

His lips are soft and pillowy against your own, and a warm fuzzy feeling grows in your chest as he tugs you impossibly closer to him. He gently bites down on your bottom lip, soothing it with his tongue before pulling away, resting his forehead against yours while the two of you catch your breath.

It isn’t until the back of your knees hit the edge of the bed that you notice he’s moved the two of you backwards, and you fall onto the mattress.

He slowly crawls on top of you, placing kisses all over your face, your lips, cheeks, forehead, nose… and you’re a giggling mess underneath him. He slowly makes his way down your neck and to your collarbone, tugging on the collar of your gown to gain access.

“Mmm feels- feels so good Peter.” You don’t even think to stop the moans and whimpers that escape your lips while he gently suckles and bites your skin.

“Such pretty noises baby… and they’re all for me? What a sweet little thing you are.” He hums against your skin. Your eyes roll back, hips bucking up involuntarily at his words, and he cooes at you, “You like that hm? You like when I praise you? Such a good girl aren’t you?” You nod frantically, a whine leaving your lips. You don’t really know why you like it, or why you’re reacting like this, but you do know that you don’t want it to stop. You don’t want any of this to stop, no matter where it goes.

His hands slide down your body as he marks up the delicate skin of your neck, groping, feeling every inch of your gorgeous body. His fingertips finally reach the hem of your gown and he lifts his lips from your skin, examining the already fucked-out look on your face.

“Do you want me to take this off of you sweetheart?” He asks, gently tugging on the article of clothing. You look up at him, eyes blown out as you try to come up with a response, “What happens if you do?” You ask timidly.

He smirks, leaning down to peck a kiss against your cheek, “Well, then I’ll get to make you feel good.”

You squint at him, “But you’re already making me feel good?” You say, unsure if you meant for it to be a question or not. He chuckles at your naivety, touching his forehead to yours and pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose, “Mmm but I can make you feel so much better than this. Is that what you want baby?”

You don’t even waste a second, nodding your head frantically, wanting nothing more than for him to give you pleasure. However he’s grabbing your chin lightly before anything else,

“Ah ah ah, let’s use our words. Wanna make sure this is actually what you want.”

And how could it not be? Sure, this is all brand new to you; it’s nerve-wracking and scary even… but it feels so good. There’s an intense pressure building between your legs, and you’d give anything for Peter to make it go away, to make it feel better.

After giving it maybe two seconds of thought, you’re nodding your head again as your lips part, “I-I want this. I want it Peter, promise.” He considers asking if you’re sure, but with the way your lips are pouted, and your eyes are so wide and blown out, he can tell you’re running out of patience.

“Okay sweetheart, okay.” He obliges, slowly lifting the hem of the gown up, helping you slide it up your body and over your head, disposing of it somewhere on the floor. His eyes rake up and down every inch of your exposed skin, taking you in. He practically drools at the sight of your breasts, reaching up to gently fondle them in his hands.

“Oh baby,” he watches as you preen underneath his touches, “You’re perfect. So fucking perfect for me.”

You can’t even imagine how you must look to him right now. Laid underneath him in nothing but a pair of panties, chest heaving, eyes blown wide, and your mind so foggy and blissful as he begins to tug on your nipples. Your hips buck up yet again as he does so, and you react with a whine. You need him so bad, you need to feel him touching you all over.

He chuckles darkly, dipping down to place a kiss to the valley between your breasts, “I’ve got you baby.” One of his hands slowly trails down your tummy, making its way to the hem of your underwear. It startles you with how fast he dips his hand underneath the fabric, swiping two of his fingers through your folds. Your whole body jolts and you gasp in surprise. He slips his hand back out, observing the excessive amount of slick that coats his fingers.

“Mmm look at how wet you are darling, you’ve soaked through your panties entirely. What a messy little thing you are.” He places his fingers between his lips, moaning around them as he cleans his slick coated digits. You can’t help but watch, completely mesmerized by how dirty all of this is. He was right, this is something you’d never in a thousand years be able to experience if you were to stay here. Papa would have be so enraged…but you don’t have care about him. You don’t have to listen to Papa anymore.

He dips down between your legs again, both hands gently tugging your white panties down your legs. You almost feel embarrassed at the way he has to peel the cloth away from your soaked cunt, but he moans at the sight, instantly calming your anxieties.

He watches in awe as your messy cunt pulses, drooling from your tight little hole. He looks up at you, blowing cool air right onto your clit, watching in amusement as your pussy twitches and you whine. You look down at his position, feeling confusion feign through you once again, “What are you doing?” You squeak out, watching his eyes raise to meet yours again, amusement filling them.

“I’m going to make you feel good baby. But first-” He sits up just a little bit to gather your attention, “Hands above your head.” You squint at him, wondering why he could be asking such a thing of you right now. “You heard me darling, go on and put your hands above your head.”

You oblige, lifting them up and over your head, resting them against the pillow. He smiles, placing a delicate kiss you to inner thigh, and your hips buck again in pure desperation. “Good girl, now keep them there for me.”

You don’t have enough time to respond and ask why, before his mouth is on you, devouring your sweet little cunt. The sensation feels so foreign to you, yet is has you writhing around like a crazy person as he eats you out. You whimper and whine as he swipes his tongue from your hole up to your clit.

He loves how noisy you are as he makes out with your soaked cunt. Your moans fill the air as you take everything that’s he’s giving you, and the twisted part inside of him is so grateful that he’s the only one that can hear you. He can’t even stand the thought of someone else hearing you like this, some other guard pleasuring you between your legs as you writhe desperately.

No, these pretty noises and your body are his. All his, and nobody else’s. His tongue laps at your clit before flicking it through your folds, and looking up at you through his lashes. He dips his tongue down to your weepy hole, circling it around the entrance to taste you, and your back arches, grinding down into his face.

“Oh- Oh god Peter! Mmm feels good, feels so good oh fuck!”

That’s right, he thinks, moan my name while I take what’s mine. He knows just how good he’s making you feel, and he’ll continue to make you feel this good over and over again after you leave this place. He’ll have you weak at the knees with every gentle touch, ready to let him use you however he pleases. You’ll be his perfect little pet, needing him all the time, craving to be touched by him, tasted by him, filled by him-

But you’re not ready for that just yet. As much as he wants to see you writhe and moan like a perfect little slut while you take every inch of his cock, he doesn’t want to rush you into anything. This is all about you and your pleasure right now, not his. Though he does find it very pleasurable to be buried face first in your sweet little cunt.

You mewl as he swirls his tongue around your clit while gently suckling on it. Your hole continues to flutter and soak the sheets below you, so he can’t help it when he finds himself slowly rimming it with one of his fingers. He begins to push it inside of you, slowly pressing it in inch by inch, slowly lapping at your clit as he watches your whole body tense up, a broken cry escaping you.

“P-Peter!”

You’re so tight around his finger, and when he finally pushes it knuckle deep he cooes as your whole body trembles in ecstasy. You feel a coil in your lower tummy tightening dangerously, as you feel a high of sorts approaching. Your toes are beginning to curl and— oh god his mouth feels so good on you, sucking and devouring your clit like it’s his last meal.

The way he’s stretching you out on his finger feels otherworldly. If you’d have only known that this level of ecstasy was possible, you would have begged Peter for this a long time ago. And considering how much he’s enjoying this, you can’t help but wonder if he’s wanted this for a while as well.

You’re grinding your hips down to meet his tongue as high pitched whines and moans leave your lips. He can tell you’re getting close, and a wicked thought crosses his mind. He slowly curls his finger upward inside of you, and you cry out so loudly that your body snaps forward, and your hands are gripping his hair. You’re so close, chasing the high as you grip his hair between your trembling fingers.

But then it stops, and you’re pushed back down against the mattress by an unseen force.

“No!” You cry, tears instantly filling your eyes as all of the pleasure is ripped away from you, pulling you back from the edge you were teetering on, “No no no Peter- please!”

He hums waiting a moment to speak as he listens to your begging and whining. He knows how close you were to cumming, but you broke his rule and moved your hands.

“What did I tell you before I started?” He asks patiently, crawling back up your body, hovering over the top of you to see your face. You huff out shaky breaths as you try your best to think past your cloudy mind.

“I-I…I don’t- I can’t-” you stutter out, bottom lip wobbling as a few tears leak from your eyes, feeling everything becoming just a little too much for you.

“Shhh,” he shushes gently, wiping the tears from your face. His thumb moves to caress your temple and you hiccup, “Yes you can. Deep breath for me, c’mon.” You oblige, following his instructions as your chest rises and falls slowly, “You can do it sweetheart, what did I tell you before I started?”

“You-you said…” you press your eyes shut, trying to remember his exact words before he started eating you out so blissfully, “You said… to keep my hands up.”

He smiles, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “My smart girl.” He mumbles, and your skin flushes a deep red at the praise.

“And do you know why I stopped?“ He continues, eyeing you carefully.

“Because I didn’t keep my hands up.” You grumble, he lets it slide for now, knowing you’re still a bit worked up.

“That’s right,” he strokes some of your hair from your face, “You didn’t listen, so I had to stop.”

The pout on your face only grows and you find yourself talking back to him, “But that’s not fair! It-it felt so good and I couldn’t help it! That was so mean and-” you’re cut off as he grips your chin, firmly squeezing your cheeks between his fingers.

“Hey,” he chides, “Where did this attitude come from hm?“

You don’t respond, you can’t really respond with the way he’s holding your face, but he can see in your eyes how your mood immediately shifts, melting for him once again.

“I thought you wanted to be a good girl for me? Cause you’re not being very good right now.” You whimper in response, nodding your head under his grip to show him that you wanna be good again, wanna be perfect for him.

“Yeah? You gonna be good again? Gonna stop giving me attitude?” He releases his grip on your face to let you speak, and you do, pleas falling from your mouth as you tell him just how good you’ll be.

“Think you can keep your hands up here this time baby?” He asks politely, tapping your wrists that rest above your head. You pause for a moment, before shaking your head, wanting to be honest with him.

“I-I don’t think I can…I wanna be good! Honest!” You rush out, “I just- I don’t think I can keep them here.” You pause, chewing on your lip as you try to think of how to ask the next part. Peter watches you closely, feeling like he already knows what you’re about to say, “Can you um- can you maybe help me?”

And god what kind of monster would he be if he didn’t oblige to you. The way you stare up at him through wide bleary eyes, the way you nervously chew on your trembling bottom lip, and the way you asked so sweetly…he can never say no to you.

“Since you asked so politely, yes sweetheart I can do that for you.” You sigh in relief as you feel him slowly climbing back down your body, situating himself between your legs once more. You feel a pressure against your wrists as they are pinned down above your head, and you whimper out a small, “Thank you.”

“Of course darling,” and with that his lips are attached to you again, tongue swirling around your clit mercilessly.

“A-Ah!” You cry out, unable to stop the way your legs are trembling around his head. The relief is so good, he’d left your poor cunt unattended and desperate for the last few minutes, and he intended to make up for it in every way possible.

His slips his finger back inside of you and you squirm underneath him, bucking your hips to fuck yourself on his digit. His finger continues to pump in and out of you as he devours your poor little cunt. Tears prick at your eyes from how fucking good it feels.

You unintentionally try to move your hands every few moments, only to be reminded of the weighted pressure against them, as Peter keeps them constrained with his powers. The feeling of being pinned down beneath him as he pleasures you only makes everything more intense, and you can feel that familiar pressure building up once more.

Fear creeps in at the thought of him repeating what happened last time you felt that pressure building, and you begin to mindlessly beg, “Mmmm please don’t stop- god don’t stop Peter. I-I’ll be good, I promise I’ll be good just please don’t stop.” You cry out, chasing your high again as you buck against his tongue.

And god he wouldn’t dream of it, in fact, he suckles on your clit even harder, slowly pushing another finger into your hole, desperately wanting you to come undone on his tongue.

The stretch around his fingers is what finally pushes you over the edge, and your back arches high as your orgasm tears through you like a white hot heat. You cry and your eyes roll back into your head as intense waves of pleasure shoot through your body. You’re rocking your hips desperately against his tongue, just riding it out.

He hums around your clit as you clench and pulse around his fingers, continuing to thrust them deep in your cunt as you ride out the high. He doesn’t stop until your back finally meets the mattress again, and your a panting sweating mess.

“God just look at you,” He slowly pulls his fingers from your hole, admiring the aftermath of your ruined pussy, “So good for me, look at how much you came.”

You whimper in response, letting his praise infiltrate your floaty, fucked out mind. You feel the weight let up on your wrists, but you keep them there, absentmindedly fearing his wrath. It isn’t until they’re lifted from their position, and gentle kisses are placed along your wrists that you open your eyes, meeting his fiery blue ones.

“There she is.” He smiles down at you, stroking your cheek. You smile back at him, still feeling floaty and euphoric.

“Hi…” you whisper, and he chuckles, admiring how cute you are like this.

“Hi.” He responds, utterly amused, “How was that?”

You hum in delight, nodding your head. “I don’t think I could ever get enough of that.” A smirk creeps onto his face at your answer, as he studies your naked body beneath him.

He’s done it, he’s finally done it. He’s going to leave this living hell, and he’s going to do it with you exactly where he wants you. Wrapped around his finger, and well, eventually his cock. And god he can’t wait for the day he’ll finally get to ruin and defile you.

“Peter?” You ask timidly, cutting off his thoughts. He hums in response, “Thank you.” You genuinely mean that, and he knows it.

“You’re welcome darling.”

