#i'll clean it up later and put it on ao3

[welcomingdisaster]

need to keep quiet ft. maedhros rescuing maglor?

@grey-gazania here is my best attempt to fulfill both prompts! pardon the length; it got a little out of hand. <3 ao3

This could have been over quickly, if not for Maglor’s pride. 

He is among the least conspicuous of his brothers; dark-haired and grey-eyed, as so many of the Noldor, tall but not excessively so, not particularly fair of face. In his wanderings he had not worn finery—there is none left to wear—and had not held himself particularly apart from the tattered few remaining servants yet by his side. 

But one thing he had left. 

His silver circlet with the carved orchid, which had been on his brow during his journey aboard the stolen ships. He had set it aside only during his brief reign as regent, forced to take on a heavier, grander crown. As crown prince of the Noldor he returned to it; as the lord of the Gap he had worn it. 

For it is among the few pieces of jewelry made by his mother’s hand, and not his father’s; a slightly-awkward foray into art not her own, and yet beautiful for it, the petals of the orchid rendered with the sensibilities of a sculptor. Inside she pressed the name she had given him in beautiful, looping Tengwar. 

And even with all lost he had not been able to force himself to discard it. 

It had been pressed to his scalp under layers of grime, tangled in locks too heavy with mud and blood to curl. There had been no time to stop and to wash, for they had ridden through conquered land, fleeing from the forces of the Enemy, and thought any stop could be deadly. 

Such hurry had not saved them. 

Maglor could have put on a better fight. If he had seen the Enemy’s soldiers quicker—if his sword-arm had not been shattered in the battle two months ago and only half-healed— if he had not been choking on the black smoke of the burning lands, his throat too rough for war-songs—if—if—if— 

His captors are not orcs. Instead some species of goblin, so short the tops of their heads barely reach his waist but no less vicious for it, victorious through the force of their numbers and their cruelty. There are two elven thralls with them, empty eyed, their blank doll-faces covered in gouge-scars, unreachable through word and mind-touch alike. One of them is chained; the other is not, and Maglor wonders why, because he can see no difference between them. 

This time, though, they had not been looking to take prisoners. Maglor’s company, ambushed, had had nine elves; of them two were killed in the skirmish and the rest wrestled to the ground, their throats bitten out, life-force spilling onto the burned soil.

Maglor would have suffered the same fate, if not for his pride. If not for his crown. If not for the keen eyed goblin that had held him, gasping for breath and half out of his mind with the pain of his ribs and his arm, and seen the glimmer of silver on his brow. 

“Style yourself as a lord, do you?” The goblin has asked him, twisting his broken arm further behind him, and Maglor had been beyond words; could barely understand the question being posed to him. Then the goblin had let him go, just briefly. He made to roll away, gasping, shattered, but one sharp foot kicked at him, and suddenly two of them, not so light as they seemed, were standing on his back, and there was no moving. 

From the conversation behind him, snatches of the orcish tongue mixed with rough-hewn Sindarin, he had been able to tell the circlet was being passed around. None of them had been able to read it; none of them read Tengwar, or perhaps none of them read at all. Maglor had strained to turn, to sit up, to see—had been able to push himself up on his elbow just in time to see the gleam of silver pass to one of the unchained elven thralls. 

The thrall had looked down at the crown in his hands. Maglor had watched with bated breath as his dark empty eyes followed the lines of the writing. Finally some splash of emotion on that blank face, an automatic flick of the eyes to Maglor. 

Lie, Maglor had mouthed, lie. Let them kill me. Spare me your own fate. 

The elf’s thin chained hand, so pale if it was not moving Maglor would have thought it wax, or else dead, had shaken. One deep breath, two. 

Then he had shut his eyes and read, the perfect pronunciation making it quite clear he had once been Noldor, “Kánafinwë Makalaurë, captain. In the old lands it was the name of the second prince.” 

And that had sealed Maglor’s fate. 

That assault had been two weeks ago. By now Maglor has grown used to the erratic movements of the camp, the sudden jerks this way and that as the ill-established goblin leadership seems to change at random the course of their journey, the taste of black ash in the water, the infrequent meals of bird-meat, the constant, unyielding pain. 

In the battle proper his arm had been broken in three places; it had started to heal, before his capture. When he was taken they had wrenched off the sling, had kicked and pulled at the broken bone, sensing weakness, as they had wrestled him into chains. After looking him over the then-head goblin had smashed the toes of his left foot, a terrible pain that left him able to hobble short distances, off-balance and leaning on his heel, but not walk for long, and certainly not run. 

His other injuries ought to be easier to bear; cuts and bruises and claw marks decorate his ribs and his neck, and in places his good arm has gone numb from being bound too tightly, and does not listen to him well when unbound, so that he must rely on the questionable mercy of the thralls when he is allowed to eat or drink or relieve himself. Some of the gritty black ash has wormed its way into the cuts on his skin, and they burn to even brush against; he feels puffy and swollen from all sides and wonders if the goblins would have done better to bring back only his severed head and his silver crown. He might have been more recognizable that way. 

He had tried singing, in the early days of his captivity. And though even then his voice had come out twisted and choked, a shadow of its former power, it had almost been enough. He had sung a sleeping-tune, a lulling tune, and birds, the last stragglers from the once-living forests, had gathered all about him to listen, and the camp had slept, caught in the melody.

He had managed even to get down from the back of the donkey he had been thrown over, to crawl, still singing, to the edges of the camp. But when he had tried to rise his vision had gone black with pain, and his song ceased, if only for a moment. 

It had been enough. Now he is muzzled, gagged, dirty dusty cloth pressing against his lips and scratching at throat with each breath. He tries nothing else. 

The purposes of the thralls have become somewhat more clear to him, though he feels himself missing pieces. The one who is not chained never speaks—Maglor is not sure she is able to—but walks freely about the camp. The goblins do not see well during daylight, and she functions as their eyes, guiding them and keeping vigil while they sleep through the brightest hours of the sun. She looks at Maglor often, though she will not answer the tentative brushes of his mind; sometimes there is life in her big brown eyes, some glimmer of apology.  

Often she stands next to him, a sort of guard. He thinks she is not allowed to touch him. Once when his hands had shaken and he had nearly dropped his water skin she had reached on impulse to catch it, had given it back to him in a quick, guilty motion. When once, during one of their day-stops, he had cried out from the pain of his shattered arm she had caught his shoulder, her grip gentle but pointed, and shushed him, looking meaningfully to the sleeping goblin-leader. Maglor did not need to be told twice; the face she had made in response to his silence might even have been a smile. 

The chained thrall, on the other hand, speaks frequently, and his purpose is ill. Clearly he had once known well the land, and now he instructs the goblin crew what they might expect at each turn in the landscape, where elven fortresses and strongholds have been abandoned, what had once been farmland and horse-pasture. It is that thrall that helps Maglor eat and drink most often, all without meeting his eye, and will not look at him otherwise. 

Today they have stopped on the shores of a river. Once it had overflowed the deep river-band, but now it is almost dry, making a sort of ravine, and Maglor looks down at the bared rocks far below him, and then at the chained thrall, who looks away as ever, wistful, and knows they both think the same thing. 

Almost certainly they would die, if they jumped into the ravine. Almost certainly they could not get away quickly enough to make the distance.

No one is coming for him. That Maglor had accepted on the first few nights of his captivity. No one knows where he had been when he was taken; no one knows he yet lives. All that could have told of his survival in the battle are dead, now. 

It hurts worse to think of, because he knows that Maedhros—if Maedhros lives, Elbereth let Maedhros live—would come, if he knew. He has no doubt of that. No part of Maedhros would pay back Maglor’s failure in kind; no part of Maedhros would hesitate, at risk of Doom, to chase him through the burned land. For despite it all Maedhros is nobler than he, more faithful, better. 

Maglor breathes in deeply, suppressing a cough at the dust that tickles his lungs, and prays to the lady of the stars. Let Maedhros think I died quickly, in the battle. Let Maedhros know not of this, and hold not my guilt. 

Above them the sun is scorching hot. The earth despoiled as it is, burned and torn up, carcasses of trees piled in ugly funeral-mounds, there is nowhere to shelter from the heat. Maglor wishes someone had thought to let him down from the back of the ass—which he is now bound to—for both he and the poor beast clearly suffer for their proximity. The chained thrall, allowed to sleep during the day, sighs and curls up in the shade found underneath one of the great fallen trees. He draws dark earth over his feet; it looks damp, cool. Maglor envies him. 

The unchained thrall, who must be awake, ambles back and forth around the little camp, less the regimented paces of a watch-guard and more the random movements of a sleepwalker. There are goblins awake too, Maglor knows, on the edges of the camp; he can hear their faint conversation. 

When the thrall passes by him Maglor catches her eye; if he were not gagged he would smile. 

She inclines her head a little to him. Motioning for him to sleep, Maglor thinks, and winces. Nods down at the donkey. Too hot. 

She repeats the head motion, a little more insistent. Maglor blinks. Something behind him? 

It pains him to turn and look, his shoulder muscles and rib-wounds aching at the pull of the motion. But nonetheless he does turn, and sees that birds have gathered on the fallen trees, a rather heterogeneous assortment; ravens and magpies, songbirds and sparrows, one great hawk sitting discordantly among the prey-birds. 

The goblins are not there to shoo them, and they do not make noise enough to wake them or to draw the attention of the distant guards. Maglor looks at the thrall-woman and shrugs, though even that little motion hurts. He is tired of the power pain has over him; it should certainly grow dull and pointless by now, should wane, and yet its bite controls him just as much as it had two weeks ago. He goes limp, because that hurts the least, and watches what unfolds. 

Certainly the thrall-woman might be expected to scare away their unexpected guests;  both of them know she shall not. She hesitates for a moment, clearly caught between fear and some desperate, painful hope; when one of the sparrows hops towards her she holds out her hand by impulse to catch it. 

Her hands shake as she unwinds the little piece of parchment fastened around its leg. There is one word written on it in clear, bright Tengwar, so large Maglor can effortlessly read it even with the distance between them. Sharp hand. 

Quiet. 

He watches the elf-thrall’s throat bob as she swallows. Remembers the betrayal, before, from the other thrall. Her hand rises to her throat; he wonders if she is thinking of the irony of the request. Of the hurt she had been dealt. 

Finally she turns to him. Holds out the note, to be sure he has seen. Raps against the parchment once with her nail, waits for his nod. Slips it back to the sparrow. 

The birds take off all at once, leaving behind only one of the magpies. Maglor feels his heart beat hard against his ears, pressure building in his chest. He is grateful to be able to bite down on the gag. 

What can he do, he wonders? His arm is broken, his toes. His hands are chained together and bound to the saddle of the donkey. He is useless. 

Worse than useless. He is a liability. 

One beat passes, two. Maglor tries not to imagine that he knows the sharp hand of the writer. Tries not to read into the single pragmatic word, the dark ink, the worn parchment.

Tries to tell himself that he is dreaming; that he is mad. Certainly it is easier than dashed hope. Certainly it is easier than the horrible, choking fear. 

He will come, and I will doom him. 

The elf-maid resumes her paces. There is a different energy to her now, a different tension underneath the set of her shoulders. Maglor listens to the sighing of the donkey and the sleeping rumbles of the goblins. The chained thrall whimpers in his sleep. 

Do not wake, Maglor begs in his mind. Do not wake. 

He marks the time not by counting but by reciting verses in his mind, prayer hymns. Eight verses; half an hour, give or take, given the speed of recitation. 

Then finally he hears it; the drawing of a bowstring, the sound of an arrow in the air. Maglor strains himself to sit up in the saddle, and succeeds only in hurting his ribs; walls back against the back of the donkey, suppressing coughs into the spit-soaked cloth gag. The pain is so overwhelming that for a moment all thoughts of rescue are lost; all he can focus on is the sensation of his diaphragm hitching, the pain that leaves his chest as an over-inflated water skin and yet still somehow robs him of air. 

He can feel the skin of the donkey jump, its dark itchy fur pressing into the skin of his forearms. It too is bound. It too cannot run. 

Somewhere there is a faint thud. He can hear the quick gasping breath of the unchained thrall, and then she is half-running to his side, her face terrified. She has seen something. 

And finally, finally, a familiar mind brushes against his, huge and solid and warm, and he weeps with it. A sob threatens him, and he holds his breath, unwilling to both make noise and to let it rock through him. 

Maedhros’ thoughts are regimented; structured very purposefully to let no feeling through. Do you hear me, brother? 

Yes, Maglor thinks, Yes, Elbereth—yes. 

I will be there soon, Maedhros says, I know you are bound; I will cut you down. We must be silent, and we must be swift. We are badly outnumbered, and we cannot risk pursuit. 

You ought not have risked this at all, Maglor thinks, stupidly, desperately grateful. There is nothing he would not do, now, to have Maedhros’ arms around him; to have his brother take him down and hold him tight. 

Maedhros does not answer. The elf maid turns to him and begins to undo the ropes that bind him to the ass’s back; in his mind Maglor begs the animal not to bray with relief. She is half-done when the huge shadow of Maedhros looms over her shoulder; the rest he cuts through swiftly with his sword. The chains will have to wait; Maedhros reaches for the gag and Maglor draws back, speaking in their minds. 

Leave it. If I have nothing to bite I will cry out. 

Maedhros pales, but does as he is bid. He draws Maglor slowly into his arms, looping his chained hands over his neck—that pulls at Maglor’s arm, and his eyes water—and steps back, gesturing for the elf-maid to follow him.  

As they turn Maglor sees the other thrall, the chained man, curled still sleeping in the cold dark soil. His dreams are ill, as they ever are. If they woke him, perhaps he would shout. If they woke him, perhaps he would leave with them. He had once been Noldor, Maglor remembers. He had once known this land. 

Maglor thinks of all the people who would stop to help him, betrayal or none, risk or none. Finrod, bright-eyed and noble despite the horrible doom upon him; Fingon, stubbornly, fiercely hopeful even though his grief, stubbornly, fiercely kind. Elves better than him; elves more noble, less bloodstained. Dead lords. 

I want to live, Maglor thinks, and says nothing. Leaves the chained thrall behind. 

Maedhros bears him away, over the burned ground and the bodies of the goblin-guards, and just then Maglor is grateful for the blinding pain of his ribs and his arm, for the ache in his toes, for the ashy smell of the air, for the 

Dreams do not feel so.

* * * 

 There is a little company of elves waiting for them on the edges of the forest. Bow-men. Warriors. The last, likely, of Himring’s men, her guards. That Maedhros has brought into enemy territory—that they had followed him, knowing full well the risk—bears not thinking about. 

Even the few swift horses spared for the journey seem like a waste, a desperate measure. Maglor watches, distant and glassy-eyed, as the elf-maid that aided him is helped onto the horse of one of Maedhros’ archers. Then Maedhros murmurs brace yourself low in his ear and pulls him onto his own horse with him, still using his chained hands to hold them together. 

Maglor falls against him, shaking and dizzy with pain, each part of his a different disconnected, heavy thing, and loses time. There is some period where he is vaguely aware of the movement of the horse, of bone striking bone in his broken arm, of the heat of Maedhros’ body next to him, the air brushing against his skin. 

There are fingers—fingers on his jaw and his face, and he recoils. The low rumble of Maedhros’ voice stops him, soothes him, though it takes him a moment to grasp the meaning of his words. Maedhros, he realizes, is working free the gag shoved into Maglor’s mouth. 

It comes out spit-soaked and oddly crunchy around the edges, tasting of dust and of blood. Maedhros rubs at the junction of his jaw, chasing away the little ache left behind. Maglor, so full of aches he feels more ache than elf, could weep at the care of it. 

They are riding still when Maedhros presses a water skin between his lips and coaxes him to swallow. The water is warm with the heat of Maedhros’ body but clean, pleasant. It lends Maglor the strength to settle against Maedhros’ chest, to listen to the steady beating of his heart and watch the burned landscape go by. 

“How?” he whispers. How did you know I was taken? How did you know where? 

“The birds,” Maedhros says, “thirty years I spent upon the cliffside, and for thirty years I heard only their tongue; and their tongue I still speak now. Usually it is not in their nature to listen well to me, but their land has been despoiled as much as ours had, and their desire to spite the enemy is great.” 

Maglor hums. The birds. Of course the birds. 

“Try to rest,” Maedhros tells him, “we will not be able to stop during the night, for in the darkness the enemy’s forces are at their strongest. If we ride through the night we might be able to come to contested land, and then to elven strongholds, buried deep into the sides of the hills.” 

Maglor means to tell him that he cannot rest; that he is far too hurt and it is far too hot, that certainly the shock of the capture and then the escape has been too great. But the words seem far away, barely worth saying. The dark landscape begins to blur together around him, and he does not notice at all when night falls. 

* * * 

When he wakes they are no longer horseback. Above him a pale-pink dawn rises, and the razed lands have given way to a sparse sprinkling of forest, pine tree branches swaying in the breeze. Someone yanks at the chain on his wrists, and Maglor cries out in pain, curses them automatically—thrice-damned ditch-dogs—and at that someone laughs, not the biting fire of goblin laughter but warm and elvish. 

“Easy,” Maedhros says, “easy, little ferret. We are only trying to free you.”   

His hand finds Maglor’s good hand. Squeezes. 

Maglor looks down, and sees that one of the archers is working open the locking mechanism of the chains, pressing a thin metal wire inside it. It jingles, stubborn. 

He would not mind it, he thinks, if they cut off the bad arm, so horribly swollen and twisted, barely a part of him at all. And how horribly it hurts now. 

But the lock yields, and the chain is off, his shoulders protesting the change in positions. Maedhros sits behind Maglor, and pulls him to sit up, leaning against him. Maglor watches, feeling slow and stupid, as he shakes out a flask. 

“For the pain,” he says, and presses it against Maglor’s lips. The liquor, mixed thickly with herbs and with honey, bites at throat, the sweetness coating his tongue. Still Maglor drinks as much of it as Maedhros lets him. He feels the effects almost immediately; his body is further from him, his mind fuzzier around the edges and warm. 

Maedhros wraps an arm around him from behind, bracing him. “He will set your arm, now,” he says, “as much as he might.” 

The archer moves forward, offering him a little smile. Promises to be quick with it. 

Then even the liquor cannot save his dignity. Maglor shudders at the first touch of cold fingers against the swollen flesh of his arm; howls as the horrible scrape of bone against bone, of something within him being pulled and straightened, and through it Maedhros holds him tightly and kisses his hair from behind him. Talks of crisp clean sheets and tea with milk and walking barefoot through the mountain rivers. 

It is only later, his arm and his toes bound, his ribs and neck covered in sticky roadside poultice, that Maglor finds it in himself to speak. Leans his head against Maedhros’ shoulder and murmurs, “You ought not have come. You have heard tales, I am sure, of how the battle started.” 

Both of them think of it at once. The younger brother pulled to pieces in front of the elder; the horrible grief-stricken charge. Maedhros shudders. Bends, again, to kiss Maglor’s hair. 

“I would have come then too,” he says, “if I were him.” 

The words ought not settle to warm and secure in Maglor’s chest. And yet they do, they do. 

#my fic #maedhros #maglor #i'll clean it up later and put it on ao3 #but for now! #:)

[roosterr]

white flag ✹ ch 2

note: thank you all again for the support on this series im seriously so grateful <3 not sure how to feel abt this part but pls enjoy anyway <3

pairing: ghost x gn!reader

wc: 3.0k

no use of y/n readers callsign is 'stingray'

summary: the gang goes out to the pub, and against your better judgement you decide to tag along. you end up having far too much to drink and ghost has no choice but to look after you.

warnings: ghost is less mean (but it's still ghost), the usual angst, hurt/comfort, arguing, some ambiguous drunken confessions, mentions of throwing up but i kinda skipped over it

ao3

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the relentless buzzing of your phone next to your head wakes you from your slumber. you groan, squinting at the screen to see soap's name on the caller id. you answer and lift the phone up to your ear, rubbing your eyes with the other hand as you pull yourself up to sit.

"hey! where are you?" soap's voice is almost deafening in your ear as soon as you pick up, you have to hold the phone away from you to save your hearing. "y'are still comin', right?" the faint noise of a crowd can be heard in the background, reminding you of what soap's question means.

you check the clock on your phone and wince at the time; it was almost nine, and you were supposed to meet them at the pub at eight.

"ugh," you clear your throat, your voice croaking from having just woken up, "yeah– yeah, i'm coming. just gimme, like, fifteen minutes."

"awright, l.t. said you was still asleep," soap chuckles, clearly amused by your sleep-addled state. you sit up and throw the blankets off your legs, swinging them over the side of the thin mattress and beginning the search for some clean clothes.

you hadn't gotten out of bed all day, opting to stay in your comfy pyjamas and barely leaving the living room except to briefly eat and use the bathroom. after the the disaster that was yesterday, you felt you deserved to have a lazy day for once.

"oh, so he already left without me? why am i not surprised?" you grumble, balancing your phone between your cheek and your shoulder as you pull on some trousers.

"he said he didn't wanna wake you!" soap is half laughing as he replies. you have to hold back your scoff as you put him on speaker and drop the phone onto the coffee table as you quickly put your shirt on.

"yeah, okay." your voice is dripping with sarcasm, and you can't help but roll your eyes, even though he can't see it, "i'll be there, hanging up now, buh-bye."

you just about hear his muffled 'bye!' before you press the red button and shove your phone into your pocket. 

you really didn't feel like being social right now, but maybe being around your friends and letting go is what you need right now. you could just ignore ghost – it's not like it'd be hard, you were fully expecting him to completely avoid you all night. knowing him, he'd probably make you walk home by yourself again.

the walk to the pub is uneventful, thankfully dry, and it takes you twenty minutes instead of fifteen. you feel a little bad for making them wait, but they've been there over an hour already, an extra five wouldn't hurt.

the noise of the crowd hits you as soon as you walk into the old building, and you hope it isn't noticeable the way you frown at the sight of how packed it was. you were feeling even less like socialising now that you were actually here, but it was too late to turn back now. your eyes scan the room, searching for your teammates in the sea of people. you spot a familiar mohawk fairly quickly, and begin pushing your way through the crowd to the booth he and gaz are occupying.

you glance towards the bar and price and ghost both there, too locked in conversation to notice your arrival. you'd have to find price later to say hello.

"sting, you made it!" soap's cheery voice brings you back to the present. he pats your shoulder as you slump into the seat next to him, and gaz slides your usual order across the table to you.

"ordered for you a minute ago." gaz smiles, leaning forward on his elbows, "figured you could use it."

"you're legend, gaz, honestly." you chuckle in response, taking a drawn out sip and relaxing in your seat. as much as you would rather still be in bed right now, you couldn't deny you needed it.

"you okay? you look a bit worse for wear." gaz asks, his gaze turning serious as he takes in your exhaustion.

did you? you hadn't actually looked at your reflection before you left the house, you simply hoped that you didn't look too dishevelled and didn't think twice about it. you suppose the bags under your eyes must be quite heavy after the nosedive your life seems to have taken lately.

"charming, thanks for that." you mutter, teasingly raising your brows at him as you take another sip of your drink.

"sorry, sorry," he and soap both laugh, before he regards you with a more concerned look, "but seriously, you doin' alright?"

"i'm fine, just tired, you know how it is." you dismiss his question with a wave of your hand, hoping he'll drop the subject and you can get started on forgetting about the events of this week. "sorry for being late, by the way."

"make it up to us with another round?" soap wiggles an eyebrow at you, tilting his empty glass at you and nudging your arm. 

"since you asked so nicely," you say with a lighthearted roll of your eyes. they both give you a triumphant 'thanks!' as you slide out of the booth and begin making your way through the crowds of people to the bar.

as you approach, you see ghost standing by himself at the bar, a black surgical mask cover the lower half of his face, and before you can stop yourself your legs are already leading you to the empty spot next to him. as usual he doesn't acknowledge you, but you can't find it in yourself to care through the buzz of the alcohol in your system.

you flag down the bartender and order the drinks for the three of you while adamantly trying to ignore the large presence next to you; you'd barely started on your first drink, but you were going to need more than that to get through this, especially if you and ghost were going to be dancing around each other all night.

the next couple of hours are filled with you downing drink after drink, steadily becoming less and less intelligible as the night progresses. at some point gaz excused himself to go chat with price at the bar, leaving just you and soap at the table. though you couldn't see ghost when you looked over, you had no doubt he was lurking in some shadowy corner somewhere, just watching.

"he's just so…" you wave your hands around, willing johnny to somehow understand your point as the words escape you, "...y'know?"

"do i know?" he laughs, obviously very amused by your drunken state.

"mean! he's rude and uncooperative, and it pisses me off." you groan, pressing your fingers into your temples. venting to someone about ghost was somewhat cathartic for you, even if that someone was his closest friend.

"aye, that's not how you really feel though, is it?" soap raises his brow, that insufferably teasing smirk on his lips as he gives you a light nudge.

"wha–" you gawk, freezing in the motion of downing your drink – you'd lost count of how many you'd had at this point. you narrow your eyes and glare at him, "garrick… he grassed didn't he?"

"you think i needed him to tell me?" soap laughs again, and you feel your cheeks heat up at the thought that you were really that obvious. "but seriously, you should talk to him."

"i should, right? i mean… we live together, it's not unreasonable to ask him to be civil."

"exactly!" he exclaims, making encouraging gestures at you with his hands. "maybe you two can get a bit more than civil," he grins mischievously and wiggles his eyebrows at you, earning an embarrassed groan from you.

"oh, shut up soap." you hiss, gulping down the rest of your drink in one go. "i'm not drunk enough for this…"

after that conversation, your concept of time truly left the building, along with any reservations you had about moderation. eventually you do find time to say hi to price, though you think he was probably laughing at how out of your mind you were rather than the hilarious joke you told him.

you're not sure what time it is when gaz, soap, and the captain track you down to say goodnight, leaving the pub with much more coherency than you when ghost drags you out with him.

the freezing temperature hits you as soon as you step over the threshold, but thankfully there's more than enough alcohol in you to keep you warm.

you started the night fully intending to give ghost the cold shoulder, but that was hours and however many drinks ago; now you were long past the fun part of being wasted and the depressive nature of it all was hitting you hard.

"i wish you– you didn't hate me…" you mutter, dragging your feet as you follow behind ghost. he's not walking as quickly as he did yesterday, but even in your inebriated state you can tell he's making sure to stay ahead of you.

"i don't." he replies dismissively, evoking an exasperated, albeit rather dramatic sigh from you. of course he was going to argue about it, owning up and apologising would be far too mature.

"y–" you hiccup, "yeah you do," frustration lacing your voice. you slow your pace until you completely stop walking, staring at the back of his head with narrowed eyes.

"i don't hate you, sting." he sighs, half turning his body to look at you. "come on, keep walkin'." he gestures with his head.

"ugh…" you groan, but comply and stumble forward catch up to him again "then why're you such a fuckin' prick all the time?" you glare at the side of his masked face now that you're walking next to him.

he says nothing, doesn't even look at you. if you didn't know any better, you would doubt he even heard your question.

"i don't hate you, y'know…" you mumble,  crossing your arms over your chest. "even though you're so– so horrible to me all the time." the urge to cry overwhelms you, your eyes falling to your boots as you shuffle along.

"i'm n–"

"you are!" you interrupt, throwing your arms out to the side and stopping in your tracks again. "every day you say shit to me, i don't– i don't get it! i don't know what to do…" you sniffle, dragging a hand over your face and taking a wobbly step backwards, away from ghost. "why can't you just be nice? like everyone else?"

the night air is cold, and so tense you can almost feel it. ghost's hands curl into tight fists by his sides as he stares you down. 

"i'm your lieutenant, sting, not your mate." he states it like a common fact as he reaches an arm out to you, stepping towards you. "you're drunk, come here."

you don't let him get close, however, and take another few steps backwards. "but you're friends with soap, and gaz, and even the captain!" your eyes well up with tears, and despite your best efforts to stop them, you feel the hot sting of them rolling down your cheeks. "what did i do wrong? why can't you like me too?"

again, he does nothing but stare at you. he blinks once, then twice, in what you might call shock – if you could see his face through the way the world spins around you.

"i like you!" you cry. "i always have, and you– you don't have to like me back, but please," you close your eyes in an attempt to alleviate your sudden dizziness, "just stop being such a dickhead to me! you make my life so difficult, and– and miserable!"

"sting…" ghost mutters, watching as you crouch down on the pavement with your head in your hands. he steps closer again, reaching a hand out to awkwardly pat your shoulder. "is that why you got yourself hammered tonight?"

"yes!" you whine through your tears, your head still swimming and causing you to sway slightly. "like you care!"

"listen," he begins, but you quickly cut him off by lurching forward onto your hands and knees on the harsh pavement.

"i'm gonna throw up–"

✹✹✹

"i'm sorry," you blubber, feeling rather pathetic where you're slumped next to the toilet, "please don't kick me out," tears still fall into your lap, but you gave up wiping them away a while ago.

"what?" ghost mutters from next to you. his calloused hands were keeping you upright from where he's crouched beside you on the bathroom tile. "why the fuck would i kick you out?"

"be– because i'm annoying, a– and you hate me…"

he sighs, "do you really think that lowly of me? how many times have i gotta say it before it gets through your thick skull?" he gently raps his knuckles against your forehead, "i. don't. hate you."

when you only sniffle in response, he sighs again before shifting to sit with his back against the bath next to you.

"well you could've fooled me…" you mutter, letting yourself lean against his side when the effort of keeping yourself up gets too much. you feel him flinch slightly and tense underneath you, but he doesn't move.

"i'm not good with…" he pinches the bridge of his nose, his head tilted downwards and his eyes squeezed shut. "i'm not kickin' you out, alright? no matter how much you piss me off." he pauses, and all you can do is watch him with your mouth slightly agape; this is the most he's ever said to you in one go since you met all those months ago. "and i shouldn't have run off last night. i just… i didn't realise you actually wanted to be friends… with me."

"bu…" your voice trails off, train of thought completely abandoned when he looks over and meets your gaze with his rich brown eyes.

"you're… you– i, er…" his eyes dart away from yours, finding a spot on the wall behind you to stare intently at. a sudden wave of exhaustion floods your senses, dropping your head onto his shoulder and allowing your eyes to fall closed, interrupting whatever thought he was trying to articulate. "fuckin' hell, alright… you're drunk, let's just get you to bed, eh?" his voice is just about audible as he manoeuvres your arm over his shoulders and lifts you to stand with practically no input from you.

he all but drags you out of the bathroom, and if you had any shred of coherency left within you you'd be mortified that he had to take care of you like this, but that's something for you to deal with in the morning.

you're pulled into the the living room where ghost drops you rather unceremoniously onto the sofa-bed, tugging the blankets from underneath you and settling them on top of your already half asleep form.

"night ghosty…" your sigh is muffled with your face buried into the pillow, but he pauses in the doorway when he hears it.

"goodnight, sting." he mumbles, before quietly shutting the door and letting you drift to sleep.

you wake up the next morning – or rather afternoon, since it was already one o'clock – with an absolutely splitting headache. it was expected, obviously, but it didn't stop you whining in pain as you sat up and clutched your head. how much did you end up drinking last night?

last night. right. it was all coming back to you now. you'd cried at ghost again, for the second night running, and even though he said he wasn't kicking you out, you would seriously prefer living on the streets to facing him right now.

you reluctantly emerge from the living room and squint at the bright daylight, groaning pitifully when your head pulses. maybe you should save yourself the trouble and just go back to sleep.

"so, you survived the night." ghost's voice calls from the kitchen, sounding incredibly unimpressed. you cringe at his words, naively hoping that he'd pretend the night before didn't happen like you so desperately wanted to.