Oh yeah, you’re his now, and he’s never letting you go.

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monstrouslyobsessed · 1 year

Text

A tribe composed only of men in a tropical forest. They are cannibals and eat members of other tribes and trespassers. Reader and her group was captured and since the chef and the other members found her cute and breedable, they decided to not eat her and make her the "mother" of the tribe. Thanks! —anonymous

—a/n: hm, im a lil iffy doing this one due to potential xenophobia and cultural insensitivity (regardless of what one may think of certain customs, the tribes who inspired this such suggestion are still people who deserve a measure of respect), so i’ll be changing the species and incorporate it in my beastfolk au instead to hopefully avoid offending anyone.

also, this turned into a fic (plus me making it into beastfolk au so no claiming without permission) lmao so not really a concept anymore. sorry about that! im keeping the format tho.

also, I wanna make a note for you for the asterisk marking in the tag list. the word i made up (Ce’ne, specifically) basically meant both ‘mother’ and ‘father’ and can be passed as gender neutral, to have/give children. to be safe though, im marking it as gendered language.

—tw / tags: gn reader, brief use of gendered language*, language barrier, injuries, horror, implied maneating, gore, multiple deaths, implied trespassing, implied beastfolk trafficking, kidnapping, confinement, body painting, teratophilia, exophilia, general yandere themes, sfw? —readers are advised to read at their own discretion.

—featured character(s): the jaguars tribe / the ‘Jags’, the Scarred One —word count: 2.1k

—this is part of my beastfolk universe! —zoo era.

Everything hurts, especially the excruciating pain in your back. It felt as though your flesh had been flayed and then set ablaze, the agony akin to acid being poured into open wounds. You groggily dragged your eyes open with a whimper choked out from your dusty throat. Needles of numbness buzzed on your damp skin and the only sound you could hear was the pounding of your own heart in your ears.

It was dark when you came to, but not pitch-black as you could see thin gaps of light creeping through wherever you were currently. The flickering golden light was in a constant motion, casting dancing shadows across the space. You could smell a smoky scent of burning wood and the air was heavy and damp, hanging on your skin like a winter blanket. Your brain was still groggy and the answers to where you were and why, were not forthcoming.

At hearing your groans, someone hissed out for your attention, “—! —! Are you okay!?” They kept their voice low, as if they were trying to avoid alerting anyone outside the threshold you were placed in.

You could barely see with the blur of pain fogging your eyes, but you slowly shook your head, “I…I don’t know.” You desperately searched for the owner of that voice, but you found nothing but a shifting blob of shadow some feet away from you. You couldn’t move, your arms tied to what felt like a wooden pole and your ankles bounded together with bushy ropes. Your head was ringing loudly and you moaned, “Wh—what happened?”

“T-the d-director fucked over all of us, —!” Their reply was edged with a sense of betrayal, “He was one of ‘em fuckin’ zoo hunters, using us to get close to the Jags—!”

Fuck. You remembered with a contorted grimace. As an up-and-coming researcher with a vested interest in studying the feral beastfolks and animals, you had ambitions and dreams realized. You had been honored to have encountered and even personally met a handful of tribal people. Although It was no grand merit, you learned enough about their customs and languages to set up a survey to map out the possible locations of local tribes.

As you’d learned, this knowledge was a dangerous thing to have.

The director must have been after a specific tribe of the feral beastfolk; the whiskeredfolks with ringed spots in their golden fur that you and your colleagues had nicknamed 'Jags.'. Unlike the timid, long-legged tribe you had befriended with and the one with thick-maned people with whom you had more tenuous relationships with, this particular one was notorious for being dangerous and killing the outsiders on sight.

Without a doubt, you and your expedition group had flown too close to the sun and got burned for it. Despite your frequent warnings, the so-called director convinced everyone to take just a 'few steps closer' to the Jags’ territory. In a blink, all hell’s broke loose.

You remembered the sound of roaring and the sight of bodies scantily clad in animal skins launching themselves at you and your people, weapons in hand. You felt a searing pain in your back and then darkness consumed you. The last thing you saw was gruesome, with a spear tearing through a fellow researcher’s chest.

The vision still burned within your mind’s eye and tears stung your bruised cheeks.

“S—shit,” You dug the soles of your bare feet (what happened to your boots?) into the wet dirt and thumped your head against the wooden pole. You tried counting what you could see, but there was only one. “w-where is everyone else?”

Your colleague went quiet. The jeering laughter and a sole human shrieking followed your question. The screaming sounded suspiciously like the director’s—and your blood went cold when that cry abruptly ended to a gurgle.

The shadow blob nodded, their motion solemn in the darkness, “We made him confessed when ‘ey tossed us in here when you were still out. Since ‘en, ‘em cats started picking us clean one by one. ‘e bastard was the first one to go, probably because he’s big and meaty.”

You caught a hitched breath and heard them shuddering, “We’re ‘e last ones. Why didn’t we listen to you?” Your colleague choked.

Why didn’t they, you’d wonder about this for the rest of your remaining life, but now, your brain could barely function with your back throbbing in pain. You could feel the back of your shirt being soaked through with your warm blood and your body slowly going cold. With a rasping breath, you rolled over your heavy head to your fellow researcher, “H—hey, at least…at least we’re dying doing what we loved, right?”

It was a shit joke, but it was enough to get them to snort.

“Hopefully ‘ey’d put us out quicker ‘an what ‘ey did to ‘e bastard.” They mumbled.

A whispering flap of the tent’s entryway fluttered.

A flickering light blinded you, casting shadows across the dark enclosure and preventing you from seeing who had entered. Several footsteps grinding into the dirt and a brief warmth pressed against your knees. You heard a mumbling in another language, oddly approving, and a short shuffling from where your colleague was.

The light was gone and you found yourself alone in the suffocating darkness. With a slow groan, you braced for your inevitable end, hoping that at least everyone in your group had met a quick demise.

Sans that fucker of a director who lured you all into a death trap.

You closed your eyes, not expecting to see another day.

When you woke up, you saw the daylight creeping inside the gaps of the woven palm leaves and blinked in confusion. When you turned your head, you realized you were resting on a soft bedding, of dried leaves and colorful fabrics, and was staring at the knitted canopy. Weren’t you tied up to a support pole earlier, with your back gaping and bleeding?

A moan tumbled out from your lips. From the corner of your eyes, you saw movement and you jerked when a voice bellowed not too far away from you. As if they were raising an alarm—or calling for someone’s attention. Fear struck your heart—

And you so wanted to move. Your body was too stiff and your muscles soft from exhaustion and strains from your injuries. Absently, your skin itched and you somehow found enough strength to glance down your body.

You swallowed thickly at your current state.

Where had your clothes gone? Why were you half naked and wearing patterned animal skins? Why had they tended to you at all?

On your skin, leaves and odd colored globs were plastered over your injuries. Why had they spared you?

“R’oa,” a deep voice entered your ears and drenched your spine with a shiver.

Hello, you absently translated from knowing some of the local common tongue. You slowly rolled your head over and blinked at the sight of the kneeling figure. Your heart jumped to your throat when it dawned on you on who he may be.

His face and body were marked with striking decorations of rosettes and bright painted patterns you recognized as his people’s custom. He wore ornate accessories, including a heavy ring through his flared nostrils, to signify his rank in the tribe. Towering over you with ease, he was large and his presence nothing but raw power and his naked torso coiled with rippling muscles.

But, none of his features stood out as much as his scars littering his skin—and one of which had left a long, jagged pit down his cheek and left his eye an striking grey hue. He was a well fought warrior, perhaps the best in his tribe.

Without a doubt, you were in the presence of one true predator.

Shakily, you nodded with a quiet return of his foreign language.

He seemed pleased by how submissive you were being.

There were no other option left but to humor the person who could easily shallow you whole in several gulps.

“*Canu zuhs nu i'ars nuus nil zuazsu.” He grasped on your forearm, the pads on his palm were coarse and hard on your skin, and tugged you off your bed.

Come...meet…people? You groggily tried to translate, as you went along with the whiskeredfolk’s whim. A yelp darted from your lips, when he swung you into the crook of his arm and pain rung around your eyes from the sudden movement and your injuries feeling like they were being split open once more.

“Tuil i'asu uhrthisus, ilai rsizuhs ail!” Another voice snarled out, and you flinched as you distantly heard a slap on the whiskeredfolk's person. You glanced upward and saw him wearing a crossed brow.

Injured…that was all you understood from their exchange.

With his ears folded back to his skull, the scarred male grumbled something back to the owner of the other voice. He quietened at the growling reply, and you still trembled from the way his voice seemed to burrow deep inside your skin. You could feel his foreign words through his chest, vibrating into your aching ribs.

The other voice sounded feminine, possibly aged, and you wondered if they were the one who had nursed you back to health. You had no energy to crane your head over the scarred one’s bicep to see, catching a brief glimpse of a strange hood over their head.

The scarred one took you outside, pushing the flap aside, and you winced at how bright the dabbled sunlight was. When your eyes readjusted, you blinked and regretted every decision you’d ever made in your life. Your stomach curdled at the sight and your nose stung.

Within the ashy pit, still smoking from the previous night’s bonfire, black skeletal remains hung on their respective stakes. There was little meat left on their bones and their skulls were missing. You did not wish to dwell on why and ripped away your tearful eyes from your colleagues’ bodies.

Why were you spared?

Oh, gods, the stench in the air was foul, smelling like burnt meat and melted plastic. Smothering your hands over your lower face, you gagged the exact moment the scarred male barked out. You grimaced, trying to make sense of the words he shouted out.

“Mil zuazsu, I si'ass izar suu!”

People, call.

You were so distracted by the gruesome sight that you hadn’t realized how quiet the settlement was. Initially, the only whiskeredfolks you could see were several teenage males, looking at you with curiosity in their eyes.

When you blinked, more whiskeredfolks emerged from their homes at the scarred one’s call. They quickly surrounded you, keeping a respectable distance, their eyes burning holes into your bare skin. Some had hunger in their gazes, others quiet rage, and a few were wide-eyed and curious.

You gazed across your whiskered audience, noting their muscular body shapes, and realized that most were males. You could count the females with both hands, and a sense of dread sank into your stomach. Instinctively, you knew why you were spared, but your mind screamed in denial.

The scarred one thumped his feet and swished his tail, “Tu Ce’ne phsi'asus ir i'asus i'a sarph si'ars!” His tone was exuberant, eager, and his tribe erupted in an excited murmur.

You furrowed your brows, but you could only understand Ce’ne, which meant both Mother and Father. But, who was Ce’ne?

He jostled you to your feet and kept a grip on you when you wobbled. The scarred one leaned over you, his jagged teeth beaming in the sunlight. “Na nasu zuhss ais zuazsu rius suhsssurr,”

You jumped as the entire tribe erupted in a loud roar of joy. Their eyes glittered with delight and you could feel your fear intensifying. You felt colder than you were back in the throes of blood loss from the night before. Your heart shuddered at the way they looked at you.

“sa szuhrssu zuhsais i'a Ce’ne sa phsi'ars ir sir!” the scarred one finished and clapped both of his large claws on your shoulders. He herded you closer to the mass, as if to showcase every inch of you.

Grant us cubs. That was all you could make out from what the scarred male said. Your eyes widened at the realization and a strangled whimper rose from your parched throat.

There was no escaping this, was there?

You couldn't move as the weight of the leader bore down on your shoulders, his talons cutting into your skin. Tears welled up in your eyes as a hooded female appeared with a strangely shaped bowl in her hands. You were shaking like a leaf, when she dipped her fingers into the dark, coagulated liquid within.

You sobbed the moment she smeared the tribe’s pattern onto your exposed chest, as if marking you as their property.

The Ce’ne. You were the Ce’ne.

—end

fictional translation: Canu zuhs nu i'ars nuus nil zuazsu. —Come with me and meet my people.

Tuil i'asu uhrthisus, ilai rsizuhs ail! —They are injured, you stupid boy!

Mil zuazsu, I si'ass izar suu! —My people, I call upon thee!

Tu Ce’ne phsi'asus ir i'asus i'a sarph si'ars! —The Mother/Father graced us after a long last! Na nasu zuhss ais zuazsu rius suhsssurr, sa szuhrssu zuhsais i'a Ce’ne sa phsi'ars ir sir! —No more will our people suffer childless, to dwindle without a mother/father to grant us cubs!

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visualtaehyun · 4 months

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15 people, 15 questions

I am clearly behind because by now I've been tagged by @rocketturtle4 @airenyah and @zimmbzon to do this - thanks y'all ✨

1) Are you named after anyone?

I am! Bella is my actual nickname but it's just the second half of a longer name. The first half I share with both a maternal and a paternal great-grandmother.

2) When was the last time you cried?

I'm an easy crier when it comes to media so my kneejerk reaction was to assume that was the last time. But, while I was at my sister's over the last few days, we went to wish our mom Merry Christmas at her grave, just the two of us. 🌻

3) Do you have kids?

Nope.

4) What sports do you play/have you played?

I'm anything but athletic dhshdjhs I played basketball for like 2 years as a kid but apart from that uhhhh I enjoy? taking a walk?? on occasion???

5) Do you use sarcasm?

I do partake, yes.

6) What's the first thing you notice about people?

Hm, their height maybe? That's just the way it is as a smol™.

7) What's your eye color?

I've got a case of those big brown eyes like a baby cow.

8) Scary movies or happy endings?

Why not both? I love scary movies, as long as they don't veer into gore. And I enjoy ambiguous or open endings but happy ones are my favorite. I do like a tragedy though, provided I am prepared for it!