"did i?" you grumble, walking through the doorway to find him sitting at the kitchen table, clad in his usual balaclava. you lean against the counter and massage your temples, "feel like i've been shot…"

"maybe you'll keep your head on straight next time. i don't want a repeat of that."

you purse your lips. "right…" you mutter, no energy left in you to come up with a retort.

"i had to drag you home, cryin' your eyes out." he gets up as he speaks, grabbing his cup and skirting around you to place it in the sink. he keeps his distance, but you see him watching you from the corner of your eye. "anyone would'a thought i was kidnappin' you."

"oh god…" you bury your face in your hands, your face heating up with the humiliation of the memory, "i'm sorry,"

"s'alright." he mumbles, still opting to gaze out of the window rather than meet your eyes. you blink in surprise at his short dismissal, but before you can formulate a response, he speaks again. "have a shower, sting. you stink."

you open your mouth to argue, but quickly forget about that idea. he was right, of course. without another word, you scurry out of the kitchen and lock yourself in the bathroom. you drag your hand over your face, willing the floor to just swallow you whole already.

you might as well have just died in your sleep, because you can't see ghost letting you live any of this down for as long as you live; though, as you stand there contemplating fleeing the country, you notice that he hadn't been nearly as pissed as you'd expected him to be this morning. you'd anticipated him grilling you about how careless you'd been and how irresponsible it was to drink that much, but the light teasing you'd endured just now felt more like the kind of banter you witnessed between him and soap, or gaz.

you can't help the giddy smile that overtakes you, your killer hangover nearly forgotten in favour of the thought of him finally letting you get close to him.

taglist: @sofasoap , @siilvan , @mockerycrow , @i-love-ghost , @projectdreamwalker , @achelois-is-here , @adamsloverboy , @thatchickwiththecamera , @chickensandwich69 , @batmanunicorns523 , @tiny-kasper , @dezibou , @pampeop , @cumbermovels , @goth-boi-atlas , @berryjuicyy , @guiltgoreglory , @postmodernrevolutionist , @ghostlythots , @untoldshortsofthefandoms , @isseisslvt , @prodyng , @neteyamsb1tch , @delilah-grimes , @sunflowerqueen1416 , @luvssemma , @ghostslittlegf , @imonmykneessir , @dimitriene , @kenz-ee , @eistro-phobia , @rzmarona , @alanalanalanalanalanna , @dommmymommy , @carolelacroix , @1234ilikecowsthanyoumore , @cathnoneofyourbusiness , @madsothree , @geisterfvhrer , @lazyninjaphilosopher , @aliilium , @koi-feish , @chaoticgoblindev

if your name is crossed out, i can't tag you for whatever reason, sorry!

#ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #mw2 x reader #cod x reader #141 x reader #call of duty x reader #mw2 #cod mw2 #call of duty #simon ghost riley #mw2 ghost #roosterr writes

[sirenmoth]

Warm Winter

Werebear x Human!Reader

Synopsis: Your teddy be- i mean werebear partner doesn't like you out in the cold

AO3

we need more monster fluff

Cold weather was a given living so far out in the woods, winter was when it got bad with the mountines of snows and skin biting blizzards, below freezing temperatures and scared fresh food other than meat and canned rations. Keeping a ental note to try and make and indoor greenhouse somewhere in the cabin to grow fresh produce when the spring thaw arrives. The small cabin as big enough and sturdy enough to keep the harsh elements of a mid november snow storm out, through the wind crept in through what cracks crevices it could find, another mental notes of what needed repairs.

Your partner slept more during these months to conserve energy, curling up on a makeshift bed of fur pelts and stolen camping equipment. You, however, didn't have that biological need to sleep for months on and off, becoming restless staying in bed all day. So you built a routin for the colder months, put in place when the sun starting setting earlier over the dusted white treetops and frozen over lakes. Keeping as quiet as possible, as not to disturb the ball of nesting fur in the bedroom. You saved the outdoor activities and chores for the warmer seasons, those usually consisted of fixing and repairing the damange the winter war has done, building up the little fort the two of you call home al over again, hoping it can survive another battle against the elements.

The cabin didn't have a lot of rooms, just a bedroom, living room, kitchen and bathroom, not much but it's home. You always leave the bedroom for later, giving it a deep clean in the fall before your partner goes to sleep and in the spring when your partner wakes up.

The first thing you do is start a fire, the small woodburner in the living is enough to provide heat for most part in the cabin, a massive wood pile sat beside it, another one sat in the kitchen by the stove. All lovingly chopped by your partner before they decided to crash for the winter.

Next you start on the kitchen, checking the food preservatives in the pantry and marking down what was running low and what was due to be expired soon down on a clipboard they brought a year years back when you asked if they had another to keep records for food during winter, knowing your partner it was from a campsite of unsuspecting campers who didn't know or didn't care they were in a bears' territory.

Picking up a bucket and broom on your way out, wanting to dust and sweep both the living room and kitchen. Thankfully the place stayed clean throught most of the colder months due to your being the only one active. Walking over to the bathroomand putting the bucket in the tub, the sink was too shallow for it, and walking back out to pick dust the shelves and organise. A quick glance outside, the snow has picked up into a light blizzard, white specks dances around in the air in rapid movments, the landscape now a frozen white desert. It was going to be a rough night, silently you prayed the cabin could stand up against it and keep you both warm and safe.

Finding a new place at the moment is less than desirable.

Retriving the bucket from the bathroom and turing off the tap, it was barely half full but everything needs to be conserved during the winter season. A loud bang rang out throughout the cabin, startling you, nearly making you drop the bucket. The source of the noise was one of the indoor shutters that flew open from a strong gust of wind, hastily you put the bucket down and , as quickly as you could, placed it back in its place, hoping no heat escaped.

An errie quite falls over the space, listening for movement, waiting to see if the noise distrubed the snoozing mass. A low growl emitted throughout the small space, the beast was awake and fully aware of a certain human missing from the nest. The sound made you froze, stopping the sudden repairs on the window shutter.

"I'll be there in a minute." you call out, finishing securing the shutter in place and closing it, latching it shut. Turing around you come face to face with the recently awoken werebear, grumpy and tired their sleep was interupted, standing hunched over in the door frame, staring you down. "I was just cleaning, I was going to come back to bed once I'm done." You attempt to explain.

Your explaination does very little as you're lifted up into the air and over their shoulder, dragged back to the bedroom, all chores supposed to be done be damned.

A strained groan leaves your throat as you get dropped with force onto the makeshift bed, then a heavy, hulking figure practiaclly collapse on top of you as soon as you make contact with the pile of fur and equipment. Smiling, you put up a fake struggle, squirming around to try and break free. Another growl is heard, a warning to stop it, still you continue to movie, trying to find a comfy spot. A strong paw traps you, pinning you down by the waist and pulls you in, close enough to feels your bears' warmth but not enough to suffocate you in their fur.

"I had work to do. Who do you think maintains this place while you sleep?" You poke at the soft pile beside you, which grunts in response, too tired to properly respond to your sarcastic remark.

"Mhm, I love you too." another grunt in reply. Rolling over to cuddle in closer, sighing contently, pressing your face into their chest. Feeling them curl around you like a personal heater, a furnace, keeping you warm from the cold. Sleep once again entered your mind, knowing you're not going anywhere any time soon, you let it.

Hopefully you'll be able to get everything you missed done tomorrow, along with what is also planned for that day. Knowing you hace your work cut out for you. Right now you let youself be effectively trapped and pinned to the bed, you decide staying isn't so bad, beside you need rest for the double work you've got set up for tomorrow.

#monster boyfriend #monster lover #monster fucker #monster x human #monster x reader #monsterfucking #monster smut #monster fluff #teratophillia #terato #terat0philliac #monsterfucker #monsterfucking cw #monster #monster x you

[bamsara]

Prompt Drabble: Stitched up wounds 🧵 🩹

Sun-Centric | Wordcount: 1,217 | AO3 Version

You weren't exactly the best coordinated or well organized person. Or maybe you were just super unlucky at times, it would explain all the instances of misfortune you've had, small or big injuries that shouldn't have happened but did so like the universe was just trying to spite you.

So you're not all that surprised when you stick your hand into the murky water of the kitchen sink to start doing the dishes, feel something a little weird, and pull it back out to see a steak knife hanging from the middle of your hand.

You hear Sun dropping the plates behind you on the table before the pain actaully reaches you. "Oh. Uh. Oops."

"Oops? You're 'oopsing' right now?" Sun's form is immediatly to your side, his job of collecting the remaining dishware forgotten as the animatronic grabs your wet wrist. Before he flips over your palm, the knife falls right out of your flesh, bits of blood falling with it, now a dark stain into the dirty water. "Oh, dear. Oh me oh my."

Sun's faceplate turns briefly to the car keys hanging on the hook by the front door, and you're quick to speak up. "We are not going to urgent care for something as small as this. I'm not footing that bill." The animatronic gains a sour look, but you're firm. "Not happening."

A disapproving pause, but the Sun looks back to your hand.

The pain is starting, and your mouth pressing into a line, sucking in a hiss through your teeth as the sting of the water forms a bloody ring around the wound. "Ah, fuck-"

"We told you-" He's tutting at you, flipping your palm upwards and holding it firmly with one hand, the other grabbing a paper towl and dabbing the wetness away. "I think I've told you several times that just throwing knifes into the sink for later was going to bite you!"

"Not my fault!" You flinch as he brings your hand down underneath the faucet, running clean water over the wound, "Knives just have it out for me! Remember that time-" He turns it off, and all but dragging you by the wrist to the bathroom, with your complaining all the while. "-the time with the rabbit?"

"Not a funny joke!" Sun sits you down on the closed toliet seat, a firm press on your shoulders as an unspoken 'stay put', turning on his heel and opening the medicine cabinet up. "Not funny! Very upsetting! And I'll be hearing none of it right now!"

The pain in your hand was spreading, but you're trying to laugh. "C'mon, it's-"

"Oh, would you look at that! It's our good friend, disinfectant!" He pulls the bottle out with purpose, a small first aid in his other hand, and holds it in the air with a tense smile. "Very important to use. Let's make sure that dish water doesn't make anything infected, shall we?"

You cringe in on yourself. "I think I'll be fine with a band-aid."

"Please." The Sun washes his hands, then lowers himself, setting the supplies to the side as he crouches in front of you. He holds your wrist again, turning it over, and the tutting as blood dribbles out from the small wound, sliding off your skin and dripping to the tile. Not the worst injury you've recieved, but definatly an annoyance. "I think you'll need a stitch or two. Maybe three. And wouldn't you know that robots tend to have very steady hands."

You wrinkle your nose as he pulls as he dips the bottle of disinfectant onto a gauze pad, and positions it over the wound. "Said the robot that was programmed to juggle-aUUUghhh Ow! Ow, fucking. Ow."

Sun uses his thumb to press the alcohol pad into your palm with a gentle firmness, and sends you a look when you try to jerk your arm backwards. "We have four arms! Do not make us use them."

"Unfair." You pout, watching as he pulls the gauze away now tainted with a slight color of red. A bead of wetness swells in your eye at the pain. "Mean."

"Hush." He speaks, and sounds like his other half coming in underneath his tone. Sun tosses the gauze, pulling out a small kit with one hand and thumbing away the single tear with the other. "This will hurt a little."

The pain is evident and not leaving soon, and the blood was no longer dribbling down your palm, so you look away as Sun threads the needle with careful percision, (large fingers are not, he does have steady hands) and lines it up carefully. You flinch at the first stitch.

He presses his fingers down onto your wrist, keeping it trapped against your own knee, and uses the thumb of that hand to keep your palm splayed open as the other worked. "Try not to move."

You breathe hotly through your nose. "I'm trying."

"And you're doing a very good job!" He's quick, focused. The wonders of expertise. He's not nervous because he's seen you survive worse, so the habit of speech comes naturally to him. "Good, good. There you go. Open your hand little more." A third stitch, and you groan at the realization you'll need a few more, but Sun keeps going.

"Almost done." Sun comes to the last one. "You're doing very good, sweetheart."

"Shut up." Your face is both hot in embarressment and in painful discomfort.

"Oh, you'd rather we'd be quiet?" Sun's smile is teasing, but comforting. He's probably trying to be distracting on purpose. "Cranky."

You open your mouth to retort, but the final stitch and knot is finished, and you fight to appear stoic at the sensation as Sun wipes the now-closed wound with a disinfected wipe again, pulling out another roll of gauze. "No more dishwashing for you, I'm afriad. You can leave those things to little-ole me!"

He wraps your hand gingerly, covering the cleaned and sutured wound with bandages to protect it's healing. You don't say anything, but you know he glances up every other second or so to see if you wince if the wrapping is too tight. The wrap is finished, a knot on the back of your hand, and you sigh. "I can just put a glove over it."

"How about you not do that?" The animatronic leans back, gathering the left-over supplies and storing them away back into the medical cabinet. You rise to stand, and he stops you before you can brush past him. "Hold on! We're not done here!"

You raise a brow, but you see it coming before he starts. Carefully, grabbing the wrist and not the hand, his takes a hold of the injured one, raising it slowly and gently up to his faceplate, leaning downwards until the bandage barely graces his teeth. "Mwau. It'll heal in no time."

You laugh. "That's so corny!"

"And it works! Scientifically proven!" He chuckles, turning to his side and gesturing for you to walk past him and out of the bathroom like a knight would welcome a charge into their castle. "Now! Dishes away! Not for you though. I ban you to couch duty."

"...What's couch duty?"

He winks at you. "It's the duty you do when you don't do anything."

"....Boo."

#Based off of an IRL injury I recieved! Sorry if its not super dramatic lmao #Solar Lunacy #drabbles #writings #fnaf sb #fnaf sun #fnaf moon #sun x reader #moon x reader #tw injury #tw blood

[gyusimp]

°• 🍡 𝙻𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚜 🍡 •° [Dom Mitsuri Kanroji x Fem reader]

Ok, I know this post is a bit different so let me explain. I have a friend who's sickly in love with Mitsuri, so she literally paid me to write a fic for her hahaha. I had never written femxfem before, doing this took me out of my comfort zone and even helped me unblock myself! It was a new experience and at the same time fun, I was satisfied with the result so I wanted to post it here in case anyone is interested lmao otherwise just ignore it. I'll post it on AO3 later too.

°•Read Part 02 here!

🍡WARNINGS: NSFW | Fem character x fem reader | Smut | Modern AU | Both of them are adults | Minors DON'T interact.

You were outside her door, in the hallway of her apartment after ringing the bell. Mitsuri would not take long to leave and so it was. After about 10 seconds she appeared on the other side of the door with a big smile on her face as she invited you in.

You had a math test in 1 week at university, you weren't exactly good at math so your friend immediately offered to give you some lessons, practice some topics and help you pass the test with the highest possible score.

"Welcome back, y/n-chan!" She greeted you, excited.

You took off your shoes and left them at the entrance and then headed to Mitsuri's room, the sound of your bare feet and hers walking on the floor accompanied their voices down the hall until she entered her room. The study desk was clean and tidy ready to work so you put your small backpack on the floor next to the bed and sat on one of the chairs that Mitsuri had brought.

"Thank you so much Mitsuri, you have no idea how much this will help me, you are amazing." You thanked her, for the thousandth time since she offered you her help.

"It's nothing y/n-chan! Anything for my friend" she said with flushed cheeks, moving one of her hands while holding her face embarrassedly with the other. "How about we start now?" One took a seat next to the other, you took out some graph paper, your pencil case and your math book. You told Mitsuri what you had to study and which ones were difficult for you, she was not only very good at math but she was also very sweet and patient with you so that gave you enough confidence to ask all the questions you wanted.

She was as sweet as a kindergarten teacher, she even congratulated you when the answer in the exercises you did was correct. It had already been 1 hour and a half since the study session began so the best thing was a short break to clear your mind and prevent you from falling asleep.

"You're doing great! How about a 20 minute break?"

"Cool, I didn't want to fall asleep." You joked, laughing with Mitsuri.

"I'll go get a glass of water, do you want water too?" She asked.

"OK thanks."

Mitsuri stood up and stretched raising her arms, you looked for no reason in her direction without thinking and watched just as she adjusted her skirt after standing up making your chest jump. Mitsuri always wore tight or short clothes, and this skirt was very short so you could see the beginning of her butt as she started to walk towards the door. When she left the room you tried to erase that image from your head and think about something else, maybe read your notes again and thus distract yourself quickly but all that came to mind was the scene when she opened the door of her apartment and the first thing you saw after her face was her tight bust under the little t-shirt she was wearing and that prominent v-neckline showing a big part of the beginning of her boobs. Was it starting to get hot? You decided to take off the cardigan you were wearing and freshen up, luckily you were wearing shorts and a tank top.

After a few seconds, the pink-haired girl entered the room with 2 glasses of water in her hands, the water was so cold that small drops slipped down the glass.

"Thanks girl, this was what I needed." You said, hoping that drinking something cool would stop your pulse racing.

ೃ࿐♡ೃ࿐♡ೃ࿐♡ೃ࿐♡ೃ࿐♡ೃ࿐♡

About 25 minutes of class passed after having had that little break time, you were starting to get bored and despite putting all your effort into paying attention you couldn't solve this exercise. The problems were the most difficult and Mitsuri noticed your frustrated expression trying to solve it.

"Do you have any question?" She asked attentively.

"I can't understand this part, do the exponents have to be multiplied here too? Agh! I feel so stupid..."

"You're not stupid y/n-chan! You've already managed to solve other exercises, you're very smart!"

You looked at the clock on the screen of your cell phone, there was still time to complete the agreed 2 hours of study so you sighed tired when you thought about it.

"So far you've done really well, so I think we can take another break." Mitsuri said, trying to cheer you up.

"Ok, I hope that helps." You got up from the chair and stretched again as did Mitsuri. She got up from the chair and walked to her bed to get on and crawl on the mattress towards the pillows, you looked behind you and realized two things that made you feel too nervous again. She sat cross-legged but her skirt was very short so inevitably you could see her panties and because of the position of her legs you could have seen more but you decided to place your eyes elsewhere.

"Even I feel a bit tired" Mitsuri said.

"What are you talking about? I'm the one who's been burning out her one neuron." You teased, both of you laughing in unison.

"I mean, I've never spent so much time sitting in those chairs, I usually use my bed as a study area so now my back is tingling haha."

"Me too!" You said, sitting on the bed next to her.

Mitsuri sighed and ran one of her hands over her shoulder and back. "Do you mind?" She asked. You didn't have time to react when she reached under her clothes to unhook her bra and remove it, throwing it elsewhere.

"N-not at all, don't worry." You and Mitsuri were quite confident so she was used to doing things like this in front of you without knowing that you were trying hard to hide your nerves.

"These things can be really uncomfortable sometimes, especially when, well...you know." She said, pouting as she massaged her breasts. Why had she done that? Now you felt bad for not being able to stop seeing her. Her little shirt was so tight to her body that it hugged her breasts perfectly, making her nipples stand out from under the fabric. Her breasts were large and the way they bounced under her clothes when she took off her bra kept replaying inside your head. "Sure you're not hot? I can turn on the fan if you want."

"Oh thank you. I'd like that very much."

You stayed sitting on the bed hugging your knees while Mitsuri stood up to go turn on the fan. When you felt the cool breeze hit your skin, you couldn't help but close your eyes and lie down on the pillows while leaving your legs bent. You felt a movement on the mattress so you assumed that Mitsuri had returned to the bed but then she didn't move again and remained silent so you wonder if she was still there or had left the room so you opened your eyes to find out. When you opened your eyes, you caught Mitsuri looking directly at your thighs and between your legs, with your knees bent that way she could easily see your panties under your shorts. This definitely made you too nervous, you were about to sit down and close your legs but another thought came to your head faster. She was also watching you like you were a while ago so that got you a bit horny.

Your face was very red just like Mitsuri's when she felt trapped by you but despite that she didn't try to hide what she was doing or at least try to look a little shy so that only made you keep moving forward.

"All in order?" You asked, spreading your legs with the excuse that your knees were blocking the view of her face in front of you.

At this point it was quite likely that you didn't care anymore and both of you would completely lose your shame.

"What are you talking about?" Mitsuri asked, starting to crawl towards you on the mattress.

"You didn't stop looking at me, it's unfair if I have my eyes closed." You answer.

Sometimes you two used to joke around in similar ways but now, things were getting a bit further, you both subconsciously expected one of you to stop but you kept going. You kept your legs open and Mitsuri lay on your abdomen between them, causing your core to rub dangerously against her and feeling her breasts lean against you.

"Of course that's fair, you were looking at me too so now we're even." She said, making you blush.

Both of you fell silent, Mitsuri staring at you while you tried to look anywhere but her face and that included the low neckline of her t-shirt in front of you. Mitsuri moved in place, at first you thought that she was settling into her place or she would just get up and the class would continue but everything changed when you realized that she started rubbing on you provocatively. Mitsuri settled her legs on the bed keeping one straight and the other bent to rub her own core against her panties and the mattress making her large breasts massage over you. The position of her legs made her little skirt mess up, leaving her butt exposed, showing you her tight little lace panties.

You didn't say anything, you just gasped and spread your legs more so that she could fit better in the middle of you. She smiled at you with desire so that she felt more confident to move as she wanted. Mitsuri placed her arms on each side of you to hold on better and continue rubbing on the mattress and on top of you, she even had the courage to start panting a little just to annoy you and increase your blush. Mitsuri wouldn't stop looking at you and see  doing this kind of thing made you feel too nervous and even more when she was so close to you; but you'd be lying if you thought this moment was weird or awkward, each passing minute turning you on more and more and just waiting for one thing to lead to the next. You wondered if at some point she was going to touch you.

"This feels s-so good..." Mitsuri gasped. She settled between your legs and lowered one of her hands to her panties to take them and rub them better against her wet core. "You've never tried this before y/n-chan?...it feels really good."

"N-no..." you managed to reply, feeling her breasts on you turned you on more and more besides the sight in front of you.

"Really? Never before?...self-satisfaction is just as important as self-love, girl." She told you.

You didn't know what to answer, Mitsuri settled back and took her hand out from between her legs. She held on to the mattress again and it was after that when she groped her hand directly between your legs inside your shorts, over your dressed cunt making you arch your back in surprise. You were about to say something but you didn't even have time because she started rubbing her fingers against your panties causing a lot of friction with each brush of the fabric.

"A-AAH!" You moaned, surprised to feel her fingers in your panties.

Hearing your voice like that made Mitsuri turn on more, causing her to start moving her fingers faster as well as her hips against the bed. With every movement, she could feel her wet panties brushing over and over again in the middle of her slit, right on her slippery clit. The feeling was perfect so she wanted you to experience it too.

"Y/n-chan...I want to make you feel really good, aah-ah." she moaned.

Mitsuri took her hand out of your panties for just an instant, grabbing your shorts and pulling them down over your hips and butt until she took them off and tossed them around, exposing your black lace panties fitting your pussy on her face.

The pink-haired girl's fingers took the center of your panties and she began to rub the fabric making sure that each touch was right on your clit just like she did until little by little you were wetting the fabric of your underwear; you even started to move your hips to get a better feel. Mitsuri noticed that you began to get wet very quickly and slowly began to moan in need.

"D-doesn't that feel amazing?" Mitsuri asked. "The rub on the clit is perfect-aah! I'm so-so wet! And you too...mmhh."

You were both about to cum if she continued like this, but Mitsuri didn't want this to happen, at least not yet. She wanted to try more things and at the same time make sure that you enjoyed it as much as she did. Mitsuri stopped and got up, tooked off her skirt and sat up to crawl over to you.

"Don't you think it would be better to feel…closer?" She proposed to you, biting her pink lip. She traced a line with her finger all over your slit, feeling your wet labia. "We are both very wet." You stayed in the same position and Mitsuri imitated it in front of you, legs spread and leaning on her arms on the bed. "I'd like to feel you…here" she said, spreading her legs and making her panties shift to let her cunt peek out from under the fabric.

"Then do it..." you replied.

Hearing that made her heart jump with happiness. Mitsuri came up to you and took your panties off, then she got rid of her panties as well and left them lying around. She took your thighs squeezing them sensually to accommodate your legs around her waist and make you hook her between your legs. She did the same and that's when you realized how flexible Mitsuri was when she spread your legs and hers and hooked you in the same way against the bed, letting her breasts crash against yours almost on your face. When he was in the position she wanted, she dropped putting some pressure on you and sat down so that her pussy was exactly on yours, making you moan when you felt his wet labia. Mitsuri leaned over and settled on your hips, holding onto her arms on either side of you and beginning to move her hips, slow movements in circles and back and forth. The contact between your most sensitive points was direct, the position of the open legs of both and each of the movements made your lips move and your cunts open to collide and slide against each other.

Wet sounds began to accompany your and her moans throughout the room, you moved your hips against Mitsuri's to cause more friction. Both cunts wet rubbing each other, your clit massaging against Mitsuri's was the most perfect sensation you've ever felt in your life. You looked up or squeezed your eyes but when you looked ahead and saw Mitsuri's neckline you completely sank in pleasure and didn't take your eyes off her. Her tits moved and bounced on you with each of her thrusts, her hard nipples standing out under her tight t-shirt. Mitsuri's movements began to get faster and faster, crashing and bouncing off of you, she began to grind her vagina against yours increasing the odds of bringing both of you an amazing orgasm. You realized something, Mitsuri's t-shirt was too small and her bust was too big, her boobs began to bounce more and more forcefully from her cleavage and seeing that made you crazy and she didn't seem to care at all; she just kept moving on you, getting wet on your vagina until the position she was in and her strong thrusts caused one of her breasts to come completely out of her clothes bouncing on you and then her other tit did the same. You didn't take your eyes off her, her pink nipples were rubbing on your chest so you decided to take them to massage them with your hands and make her as aroused as you were.

"Y-your boobs are so big-aah! I love them."

"You're also...a-aah- you're beautiful y/n-chan! Your little wet cunt is so cute ah-mnnh!" Mitsuri moved away from you a bit and took off her shirt, making her breasts bounce even more when she took it off. You didn't stop seeing her for a second, moving more.

When she returned to the position she was in, you put both hands directly on her butt to massage it and put some downward pressure so that your cunt was closer to hers, you squeezed and touched her ass making her moan for a long time until that you felt the need for more. Your left hand slid between her buttocks until it reached her wet pussy and your right hand began to play with your own pussy or the part that Mitsuri's couldn't cover, wetting the fingers of both hands, pumping your own hole and feeling this made Mitsuri squirm on top of you, leaning her head back moaning with all her might and moving faster on top of you. Your juices and hers splashed between her slippery cunt and your legs spread wider to rub you with each of her folds.

"AA-AH! Yy/n...y/n-chan! Mmghh-aah!! D-you think you're gonna cum already?"

You couldn't even answer because you were about to, you moved your hips hard to feel Mitsuri on your clit while you tightened around your fingers, you squeezed Mitsuri's ass again making her moan as you did when a warm sensation it went down from your abdomen straight into your pelvis.

"AAH-AAH MITSURI!! I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum! AAH!!"

Your legs spread wide, your back arched and a sticky white discharge shot straight out of your vagina drenching Mitsuri, causing her to do the same and cum in your pussy. Both wetting each other while she was still bouncing her pussy against yours in reaction to the orgasm until her speed slowed down.

Her thighs and yours were wet and sticky, you saw Mitsuri's breasts and as they glistened with sweat, sweat dripped from the back of your knees to your feet and your legs trembled as did your breath. Mitsuri lay down next to you and let both of you stretch out your legs after staying in that position for so long. Before she fully pulled away from you, you could see thin white threads coming from her cunt joining yours, leaving you wet and feeling slippery between your legs. Mitsuri's chest rose and fell with her heavy breathing, even though neither of you spoke it wasn't an awkward moment at all. You two looked into each other's eyes and different parts of your body at the same time. You didn't know what time it was, you even completely forgot the reason you were here, you saw the desk and looked at all your study material and then you saw the time on the clock next to the bed on a small table. 6:44 pm It was already getting dark outside and that worried you a bit.

"That was a very interesting lesson." You said, breaking the silence.

"We should repeat it another day, don't you think?" Mitsuri spoke, sensually.

"You think so? Then you won't be able to get me out of here that easily in a study session." You joked.

"You don't have to go today, I know it can be dangerous to go out at night so you can spend the night here..."

"You mean...a second round?" You said, getting up to approach Mitsuri.

"If that's what you want."

"Only if you let me go above you this time..." you replied, straddling her.

#kimetsu no yaiba #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #mitsuri kanroji #mitsuri #mitsuri x y/n #mitsuri x reader #mitsuri smut #mitsurikanrojismut #mitsurixfemreader #fem x fem #kimetsu no yaiba smut

[leighsartworks216]

request for fluffy aftercare for female Tav x Astarion?

I ended up writing this as gender neutral, so anyone can read this (it wasn't intentional, I just didn't describe anything that denoted what the character's gender was)

This also acts as a sort of part 2 to Dear Pet, but it's not necessary to read that to understand this

Warnings: barest hint of possible angst if you squint, references to sex

Word Count: 507

Masterlist

AO3

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Astarion gently laid you back on the bed, even reaching behind you to pull the pillow beneath your head. Before he could get too far, you cupped his neck and pulled him in for another kiss. He chuckled against your lips; he could feel your smile in return.

"There's plenty of time for that later," he scolds playfully when he pulls away.

"Promises promises," you tease right back. Your voice is a little weaker, more tired than usual. He'd really taken it out of you.

You don't argue further. He slips off the bed and over to the full tub just waiting to be used. It was steaming when you'd first got the room, but now it was merely warm enough to be comfortable. Grabbing a cloth, he soaked it in the water and wrung it out before squeezing the excess back into the tub. When he returned to the bed, he rested on his knees by your legs once more.

A press of a hand and you were opening up to him again. He held onto your outer thigh with one hand, supporting your already-tired legs, and used the cloth to clean you up. It was pleasantly warm, and he was gentle in his ministrations. When he finished, he pressed a loving kiss by your knee.

"I didn't hurt you too much, did I?" His eyes met yours and you could see the concern, even if his face didn't show it. You'd asked him to be rough, as long as he was comfortable doing so, but he was worried he took it too far. Even the little bruises on your hips concerned him.

You shook your head. "You were perfect, my love. I'm not hurt."

Red eyes traced your body. It wasn't salacious in any way, just searching for marks. There were undoubtedly some along your spine where he nipped, and of course where he punctured your neck. But from the front, aside from the fingerprint-bruises, you seemed no worse for wear.

You grabbed his hand holding your leg, rubbing your thumb along his knuckles as you smiled so sweetly up at him. "I'm okay, I promise."

He relaxed into your words. With a soft grin and another gentle kiss by your knee, he tapped against your skin for you to close your legs and he got up from the bed once more. Now that you were clean, he didn't feel bad folding over the cloth and quickly wiping himself down. It was certainly not as caring or careful as he'd been with you, but he wanted to take care of you; he didn't want to spend extra time cleaning himself up. He tossed the used cloth aside near the tub.

"Come on, love. Let's take a bath." He slid his arms underneath you and effortlessly lifted you into his arms. "Maybe I'll even let you borrow my hair oils this time."

You chuckled against his shoulder. Your eyes were bright with such love, you'd put the sun to shame. "Maybe?"

He winked. "If you're good."