9) Any talents?

I guess I'm good at keeping cool when others are stressing aka I have the Mom Friend override even though I'm anxious by nature myself. Other than that, I've been told I'm a thoughtful gift giver.

10) Where were you born?

Yermahnee 🇩🇪

11) What are your hobbies?

Currently, it's really only learning Thai and consuming Thai media, both of which go hand in hand for me. But I also play D&D, like to draw (mostly fueled by playing D&D lol), read novels, play games (though mostly to spend time with friends these days, be it videogames, tabletop games, escape rooms), and I love cooking!

12) Do you have any pets?

My apartment's kinda too small to keep a pet so- no.

13) How tall are you?

1,58m which ought to be about 5'2" - I'm pretty sure I've been this height since I was like 10 which means I last felt like a tol™ in elementary school lmao

14) What was your favorite subject in school?

English! Languages have always come naturally to me but English has become second nature - which is why teen-me thought she should totally just go study English at university and see where it takes her. Four years later, I was finally ready to admit I hated academia, dropped out of uni without a degree to the dismay of my parents, and did a 180 by doing an apprenticeship as a baker. :D

15) What is your dream job?

I'm pretty happy with where I work now because I finally have colleagues I like and I love the work I do. So I don't think I have a dream job but who knows what the future holds.

I'm sure most people have played already but I'm gonna tag some followers for a change! It's still wild to me that anyone would actively click follow for my rambles about Thai and Thai media but I'm glad that my nerdy niche is interesting to y'all 🙏

Tagging @nemesis-21 @nongnaopat @becomingabeing @whomanist @silvercrystal1 @purlpeiris @thestarscanalwayslookatus @mygwenchan @fruityheffalump @non-binarypal7 @queersouthasian @panncakes @blneobin @infinitelyprecious @theflagscene - no pressure and you're ofc free to ignore this :D

#tag game #bella and the blorbos #i kinda forgot today is friday so i gotta go watch last twilight now!!

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sarahowritesostucky · 1 month

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Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Tags: Fresh AU, dark rom-com, dark!Bucky, pre-serum Steve, cannibalism, kidnapping, yandere/basement wife, meet cute-ish, gay sex n' stuff, dub-con

Summary: Just when he's given up on ever finding Mr. Right, Steve meets the - seemingly - perfect guy at the grocery store.

A dark, cute, funny, fucked up, and very tasty love story.

It's a Fresh AU. "If you can't handle the cannibalism, get out of the kitchen"--or something like that

3. Hors D'oeuvre

Wait! I haven't read the previous chapter(s)

James winds up apologizing profusely for the insanely bad bite.

Steve’s a little disturbed that the guy would do something that rough on their first time together, but he chalks it up to the heat of the moment and forgives him,` telling James that: it's okay, he’s always been a freaky-fast healer anyway.

“S’my superpower,” he quips, making light of it when it's obvious James feels terrible.

“I’m still sorry,” he insists, thumbing carefully over the mostly-healed skin two days later. He stares at it like he stares at everything else—intensely. “I got carried away. Won’t do it again.”

Steve believes him.

Within a week, it’s pretty obvious that they’re dating. Steve kind of feels like the other shoe has got to drop at any moment, but that just keeps not happening. James is like, the perfect guy.

“He’s a doctor?” Clint says, on the third day after Bite Night. It’s movie night and he and Steve are rewatching Midsommar, because Clint’s a movie nerd and is convinced there are still hidden themes he can pick apart in the freaky-ass film. Right now the screen is paused at the exact second where they hammer the old guy’s head into paste. Clint really is a savant with a remote control.

Steve looks the gore over critically and stuffs more chips in his mouth, crunching. “Um, yeah,” he says distractedly.

He wonders how movie people make it look so real. How would they even know what to make it look like? Did one of the movie people see somebody’s head collapse in real life?”

“Earth to STEVE,” Clint waves a hand in front of his face and Steve blinks.

“What?”

“I said: what kind of doctor is he?”

“A surgeon,” Steve says, feeling warm and tingly even as he remembers it. He’s not only met a smart, sexy and funny older guy— he’s met a surgeon. Which automatically means he’s rich, too. Nobody is that fucking lucky in love, certainly not Steve.

“Of what?” Clint prods. “Like, hearts and brains? or boob jobs?”

Steve pauses with another handful of chips. Hm. That’s a good question. “I don’t know,” he says. “What’s it matter?”

“It matters because it’ll determine how much I esteem the guy,” Clint insists.

Steve snorts. “What? If he's a plastic surgeon he doesn’t deserve your respect?”

“Are you kidding? I’d respect him more if that’s what he was.” Clint grimaces. “I respect the hell out of anybody who can pull people’s skin off and rearrange it and unnatural shit like that. S’way more horrible than operating on a regular old heart or whatever.”

Steve makes a face as he considers that. “Yeah, I guess so. I heard once that when they do a nose job they literally like, pull the nose up off the face first.”

Clint gags. “Dude! No. My brain can’t unknow this now!”

“And yet you can watch shit like this.”

Clint presses play and the film resumes, the frame shifting from pasted-guy's head, to Florence Pugh's horrified face. “That's different," he says. "It’s movie magic, dumbass.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “You’re a dumbass.”

James tasks Steve with picking an actual date activity for them to do next. “No pressure,” he teases him over the phone, “but I hate stereotypes.”

Well. So much for mini golfing or the movies.

The place is called Bad Axes, their logo is a butt with an ax lodged in it, and the only two things to do there are drink beer and throw axes. Steve doesn’t reveal what they’re headed for when they meet at the subway, so James doesn’t know what's in store until they’re standing right outside the business' doors with the logo on them.

He stares for a long, long moment, and then busts out with the loudest, most sudden laugh. He looks over at Steve with a pained, almost hysterical expression.

Steve laughs. “What?”

“Nothing!” James squeaks. “This’ll be fun!”

Steve spends the rest of the date preening over the fact that he’s impressed his boyfriend.

(He only calls him that in his head, so far. He knows they’re not ‘boyfriends’ yet. They’re still feeling each other out, trying on the idea of being boyfriends. It’s just hard for Steve to remember that, when everything feels so natural between them.)

They grab drinks and get the safety and throwing tutorial from the unimpressed girl whose job it is to supervise drunk businessmen throwing sharp objects after work. It’s an over-the-head kind of deal, and Steve is prepared to nurture his manly pride and leave feeling a little bit like a Viking.

“Want to bet on who wins?” James asks, where he stands beside Steve in their little throwing area, a devilish gleam in his eye.

Steve considers it. The Axe Girl had told them it’s not so much a strength thing as a technique thing, so he’s not worried about being at a disadvantage. “Sure," he decides. "What are we betting on?”

“Hmm, how about … loser has to tell a secret about themselves,” James says. “First to stick the target twenty times wins.”

Steve’s stomach jumps at the look in James' eye. He grins. “You’re on.” Steve doesn’t have any good secrets anyway, so losing won't be a big deal (even though he fully intends to win).

They throw.

There’s a certain amount of body memory to it, Steve discovers after about fifteen minutes of fruitless throwing, his axe cracking off the plywood and thunking pathetically to the ground each time. He winds up getting the hang of it, but not in time to win the bet. James’ axe sticks on the first throw, and the second, and most of the times after.

Steve sulks about it as they take a break at one of the high-top tables, drinking their second round. “You’ve done this before,” he pouts, accusing. “Admit it.. You're a secret lumberjack.”

James looks at him fondly, like he thinks Steve’s reaction is cute. “Not exactly. But I've chopped enough to know my way around an axe.”

Steve grumps playfully at him. “Fine, cheater. I’ll think of a secret to tell you.” Bucky chuckles while Steve sips his beer and tries to come up with something juicy enough to be a ‘secret’ but not so juicy that it reflects badly on him. “I used to get in fights a lot."

James rolls his eyes. “Like as a kid? That doesn’t count.” He shoots him a sly look. “Adult secrets, Steven.”

Steve flushes at the use of his given name. There’s something oddly domineering about it that he likes. “Um, well … I've been arrested?”

James’ eyes light up. “Oh, do tell.”

“It wasn’t my fault.”

“Of course not.”

“It wasn’t!” Steve laughs, shoving James’ shoulder. “It was a bar fight, basically. Some asshole bothering this woman he didn’t know, not taking no for an answer.”

James’ smile softens to something fond. “Aw, Steve. I should'a known. That's you then? Always trying to be a white knight?”

Steve scowls at the term but doesn’t try to deny it. “Well somebody had to do something,” he mutters. “I wasn’t the one who threw the first punch.”

“Why the arrest, then?”

“The charges were dropped. But I guess the jerk had some friends backing him up when the cops came, so I got rounded up too.”

James hums in understanding. “Well, I suppose that’s sort of a secret. But I have to say, I was really hoping for something a little more intriguing from you, Steve. A little more naughty.”

Steve snorts. “Why? You planning to blackmail me?”

“No.”

“You just like bad boys, then,” he jokes. He’s about the farthest thing there is from a bad boy. “Sorry. You’re outta luck with that one.”

“I’m not,” James says quietly, looking him in the eyes. “I actually like the sweet ones.”

Steve colors, he knows he does. “Oh.” He’s a sweet one. He chuckles and looks down at his beer bottle, turning it in little circles. “Thanks. I guess.”

James hums. “Hey, why don’t I apologize for my non-disclosure of my axing abilities, huh? I’ll tell you one of my secrets, too.”

“I’m all ears. What’s your secret?” In his head, Steve sarcastically imagines James saying something like, “I’m actually married and have two point five kids,” or, “I’m addicted to piss and shit porn.”

That’s not what he says.

“I’ve eaten human flesh.”

Steve blinks. “What.” He waits for the punchline, the second part of that confession that’ll make it funny, but there isn’t one. James just sits there and nods somberly. Steve laughs. “No, you haven’t. You have not.”

“I was just out of med school and interning at a center for pediatric reconstructive surgery in Shanghai.”

The smile drops right off Steve’s face. So he is a plastic surgeon, he thinks. He'll have to tell Clint. "The fuck?" he breathes.

James' mouth twists. “Yeah. That's what I said, when I realized."

"You're making this up," Steve says weakly, even though he can tell he's not, because James is sitting there looking completely serious and nodding grimly.

"We'd gone out to a rural village, to assess a few kids for cleft palate correction. There was a mud slide on the only road out of the valley, and we wound up stuck there for a few days."

“What—” Steve realizes he’s nearly whispering. He firms up his voice. “What happened?”

“I was served a meal from a local family, already cooked.”

“Oh." Steve exhales in relief. "So then, you didn’t actually see—”

“No.” James cants his head. “But it wasn’t any meat I’d ever had before. It was …” He trails off, eyes going distant as he thinks about it. “It was so different.”

Steve stares at him, shocked. “But … but that's a big leap. I mean it could’ve been anything. Dog or ... or tiger. Don’t they have tigers in China?”

“Not in that part of the country.” James watches Steve closely for a moment, gauging his reaction. Eventually he looks away, frowning. “And you could tell there was something going on. There was ... At the time, I didn't understand, but it was the way the villagers acted. There was something off about them, something about the way they skulked around, the way they looked at us. How gaunt they all were ..." He shakes his head, deep in thought. "I did some research once I got back. There are some recorded accounts; those soccer players that crashed in the Andes, the Donner party. An anthropologist in the thirties who ate with a tribe in Africa. He wrote a very detailed account of how the different cuts of the meat tasted, what it looked like, what it smelled like.” He inhales deeply, as though pulling himself out of the memory. When his gaze lands back on Steve, it's dead serious and shockingly nonchalant. “It all matched up to what I’d eaten.”

Steve gapes, horrified. He can’t believe that it was a … a human that James had been served. It was too awful. People wouldn’t do that. ... Would they? “It wasn’t,” he says, as if he can make it so by saying it. “They wouldn’t have.”

James still doesn’t seem bothered, though he has pity in his eyes for Steve, apparently able to see how shaken he is by it. “You gotta understand, it was a bad situation. A dead, closed off valley where nothing ever grew. The Chinese government had banished these people out there for some slight, blocked off their access to food. It was like a gulag. These people were living in extreme poverty: cold, sick, and halfway starving. Animals'll do anything when they’re starving."

"Animals ..."

He shrugs and sits back in his chair. "At the end of the day, that’s all we really are. Some very big, overly-clever animals.”

Steve swallows thickly, his throat suddenly dry. He reaches for his beer and takes a hasty swig. “How do you, um, how do you deal with it, then?” he asks. “If you really think that’s what it was?” He’s a little bit stunned by how calm James has remained through telling the whole story.

“It doesn’t bother me,” James says easily. “There’s no way I can know for sure that’s what I ate that day, and I didn’t do it on purpose.” He shrugs and waves it off. “It was so long ago. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Wow,” Steve says, stunned. “I mean, just … no. And wow.”

“Pretty big secret, huh?”

“Yeah,” Steve mutters, trying to lighten up. James isn’t dwelling on it and he probably doesn’t want Steve to, either. “Yeah, you have, um. Much juicier secrets than me.”

James tips his bottle back for the last dregs of his beer, then clacks it firmly down onto the table. “So,” he says, eyes regaining their challenging, sly glint. “Now that you know my deepest, darkest secret; want to throw another round?”

A few days later, at precisely 11:30 am, Steve receives a text:

Weird Meat Guy: Hey you. I’m starving. Want to grab lunch with me?”

Steve looks down at his dirty work clothes. Yikes. Knowing himself, he figures there's a good chance he also has paint in his hair or on his face, or both.