---

Tag List:

@satelliteapotheosis

@hypopxia

@flsalazar

@beverlybeav

@angelofthorr

@emiemiemiii

#request #requested #fanfic #fanfiction #astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #baldur's gate astarion #baldur's gate tav #baldurs gate astarion #baldurs gate tav #bg3 astarion #bg3 tav #gn reader #x gn reader #gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader #aftercare

[tragedybunny]

Pretty Baby

༺Summary༻

Astarion is a trophy wife that does online porn and gets soft dommed by his loving wife.

༺Pairing༻ Astarion x Tav

༺Warnings༻ NSFW - PiV Sex, Anal Play, Femdom, Mommy Kink, Feminization

༺Word Count༻ 2870

༺A/N༻ I'm gonna be straight with ya - there was a lot of pseudoephed and sinus cold involved in the conception of this. I am accepting no responsibility for it.

Read On AO3

It's 6 PM and I just got home from the office. Pulling into the driveway, I let the car idle a bit before getting out. It builds the anticipation, I know he can hear it, know that he's in there, waiting for me, my sweet wife, my Astarion.

He's kneeling on that plush white rug that I indulged him and bought, even though it's a nightmare to have cleaned. That perfect body of his is clothed in nothing but his new pink, lacy, lingerie set that we picked out yesterday. 

I feel myself getting a little wet thinking about it, how I watched him put it on this morning during his stream. Whenever I have time, I like to turn it on, even in the background, watch what they're all wishing they could have, but it belongs to me. 

He'd been artfully arranged in bed when it had started. “Hello darlings,” he'd purred for his audience. “Forgive my state, I'm just waking up.”

I laughed loud enough that I was thankful my office door was closed. Did anyone really believe he looked that made up fresh out of bed. He'd been up since I got up, cooking us breakfast in an old band t-shirt and boxers, curls wild, red eyes full of sleep still. My sweet little albino weirdo, he listened to me complain about how we were out of blueberries for my oatmeal and promised to get more. “Get some strawberries too while you're there,” I'd added on my way out the door. After I left for work, he got ready for his stream. 

Whenever someone at the law firm asked what my spouse did, I told them he was a social media marketing consultant. When they asked for who, I told them it was all hush-hush, NDA's, they were lawyers, they understood. At this point, they were convinced he worked for the pentagon or something, if only they knew. 

After he told the audience his ridiculous lie, he rolled over in bed and stretched dramatically, flexing lean muscles for the camera. “I need to go to the farmer’s market today, mommy is out of organic blueberries. But she got me something special and told me I have to wear it if I leave the house.” 

My hands had drifted to the crotch of my pants, client emails forgotten. He had been asking to wear a plug outside the house, I told him if he remembered his lingerie and to send me pictures, we'd talk. Pulling the set from his dresser drawer, he showed it to the camera. “Mommy is spoiling me, isn't she, darlings?” 

My fingers ghosted over my mound as I watched him put on the pink bralette and thong panties. Somehow, it was more intoxicating than seeing him nude. “I'll be taking some pictures later that you all can indulge in, but for now I'm off.” 

Thinking back on it, I can't wait anymore and turn the car off. As soon as I walk in the door, I head straight for the living room, dropping my bag on the chair to find my little treat waiting for me, on his knees, still dressed like I'd told him. “There's my little wife,” I greet him, and he knows he's good to talk. 

“Hi mommy, how was your day.” He shifts one leg forward on instinct so that I can put my foot on his thigh. 

“Fine, nothing terribly exciting,” I answer as he takes my shoe off. Switching feet, he takes the other one off, kissing my leg through my suit pants. 

“I'm glad it wasn't too stressful.” Shoes gone, he starts to work on my pants. 

“And how about you, were you a good little wife today? I saw you getting dressed on your stream.” I run my hand through his platinum curls and give them a playful tug. 

He smiles proudly. “Yes, mommy, I did my errand and I had a nice day. I love it when you take time to watch me.”

“I know you do, baby. And you sent me so many nice pictures of you in your gift, just like I asked.” I step out of the pants and signal him to stand so he can finish undressing me. When he's done, he hands me a comfortable, loose dress he has ready. “What's for dinner?” 

Astarion is a middling cook, and we eat a lot of take out, but sometimes it's nice to push him out of his comfort zone. Especially since he doesn't do all that much around the house with the maid service and the grocery delivery. He's a trophy wife. I knew that the moment I met him though, back in law school. He'd been forced into it by his adoptive father, Cazador Szarr and was so visibly unhappy with it and his whole life. We'd eloped six months after we met so I could get him out from under that monster’s thumb. I hadn't regretted it since, our less traditional proclivities even ended up complementing one another. 

“Lasagna,” he says, looping his arms around my waist and burying his face in my shoulder. “It's almost done and I promise the maid didn't help this time.” 

“Good job, baby. Go handle my clothes and we'll eat.” 

Dinner is served by Astarion with a cute little apron over his lingerie. Not every night is playtime like this, but it is Friday so we've got time to enjoy ourselves. The lasagna is an improvement over the last time and he even took care to make a wine pairing from a local winery. “They had samples at the farmers market, so I could make sure it's up to your standards.” 

The bottle comes back with us to the living room where I leave Astarion to pick out a movie while I grab some toys for the evening. His eyes get wide with excitement as I lay them out on the table next to the wine glasses. My wand, his plug with the pink jewel top, lube, and his paddle in case he gets bratty. I don't spank him often, only when he's seriously asking for it.

“Come here, wifey.” I take a seat on the champagne pink couch and settle him between my legs with a glass of wine. 

What we're watching doesn't even matter as he starts loving on me almost immediately. The skirt of my dress is short enough that it rides up and leaves plenty of me exposed. He kisses and nibbles my thighs, fingers digging in, begging for my attention. My own underwear are getting slick. 

“Please, can I pleasure you?” He rasps, finishing his wine and setting the glass aside. Kneeling, he turns to face me, crimson eyes begging.

“Hmm, you said you were good today. Did you get my blueberries?” He nods enthusiastically. “And the strawberries?” His face falls, I did add that at the last minute, maybe it's a little unfair.

“I forgot,” he looks down at the carpet. Poor little dear, his cock is already half-hard in his panties. 

“You can use the wand for now. Anything else depends on your behavior.” He doesn't look up right away and I tip his chin up with my fingers. “Understood?”

“Yes, mommy.” Obediently, he retrieves my wand and sets it to low, he's so well-trained with it. 

My legs spread and he bushes it lightly against my clit through my underwear. “Good baby.” 

He works me gently to the precipice, stroking the wand over me rhythmically until I'm panting and groaning in need. My fingers wrap themselves in his curls and I tug him forward, demanding more. Placing it flush against me, he goes back to kissing my thighs. 

Bucking my hips against the wand, I feel myself letting go. “I'm going to come love, you're doing so good.” Moaning, I clench around nothing, and pull his face against my sodden underwear by his hair. 

Taking the wand, I turn it off and pet him, fingers drifting lightly over his scalp. Despite not fulfilling all my requests, I know I'm going to need him inside me tonight. I'll just have to think of a little punishment to remind him that he's not getting away with it. But for now, I want to play with my little wife.

“Lay in my lap, let's get this plug in you.” 

He blushes adorably and quickly does as he is told, laying across my thighs so I can reach his bottom. Taking another drink of wine, I let him wait, feeling him squirm with anticipation. Finally, I grab the lube and coat my fingers. 

Pulling his thong to the side, I spread him open and gently work a finger inside him. Below me he already starts making noises.  Another finger slips in and he mewls. “Feeling good, baby?”  

“Yes, mommy, you're so good to me.” 

My fingers flex inside him, eliciting little moans as I prep him. When I'm satisfied he's ready, I lube up the plug and place it teasingly close to his entrance. “I want you to keep still, and no coming. If you want to wear this out of the house, you need to prove you're not going to be a mess about it.” 

“Y-yes, mommy.” 

This is actually unfair and he knows it. I wouldn't be there to play with him if he wore it out. But he accepts it like the good wife he is. 

Slowly, I push it inside of him, treasuring the little gasps he makes. Once it's inside, I give it a firm push and he actually yelps. Poor thing, I'm just getting started. 

Focusing on the movie, I start to idly play with it. Teasingly, I tug on it, working it back and forth until I feel him rut against my thigh. Lightly, I smack his bottom in warning. “What did I say?” He stills but whimpers as I keep going. 

After he's good and worked up, I give him a break, rubbing his back and playing with his curls. I feel his cock, hard enough to dig into my thigh, and his panties wet with pre-cum.

When his breathing evens out, I start again and feel him shaking as he fights the urge to thrust against me. “Mommy, please,” he whines. 

“A little longer baby,” I answer soothingly, now fucking him properly with it. 

His moans turn to cries as he fights the rising tide of an orgasm, control something he's never been particularly good at. Finally, I take pity and stop, letting the plug settle inside him. “I think you've been very good tonight. I'm going to let you fuck me, but you can't finish in me because you still need a punishment for forgetting.” 

He petulantly agrees and gets off my lap, kneeling on near me, while I set my clothes and lay out on the couch. “You can touch and kiss all you want.” I instruct, reaching out to stroke him through wet lace. “These are so pretty, but let's get them off so we don't ruin them.” 

When they're discarded on the floor, he slots himself between my thighs and runs his hands over my body. “You're so beautiful. How did I get so lucky?” 

I'm so wet, there's no resistance as he slides inside me, a relieved groan escaping him. His lips kiss every inch of me as he pumps slowly into me with restraint that's been trained into him. 

Hesitantly, he takes a nipple between his lips, looking up to make sure he has permission. I nod and he hungrily suckles at it, the pace of his hips increasing. 

“That's it, harder.” I encourage, reaching to scrape my nails along his back and ass. His hips snap harshly as he stays latched onto me, teeth scraping my nipple with just the right amount of pain. “I'm close, touch me.”

His fingers eagerly dip between my legs, knowing he can't come unless I do first. My hips buck into the firm circles he's rubbing, and my legs wrap around his back. He fucks so damn good. “That's it, love, such a good little wife,” I moan and see stars. 

He whines and jerks back as I'm still riding my high. “I- I'm,” the rest of his words are lost to heaving breaths as he tries not to spill himself.

“We need to work on that control of yours,” I scold gently and he pouts. “I'll remember that attitude later. Now go on and finish up.”

“Thank you, mommy.” He palms himself and begins to stroke vigorously.

Reaching for my phone from the table behind me, I open the camera. I'll hold onto these for myself for a while, then let him post them. I don't mind sharing his beauty with the audience, but I get first dibs. 

“There's my pretty baby,” I coo, watching his face beam at the praise while I snap the loveliest pictures of him. 

“I want to watch you come. Can you do that for me? Get it all over yourself.” I zoom in on his leaking cock, elegant fingers wrapped around it, then his face, eyes closed, mouth parted. 

With a final moan, he comes, seed coating his stomach and pelvis. “Look at me love.” His eyes are hazy when he brings them to mine, and he's smiling dazedly. “Let me get some pictures of you, you're such a beautiful little mess.” 

God, I may keep these forever, he looks so blissed out. Putting my phone away, I lean over and kiss him tenderly. “Let's get you in a bath.” 

In the water, he curls up in my arms, the little spoon, my cherished wife. “Did you enjoy yourself,” I ask, kissing the top of his head. 

“I always do with you.” Taking one of my hands, he kisses it reverently. 

“And you still like all this, right?”

He goes stiff in my arms and hesitates. His adoptive father had no tolerance for Astarion’s more unique tastes. “Yes,” he breathes, distraught enough that I feel bad. 

“That's good, because we have to make a special stop before groceries for the dinner party tomorrow.” Grabbing my phone, I open the email concerning a gift I ordered him. 

A rose gold metallic band sits on a bed of red velvet. A normal choker, save for the tiny lock in place of closure. “You mean it?” His voice is breathy with excitement.

“Of course, a pretty collar for my pretty wife.” 

“Can I wear it to the dinner party?” 

“Are you ready for everyone to see it?” I don't want him taking on too much at once. 

“I am, besides, I can't wait to see who's the most awkward about it.” Little breathy giggles escape him. 

“Gale for sure,” I add my laughter to his, glad he's so happy.

“Can…can I wear a skirt tomorrow when we go out?” 

“Sure baby. Do you want one for the party too?” I've asked before if he wanted to be thought of as a different gender, and he always says no, despite very much wanted to be called wife. 

“No, I think the collar will be enough excitement for them.” 

“Alright, that sounds like a good plan. Now let's get out of here before we both get all pruney.” 

The camera is set up for an early stream the next morning. Astarion flounces into the room in the fluffiest black tulle skirt with cream silk blouse. “Good morning darlings, mommy is taking me out today, and she said since I was good I get a little reward.” 

He bends himself over the ottoman that's the same pink hue as the couch. A pretty little sight with his bottom in the air. “And she's going to be nice and help me with it.”

I don't make appearances on his stream often, and they're always from the waist down to avoid recognition. Carefully, I sit next to him on the couch, keeping my face out of view, and push his skirt up before pulling down his panties. Sensible black cotton for today. We gave him some prep off camera so the audience can get straight to the goods. 

Plug in hand, I give him a showy little spread first. That's right, look at my wife's cute little asshole you simps, I think to the audience spending their hard-earned money on him. I push it in, letting his whimpers fill the air. It's so hard to not talk, to not call him pretty baby and tell him how good he is, but I can't have my voice recognized. 

When it's in, I give his bottom a few firm smacks for everyone watching to enjoy. A little payback for the pout last night. “Mommy,” he whines, not having expected the improptu punishment. When I'm finished, I pull his panties back up and he turns to sit facing the camera, eyes watery. “We've got a busy day, so I probably won't see you all again today. I promise a nice long video next time.” 

Once he gets the camera off, I pull him in for a kiss, tongue darting into his mouth. “Let's get going. I want to make it back early enough ruin this cute little outfit of yours.” 

#bg3 #astarion #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 fanfic #bg3 tav #tav #astarion x tav #my fanfic #my writing

[wovenstarlight]

I got an interesting anonymous ask on the SFS Tumblr asking about the reasoning behind a bunch of Yoohyun's decisions that had… less-than-stellar outcomes, let's say? (LMAO.) and I'd like to keep the TL blog clean so I'm answering Anon here. I'm gonna post their ask in full for reference, because the answers to each individual question overlap:

Hi, thank you very much for your time, energy and effort. What you are doing is really amazing and admirable. I know you are busy enough and I shouldn't trouble you, but after reading the manhwa, I had questions about Yoohyun's logic and sentiment, and I became more confused after reading the novel and I don't know who to ask. Please ignore my message if it's to much trouble. 1: Why doesn't Yoohyun spend the last years of his life on earth peacefully with Yoojin, even though he knows that the world will end soon? 2: What did Yoohyun accomplish by leaving and humiliating Yoojin that he was persistent to do it for so many years? 3: Why instead of using his forces and technologies to protect Yoojin, he announces to the world that it is open season on him and he is worthless? (Normaly no one dares to harm the family of an S class but Yoohyun expose Yoojin to danger by abandoning him.) 4: Why does Yoohyun stop protecting Yoojin when the most dangerous part of Yoojin's life as an F class hunter begins? (Using his influence he could easily ban Yoojin from entering dungeons. Or he could have secretly formed a group of the most powerful hunters to go with Yoojin to dungeons. This way he could have provided him with everything he needed and keep him safe. That is, if he had any intention of protecting him.) 5: Why would Yoohyun gain all that resources, power, wealth and connections and he sit around and does nothing so that Yoojin would face death every day and rot in the basement? He gain all that for what, if not for protecting Yoojin? 6: Why doesn't he ever change his procedure or provide new options for Yoojin to stop going to dungeons? (Yoojin has no chance for a peaceful life due to not having a degree and being a notorious person. And he doesn't know about that cult.) Yoojin got to see his 30 years old birthday cause the cult didn't feel like killing him and he took care of himself in dungeons and was lucky that only his legs broke. So why would Yoohyun identify as a doting brother? The more I think about it the less I understand.