Steve: yeah sounds good. In 30 or so? Gotta wash up.

Weird Meat Guy: see you soon, handsome.

James texts him an address that's in Park Slope, followed by a cartoon ‘nom-nom’ eating GIF. Steve holds his phone with gesso-crusted fingers and beams at the screen. James must like Steve just as much as Steve likes him, because he’s thinking about him during the week. He’s texting him and sending stupid GIFs and asking him out on lunch dates.

This is going incredibly well.

It's nothing fancy, which Steve appreciates. They meet inside a Panera by Prospect Park. They order drinks and find chairs to sit in by the windows while their sandwiches are made. “Don't you work in Midtown though?” Steve asks, confused. “This is a bit of a hike for a lunch break.”

James stares at him for a long few seconds, blinking repeatedly. “... Oh! Well … I had a big gap between clients today.” He smiles winningly and covers Steve’s hand with his own on the tabletop, giving it a squeeze. “There’s nobody I’d rather make the hike for.”

Steve tries not to let his smile overtake his face, but it’s hard.

Their food arrives, and they eat while trading stories about themselves. Steve tells James how he lives and works alone, but doesn’t mind it one bit. He tells him about his family, or at least, what family he used to have.

“So, nobody?” James asks. “You’re all alone?”

“It’s okay,” Steve says, thinking that James might be feeling pity for him. “I miss my mom, but it’s been a long time. And I’ve made a couple friends. They help.”

“Oh yeah? Who're your friends?”

“Oh. Well there's Clint. We met back in college. And Natalie. She’s the one I told you about.”

“Your patron.” James nods. “I remember.” He leans forward. “So do they know about me?”

“Yeah.”

“What did you tell them about me?”

Steve smirks. “Oh I dunno. Just that I met a really good looking weirdo at the grocery store. Haven’t called the police on him yet.”

James laughs. “That’s all?”

“Pretty much.” Steve shrugs and takes another bite of his sandwich, unconcerned with it. “Clint says he respects you for being able to—and I quote—‘pull people’s skin off and rearrange their outsides’.”

James’ lips quirk. “Well, it is a skill.”

Steve shivers theatrically. “Uck. Power to you. I guess somebody’s gotta do it."

"Alas, yes. The meat market. Demand is only ever growing."

Steve snorts. "Well hey, at least it means you’re, ah … intimately familiar with anatomy.” He winces before he's even finished saying it. Ew, what a lame joke.

But James’s eyes crinkle in amusement anyway. “Yes," he says, reaching for his sandwich again. "I certainly am.”

Steve has James over to Netflix and Chill. He’s not sure if this counts as their sixth date or seventh, but they’ve been seeing each other steadily for the past three weeks, calling and texting daily, so it’s definitely not too soon to start thinking about the “R” word. That’s where it feels like this is headed, but Steve is too chickenshit to speak up and ask if they’re officially in a relationship.

He researches how to make eggplant parmesan and mostly doesn’t screw it up, and James seems touched that he went through the trouble of cooking something vegetarian for him.

“It’s delicious,” he reassures Steve. “I even like the crusty black bits.”

He asks Steve what he does for fun, and Steve is once again left feeling like a boring dolt when he can only answer, “I mean, I really just paint or draw, or watch tv. Clint tries to drag me out for bowling or karaoke once in a while.” He fights not to wince at himself. Jesus god is he boring. He thinks again about joining a gym, maybe getting into boxing or Krav Maga or something. “What about you?” he asks. “What do you do when you’re not carving people up?”

“Hardy har.” James thinks about it. “Well, I do love to do stuff outdoors. I work out ...”

“Yeah you do,” Steve teases, leering a little. James laughs him off.

“I read some, usually have two books going concurrently.”

Steve imagines James having a big, expensive library, complete with those nifty rolling ladders.

“And I’m a pretty good cook,” he adds. “I enjoy it. Working on being an amateur cuisinier, as I said.”

Steve pointedly looks at both of their plates of semi-burnt eggplant slop. “Then why am I the one making us dinner?”

James chuckles, leans across the table to kiss him on the cheek, and promises he’ll cook for Steve sometime soon.

After dinner, Steve pulls up his Netflix queue and scrolls through for something that looks good but not too good, since they’ll probably start fooling around partway through and miss half of it.

They watch a documentary about Richard Ramirez, which Steve apologizes for. (“I know, I know. Me and every other basic white girl likes the true crime stuff.”)

Halfway into Ramirez’s fucked up childhood, Steve says, “Man, what would you do if your kid turned out like that, huh?”

“Question my parenting choices, that’s for sure.”

“I know, right?" Steve shudders. "I feel so bad for Jeffry Dahmer’s mom.”

“Why? She’s alive and kicking. Feel bad for Ed Gein’s mom: pretty sure she’s a lampshade now.”

“Christ.”

James looks over at Steve. “Do you want kids?”

Steve freezes, the unexpected change in topic throwing him for a loop. “Um …” Not ones that'll turn me into a lampshade, he doesn't say.

This is something they haven’t done yet; asked each other what they want for their lives long-term. Because such questions naturally infer that they might be considering each other for a starring role in said life.

Steve swallows heavily and works up the courage to softly admit, “Yeah, one day I do.” He dares to meet James’ eyes, and is relieved when he doesn’t see any rejection there. “I want what most people do, I guess. Get married, have kids.” He shrugs. “The American dream, right?”

“What? No white picket fence and a dog named Fido?”

Steve deflates a little. “Don’t make fun.”

“I wasn’t.” James scoots closer and puts his arm around him. “Hey. No, Honey. I wasn’t making fun of you. I want that stuff too.”

“You do?”

“Mmhm.” He kisses Steve's cheek. “I’m glad you told me,” he says. “Makes you even more of the perfect catch.”

Steve snorts. "Yeah. Sure."

James is the perfect catch, Steve is just incredibly lucky.

James has to go on a sudden work trip, and it's a solid week that they're apart.

The next time he comes over to Steve's place, he’s barely in the door before Steve is slamming it shut and pushing him up against the wall. He sinks to his knees and looks up at James, whose eyes have gone from widened to heavy-lidded in seconds. "Hey."

James smiles lazily and cups his cheek. “Hey there.”

Steve touches him over his jeans, starts rubbing slow and purposeful. After a moment or two, James gets hard enough that he can feel it through the denim. He knees in closer, pushes his face into his groin and rubs his cheek along the bulge of his dick.

James’ hands migrate to his head, running through his hair, over his scalp. “Mm,” he hums, amused. “Did you miss me, Sweetheart?”

It’s been little more than a week apart, but Steve has missed him embarrassingly much. He makes a plaintive noise against James’ crotch and nods. “Yeah.” He’s barely heard from the other man. He doesn’t want to complain though, because it’s still early for them and he doesn’t want to seem too needy.

James had warned him he’d be very busy working and mostly unreachable. He'd had to take a flight out for a surgery consult somewhere—Steve can’t remember where. It doesn’t matter. He’s just glad James is back. He looks up from his spot on the floor, batting his eyelashes and reaching for the front of James’ pants. “Can I?”

James grins and relaxes back against the wall. “All yours,” he says, watching Steve like he’s ready for a show. Steve flushes in a heady mix of arousal and shyness. He tucks his lips in as his fingers find the button at James’ fly, pop it open and pull down the zipper. He curls his fingers over the waistband at James’ hips and pulls, until the jeans are halfway down his thighs. He stops.

James is wearing briefs today—white, and with a waistband that has black lettering: Calvin Klein. Steve grins as arousal hits him harder, his own dick stirring in his sweats. “Tighty-whities, huh?” he teases, and when he looks up, he sees James looking down at him, amused.

“What? You don’t approve?”

“Oh, I approve.” He presses his face against the front, against the hardening line of James’ dick beneath the fabric. What he really likes is to see it get hard from the very start, and he's already making a plan to have James naked for this from the get-go, next time. He palms the soft weight of James’ balls through the fabric while placing kisses along the length of his stirring dick. “Been wanting to do this since that first night,” he murmurs. He rubs his other hand over him, circling the wet spot just by the head. “You've got such a nice cock.”

James makes a pleased noise. “Why don’t you get it out, then?” he says softly, one hand cupping Steve’s chin. His thumb pulls down on Steve’s bottom lip. “I want to see your pretty mouth stretchin' around it.”

Steve moans quietly and nods, fingers hurrying to pull his underwear down. James’ cock bobs obscenely in the air once it’s released, still angled downward from the weight of it and from only being half hard. Steve licks his lips, excited at finally getting to really appreciate it up close. He hasn’t had much chance yet, but he’s seen it, knows that it's beautiful.

James is big—as big a top can get before it becomes counterproductive, in Steve's opinion. A respectable length, with a truly mouth watering girth. His balls are soft and warm in Steve’s palm where he holds them. James is shaved there, while everything else is trimmed down short. "Sir," Steve teases, fondling the smooth weight of his balls. "I may just have to wind up sucking on these."

Above him, James chuckles lowly. "Gotta do what you gotta do, Steven. I won't hold it against ya."

Fuck. What is it about James saying his given name like that? It's so hot, feels almost dirty. Steve can't hold back anymore. He takes his cock in hand and explores it with the gentlest of touches, tracing a prominent vein that runs underneath and up along the side, circling his finger on the wet head that’s peeking out, just barely pressing the tip of his thumb into the slit. He bites his lip as it twitches and jerks. Fuck. It’s fucking beautiful.

Above, James makes a sound in his throat, and when Steve looks up he sees him looking darkly amused. “You sure are taking your sweet time with that, Princess.”

Ooh, Princess. That’s a new one. Steve smirks. “I can take all the time I want.”

He says that, but in the next few seconds he’s already lost his patience, too eager for more. He wants to feel it on his tongue, wants to taste it. He sucks the head into his mouth and is rewarded by James’ quiet groan.

“That’s it,” he praises. “Mm.”

Steve sucks him, swirling his tongue over the head and pulling gently with his hand, jerking him off a little while he sucks. He keeps it up, feeling James twitch and grow in his mouth, until he’s fully erect, and Steve just has to pop off to see. His own hand looks tiny and pale on James' dick. He jerks him softly and groans at the sight of the foreskin sliding over the weeping, fat tip. God, Steve loves uncut guys.

James is watching him with heavy eyes, his lips slightly parted, enthralled at the sight of Steve exploring down between his legs. Steve smirks up at him and looks him in the eye as he kisses along his thigh, hipbone, pelvis; all the way up to his stomach and belly button and back down. He rubs his cheek on the hot juncture of his groin and returns to stroking his cock at a languorous pace. “You’re so pretty,” he murmurs. “Could do this all day.”

“Oh yeah?” James cards a hand through Steve’s hair—a hand that Steve is very smug to note is trembling the tiniest bit—and leaves it there, caressing his scalp. “Can you go deeper?” he asks quietly, offering it up rather than demanding it.

Steve appreciates the concern, but he’s eager to show off. “‘Can I go deeper’,” he mutters, scoffing. “Hold onto your dick, Honey. This is gonna feel really good.” He sucks James’ cock back into his mouth, only this time he keeps going, taking it all the way until it's in his throat and his nose is buried in the short hair at the base.

Above him, James finally loses his composure, his breath stuttering out in a stifled, “Oh, fuck.”

Steve hums eagerly. He grabs onto the back of James’ thighs and squeezes, uses the grip to yank him even closer. He slides his hands up and grabs at his ass, able to feel the muscles tensing and relaxing as James tries so hard not to thrust into his mouth. Steve pulls off and meets his eyes. “You want to fuck my face?” he asks, eager to give James whatever he wants. “You can.”

James looks utterly smitten. He hooks his thumb in at the corner of Steve’s mouth and pulls gently. “Sweet boy,” he murmurs. Steve’s about to take that as a ‘yes’, but then James tells him otherwise. “Another time,” he says. “Right now I just want to watch you work for it.”

Steve’s belly flips in arousal. Fucking hell. He reaches down to squeeze his own dick, which is painfully constricted in his sweatpants by now. He mostly ignores it though, wanting to put all his focus into pleasing James and pulling more wrecked sounds of pleasure from him. This is a relationship Steve really wants to go the distance in, okay? So he shoots James his best sultry look while wettings his lips, and then sinks right back down with eye contact, prepared to give this man the best head of his life.

They shower together, after coming from each other’s hands and mouths. It’s an intimate experience, standing naked and sated together under the spray of the water, touching each other’s bodies without intent. It’s almost more intimate than the sex they’ve just had.

Steve shivers and luxuriates in it as James stands behind him and runs water-slicked hands over his body, not speaking, just enjoying what he’s touching. He kneads the meat of Steve’s ass, his thighs, draws soapy-slick circles down his ribs and across his belly. He kisses and mouths at his neck as he touches him all over. “Beautiful,” he murmurs, and that’s the only word uttered between them for the entirety of the shower.

Later, when they’re sitting together on the couch, drinking wine and talking lazily with nothing but towels wrapped around their waists, James describes his apartment in Manhattan. It’s centrally located but small, because “real estate in the city is sickening.”

“Tell me about it,” Steve murmurs, giving his own shoebox of an apartment a onceover.

James insists that he spends as little time in the city as possible. His preferred residence (because of course he has multiple) is “in the wilderness.”

“Jersey?” Steve asks, lip curled in a sneer.

“Oh no! A little more wild than that,” James laughs, pouring more wine into the glass Steve’s holding out. “It’s out in the Catskills," he confides. "My secret cabin."

"The Catskills?" Steve frowns, trying to think of how long of a drive that must be. “I’ve never been."

“Oh you’d love it,” James insists. “It’s gorgeous out there. Miles and miles of trees. Peace and quiet, no neighbors to bother you.” He smiles wistfully. “It’s the one place I can really let go and relax, be myself. It’s my retreat.”

“It sounds wonderful,” Steve says. James looks so happy when he talks about it, it makes Steve want to go there with him. “Will you take me there someday?” he asks. He’s very aware that the question implies that they’ll still be together down the line. That this thing they have, whatever it is, will continue.

James considers him thoughtfully, though, eyes soft and mysterious, not seeming to mind that Steve is envisioning them in the future. He peers at him in that intense, evaluating way that he has. “Well,” he says. "I mean why not? That'd be fun. Let’s do it.”

“Wait, what? Do it?” Steve repeats, surprised. “You mean like a trip? Like, now?"

“Yeah!" James laughs. “We can go for a few days. I’ll drive us out there and we can just relax together. Cook, watch movies. There’s hiking around the area. And I have a hot tub.”

Steve gasps. “I love hot tubs!”

James laughs and holds out his arms for Steve to climb into his lap. He wraps his arms around him and kisses him. “Okay then, it’s settled. When do you want to go?”

Steve tries to remember his work schedule for that next week, but his thoughts are a little slowed by the warm and gooey feelings he’s got filling him up. James wants to spend a weekend with him. He wants to take him away, show him his favorite place. Steve squirms happily in the other man's lap and tucks his face into his neck, inhaling the rich, clean scent of him and pleased as punch, because this means that James really likes him, and maybe even wants to make him a part of his life.

Jesus Christ, maybe Steve's actually, finally done it. Maybe he really has managed to scoop up the last remaining, non-married, high-value homosexual who actually wants to be in a serious relationship.

It's too good to be true!

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catbells-and-summerlinens · 2 months

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15 QUESTIONS FOR 15 FRIENDS

Tagged by the lovely lovely @agaywithcoffee, @gentlebeardsbarngrill, and @ofmd-ann. Thanks <3

ARE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE?

Not really!

WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED?

Oh my god, I think I had a few happy tears last week during Boyfriends Mania.

DO YOU HAVE KIDS?

Nope, maybe someday?

WHAT SPORTS DO YOU PLAY/HAVE YOU PLAYED?

I was OBSESSED with basketball and specifically women's basketball and played on a girl's league til 6th grade. But, at that point in my life I literally stopped growing at ~5 ft. and couldn't keep playing as all my peers shot up in height lmao.

DO YOU USE SARCASM?

Honestly, not that often.

WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE?

If they seem safe, and interesting to talk to? If they're wearing something cool?

WHAT’S YOUR EYE COLOUR?

Blue

SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS?

Neither? Psychological thrillers are OK, but nope to actual scary shit. Cannot do gore or much violence. But I also don't enjoy unrealistic happy endings that negate what the characters have been through.

ANY TALENTS?

Hm, I think I'm a really good listener. And also crafting the vibes of a room, in terms of decor and music, etc. Are these even talents??

WHERE WERE YOU BORN?

USA

WHAT ARE YOUR HOBBIES?

...Internet. Just kidding but not really - I love modding and online fandom. Hiking, Skyrim, the occasional craft (bookbinding, collage). Watching weird documentaries with my movie club.

DO YOU HAVE ANY PETS?

YES, two gorgeous brother cats that I'm obsessed with.

HOW TALL ARE YOU?

As Gillian Anderson would say, "Not very!". But yeah, like 5 ft.

FAVOURITE SUBJECT IN SCHOOL?

Music history

DREAM JOB?

A set decorator

I doubt this will be 15 folks, but here goes. No pressure, and let me know if you prefer not to be tagged in this stuff: @mst3ker, @beautitudes, @gntlbrd, @suffersinfandom, @piratecaptainscaptainpirates, @harrylovesspaezle, @peanutbutterex, @mandavee, @veeagainsttheday, @starlithumanity, @cannabis-major

#tag game

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kira-the-whump-enthusiast · 10 months

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Day 6 - Deprived

Synopsis: Direct sequel to Day 3 - Stitches and Bandages! Isaac doesn't get a break! He gets to be interrogated on his past crimes with a piece of glass stuck inside him :)

Content: Stress position, hanging by wrists, dislocation, I don't know if there's like a term for this but there is a glass shard literally embedded in Isaac, also there is gore here, organs go outside the body, immortal whumpee, whumper turned whumpee, implied past murder and cannibalism, past vivisection, very informal interrogation, delirious whumpee, sleep deprivation, some rough like wound stitching

Tagging: @whump-in-the-closet @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @eric-the-bmo @befuddled-calico-whump

—

The blanket sat crumpled in the corner, unused and abandoned.

Not that Isaac wanted to leave it that way. It was just a little hard to use it when he was hanging by his wrists from the ceiling.

He couldn't feel his hands. His muscles ached, and his shoulders had dislocated… when? He couldn't tell how long it'd been.

He was so goddamn tired.

And yet he couldn't even fall into blissful unconsciousness, on account of the shard of glass lodged in his abdomen. The smallest movement pushed it deeper into his liver or his stomach, overtaking his world with bright pain. Isaac wanted to scream, but he had no energy left for that.

He hadn't got a moment of sleep since he was strung up.

So he was awake when Kasumi sauntered into the cell with that smile Isaac had come to despise. He wanted to do something, anything, to make her feel even a fraction of the pain he was feeling right now—but he was the one chained to the ceiling, and she was the one with the key.

And he needed to convince her to let him down. Let him rest.

He'd kill for an hour of sleep.

“Please… I’m sorry…" Isaac croaked in despair. "What did I do wrong?”

Kasumi stroked his cheek with a patronizing smile and he flinched away as far as he could muster.

“Well, where to start…?” She mused.

“Hm. That ring. The one I found on you. There was something engraved inside.” She stared at him straight in the eyes like she was expecting an answer. Isaac was… confused, to say the least.

Getting closer, so close he could hear her breath, she asked him, “So what does the name Marcelina mean to you?”

Isaac winced. There went his hopes of ever being let down.

This isn’t going to end well.

“Just a friend I had,” he quickly lied.

She grabbed his jaw and gripped it tightly. “Oh, really?” She breathed into his ear.

Isaac strained to get away. “Yes,” he whispered in a small voice.

A punch landed on his chest, sudden and violent, right where the shard of glass was lodged in his torso. His world exploded into pain, bright colors flashing, obscuring his vision, and he screamed until it turned into sobs.

“Don’t fucking lie to me,” Kasumi whispered.

Isaac nodded frantically, breaths ragged and torn.

A finger pressed into the skin above the glass, not enough to really hurt, but enough to send a jolt of vibrant fear through his body. He couldn’t stop shaking, his muscles were giving out, he couldn’t—

“So,” Kasumi started, and Isaac was listening.

“Who was Marcelina, and what did you do to her?” Her smile was gone, her eyes cold and grave.

Isaac tried his best to not remember the nights before he woke up in this latest basement cell. Because in the darkness lurked endless amounts of guilt. Guilt over what he’d done and the blood he spilled. And horror that, despite everything, he’d do it all again.

Marcelina was a wonderful memory, one now tainted by whips and shock collars and endless starvation.

He still remembered what it felt like to rip and tear and devour and eat. And it felt good, it felt right, like everything was falling into place. And he wanted to do it again.

He couldn’t bring himself to admit that to the one person who’d destroy him for what he’d done.

Fingers brushed his throat, gripped, and started to squeeze. Isaac bit back a scream—he couldn’t waste air—and stared at Kasumi with a pleading look and tears in his eyes. I’m sorry. Don’t do this.

Kasumi returned his gaze, unrelenting. “You killed her, didn’t you?”

Isaac nodded and closed his eyes.

"Desecrated her body too, hm?"

He nodded again, more slowly this time.

“And that’s why I do this.” She let go, and Isaac only had a moment to breathe before she kicked him in the ribs.

He swung from his wrists and he cried, desperate and broken, as the shard of glass inside him jolted and cut through his stomach.

She turned to leave, and Isaac’s mind overfilled with blank panic.

“Wait, wait—please! I’m so tired—please, I’m sorry, let me down, please—”

Tears blurred his vision and it was getting hard to breathe. “I can’t, I can’t take it anymore, just take the glass out at least?”

Kasumi stopped in her tracks, and Isaac breathed a silent sigh of relief.

It shattered as soon as he saw her smile, cold and hungry like a predator catching easy prey.

“Oh, well, if you insist.”

She unsheathed a knife, one that glinted and shined in the bright fluorescent lights.

—

His thoughts had long since melted away, dripping to the ground like the blood pouring from his chest.

Kasumi cut the shard out.

She didn't bother to sew him back together.

His guts were spilling to the floor—god, that was fucking disgusting—and he wanted to vomit but he had nothing in his stomach to throw up.

Isaac coughed violently, and his vision turned white for a second, his broken ribs crying in pain.

He just wanted to sleep, but this? This just felt like dying.

He was sweating from the warmth, yet paradoxically he felt much too cold. Vaguely, Isaac remembered the blanket in the corner.

All this for a stupid fucking piece of fabric.

He should have never tried to get it back in the first place.

—

Isaac was released from the chains eventually—he knew because he crumpled to the floor the moment they were loosened and hit his head on the concrete. The world was blurry, all the sound drowned out by the pounding in his head. And he didn't know what was happening—frankly, he was surprised he ever was let down at all.

Someone—Kasumi, he supposed—was sewing him up. Little pricks in his skin, pulling it back together.

It felt too much like when he was on that table, and he squirmed and tried to get away—but a hand roughly pushed him to the floor, adding another bruise to his skull. He managed a weak cry of pain. Stop it. Please.

She hummed as she worked, ignoring Isaac's muffled whimpers and fever-hot temperature.

Eventually, she tied off the last stitch, and Isaac wanted to cry in relief. He didn't get any chance to. She forced his arms back into their sockets, quickly and brutally, disregarding his screams.

Leaving him on the floor, she exited the cell without a word. He relaxed the smallest bit. A break. That was all he wanted.

He could finally breathe a little easier.

The abandoned blanket laid in the corner of his gaze, and with what little strength he had, Isaac reached for it. He had no energy to drape it over himself, instead hugging it tightly to his chest.

He gave everything to have it.

And it wasn't worth it. Not at all. But as he drifted off to sleep for the first time in ages, he realized just how much he had missed its warmth.

—

AN: I love being mean and evil to Isaac and oh man this isn't even the worst thing that's happened to him in this plotline

#whump #whump writing #immortal whumpee #stress position #gore #tw gore #whumper turned whumpee #wij23day6 #whumpmasinjuly2023 #oc isaac #oc kasumi #my ocs <2 #my writing

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use-your-telescope · 1 year

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WIP Snippet #3: Can You Feel It Now? (Bonus Snippet)

Alright, I’m giving a bonus snippet - one that my beta reader hasn’t even read yet! So if this seems a bit rough around the edges/there are obvious grammar errors, that’s why…

The snippet I shared earlier this weekend is a bit heavier, but this one is fluffy and (hopefully) funny, and just... it cracked me up throughout writing.

Takes place after Snippet 2. Warning for some blood In the beginning. Lots of shameless flirting and banter.

Tag list: @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @thedistractedagglomeration @lokisgoodgirl @simplyholl @mochie85 @coldnique @lokixryss @gigglingtigger @cheekyscamp @loopsisloops @mischief2sarawr

(If you want to be added to a tag list, comment or send me an ask!)

Song: Chit Chat - Beach Weather

Can You Feel It Now?

By any measure, it started off as a normal Tuesday night.

The Emergency Department was busy, but not overwhelmingly so. It was, however, busy enough that when Theo was handed the tablet for her next patient and pointed towards the exam room, Theo had skipped the name on the file and went straight to the presenting concerns. She pulled the curtain back, ready to introduce herself and begin treatment.

“Hi, I’m – Jesus Christ, what happened to you?” Theo froze, gawking at the sight before her.

Sitting on the examination table was Loki, dressed in his armor and covered with dried blood. No, not just covered - it was like he took a swim in it. And that was coming from someone who saw absurd amounts of blood and gore on a daily basis.

Despite looking like he just escaped the Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Loki leaned back on one hand, legs crossed at his ankles as his attention went studying from a poster on the wall next to Theo, acting as if he was just paying her a visit like any other day. The only clue that something wasn’t right was how his other hand was curled around his stomach, protecting the wound beneath.

“You have a God before you, there is no need to call upon the one whom some Midgardians believe to be a deity,” Loki smirked, sitting up and squaring his shoulders toward Theo. “We were caught up in a bit of unanticipated combat, but it is of no concern.”

“Hm, I’m going to disagree with that, given you are absolutely soaked in blood, not to mention that the reason for your visit is listed as –” Theo glanced down at the tablet for good measure, “ – stab wound in left upper abdomen.”

“You’ve heard the tales.” Loki offered a nonplussed shrug. “A stabbing is hardly noteworthy for me.”

Despite rolling her eyes, Theo couldn’t hold back a breathless puff of a laugh. “Let me guess: ‘you should see the other guy?’” She rummaged through the cabinets and drawers, pulling out the assorted tools she would need for assessing and treating Loki’s injuries.

“The operatives were effectively eliminated, so there is nothing to see.” Loki shrugged, eyes trained on something behind Theo. He cocked his head to the side, lips twisting with curiosity. “However, now that I’m here, there is something else worth seeing.”