(crossposted on AO3, if you'd prefer to read there)

Okay, so, I'm really prone to rambling at length and this is a subject I have strong feelings on, so I'll give you a very short version of my answer in bullet points, and then a longer version with proper chapter-specific references and full explanations of what I think was going on.

Yoohyun wants to repay Yoojin for all the care and love he's given him, but as a 17-year-old, he doesn't have much social power

Yoohyun's Awakening puts himself and anyone he loves (i.e. Yoojin) in a dangerous position, because while he has individual physical power as an S-rank, he still lacks social power and also can't singlehandedly protect Yoojin 24/7

Yoohyun, in all his rash 17-year-old glory, takes the drastic action of cutting off Yoojin, planning to build up enough power to protect Yoojin and then reunite with him. Yoojin, as just your ordinary everyday 22-year-old, faces no risks other than people targeting him in order to hurt Yoohyun (I don't agree that no one would dare to harm the family of an S-rank, for reasons I'll elaborate on later in the long answer), so if Yoohyun's not close to Yoojin, then that cuts it down to "no risks at all", right…? So tell the media, tell the world, that no, Han Yoohyun doesn't give a shit about Han Yoojin. Yoohyun assumes he'll be able to explain it all to Yoojin one day and that he'll understand. (This should answer your Question 2 and Q3.)

But it doesn't work out as expected. Yoohyun thought it'd take much less time to establish his position than it does in reality (the assumed 4-ish years ended up as 6+ years). Also, Yoojin's gone from trying to make up with Yoohyun in a way that'll let them be together again (not going to happen, because Yoohyun's still not ready to bring Yoojin back into the fold) to being in his own terrible situation, so he's started lashing out at Yoohyun. So even if Yoohyun was in a stable enough situation to try reconciling with him, Yoojin might not be open to it by this point

Somewhere along the way, Yoohyun learns from the filial duty addict Diarma the world is going to end. He doesn't drop everything and go to live with Yoojin because even now, there's still the concern that maybe Yoohyun won't be able to protect Yoojin from everything, and maybe Yoojin doesn't want Yoohyun around, anyway. There's no use in going to live with Yoojin if it'll just end up getting Yoojin killed through Yoohyun's inaction (Q1).

So Yoohyun keeps maintaining his guild and his power so he can keep protecting Yoojin from what he thinks are the Real Threats. (Because the worlds of low- and high-rank Hunters are VERY different. Yoohyun probably assumes that because Yoojin's not facing the high-rank Hunter dangers, he's facing no dangers—a stupid but understandable mistake, given that Yoojin also assumed the exact same thing in reverse about Yoohyun! It sucks, it really does, but I really do think Yoohyun just… didn't realize just how bad it was.) (Q5) And the world can end whenever it wants; if there's no challenging it, then at least Yoohyun's kept Yoojin safe in the meantime.

And the one danger they have in common, dungeons—you suggest Yoohyun banning Yoojin from entering any, but Yoohyun's cut himself off from Yoojin entirely, remember. Trying to interfere in his life would be met with (a) STRONG rejection by a deeply hurt Yoojin who doesn't understand why Yoohyun thinks he has any say in Yoojin's life anymore, and (b) interest by Yoohyun's rivals, who'd wonder why he's trying to keep his hyung away from dangers when he says he doesn't care about that hyung's wellbeing, putting Yoojin right back in their crosshairs. (Q4)

Also, the immoral people have been killing Caregivers of S-ranks. Diarma might have told Yoohyun about this. If he did, then Yoohyun's goals would definitely have gone from "stay strong and one day reconcile with hyung" to "NEVER get close to hyung, because there are beings outside this world, much more powerful than anything I can match in a reasonable timespan, who will 100% kill him". At which point, even if Yoohyun had wanted to reconcile with him, or compromise by just adjusting his plan and talking to Yoojin a little more, or literally anything past making a show of total and complete indifference, he couldn't have without knowingly risking Yoojin's life. (Q6)

You and I and all the other S-Ranks readers, removed from this situation as we are, can think of half a dozen ways Yoohyun could probably have gotten around things. But the simple fact is that in that situation, under that much pressure, with that much emotional attachment to his brother and literally everything that mattered to him at stake if he fucked up in the tiniest of ways—forget making perfect decisions, there was absolutely no way Yoohyun was going to do anything other than what seemed least risky. Because to do otherwise would be risking Yoojin’s life and therefore his own. And the choices you’ve already mades, the path you’re already on—no matter how bad it is for you, no matter how bad it is for the people you love, no matter how much it hurts—will always, always be less risky than the unknown path, because at least this way, you know what dangers to expect and brace for. At the core of the matter, it’s just that… the path that was best for Yoojin's happiness wasn't the path that was best for Yoojin's life expectancy, you see? And Yoojin can't be happy if he's dead. Yoohyun can't be alive if Yoojin's dead. That's all it came down to.

……oh my god that was so long actually. And that was supposed to be the TL;DR. The long version is going to be SO long. I hope you like reading 50-page passionate essays. There's a poll at the end, you can look forward to that!!!

(Also, okay, before we jump into the Deep End. Two disclaimers.

Anon, you said you read the manhwa and novel, but I read only the novel, so some of my chapter references might be unfamiliar. I know they shuffled events around a little in the webtoon, too, so I'll try and describe the general events so you can find any webtoon parallels.

Yoojin's a REALLY unreliable narrator and definitely doesn't know a lot of what Yoohyun's gone through. Part of that is because there's things he has no way to pick up on or deduce; part of that is because he wants to not think about Yoohyun going through bad shit; part of that is because Yoohyun doesn't want Yoojin worrying about him and has actively hidden the worse parts of his life from him. So a fair part of what I'm talking about is going to be reading between the lines and extrapolating.

Okay, disclaimers done!) Now on to the long version with references. Let's go point-by-point based on the TL;DR.

#1: Yoohyun wanting to repay Yoojin

I mean, the skill's called Last/Final Repayment! Isn't that enough? Where did you think that came from? There certainly wasn't anything Yoojin wanted to repay Yoohyun for.

Okay, no, more seriously. Yoohyun and Yoojin have grown up with only each other to depend on. Yoohyun has watched Yoojin take care of him alone their whole lives, with no outside support, keeping a roof over their head and their stomachs filled. For Yoohyun's sake, Yoojin has given up:

A complete education, with Yoojin having "dropped out of school to take care of his little brother", as mentioned in chapter 1.

A proper social life. In chapter 25, Yoojin says his friends in his early 20s were "middle-aged factory workers" instead of people his own age.

Hobbies. He says to Yerim and Myeongwoo in chapter 45 that one of his "few hobbies" is taking spam calls, but his character profile from the E-books volume 1 confirms it's his only hobby, and one that's now fading… which leaves him with zero personal interests. (The spam calling thing is almost certainly something that sprouted from loneliness in the years that the brothers were separated, by the way. After all, why would Yoojin waste time listening to some stranger on the phone talk to him about something he doesn’t care about? Most likely because there isn’t—wasn’t—really anyone else who’s willing to talk to him, anymore.)

The sole birthday present of "a 10,000 won bill to buy something tasty to have with his friends" he got from their parents, which "would be used for Han Yoohyun’s birthday. As [it was] every year", as mentioned in chapter 239, during Yoohyun’s flashback to childhood.

And Yoohyun, a helpless child, could only watch as Yoojin gave up all of that, to no real benefit of his own, just to focus all his attention and resources on supporting Yoohyun.

By the time he was in middle school, Yoohyun was already talking about becoming a doctor since it'd be "advantageous in a lot of aspects"; he says he "just wanted to make it so you [Yoojin] could live comfortably" (chapter 258). Yoojin wouldn't have to be the sole earner, and would've been able to pursue his own happiness as well as Yoohyun's. Yoohyun wants very badly for Yoojin to not have to worry about him anymore. It makes sense that that sentiment would remain even after he Awakened.

#2: Yoohyun's Awakening

And boy what an Awakening it was! Straight from a random orphaned kid with zero social life and decent grades to one of the world's most desirable and dangerous individuals, basically overnight. He has none of the social sway that the rich and well-connected Sung Hyunjae or the professional athletes Moon Hyuna and Choi Sukwon do, and he refuses to get the help of big corporations like Choi Sukwon and Bak Mingyu (and Yoon Kyeongsoo? I forget if Soodam was also a corp-backed guild). So he's got no power, but he's also declared his intent to create a guild, and that combined with his nature as a born S-rank makes people perceive him as a threat. Maybe not so much in the early days, when people think he's just an arrogant, stupid kid who's going to crash and burn, but definitely more so as time passed, which Sung Hyunjae confirms in chapter 152:

“[Han Yoohyun] was at an age where he had a lot of problems, starting out living alone.” […] “He wasn’t even alone, strictly speaking. I heard Team Head Seok and the others joined Haeyeon early on.” I heard that Seok Simyeong had visited Yoohyun-ie even before Haeyeon was founded. He was still annoying, but I had to give him his share of the credit for Haeyeon. Sung Hyunjae gave a small nod at my words. “Even so, it isn’t easy for a latecomer to find his place.” “That’s… You’re right.” “For the first year or so, it was easier. Since most of them said Haeyeon wouldn’t be able to properly establish itself.” Sung Hyunjae also said he hadn’t been interested in Haeyeon—in Yoohyun-ie—at the time, either. “The problem arose when it started to become a major guild.”

The second the initial "LOL, this has got to be a joke, right?" blinders come off, he's at risk. And he would've known that this would happen right from the start—Yoohyun's smart enough that he would've understood the lack of attacks was just because they didn't see him as a real threat yet.

So, again: a latecomer on the scene with no power and no experience to his name, and seen as a threat to deal with. No social connections means he has no one to rely on to help him with Yoojin's protection: it's up to him alone. And even S-ranks have to eat and sleep and use the bathroom and do half a dozen other things that would pull him away from Yoojin's side, not to mention the all-important requirement of raiding dungeons, which Yoohyun himself admits in chapter 71 was one of his main concerns:

“Once I start a raid on an S-rank dungeon, I’ll be gone for a week […]. Me… avoiding you… was also largely due to the S-rank dungeon raid time. Since, obviously, I can’t look after you once I go into the dungeon.”

So Yoohyun himself can't just stay by Yoojin's side as his bodyguard 24/7. He'd have to leave him unattended for, at minimum, whole weeks. Which means he doesn't have a reliable, sure way to keep his hyung safe.

#3: Cutting off Yoojin, and the risks to an S-rank's family

And that's not even mentioning his own safety. What happens when Yoohyun's hurt and can't help with guarding Yoojin? And he will be hurt, either by dungeon raids or other people. If you don't think that second one is a concern, as early as chapter 6, when Yoojin and Yoohyun are having their first meal together, Yoojin asks about Yoohyun's ability to cook, and he says he taught himself:

“I’ve got items for detoxification and de-cursing, now, but I didn’t have them before. So making my own food felt safer. Even now, when I enter dungeons, I bring dried rations I made myself. Since it’s most dangerous inside dungeons.” “…Detoxification? De-cursing?” What was I hearing right now? As in, there were bastards who’d poison and curse his food, so he had to make it himself… that sort of thing?

Yoohyun himself, a strong, healthy S-rank with a good constitution and one hell of a temper, was at risk of being poisoned and cursed through something as everyday as food. You said that normally, no one would dare attack the family of an S-rank—but if people are willing to attack the S-rank himself, knowing that he'll kill them for sure if it fails and he learns they're behind it, then what's stopping them from attacking the S-rank's family?

There's two points you could argue:

Yoohyun says in the chapter 6 conversation that "It’s a major crime for an Awakened person to target an Unawakened person, so I made them think it wasn’t worth it to risk going after you." But that'd only last for the 3 years up until Yoojin Awakened, and honestly, there's a real risk that anyone targeting Yoojin before that time would just be rich or socially connected enough that they could make the charges go away.

The other argument that if they attack an S-rank's beloved family and that fails, now the S-rank is coming after them with a vengeance, and he's not even suffering from the aftermath of poisoning or a curse to weaken him in the slightest, so that might scare them off. But, like… people do stupid things when they're desperate. In that kidnapping where Yoojin met the Krecke Blackie (chapters 46–49), sure, Yoojin had his own special skills that made him valuable, but he also had five major guilds and the Association all dedicated to his protection. That's several times the protection a single S-rank could offer, and some idiots who weren't even in a desperate situation still tried to go after him for benefits similar to what you'd get from having leverage over an S-rank. So I really don't think anything would stop people from threatening Yoojin. If anything, the combined facts of Yoohyun starting out from a weak position, Yoohyun obviously caring about Yoojin, and Yoojin being so much weaker than Yoohyun would make that the best option by far, if you wanted to hurt Yoohyun. After all, it’s not like Unawakened F-rank Yoojin can fight back himself, and again, Yoohyun isn’t going to fight you if it would risk Yoojin’s life.

So, Yoohyun goes "if I distance myself from hyung and make people think it WON'T hurt me for him to be hurt, then people have no reason to target him!" and follows through. I do think this was a stupid move on his part, even if he intended to explain it all to Yoojin eventually, because by not letting him in on the secret right from the start, he guaranteed that Yoojin would be hurt and upset by his sole remaining family member seemingly abandoning him for better prospects. Which leads Yoojin to start making his own stupid moves, which snowballs into a series of bad decisions on both their parts, and so on… but we'll get to that in a minute. The problem, I think, is that this plan could've worked, if only Yoohyun had told Yoojin at the start, so that Yoojin knew not to draw attention to himself. Maybe they could've done regular calls on burner phones or something, to stay in touch, and they'd have been happier that way.

Unfortunately that didn't happen. Why? Because, as Yoohyun states in that same conversation in chapter 6, he "didn’t want to burden" Yoojin. Yoohyun's desire to protect Yoojin is not just physical, but also mental/emotional—he doesn't want Yoojin to know that Yoohyun's going through all this trouble of leaving home and dealing with threats to his life and making big decisions, because he doesn't want Yoojin to worry.

[EDIT: And actually, thinking back over this, do you realize—Yoojin always talks about how Yoohyun was a delight of a child to raise, never complaining, never throwing tantrums, wonderfully behaved and always doing as he was told. Enough so that Moon Hyuna has to tell him, explicitly, in Chapter 43, that that’s not normal, in those exact words:

“He was a good younger brother who never needed to be scolded. Ever since he was little, he listened well and didn’t worry me…….” “You said you were the one to raise him, right? After you lost your parents early. That’s not normal.” She clicked her tongue and continued. “A good, obedient little brother from a poor family without parents. That sort of thing doesn’t even appear in children’s fairy tales these days. Because it’s not realistic.” “I mean, to go that far—” “Kids are kids. They get frustrated and angry if there’s something lacking, they make trouble to get attention, they compare themselves with others, and beyond begging their parents to buy them something they want, they might even resent them. Parents might still think their kids are cute, but brothers? To them, they’re just enemy bastards; I also have a younger sibling, so I know. Of course, there are brothers and sisters who get along. In peaceful households where their parents take good care of them. Even then, it’s not like they never fight. Younger brothers in particular are a type that need to be put in their place; older siblings the world across would probably agree.”

This suggests that Yoohyun and Yoojin have never, ever, EVER experienced conflict on major life decisions. Not once have they argued about Yoohyun making choices that Yoojin wouldn’t like. Which means Yoohyun approached cutting off Yoojin with a very particular mindset, and I have some guesses as to what exactly that mindset was. Do you think he hoped Yoojin would understand that his perennially well-behaved brother would have some reason for leaving home? Do you think he just… didn’t know how to approach telling Yoojin about his choice, knowing it’d upset him so much, so he simply didn’t and hoped for the best? Or was it something else entirely?

Either way: Yoohyun absolutely did not know what would come of this choice. He definitely did not expect just how hard it would be on Yoojin. At the time, he was probably just wanting to spare Yoojin the heartache of their first major argument about Yoohyun’s life choices.] And it's that very desire to not bother him with the knowledge of how much Yoohyun's suffering that eventually makes things go wrong and both of them suffer for it.

#4: Yoohyun's strategy failing

What do we know about Yoohyun's plan going wrong? We know that Yoohyun intended to wipe out his enemies before even thinking about allowing Yoojin into danger. In that conversation in chapter 6, he tells Yoojin to wait "just 1 year" and to basically live in confinement, locked up safe inside Haeyeon, until Yoohyun's done. Combined with the 3 years since the dungeons appearing and Yoohyun Awakening, that means he thought it'd take maybe 4 years in total, with hurrying at the end to accommodate Yoojin already being involved with him again. Yoojin says in narration that pre-regression, it took him 3 years instead of the 1 he's proposing, which puts us at a total of 6 years minimum before Yoohyun could even think about reuniting with Yoojin.

But, of course, a lot can and did happen in those 6 years. Within the first 3, the brothers' relationship had deteriorated enough that Yoojin blocked Yoohyun's number, as mentioned in chapter 32 by Yoohyun to Yoojin during novice Hunter training:

“You got angry and told me not to call, remember? You even blocked my number.”

Why was Yoojin angry? See chapter 158, when Yoohyun was temporarily amnesic due to Jellyfish's fog:

“I’m certain I told you not to come near me.” …I remembered. When I’d heard that, I’d blocked Yoohyun’s number, telling him not to call me back.

Yoohyun's repeated refusal to tell Yoojin about his plans, just telling him they had to stay apart, only worsened their relationship. And while Yoohyun did attempt to reach out and help Yoojin in ways such as sending him money to cover living expenses (probably hoping to repair their rapidly deteriorating relationship), that also made it worse, with Yoojin rejecting all of those attempts. As he explains in chapter 274, during the flashbacks induced by Jellyfish in their fight:

Gritting my teeth, I sent back the money Yoohyun-ie sent me without even laying a finger on it. To the me of that time, it was horrible money that my young brother had as good as traded his life for. Yoohyun-ie wanted me to accept living expenses and stay safe, but I believed my brother was being sent to his own death and could never accept it.

It isn't like Yoohyun didn't try to reach out. He did. The problem was that all of his attempts were undercut by his continued refusal to tell Yoojin why he had distanced himself, such that all those attempts at staying in touch only rubbed salt in the wound of being abandoned. And as early as 3 years in, by his own admission in chapter 6, Yoohyun starts to think that things have gotten so bad that even if he tries to confess everything now, Yoojin might not "be understanding". He might not be willing to let go of his hurt and resentment to reconcile with him.

So should he stop reaching out, then? Surely there's still hope that they can reconcile in the future. Someday, maybe, when Yoohyun's sure he can protect Yoojin, even if Yoojin doesn't want to be with/near him.

#5: Learning about the world ending

Only, there's a deadline imposed by the end of the world, which Yoohyun learns about from filial duty addict Diarma. Part of the contract with the filial duty addicts, as Sung Hyunjae explains in chapter 102, is not interfering with said end of the world. Actually, the contractors have to give "their word that they’ll eliminate obstacles" i.e. other people fighting against the end of the world, so Yoohyun can't do anything about this deadline. This gives him a limited amount of time in which he can "eventually" reconcile with Yoojin.

So, as you ask, Anon, why not spend that limited time with his brother? Well, just because there's an end of the world approaching—which Yoohyun can't even talk about! L-rank contract, remember—doesn't mean that Yoojin is 🌟magically🌟 going to get any less mad about Yoohyun abandoning him for several years than before. Yoohyun still doesn't want to explain, so that argument is absolutely not getting resolved.

Even if he tries to explain vaguely that there's some threat and that he'd like Yoojin to live with him or at least accept his offers of protection and security, what happens if Yoojin refuses? Yoohyun clearly isn't willing to violate Yoojin's desires too far, since the most certain way to keep him safe would be to lock him up in a vault somewhere inside Haeyeon and never let anyone else see him, but that would trample all over his free will and happiness, not to mention it'd ruin Yoohyun's "live normally and happily with hyung" goals. So he'll have to let Yoojin stay out in the world, while all of Yoohyun's rivals and enemies are still out there, watching the Haeyeon Guild Leader reach out to his brother and wondering if they've reconciled. At that point, it doesn't matter if they actually have made up or not. If someone even suspects that Yoojin is close to Yoohyun, then they'll target him on the off-chance that it's true. And if Yoojin did refuse Yoohyun's offers, which he's almost certain to, then he's defenseless against whatever attacks come. And they will come. In chapter 6, Yoohyun admitted that a single visit to Haeyeon Guild by Yoojin, willing or unwilling, would be enough to get attention on him:

“But if I directly give orders for you to be brought in and allowed to live within Haeyeon Guild, my enemies will start to actively target you. Even with you just being here right now, I’m sure they’ll already have started keeping an eye on you.”

Think of it from Yoohyun's enemies' perspective. If Yoohyun cares about Yoojin, attacking Yoojin gives you leverage over Yoohyun. If Yoohyun doesn't care about Yoojin, then he won't care if you're attacking Yoojin, so you'll face no retaliation from him. Yoohyun's enemies have nothing to lose from this, while Yoohyun has everything to lose. So, in this situation, it'd be better to take the least risky path: just don't engage with Yoojin at all.

And, also, even if he'd decided to take that risk, there's a different one when it comes to actually figuring out a system to guard Yoojin. This point is more speculation, but I do think Yoohyun might have struggled with deciding when he'd done enough for Yoojin's protection. Because the reality is that Yoojin was never, ever going to be 100% safe from all dangers ever. Again, the vault method is the only way Yoohyun could achieve that. Yoohyun could've put together any amount of high-rank Hunters as Yoojin's exclusive security detail, and he'd still have to leave him alone with these potentially corruptible strangers for a full week at a time during every S-rank dungeon raid. I suspect there was a real risk of Yoohyun continuously going "I just need to get a bit stronger and a bit more established" indefinitely, without ever reaching a point where he was actually satisfied. (Which, if this was indeed a risk in canon, would be overridden in the post-regression timeline by Yoojin's keyword usage making Yoohyun's desire to live with him again and uncertainty about Yoojin's response win out over the urge to keep obsessing over safeguards.)

#6: What counts as a "real" threat

When it comes to Yoohyun's need to defend Yoojin against threats, there's also an important aspect you need to consider, which is: what threats? You see, the worlds of low-rank and high-rank Hunters are very different, to the point where Yoohyun seems to completely overlook some aspects of what Yoojin's used to dealing with, while Yoojin explicitly notes on multiple occasions that he didn't even realize Yoohyun faced certain dangers. As always, we come back to the poisoning attempts mentioned in chapter 6, the first time Yoojin realizes Yoohyun was suffering his own ordeals. This sort of sneaky threat gets reiterated in chapter 11, after Yoojin's trip to the Hunter Mall, when Yoohyun tells him he can't even take a simple drink from any public vendor because it might be poisoned (not something that'd work on Yoohyun himself, but it certainly would on those lower-ranked people around him who he cares about). No, not even in a government-sponsored location like the Association, because even these locations are filled with other guilds' spies and informants. Yoojin's internal response is essentially "what sort of underhanded bullshit is this", and out loud he questions Yoohyun about it:

“But would they do that sort of thing in none other than the Association? If they get caught, the backlash will be huge.” And if Awakened people couldn’t trust the Association, it’d end up hurting the guilds, too. “Of course they wouldn’t make trouble inside the Association. But it’s possible to have their target sent away in an ambulance or police car.” “…And then that ambulance or police car goes missing?” “You’re getting it.”

And Yoojin literally thinks, not a paragraph later, that this is maybe too much even for him:

Somehow, the further things went, the more I felt like I should stop being involved with this brat Yoohyun-ie and go off to live on my own.

Better the dangers you know than the ones you don't, but in Yoojin's words.

Everyone in the high-rank sphere is, well, high-rank. Strong and resilient even when they don't have defensive skills, to say nothing of when they do. They face threats, yes, Real Threats that pose danger to them and risk their safety and status, including threats from other people—Song Taewon mentions to Yoojin in chapter 83 that he's investigated Yoohyun for murder multiple times a year—but because they're so strong, those threats come in the form of dungeon monsters or social attacks, not actual physical harm. Especially not physical harm from other people; like, chapter 75 mentions there's laws against S-rank Hunters going into dungeons together for fear that they might hurt or kill each other, so unless they encounter each other in a dungeon break region where combat is expected (or pick fights with Chief Song, an S-rank duty-bound to fight other S-ranks), they're never really going to encounter personal threats from other Hunters.

Take all that through the lens of protecting Yoojin: he's just some guy, he's not involved in the social/political Hunter Hunger Games, so he's probably fine on that front, right? And otherwise, Yoohyun just needs to protect him from dungeons (keep Yoojin out of them when possible, prevent breaks in his area), and maybe just some general watching out for Yoojin getting himself into anything risky, since he's so weak as an F-rank. That's all the threats Yoohyun sees on a daily basis, so that's probably it, right?

Wrong. Low-rank Hunters have their own set of threats they face, and while a part of that is dungeons and monsters, a very large part of that is also just… being easy to kill, in a community of people very ready to kill. Low-rank Hunters murder each other a hell of a lot more than high-rank Hunters get to even hurt, let alone kill, each other. Think about how easily the knowledge of dungeons being good body disposal spots comes to Yoojin (chapter 19, when threatening Yerim's uncle). Think about the way Yoojin talks about being pressured into slave contracts and miner guilds, and how common it seems to be for low-rank Hunters to be maimed and disabled and left in the lurch (chapters 21 and 22, saving Yoo Myeongwoo from Hope Resources Guild). Think about chapter 49, where Yoohyun claims there's strong camaraderie among high-rank Hunters, and Yoojin responds with this:

Comradeship, huh. There was no such concept in low-rank Hunter teams. Of course, it wasn’t like there were no good people around. The problem was that they all died before long. There were fixed low-rank teams united through trust and friendship, but it was very rare that they lasted. With how strongly they banded together, if one of them died, they couldn’t endure the shock and would fall apart; and even if that didn’t happen, if they were doing well for themselves, they’d be attacked from the outside by the many Hunters who’d find them unpleasant. But a high-rank dungeon raiding team that suffered few such accidents could form a sense of comradeship and keep staying together.

Low-rank Hunters will get killed by monsters, or survive only to get killed by the loss of their teams, or find good teams only to get killed by other jealous low-ranks, or (in Yoojin's experience) survive multiple team-wide killings only to get ostracized and distrusted for being suspiciously good at surviving (almost like you're the one setting up your teams to fail! really makes you wonder, doesn't it?), or, or, or…

High-rank Hunters just… survive. That's it.

Of course Yoohyun wouldn't know to protect Yoojin from these threats. He's never faced them. To him, fighting other people is a fun, challenging pastime, where no one being allowed to kill each other is an unspoken rule that goes implicitly understood. He wouldn't realize how it was very much not fun for Yoojin; maybe he'd know it intellectually, but I don't think he'd understand, not without getting up close and personal to see Yoojin struggle with it, which he can't do himself. If he tries to send someone to spy on or just generally help out his brother, Yoojin's primed by his experiences to distrust the people around him, so spies won't get anything out of him, and any strong Hunter handpicked by Yoohyun to help his hyung might simply be unable to gain Yoojin's trust. (Picking out a whole team of strong Hunters? Even if Yoojin trusts them, they'd probably end up victimized by jealous Hunters. Rinse and repeat.) You must also take into account that Yoojin's been made enough of a target by society that he's hiding every weakness someone could potentially exploit. Hell, if he's hiding well enough, you might think he's doing just fine.

And in the time period where it would be blatantly obvious that Yoojin was not fine, that early period right when he Awakened and turned into society's scapegoat overnight? That was when Yoohyun and Haeyeon were also being targeted, and wouldn't have been able to spare the kind of attention and help Yoojin would've needed, not with all the scrutiny they were all being subjected to. Actually, when Yoojin's reminiscing about these times in chapter 59, he hypothesizes it might've been Yoohyun's rivals themselves who were behind the scapegoating:

At that time, it would’ve been hard for that guy to look out for me. Public opinion wasn’t good in many ways, and there were too many scrutinizing eyes for him to secretly look after me. Now that I thought about it, I wondered if there wasn’t some sort of operation targeting me. The response was too excessive to have simply been the work of a few trash journalists. It was a matter that could be packaged excitingly, I was an F-rank which made me easy to use, and at that time, it could drag down Haeyeon Guild in the public opinion. Whether it was the government, the Association, or rival guilds, they’d have been fools not to use me.

If it was Yoohyun's rivals behind it, then by fighting on the Haeyeon front, Yoohyun might actually have been keeping Yoojin safe, too. How do we know he didn't actually mitigate the suffering to some degree? We haven't heard from Yoohyun about his side of things during this time, so we don't have a definite answer one way or another.

Certainly, Seok Simyeong didn't help at all by making a public statement denouncing Yoojin, especially not when it was so bad Yoojin admits to almost being suicidal over it (chapter 19)! But, well, it was a busy time. We don't know whether Yoohyun was consulted on that one, or if it was something they rushed in order to get ahead of the situation. It might also be that Yoohyun was consulted and made the choice that they'd publicly denounce Yoojin but privately offer him support, only for Yoojin to reject it as he did before with the money Yoohyun sent. Yoojin's done this before, where he conveniently doesn't mention a detail about a scenario until it becomes immediately relevant!

I cannot emphasize enough that we don't have Yoohyun's perspective on this. We don't know what he was doing or not doing to help. But we know, from his love for Yoojin, from his desperate desire to keep him safe at all costs, that he must've been doing something. Was that something effective? Was it useful to Yoojin's immediate life? Who knows. But he was trying.

#7: Banning Yoojin from dungeons

…Keyword being trying. Because, uh. To be honest, how well do you think any direct attempts at "helping" went over? The very first moment that Yoojin regresses to is when Yoohyun got him out of a meeting with an Awakening broker. And Yoojin himself says that ended so badly that "after listening to Yoohyun-ie’s nagging, I’d become furious and stormed off, shouting that I could take care of myself and to quit bothering me" (chapter 5). So if Yoohyun tries to openly keep Yoojin out of danger, then Yoojin is going to have a screaming fit of anger at his life being controlled by someone who apparently isn't even interested in being in it.

And that's before Yoojin Awakened. Once he had an actual, legal, government-assigned license saying he could go into dungeons? Yoohyun had zero standing. Zero chance he was ever going to be able to stop him from going into dungeons, short of breaking down and crying and begging for him to not do it, which (to successfully convince Yoojin he wasn't just putting on a show or trying to guilt trip him) would also require Yoohyun to admit he still cared about Yoojin and reveal his 3- uh, 4- I mean, 5- 6(!!)-Year Master Plan To Keeping Hyung Safe Forever And Ever.

Yeah. Never gonna happen.

And even that one (1) attempt at keeping Yoojin away from dungeons and Hunters and everything related could've gone really badly, because as Yoohyun himself admits in their chapter 6 conversation, his enemies will "already have started keeping an eye on you [Yoojin]". Just from one single show of apparent concern for Yoojin's wellbeing! Can you imagine what would've happened if Yoohyun kept stopping Yoojin every time he tried to go into a dungeon? Setting Yoojin's own frustration and anger aside, can you picture the kind of attention that would've gotten Yoojin? No, this was one battle Yoohyun had to lose in order to win the overall war.

Anon, you mention providing "new options for Yoojin to stop going to dungeons". Okay, sure, we're starting with Yoojin being society's black sheep and probably rejected out of hand from most positions he applies to, and Yoohyun's only leverage in society being in dungeon- and Hunter-related fields. What options would he have provided for Yoojin? A dungeon- or Hunter-related job, probably at Haeyeon or one of its affiliates? That's precisely what we're trying to avoid, and also visible enough that Yoohyun might as well not have even fucking bothered with the 6-Year Master Plan etc. etc. Okay, so then something at one of Haeyeon's sponsors-? Except Haeyeon famously doesn't have backers, and any connections they have through business deals will be glaringly obvious to Yoohyun's rivals if leveraged. Oh, Han Yoojin, the man who no one wants to hire, got a job at a company whose products Han Yoohyun sponsored just a while ago! Absolutely no one is wondering how this could've happened. Also, funny how Han Yoohyun's helping Han Yoojin find work, it's almost like he cares about him… (And so the end begins.)