“Oh really?” Theo absentmindedly replied, crouched down as she peered into the back of a cabinet in search of a specific type of suture needle.

“Indeed. It seems the Falcon will provide my entertainment whilst waiting for you to conclude what I already know, which is that I do not need medical attention.”

“If you don’t need medical attention, a) why are you here, and b) why does my patient intake form say you have a stab wound?” She dryly challenged, “And why are you grabbing your side like that?”

“Oh, I certainly have a stab wound.” Loki readily admitted, offering a coy smile. “My brother insisted I pay a visit, despite knowing I am more than capable of managing a stab wound on my own.”

“Better safe than sorry.” Theo shrugged, now focused on finding something that would help clean off the blood so she could check for bruises without making a mess of the exam room. “What’s the entertainment?”

“Attempting to woo your colleague.”

Theo leapt to her feet and whipped around, accidentally smacking the tray of medical supplies with enough force that it clattered to the ground. She froze, wide-eyed and heart pounding in her chest, bracing herself for everyone around them to stop and stare.

“Norns, you are subtle as a brick wall.” Loki snorted from behind Theo.

Though there were a couple side glances, it was nowhere near what Theo expected; the hustle and bustle of the emergency department seemed to conveniently mask the crash. Even better, Sam didn’t notice, nor did Julie.

“Shut up.” Theo couldn’t help but laugh, absentmindedly waving her hand and using a touch of magic to clean up the mess she made. “I had to see if it was who I hoped he was flirting with.”

“And?”

Theo turned back to Loki, who cocked an eyebrow at her with an expectant smirk.

“You breathe a word of this to anyone and I’ll make you regret being born –” Theo waved a suture needle that was still in its sterile packaging at him, as if it were a weapon that she was threatening him with. “– but yes, yes it is...” Theo resumed cleaning up the cuts and dried blood on Loki’s skin.

“Does your colleague find the Falcon attractive?”

Theo snickered. “She called his ass a national treasure. Every time we hang out we spend as much time talking about her crush on Sam as we do on everything else combined.”

“Based on my observations, she seems appropriately flattered and flustered by his advances.”

“Tell me if she makes a fool of herself.” Theo instructed. “Alright, I need you to take your armor off - I’ve gotta give you the once-over.”

“If you wish to see me nude, you need not make excuses about medical attention.”

“Might I remind you that you came to me for medical treatment, Mischief. Now, I know you have at least one wound that will need treatment, which I can’t get to without either having you remove your armor or me cutting it off, and lord only knows what else I’ll find when I actually take a look” Theo countered, pulling out a hospital gown and setting it next to Loki. “So unless you want me to ruin your fine Asgardian leather, you should probably just take it off. I’ll step out to give you a minute to change into this. Leave the underwear on.”

“No need.” In a flash of green, Loki’s armor was off, leaving him perfectly clean, dressed in nothing but a pair of black boxer shorts. He held his arms out to the sides and dipped his head with a flourish, still wearing a smirk on his face. “I present myself to you for your examination… Among other things.”

With his body on open display, Theo had to stop herself from staring and focus on conducting an examination.

She had seen her fair share of gods - from a different pantheon, sure, but gods - and while they were objectively good-looking, none of them had been what Theo would call her type.

But Loki?

His abs may have been carved from the finest marble by Michelangelo. Long, elegant muscles stretched taut across his body - a pleasant change from the SHIELD agents Theo cared for throughout her time, and a sharp contrast from the bulking, almost comically-sized muscles that belonged to the majority of the Avengers.

Scars littered themselves across his porcelain skin; even though their origins were most certainly violent, they brought their own kind of beauty. It took an absurd amount of willpower not to reach up and trace her fingers along the defined lines of his figure, especially the scar just to the right of his sternum - whatever caused that must have been a true force to be reckoned with.

It was probably a good thing that Julie was busy with Sam, because if she saw that Theo was assigned to Loki and that he had his shirt off, Julie would never stop teasing Theo about it.

After the requisite poking and prodding (and no more, because she was a professional and she was not about to give Loki the satisfaction of turning into a fawning, drooling mess over him in nothing but shorts), Theo straightened up and took a deep breath. “Alright, just the wound on your side needs to be closed up. I’d normally recommend stitches, but I’m feeling generous, so I’ll close it up for you with some magic.”

Loki smirked. “Truly generous of you to bestow a touch of magic upon me.”

Theo gently pressed his shoulders back so he’d lay down on the examination table. “Well, I can’t say I’m thrilled about you coming back with an injury like this and claiming you don’t need medical care, so maybe this is my way of incentivizing you to not hide injuries.”

Or it was her way of showing off a little. After all, he kept making comments about wanting to see her magic in play, particularly the healing magic.

“Alright, this will be a little uncomfortable, but it should go quick.”

“I cannot imagine it would be any more uncomfortable than sitting here with a gash in my side,” Loki pointed out, cocking an eyebrow as he smirked up at her.

“You’re the one who wanted to pretend there was nothing wrong with you,” Theo shot back, rolling her eyes despite the smile that crept up on her face. “Maybe I should make you get stitches - I don’t want to reward recklessness. You’re lucky I like you.”

She cracked her knuckles, brought her hands out to hover just over the injury, and let the magic flow. Focusing her attention on the gash, her arms lit up with delicate white runes, swirling and trailing down her arms and into Loki’s skin. Theo closed her eyes, envisioning the path of each tendril of magic and the way it traveled through Loki’s body, stitching him back together.

When the last of his skin drew itself together, Theo let out a quiet breath and dispelled the runes. She stole a glance up to find Loki staring at her, a sparkle of something warm in his seaglass eyes. Her cheeks burned, and she averted her gaze.

“Voila. Good as new.” Theo felt her lips curl into a smile as she traced her fingers along the newly closed skin, lingering at the end of what was once a wound.

Beneath her touch, Loki shivered. He propped himself up on his elbows and examined where the wound once was.

“I thank you for your services,” he said, his attention fixed on where Theo’s fingertips met his skin. “If only all healers had such an enchanting touch, perhaps I would not forgo treatment of minor injuries.”

Theo snorted. “Minor? You had a stab wound. In your abdomen - where all of your internal organs are. If you were any other patient I would have admitted you in two seconds.”

As Theo spoke, Loki went from propped on his elbows to sitting upright. “Ah, but you refrained, because you know I am no mere mortal.” He teased, wiggling his eyebrows at her. Combined with the height of the examination table, he towered over Theo, eyes trained on her like a predator hunting his prey.

“Yeah yeah, you’re a god and I should be worshiping you because you’re the best thing since sliced bread,” Theo drawled, turning away to peel her gloves off and toss them in a bin. “Last I checked, I’m the one patching you up, so maybe you should be worshiping me — if that’s something you Norse gods are capable of.” She added a wink to her comment.

“Ah, it is folly to assume gods are incapable of worship.” The smirk on Loki’s face grew and his eyes darkened. “Gods can worship like none other, darling. Perhaps I might show you.”

“Not while I’m on the clock, buddy.” Theo’s face burned, but she tried her best to keep a neutral expression as she deflected. “In the meantime, go be mischievous and spy on Sam and Julie. I have a bet with the charge nurse about how long it will take them to finally get together, and I want any intel you can find in case I need to change my wager.”

A flash of something uncertain flashed across Loki’s face, but it was quickly replaced by an almost obnoxiously cocky grin. “Say no more darling. I will investigate.” He hopped off the table, and in a flash of emerald he was dressed in black joggers and a forest green zip-up sweatshirt, unzipped to reveal a gray t-shirt. He strolled to the door, then just before crossing the threshold he spun around with a flourish. “In the meantime, I recommend preparing for all the methods in which you might extol my virtues, since I will require devotion if I am to inform you of my discoveries, thus aiding you in your endeavor.”

“Oh my god you are such a dork,” Theo playfully groaned. “Glad you’re fine, I have patients to tend to, so you need to go — bye!” For dramatic effect, she pretended to shove Loki out the door.

Loki feigned shock, but the sparkle in his eye betrayed him, as did the bright smile he flashed on his way out. When he was gone, Theo turned away from the door and let out the breath she didn’t realize she had been holding.

Since when was she flustered by Loki?

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krankittoeleven · 1 year

Text

Can I do an offshoot of a tag game? inspired by the TV show tag game: Rules: 10 (non-ancient) books for people to get to know you better, or that you just really like.

I was tagged by @aeide and @brasideios

Boooks! I'm going to aim for a variety here, though a lot of these will probably lean to horror, but believe me, there is variety in horror lol. These are all the first things that came to mind in no particular order, except the first book which is...just...always...there.

This got long so I put it below a cut.

House of Leaves by Mark Z Danielewski - if I ever figure out what it is about haunted or weird houses, liminal spaces, and abandoned places etc. that I enjoy so much I think I will figure out something about myself. I mean, I know it has to do with solitude and emptiness or something, but it has to be more than that. Anyway, HOL is insane in its presentation, and I think should be experienced at least once, but it takes several readings to see everything (I think this will be perfectly clear after reading it once, but I know not everyone can devote that much time to one book). My favorite fun fact that I've heard about HOL is that MZD didn't intend to write a horror story, but instead a romance, and it just happened to take place in what some people consider a spoopy book.

Last Chance to See by Douglas Adams & Mark Carwardine - I think if I were to HIGHLY RECOMMEND any book on this list for a broad audience, this would be THE ONE. The premise is that DNA and Mark go on trips around the world to seek out some of the most endangered animals on the planet and to bring to the public eye the conservation efforts etc. surrounding those animals (this was in the 90s). The book is funny, inspirational, heartwarming and heartbreaking, sometimes bleak, sometimes delightful, and always fascinating. It has inspired a lot of conservation efforts since it was published, even now, long after DNA's death, which I think would make him very happy. My favorite story is about their crew trying to buy condoms in China so they could waterproof their mics to record river dolphins. CLASSIC.

John Dies at the End by David Wong - Horror, Humor and Satire all come together to create an incredibly entertaining read. This is one of my overall favorite books, its just weird, stupid and funny. It's best if you don't take it too seriously.

The Terror by Dan Simmons - one of my favorite historical fiction books (based around the disappearance of the HMS Terror and HMS Erebus, two British Naval ships lost in the artic). It is the slowest of slow burn, slow creep suspense. If you enjoy audiobooks I highly recommend this one in audio, it is a long read at about 800 pages, but reading it is it's own experience. I really like reading about people exploring really treacherous place so this fits the bill.

When You are Engulfed in Flames by David Sedaris - I have always loved David Sedaris' stories, he has been a constant presence in my life for many years and I am always amazed at how open he is about his family life (much to the chagrin of his family sometimes lol). This collection in particular holds a special place for me because it helped me get through quitting smoking, which was one of the hardest things I've ever done. I had read the book previously and knew that the last story, When You are Engulfed in Flames, was about David's own experience quitting smoking. I listened to the audiobook a lot during that time, usually while crying quietly under a blanket. LOL

Glamorama by Bret Easton Elis - I'm usually pretty loathe to recommend this to anyone, lest they think I am a psychopath, but seriously this is one of the best satires of consumerism ever written if you can just get past the blood and gore. If you don't know who Bret Easton Elis is, he wrote American Psycho. If you don't know what American Psycho is then skip this book (and maybe skip it even if you do) LOL

Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage by Haruki Murakami - I can see why this is one of Murakami's lesser know liked works, but I think it is one of the easiest to comprehend as well (IDK maybe Murakami purists like being confused and saying HUH? a lot). There is an exceptional amount of character growth and discovery to this story and it was not anything near what I thought it would be so that probably scored it some extra points. This isn't even my fave Murakami book, but it's what popped into my head.

The King in Yellow by Robert W Chambers - I feel like I would be doing all of my blog names a disservice if I didn't at least mention TKIY. Have you seen the yellow sign?

Help a Bear is Eating Me by Mykle Hansen - look, everything you need to know about this book is in the title. Also, it's pretty funny.

The Yellow Wallpaper by Charlotte Perkins Gilman - much like House of Leaves, I will never get over this story. Technically is a short story, but you can by it on its own so that makes it a book in my eyes lol Although this wasn't intended to be horror, as far as I know, it is one of the most horrifying things I've ever read. Without agency and autonomy we are nothing.

I will tag @theinkandthesea @mini-uzzy @liminalspacecowboah @troublemakingrebel @getfuckedyahoo @akashadarkblade @ainulindaelynn, @erzsebetrosztoczy and whoever else wants to.

#books #tag game

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multi-lefaiye · 1 year

Text

MUTUALS POWERPOINT NIGHT: MULTI EDITION

HELLO gamers! it is i, tumblr user xavier multi-lefaiye, here to present my very good powerpoint to y'all. i am posting this early because i like being early <3

as some of you may know, i had a few other ideas for powerpoints, one of which i finished before going "hm i wanna do something else" and doing something else.

as i am sure you are all very well-aware by this point, my biggest fixation is tales from the gas station. so i decided to do my powerpoint about that instead of explaining in-depth how i'd rewrite every episode of notable bad horror tv series lost tapes. you're welcome <3

tagging the participants real quick (if i forgot you i prommy i am just forgetful and it was not intentional, ilsym): @wherearetheplants @nicola-writes @cnnamonrolls @abouttogetshellshocked @approximately20eggs @yourlocal-lichen @astralrunic

anyway! my slides will be under the cut, but if you'd rather see the actual presentation, here's the google slides link: [link]

comments are enabled but no one is obligated to leave any for any reason! i mainly enabled them because i may send this to some discord folks later who enjoy leaving silly comments.

anyway let's gooooo

[Transcript:

TALES FROM THE GAS STATION: A BRIEF SUMMARY

OR: an explanation of my blorbos

by tumblr user multi-lefaiye

/ End Transcript]

[Transcript:

what the fuck is this series?

Tales From the Gas Station started as a creepypasta series on the NoSleep subreddit

Then it kinda blew up and became popular enough that the creator reworked and rewrote the series to make them into books

There are four books total and also a seven-part comic series in the works!

Essentially, this is a horror-comedy series centering around a character named Jack Townsend, the minimum-wage employee of a shitty gas station at the edge of an even shittier small town, which also happens to be the epicenter of many supernatural happenings

/ End Transcript]

[Transcript:

DISCLAIMER

I haven’t finished reading the full series yet because [redacted] redacted] [redacted]

But regardless I’m MOSTLY basing this presentation on book one to avoid spoiling later events for people who wanna check this out themselves :)

This is not an exhaustive presentation unfortunately.

Look at this raccoon

/ End Transcript]

[Image Description: An image of a raccoon behind the wheel of a car, positioned as though it's driving. End ID.]

[Transcript:

Content warnings!!

So I’m not gonna go into the triggering stuff in this presentation, but if you wanna check out TFTGS yourself I wanna give a heads up where I can.

I also will try to give context to things where I can if I feel that it’s needed, but yeah point is I want to make sure anyone who checks this out knows what they’re getting into.

Anyway full list of warnings on the next slide let’s go

/ End Transcript]

[Transcript:

Okay here are the actual content warnings

There are a few side/minor characters who are really blatantly racist and xenophobic b/c TFTGS does not shy away from the fact that it takes place in a small, shitty southern US town--these characters are condemned by the narrative and clearly The Assholes but still, tread lightly.

Casual ableism, especially towards Jack, including the use of the r-slur (once again also condemned by the narrative but still)

Lots and lots of violence and murder

Suicide

Lots of talk of terminal illness

Drug use

Cults

Psychiatric abuse

SOME graphic depictions of blood n’ gore n’ corpses, but the gore is never the focus thankfully

/ End Transcript]

[Transcript:

CHARACTERS!!!

FULL DISCLAIMER: THIS IS ALL PRETTY MUCH MY INTERPRETATIONS OF THE CHARACTERS. Many of them don't have much in the way of physical descriptions and these are all just my personal designs for the characters :) Yay

/ End Transcript]

[Transcript:

JACK TOWNSEND

The universe’s favorite punching bag

He’s got that autistic tboy swag and I love him so so much

Chronically ill since he was in high school

Just fucking vibing

Frequently gets insulted and beaten down and it stresses me out but he gets less and less chill about it as the series goes on. I think he deserves to throw rocks at people

I relate to him a lot and idk what that says about me <3

Blorbo <3333

/ End Transcript]

[Image Description: A picrew of Jack Townsend from Tales From the Gas Station, a tired young white man with dark bags under his eyes, a small beard, and shaggy black hair. He looks worried and is wearing a blue shirt under a black hoodie. End ID.]

[Transcript:

ANTONIO / TONY

So I’m not quite sure how to talk about him without spoiling a bunch of shit

Ah well

One of Jack’s coworkers and his best friend in volume 1!

Kind of a sweet, anxious guy who’s just trying his best

What’s a little accidental murder between besties??? It was an accident, it’s fine.

King of being a really good and trustworthy guy with nothing else going on

I love him genuinely

/ End Transcript]

[Image Description: A picrew of Antonio from Tales From the Gas Station, a young Latino man with tan skin, curly brown hair, multiple piercings in his ears, and a beard. He has his mouth open as though he's speaking, and he wears a blue collared shirt under a denim jacket. End ID.]

[Transcript:

JERRY PASCAL

Jack’s emotional support human and bestie

Kind of like a puppy, except that puppy does a lot of illegal shit and kills people

Former member of a murderous cult called Mathmetism

Referred to as Marlboro for most of the first book b/c Jack doesn’t know his name

Big stupid energy but also the smartest bitch in the room. Depends on what would be funnier

Would fight god in the parking lot

If he’s being serious, something is wrong

/ End Transcript]

[Image Description: A picrew of Jerry Pascal from Tales From the Gas Station, a white man with shaggy blond hair, a small beard, and multiple piercings in his ears. He has a wide smirk on his face and wears a yellow t-shirt with a graphic of the sun across the front under a red hoodie jacket, and one hand is visibly holding a cigarette. End ID.]

[Transcript:

SPENCER MIDDLETON

MY POOR LITTLE MEOW MEOW

Too sexy and evil for gender

My design for him is very far from canon and I am aware of that. However I think everyone should draw him as a long-haired prettyboy <3

He’s just so babygirl <3

I hate him and love him in equal measure

God let him live another day and that’s everyone else’s problem

Anyway I just think he’s neat and should do more crimes

/ End Transcript]

[Image Description: A picrew of Spencer Middleton from Tales From the Gas Station, a white man with long ginger hair, a light beard, and pierced ears. He has a sharp grin on his face, showing his sharp teeth, and is wearing all black. End ID.]

[Transcript:

AMELIA O'BRIEN

Cop (unfortunate)

I have very mixed feelings about her as a character ngl and most of them tie back to her being a cop

I do think she’s interesting though

Wish she’d cool it with the casual ableism though <3 Like I know it’s not just her but goddamn

Anyway I guess she counts as a #girlboss

One time one of my friends compared her to the gay cop in Onward and I can’t stop thinking about it because God So True

/ End Transcript]

[Image Description: A picrew of Amelia O'Brien, a Black woman with dark hair pulled back into a bun and pierced ears. She has a stern expression on her face and wears a light shirt under a dark vest and brown jacket, with one hand holding a cigarette. End ID.]

[Transcript:

ROSA VASQUEZ

Sweetest girl in the world

Technically doesn’t show up until volume 2 but I love her so much so I’m talking about her here

Newest hire at the gas station and completely unprepared for The Horrors

She adapts pretty quickly though

Has a really huge really obvious crush on Jack and tbh I think it’s cute

Unfortunately he is oblivious

Besides that though she’s a very fun character and makes me very happy :)

/ End Transcript]

[Image Description: A picrew of Rosa Vasquez from Tales From the Gas Station, a young Latina woman with brown skin, dark brown hair that hangs loosely around her shoulders, and pink earrings. She has a wide smile on her face and is wearing a pink shirt under a dark denim jacket, with one hand held up in a peace sign. End ID.]

[Transcript:

SABINE

We don’t need to talk about her

So we’re not going to talk about her

You have to read volume 2 to get this backstory

/ End Transcript]

[Image Description: A picrew of Sabine from Tales From the Gas Station, a young woman with lightly tanned skin, pierced ears, curly brown hair, and freckles. Her mouth is open slightly and she wears a black choker, a black t-shirt with a skull on it, and a red jacket. Two of her hands are held up and her pointer fingers are pressed together. End ID.]

[Transcript:

MISC. CHARACTERS I'M NOT MAKING PICREWS OF

Kieffer - the world’s most killable man! A local politician and, arguably, part of the reason everything goes to shit.

Benjamin - a monster hunter who’s convinced that there’s something evil in the gas station. And he’s gonna kill it.

Vanessa Riggin - another employee at the gas station who unfortunately disappears during volume 1.

Brother Riley - local bookstore owner and ray of sunshine! Got basically excommunicated for teaching kids to read

Dr. V - psychiatric abuse: the character! (Jack’s psychiatrist who doesn’t seem particularly interested in actually helping him)

Deputy Tom - cop (unfortunate), but also Jack’s kinda father figure.

Agents Brick Roscoe - idk how to even get into this so I simply will not.

/ End Transcript]

[Transcript:

PLOT!!!

/ End Transcript]

[Image Description: Two edited memes featuring raccoons. One shows a raccoon facing the camera, with a photoshopped human hand holding a gun pointing at the viewer. The other shows a raccoon in front of a sunset and looking to the left, with a faded image of a screaming raccoon behind it. The second meme reads: "Physically pained, Mentally drained" / End ID.]

[Transcript:

Volume 1 Premise

The premise of volume 1 centers quite a bit around Kieffer, a local politician.

Picture this: your best friend pulls you aside at work and asks you about the guy who just came into the store. After you explain who the guy is, your friend says, “No, that can’t be him. I killed him last night. His body is in my trunk.”

That’s the day Jack is having.

A wild series of events follows, made worse when Jack starts documenting his experiences in a blog to keep himself sane

People start going missing! Other people start dying! Kieffer especially starts dying!

Jack is not being paid enough to deal with any of this!

/ End Transcript]

[Transcript:

Other things about volume 1 I wanna say, minus context

I think Spencer Middleton is babygirl material and I will not be silenced b/c I am so right

There is a genuinely really clever bit of writing in volume 1 centering around Jack’s leg injury but I don’t know how to explain it without spoilers so just know I think it’s really cool

The Bathroom Cowboy is a cool dude and I think I would like to be his best friend

I think Jack should be allowed to have a nice day for once in his fucking life

Rita the raccoon is a girlboss

The Man in the Raincoat is so gender

Agents Brick Roscoe confuse and frighten me. They’re also really funny

/ End Transcript]

[Transcript:

Here's a quote from volume 1 that I think captures the style of comedy well

She walked up to the counter and smiled and asked, "What do you think?"

What a great question. I think a lot of things, actually. I ran through a shortlist of answers. I think people spend too much time mowing their lawns. I think Marlboro's probably dead, and I may be somewhat responsible. I think no man ever steps in the same river twice. I think that, in terms of reality, perception outweighs actuality in every case, but if I were to say something like that in this town I'd get my ass kicked for being a pretentious dick. I think Tony was too hard on 'Temple of Doom.' I think every magazine is a scam. (Why should I pay for a magazine when it's already full of advertisements?) I think forcing children to recite the pledge of allegiance is creepy, and hot dogs are not sandwiches (they are, in fact, American tacos). I think things at the gas station are getting worse and I can't explain why.

/ End Transcript]

[Transcript:

by viewing this presentation you promise that if you ever read tftgs you have to tell me (tumblr user multi-lefaiye) all of your thoughts about it

/ End Transcript]

[Transcript:

i’m kidding, you don’t have to, i just wanna talk about this series with people

/ End Transcript]

[Transcript:

Thanks

/ End Transcript]

[Image Description: A picture of a raccoon sitting up and with its forepaws together, its teeth bared in a way that makes it looks like it's grinning evilly. End ID.]

#multi makes text posts #mutuals powerpoint night #god i love this fucking series #mutuals tag #typing up the transcripts took a while but it was worth it #tales from the gas station #anyway if you want to understand me. read tftgs.

18 notes · View notes

just-somehuman · 1 year

Text

Paint - Toichiro x Fem!Reader

Genre: psychological, gore, angst, au

Inspired by: Matsuro Palette

Word count: 2 780

_________________________________________

a/n: Best boy makes his debut in this chapter, so don't mind the Shakespearean. It's probably wrong anyway 💀 Also, at the end of the chapter will be another note where I explain a couple things. Okay, I'm done talking. Please enjoy ✨

TAGS: @shonenkun309 @colourless-hydrangeas

Let me know if you want to be tagged in future chapters!

tw: cutting, blood, implied self-harm

_________________________________________

Chapter 2

The girl sighs.

"I am Y/N. I didn't expect to find you so easily," she says.

"'Easily'? Truly? I heard something about you wanting to give up-" Toichiro starts before being silenced by Y/N's glare.

"I've found you anyway so it doesn't really matter whether I struggled or not," she says. Her tone is aloof but familiar at the same time. Her indifference towards someone she appears to be obsessed with strikes a chord in Toichiro's heart, so he presses on.

"I heard from an acquaintance of mine that you have no intention of ever meeting me. When did that change, hm?" he teases.

"Look, I just got curious. I mean, I didn't even know you actually existed until I followed you here. I thought my mind was playing tricks on me and I was going to be trapped in that studio again," Y/N blurts out, attempting to hide her genuine interest in Toichiro's being. He smiles at her in amusement.

"How about you and I speak somewhere more private?" Toichiro suggests. Y/N is unsure of how to respond due to both her distrust towards the man she thought she knew well and her general wariness of the world.

"And what happens if I say no?" she asks.

"If I'm being honest, I might be quite hurt," Toichiro answers.

"Seriously?" Y/N says, her eyes widening and a wave of regret washing over her.

"Of course not," Toichiro laughs, "You're quite capricious."

Y/N scowls before following Toichiro to wherever he was planning on taking her.

"So, this is your place?" Y/N remarks, observing Toichiro's dwelling.

"Don't sound so displeased. I do have a far larger house in the Capital. We will only be staying here temporarily," Toichiro explains.

"'We'? Who's 'we'?" Y/N inquires, staring directly into Toichiro's eyes.

"My valet and I, though you are quite welcome," he laughs teasingly.

"Greetings, Mistress Pictorem," Shizuki says, placing two cups of milk tea down on the table.

"Just Y/N is fine. No need for this mistress-business," Y/N states.

"As you wish, Mistress Y/N," Shizuki replies before taking his place at his master’s side.

"About that pseudonym of yours," Toichiro begins.

"Oh, it's not that deep actually," Y/N answers.

"Really? What does it mean then?" he asks.

"...It's the Latin word for painter," she says reluctantly.

"How original," he smiles, "Now, where were we?"

"You weren't always this… What's the word I'm looking for? Audacious," Y/N says.

"Quite the compliment," Toichiro laughs.

"The other meaning," Y/N replies, annoyed.

"I see. You shouldn't have expected to know me well. It was my soul you met, after all," Toichiro says.

"'Soul’? What bullsh*t. We were literally trapped there!" she retorts.

"You were physically trapped?" Toichiro questions, surprised.

"You weren't?" Y/N replies the same way.

"So your body was physically here but your mind- well, soul, was in that studio?" Y/N repeats Toichiro's words.

"Precisely," he confirms.

"Okay cool, but you just created a plot hole," Y/N sighs.

"A what?" Toichiro asks.

"Basically, you just told me that you weren’t physically in the studio yet, somehow, you were still physically affected," Y/N explains agitatedly. Toichiro stares back at her in an indescribable manner. It is impossible to know what he is thinking, though Y/N is still able to answer his teasing smirk.

"It's not physically possible to have been affected in such a way when you weren't even there," she says, a rather large sigh following after.

"Perhaps it is some other being's doing that led to Master Toichiro’s behaviour," Shizuki suggests.

"Like a demon or something?" Y/N asks, turning her attention towards Shizuki who had been silently observing the other two's interactions the whole time.

"No, not a demon. Nor a wraith for that matter," Shizuki states.

"A what?" Y/N asks.

"A wraith is similar to a demon in the sense that it is an evil being, though its form is closer to that of a ghost or apparition," Toichiro explains.

"So a boneless demon," Y/N says.

"A boneless..? You know what, never mind. Shizuki, continue," Toichiro says.

"Based on what we know, it was something else causing Master Toichiro to react that way. It was most likely the same thing that caused Mistress Y/N to be physically trapped," Shizuki continues.

"Y'know… I've got a little more evidence to back up your claims, Shizuki," Y/N mentions.

"Do go on," Toichiro urges.

"I'm actually a terrible artist because I can't paint anything other than Toichiro, but it's not like I haven't tried not to. Whenever I start painting, I lose control of my own body. I'm not the one painting portraits of him. I don't know how to explain it, but it's sort of like my consciousness is replaced by something else," Y/N explains, "And when I've got my body back, I always find, um…" She rolls up her sleeves revealing many cuts along her wrists and inner arms, the cuts going as far up as beyond her elbows.

"I always find cuts. Obviously, whatever possesses me harms me while it's in control of my body."

The two men exchange a worried glance before Toichiro turns to face Y/N.

"Do you have any idea what it might have hurt you for?"

"It wants my blood. I find my blood in your portraits when I get my body back. It's used as red paint. Not a clue as to why though, I own a ton of red paint," Y/N answers. Silence descends upon the room. Y/N tries to break the silence with an excuse to leave.

"I've bothered you two enough, I might as well just-"

"Hang on a moment, Y/N," Toichiro calls out to her, grabbing her wrist before she walks out. A droplet of blood trails down Toichiro's hand and lands on the floor. He stares into Y/N's eyes for an answer.

"Sorry, I painted before following you here. The wound didn't have enough time to heal," she says, snatching her hand back and wiping her blood off the floor. When she raises her head to meet Toichiro's eyes again, he places a hand on her shoulder and gazes at her solemnly. He lowers his voice to a whisper that only she can hear.

"Why do you continue painting if you know it harms you? Are you intentionally trying to hurt yourself?"

"That's not how it is. Most of the time, I don't paint by will. It's an urge that consumes me and I have no choice but to feed into it," she whispers back guiltily. The two share a blank stare for a few seconds longer. Toichiro removes his hand from her shoulder and returns his voice to an audible level, his usual smile glowing.

"There are two people that will be able to help us. We can go see them tomorrow morning."

"Alright then, I'll be off-" Y/N says before being interrupted by Toichiro.

"You should spend the night here."

Y/N raises an eyebrow at him.

"You're not taking me to dinner first? Daring."

Toichiro laughs at her statement.

"It is far too late for you to be returning to the Capital now."

"Is it actually that late?" Y/N asks, peering out the window. Sure enough, the sun sets in the distance and a few stars peek out from behind orange clouds.

"I did find you a little after midday, it's only to be expected that it is this late," Toichiro smiles.

"I will go prepare a room for you, Mistress Y/N," Shizuki says before leaving the room. Toichiro follows after Shizuki, but not without playfully winking at Y/N first.

"Yep, he's trouble," Y/N sighs to herself. It is only then that she notices the two untouched cups of milk tea.

"Damn, two good cups of tea have gone to waste. Whelp, might as well."

The following day, Toichiro and Y/N make their way to the Shrine of the Hidden God.

"Who exactly are we going to see?" Y/N asks.

"Just two acquaintances of mine," Toichiro answers.

"It seems like everyone is an acquaintance. Do you even have any friends?" she questions. Toichiro stays silent, his pace increasing.

"That's… really sad, actually," Y/N mumbles, catching up to him.

"The people we are going to see will have all the information we need," Toichiro says, changing the topic.

"Sounds like you're taking me to a cult," Y/N laughs.

"A cult with only two people? That would be a clique," Toichiro says.

"You only need three people to form a cult. You, and those other two," Y/N continues on, Toichiro listening intently, "and I'm the fourth member you're trying to bring into your cult." "You are an interesting creature, Y/N," Toichiro says, smiling down at her. Her focus is elsewhere however, so she does not see it.

"You're calling me interesting? Big talk for a guy dressed as an animal," she says.

"I'm not dressed this way, I look like this," he says.

"Really? With the ears and everything?" she replies. "I was going to applaud you for making the outfit look so realistic, but now I'm finding out you didn't do anything at all. No need for me to praise your DNA."

"Ah, Y/N, you wound me," Toichiro teases.

"Stay hurt," Y/N teases back.

The pair arrive at the large torii gates and are greeted by many different creatures, large and small.

"We've been welcomed by a whole ecosystem," Y/N says.

"That would mean that Yura is around," Toichiro replies.

"Who?" Y/N asks.

Instead of getting an answer, Yura appears before them. He speaks to his critter friends and they retreat to the forest.

"My apologies. Greetings, Sir Toichiro," Yura says with a welcoming smile.

"Hello, Yura. This is Y/N," Toichiro says.

"Greetings, Lady Y/N," Yura says, turning to her.

"Hey. Nice to meet you," she says, "If I didn't know better, I'd probably think you’re a princess."

"'Princess'? How so?" Yura asks, taken aback.

"In the tales where I come from, princesses are well-liked by animals and are often surrounded by them. You might be a princess," she explains. Yura only laughs at Y/N's suggestion.

"He didn't deny it!" Y/N exclaims. Yura exchanges a glance with Toichiro and immediately understands what Toichiro does not. He smiles kindly at Y/N and invites the two inside.

"Come with me. Gaku awaits thee."

Inside, Gaku is fixing a broken clock.

"Gaku, we have guests," Yura announces, taking his seat at his brother's side. Toichiro and Y/N sit beside each other and opposite the twins. Gaku hastily peers at the two figures in front of him before resuming fiddling with the clock. Though a moment later, he addresses them (only because he can feel Yura telepathically glaring at him).

"Hi Toichiro and Shizuki," he grumbles.

"'Shizuki'?" Y/N repeats Gaku's words. Her voice strikes Gaku's ears and he jolts up instantly to study her properly.

"I'm Y/N, not Shizuki. That guy's kinda strange if I'm being honest," Y/N says.

"And how do you think he would feel if I told him this?" Toichiro asks.

"I don't even care! He deserves to know, especially with that milk tea of his tasting like liquid coal," Y/N says. While the pair are bickering, Gaku looks over at Yura to see if he noticed it too. Yura smiles at Gaku knowingly, confirming the latter's suspicions.

"Apologies for that, we're here because of a little issue we've got going on," Y/N says, turning towards the twins.

"Go on," Gaku says.

"Okay, so-"

Y/N goes on to explain the full story from what happened in the studio to her inability to control her own body. Toichiro chimes in whenever necessary, adding in his experiences too. The more the pair reveal, the more concerned the twins get.

"And that's about everything," Y/N says, finishing her tale. The twins share a glance before Yura starts speaking.

"Lady Y/N, wouldst thou lose control over thy body when painting in the studio?" Yura asks.

"No. That only started after we were let go," she answers.

"After thou wert let go…" Yura mutters to himself before continuing, "Sir Toichiro, thou speaketh of chains consuming Lady Y/N?"

"Yes, it happened just as I turned into a kyubi," Toichiro replies.

"Oji even suggested that it may have signified something passed onto Y/N from Toichiro," Gaku says. Yura ponders for a while before sharing his thoughts with the group.

"Methinks thou wast cursed in thy past life, Sir Toichiro. The curse was placed upon thy ninth tail, preventing its appearance. Lady Y/N, when thou didst complete the painting, the curse latched onto thee."

Toichiro and Y/N look at each other worriedly.

"Who would've placed the curse on me in my past life?" Toichiro asks, all traces of his smile faded. The change in his demeanour leaves Y/N feeling more worried than before. If even he became serious, then this matter is far more vital than it seems.

"The onmyoji that contracted your past self," Gaku answers.

"Sorry for interrupting, but what's all this about past lives and on- onmyoji? What is that?" Y/N asks. Yura smiles gently at her.

"Ahh, of course. Thou is unaware of the existence of Ayakashi and onmyoji."

With incredible skill, Yura is able to shove down the events of Futaba and her contracted Ayakashi as well as their story 1 000 years ago into a seven-minute speech.

"I- Wow," Y/N blinks in amazement at the story she’s been told. Such stories would be considered myths where she is from, and, unfortunately, in the Capital too.

"Not too much for your little head to process, I hope?" Toichiro asks teasingly.

"Wait, I've got a big brain thought coming in," Y/N says, rubbing her temples.

"Yura had a kodoku curse that cursed his flute, so whenever he played, he could only play the Song of Death. What if that brother from 1 000 years ago cursed Toichiro with the same curse so that he couldn't use his ninth tail? And similarly to how Yura took the curse from Gaku, I took the curse from Toichiro when I finished that portrait, which might have been the curse's doing in the first place. Perhaps the curse wasn't even supposed to be placed on Toichiro-" Y/N rambles before Toichiro places a finger on her lips.

"Calm down, you're getting ahead of yourself," Toichiro whispers to her.

"I thought the same when Sir Toichiro mentioned the chains," Yura says, "It may indeed be a kodoku curse."

"And Y/N's probably right about that other thing. Brother's curse created the cursed plane he was trapped in, so that studio might have been your curse's equivalent," Gaku adds.

"Lady Y/N, if thou art correct about the true holder of the curse, then thy entrapment together was the process of shifting the curse," Yura concludes.

"That explains why you were physically trapped in the studio," Toichiro says, peering down at Y/N.

"No, it doesn't," she responds.

"I'm not agreeing with him, so I'll tell you myself," Gaku begins, "the curse was temporarily placed on Toichiro while it waited to latch onto you. Since a curse is physically placed on someone, it physically trapped you so it could transfer successfully."

"Oh, I see," Y/N says, "but that's still not everything answered."

"What do you mean?" Toichiro asks.

"We don't know why the curse is placed on me nor what part of me is cursed, since it's a kodoku curse and all. Not to mention this," Y/N voices her thoughts and taps on her wrist for the last one. Toichiro's brows furrow, but his worry quickly vanishes.

"Don't stress yourself over it, Y/N. We will learn more as time goes on," he says reassuringly.

"That's the first useful thing you've said," she remarks. Yura smiles at the pair's interactions.

"Thank you for your help, Yura and Gaku," Toichiro says, standing up to leave. Y/N follows not long after.

"Thank you so much. I can't say that this is the last time we'll come looking for your help though," Y/N laughs wryly.

"I hope 'tis not. Until we meet again, Lady Y/N and Sir Toichiro," Yura smiles warmly at the pair as they disappear into the forest.

"You don't think that he wanted to curse himself but knew he was going to die before he could so he temporarily placed it on Toichiro?" Gaku asks Yura who is still staring in the direction the pair left in.

"Mayhaps thou art correct, Gaku," Yura says.

"You recognised her spirit too, but-"

"It is as Sir Toichiro said. 'We will learn more as time goes on.' If she is truly his reincarnation, then time will tell us as such. Fate worketh in ways no mind can perceive." Gaku studies his brother's smile before returning to the broken clock he was originally working with.

_________________________________________

a/n: Hello again. It probably didn't make sense for Y/N to use red paint in Toichiro's portraits, so I wanted to show you the outfit that Toichiro wears in all the portraits painted:

He wears his regular outfit, but he wears the cape from his 2022 EN birthday card.

This red cape here, but without the dalmatian pattern. That part is just white.

Altogether, the outfit should look something like this:

Obviously, it isn't in chibi form. But ultimately, this is what the outfit looks like (without the crown, of course. He's not that special lol).

Also, the portrait is painted in this artstyle:

This is the artstyle from the games Life Gallery and Cat Museum. The developer is 751 Games.

The portrait is painted at a 45° angle with Toichiro looking at the viewer. Hopefully all this helps with visualising the portrait! I promise that if I knew how to draw, I'd draw the portrait. Anyways, thanks for reading this far. The next part will be up soon, and I hope you're enjoying so far!

#ayakashi romance reborn #ayakashi koi meguri #ayakashi rr #ayakoi #arr #ayakashi toichiro #ayakashi toichiro yuri #ayakashi shizuki #ayakashi yura #ayakashi gaku #ayakashi twilight #toichiro my idiot bae ♡#arr fanfic #voltage fanfic

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