Remember, all of Yoohyun's efforts at separating himself from Yoojin require actually being separate from Yoojin and the choices he makes. Yoojin's life is—unfortunately enough for Yoohyun—his own to live… and his own to ruin.

#8: The transcendent threat

And all of that—every single one of these environmental factors that make it so Yoohyun has a billion and one concerns to consider before he can so much as talk to Yoojin—all of that comes before we take into account one more fact:

God Hates Caregivers Personally.

Or, in a non-joking manner, and in the fashion Yoohyun might have learned about it from Diarma, as is strongly suggested in the virtual reality dungeon arc during chapter 246:

There are beings out there, outside your world, stronger than anything you know, and this is acknowledging the fact that you are among the strongest existences humankind will ever produce. These beings rule your entire world, are the children of the very power that created the dungeons terrorizing your planet, are themselves so powerful that they can predict dungeons and manipulate the system in their favor, that they can manipulate the circumstances of individual humans as long as they're inside dungeons. In allying with any one of their number, you make an enemy out of half of the entire population of these transcendental existences. You have already made an enemy of them. And these people, these all-powerful creatures, who you've painted yourself a rival of? These same people have a known track record of killing the loved ones of people like you.

Your brother goes into dungeons every week as part of his job. He's already at immense risk. If you go near him, if you make it seem even slightly like you're interested in him personally, you make him an out-and-out target for these transcendents, and they'll smite him. He dies, and you die, and it's game over.

Option one: You can grow to their level, meet them with equal strength, certainly, but will you get the time to grow that far before they kill your brother? Is his natural lifespan even long enough that he'd survive the time it took for your growth? He dies. You die. Game over.

Option two: Don't pose a threat. It's too late for you to never get on their radar in the first place, but if you can keep from seeming any more dangerous, maybe they won't give him any attention. Secure a favor that will let you help him when he needs it, at most, but otherwise never use your transcendent connections to your own advantage.

Option two, taken to its conclusion: If you die before your brother does—if you die calling in that favor and saving his life—you never have to see him be killed.

(Option two, on the flip side: You will not expect it to be your own ally who set the stage for your loved one to be killed.)

So, basically, every single concern Yoohyun's had about protecting his brother that made him distance himself and not tell him anything so far? All of that is taken and cranked up to difficulty level Maximum. "If I show interest in hyung, one of my rivals or enemies might choose to hurt or kill him!" The transcendents WILL kill him with NO known incentive. Yoohyun might assume it's because he poses a threat to their side, but he can't be absolutely certain that's it. In fact, he doesn't know anything about this opposing transcendent faction, since he was blocked from contacting them by the very fact of having chosen a side in the first place, as Water Droplet explains when discussing the born S-ranks in chapter 106:

“We don’t know for sure either. The filial duty addicts contacted them first, so their information is obscured. We only know that there are five, and about the ones that are in contact with you.”

And while Yoohyun-as-Alpha knows the reasons behind the immoral people killing Caregivers—namely, that they want to remove distractions for S-ranks, so that they focus on combating dungeons and monsters—if Diarma had told Yoohyun about this, and if he'd thought to apply the bare minimum of intelligence to his delivery (a disclaimer that must be made, with this transcendent in particular), I really don't think he would've told him why. No, he would've wanted the immoral people to seem like a dangerous threat, so he would just have said that they might kill Yoohyun's family, without giving him their reasoning.

Which means Yoohyun knew nothing about the immoral people's motives, nothing about their goals, nothing about what they'd see as aggression. Which meant, hypothetically, that any and every action he took could trigger them to smoothly and efficiently eliminate the only person he loved in all the world. It would be so easy, too; Yoojin's entering their turf multiple times a month as part of his daily job, a fact which we've already established Yoohyun couldn't do anything about. The only thing he knew for sure is that they hadn't killed Yoojin so far.

Remember what I said before, about the known path being safer? Because you know the dangers you'll face on it? Yoohyun knows doing what he's doing right now is keeping Yoojin alive. He can't control a single other thing outside of that. And the danger posed by not doing what he's doing just got shifted to a level he is not prepared on any level to respond to. Before, he might've thought Yoojin was safe at least inside dungeons with his chosen teams; from his perspective, "dungeons with only guild members inside are actually safer than the outside world" (chapter 134), while the outside world was more of a risk because of all of Yoohyun's enemies. But now? There is danger all the time and in every location Yoojin goes, even those outside of this world, on an insane, unrivaled level. He is never, never safe, and any single unexpected action Yoohyun takes puts that at risk. If doing anything at all is dangerous, then it's better to do nothing.

So, yeah, that's the crux of it, isn't it. Yoohyun needs to protect Yoojin every day, every single time. Everything else in the whole world only needs to kill Yoojin once. In such a situation, how would Yoohyun ever dare to risk making either of them vulnerable?

…The end! I hope that this explanation, long as it is, has given you at least some additional insight into Why Yoohyun Did All That, and helped serve as a reminder of just how little we actually know about Yoohyun's perspective of the events pre-regression.

By the way, this entire post is pulling only from information we get up to chapter 272; there’s more information revealed up to chapter 350—actually, even just in the next few chapters after that, up to 275—that sheds more light on Yoohyun’s decision-making process in the pre-regression timeline. Maybe I’ll come back and post a part 2 to this analysis someday using the additional information we get as time goes on, but right now, this much will have to be enough.

In any case—thanks for reading this far. And of course, as promised, here's the poll!

#star.txt #my writing #my sranks #the s ranks that i raised #han yoohyun #answered #anonymous #this had the working title of 'han yoohyun's shit idiot reasoning' bless his soul #certified yoohyun hater is asked to defend his actions. what happens next will shock you

[athanasius-symposium-of-writings]

Are You A Good Man

For this ask

Rated Explicit | Warnings: Violence

Ao3

“Remember the question I asked you?”

The mercenary is quiet as he glances away as he becomes thoughtful then his eyes go back to you, “You asked if I was a good man.”

“And your answer?”

“I don't know.” He does not once flinch as you replace the bandages on his back, specifically the center of his back where a bullet had formerly pierced him but only hit flesh, not bone. He was lucky the round wasn't any bigger.

“A good man would give that answer.” Once finished you close your medical bag and throw away the dirty bandages in the small trash bin beside the bed. “It is healing well, I still recommend you don't overwork yourself.”

“Why are you helping me?” The man moves and sits on the bed facing you, there are a million scars on his body telling stories only he can give voice to. You do not pry, you only patch him up and clean passwords that did not heal properly.

 “Because you were in need of help.” Standing up with your supplies in your hand, “Need me to check anything else, Naib Subedar?” From what you can recall that is not a name but a rank, a low rank in the infantry if your father's books are accurate. A fake name and no you will not push to find out more about him. A man has secrets for a reason.

When your assistant found him on the side of a road in an automobile that was idle on the side of a cliffside road, he looked like he was in a fight. Not the bar fight kind. That night, you told the assistant the story about the man who fell down some stairs— A lie in case anyone asks about him. The mystery man slept for two days, on the second night he woke up but was not as cognitive as he is now. His reaction from waking up on a bed with an IV connected to his wrist and you standing above the bed to check on his vitals, the way he had grabbed your hand, twisting but not the full bend as much of his strength had left him.

This man is clearly trained, you figure a soldier.

You saved his life because are a doctor and you uphold your oath. The debt he feels he owes you will never be paid, not that you put such an idea in his head.

Must be an honor system he upholds, again proving he is a good man.

“No.” He stares at the kit in your hand.

“Alright—”

“Who was that kid from before?”

“Him?” You did not realize Naib saw the young man you gave an envelope of money to, “Just a kid.” You turn to leave but he snatches your wrist holding you back.

“Who. Is. He?” This voice has a dark lace to it that makes you feel cornered. Two wolves, one clearly the alpha, the one who protects and hunts.

“...” Pressing your lips together then looking away before closing them, “He picks up the protection money.” Answering him.

“You pay for protection?”

“Naib Subedar, don't ask questions you have the answer to.”

Small towns are easy targets and given how beautiful this place is, someone wants to flush everyone out. Best peaceful way to do this is by either buyout or extortion.

“Who do you pay this to?” That he does not know.

“Will you kill him?” Your narrowed eyes turn to him, “We can't pay you.” Pulling your hand out of his grasp, “Just forget it.”

He does not push, he does get up and put his top back on and puts on his hood.

“Naib Subedar?”

“You never call me ‘Naib’.” At the door, “Guess you know what it means, huh, doc?”

You say nothing.

“I'll be back later. Keep the doors locked and don't leave the house.” He orders.

You jerk awake to the guest room window being slid open by a hooded figure, you sit up as he enters the room. Blood and sweat. “Naib Subedar?” Rubbing your eyes.

“You slept here.” Rusting of clothing and shoes.

“Hmm,” You go back to lying down when the bed shifts to the new weight added. “You smell.”

“I'll bathe later.” His breath is warm and blows against your neck making you shiver. “It's cold.” A complaint you barely hear as you slip back to sleep. He moves closer, his arm drawing you close to his solid body. You groan as he was not kidding about being cold.

“Not a heater.” Mumbling in your sleep as he uses you as his personal heater.

The mercenary shushes you until all he hears is your soft breathing of slumber, his eyes closing as he inhales your scent from your hair, clinging to you.

That is how far he will go.

The following morning you awaken alone. You figure him coming home last night was a dream but you see a note left by him. Left you breakfast, thanks doc. You put on a robe before going downstairs to see he made a simple breakfast, two toast, and two boiled eggs. Really simple, but appreciated.

Given your clinic is closed today, you decide to enjoy the day by being home and reading a book. Nothing too special.

This peace lasted up until there was banging at the door.

The short of banging you know from your years after finishing medical school only to be forced back home by your family.

“Open up now!” And you did. “Patch him up.” The kid from yesterday— He is an adult but Naib Subedar called him a kid compared to how old he is. “And no funny business, doc.” There was no ‘funny business’ and you patched the man up.

The downstairs portion of your house is the clinic, the kitchen is off to the side near the entrance of the house. Luckily, during the day you got dressed as if you were going out or these guys would think you have something to offer. Not like being in clothes doesn't stop them from saying some crude things towards you.

“I did what I could but he needs to rest before anything can start healing.” Removing your bloody gloves.

“Fuck! Boss is going to be pissed about this.” Says one lowlife.

“Shit, what are we going to do?”

“Can start by taking him home.” You suggest.

They both look at you and then go back to figuring out what to do, you just leave them in the patient room to go wash your hands in the kitchen. You go very quiet when you see Naib Subedar grabbing a knife from your cutlery set.

His index finger is on his lips as he moves forward and his hand takes yours, guiding you to hide in the pantry.

You know what to do, you have been here before.

You close your ears and crouch down, counting from one to twenty.

Naib Subedar is quick and efficient, the mess is minimal and he deals with it with practiced movements. He did not let you lift a finger as he cleaned the mess, but he had to sadly make it look like someone hurt you before getting the three thugs.

“Here and here.” Showing him the best spots to hit you that will look worse than they appear.

“Sorry.”

“Don't be.”

That evening you stay at your assistant's place, a small apartment near the popular part of the town.

“Naib Subedar.”

“You've done this before.”

“My dad was in the military. He fell in with the wrong people after.” Eating your food. It has been three weeks since Naib Subedar has made it his personal job to kill every last one of these gangsters. A small time group that he can remove like a splinter. “He had me help out after I came home from getting my degree.”

“So that is why you asked the question?”

“No, that was for me. I hoped one day to use my skills to save a good person for once. And here you are.”

He goes back to eating the food you made.

“Are you going to leave?”

He hums and shrugs.

That night you slept with him. Not as payment, because you wanted something to remember him by.

To be in the arms of someone who saved your home and thus you in the process.

“(Name)...” Above you naked with only the moonlight to height his features.

“Naib.” Under him, the darkness is shunned away as moonlight kisses your skin, “Thank you.” He is everything, though you do not love him, you want him as badly as you need air. He takes only as much as you can give. Slowly, he makes sure this is engraved on his skin and mind.

“Louder.”

You cling to him as he keeps moving, the pace going from slow to fast. Both of you are desperate to cum. Your nails scratching down his back, legs squeezing around his hips, your mouth crying out a symphony of pleasure.

Naib fights to keep his eyes open, you are the best thing that has happened to him.

“God, god, please.”

“Wrong name, try again.”

“Naib, fuck, I need you.” Tears at the corner of your eyes. He growls, hips pistols, grabs your legs, and pushes them until your knees touch your shoulders. the mercenary deeper and you are trapped, helpless. You cry out the name he gave you, everything related to him is completely on you.

He doesn't stop after the first round, nor the second, or the third. The six times he finally is exhausted and you are lying in bed completely spent on your front.

When it is morning, you wake up to his body spooning yours.

#reader insert #naib subedar #idv naib #identity v x you #identity v x reader #identity v #identity v naib #naib subedar x reader #naib subedar x you #naib x reader #naib x you #idv mercenary #identity v mercenary #idv

[mayajadewrites]

Almost: Levi Ackerman x Reader

Chapter 8: Clean

Chapter Summary: Reader is in the midst of a depression episode, and Levi refuses to be unheard. We get some sweet Levi this chapter, arguably my favorite Levi. Also cleaning Levi makes an appearance because why not!

ao3

The next day, I called in sick to work. And again. And again. 3 times. I've never called out of any job before, but the state of my mental was almost unbearable.

I didn't want to get out of bed, take care of myself, nothing of the sorts. I stayed in my bed, curled up with my favorite blanket watching Grey's Anatomy.

A therapist would probably say I'm going through a depression episode. They would be right.

My thoughts are clouded with negativity around myself that I don't want to burden on anyone else. I have sick time accrued, so why not use it.

Levi caught on to my absence on the 3rd day, since he assumed I just had 2 days off in a row and I was texting him like normal. He's been busy with work, taking on meetings and new projects.

Levi: Brat, why didn't you work today?

I close out the text thread, pushing my phone to the other side of my bed.

Bzzzzzz.

Levi: Ignoring me doesn't work.

Bzzzzzz.

Levi: You've left me no choice. I'll see you soon.

I groan, rubbing my eyes to get rid of the sleep that's still in them. Levi is serious when he says he'll see me, but I still don't want to leave my bed.

About an hour later, I hear someone banging on my door. The sounds are urgent, booming through the building.

I walk to the door, standing on my tip-toes to see who it is. Once I saw the jet black hair, I knew who it was.

I opened the door with my blanket wrapped around me, my eyes open half way.

"What is wrong with you?" Levi gently pushed me inside of the apartment, grabbing my shoulders. "What's going on? Are you sick? Did someone hurt you?"

I shook my head, looking down at my feet.

"I'll fix it. Whatever it is." Levi leaned down to my eyes, rubbing my arms gently.

"There's nothing wrong with me. I'm perfectly okay." I turn around to walk back to my room. Levi takes off his shoes at my door, then follows me.

His face turns sour once he sees the state of my room. "You've been here for days, haven't you."

I nod, burying myself in my sheets. I'm embarrassed to look at Levi. I've always wanted to impress him and here I am showing him who I really am. I'm a mess.

Levi smoothed out the sheet and sat next to me. "Tell me what's wrong."

Finally, I look at Levi and stare into his steel eyes. I could drown in them the way I was looking into them. If I don't tell him what I'm feeling now, he will more than likely never stop asking.

"I'm depressed, Levi." I sigh and sit up on the bed. "I have no motivation to do anything. My head is a bad place to be in right now."

"Tell me what your brain is telling you." Levi had a stern look on his face (no different than usual).

"That I'm not good enough. That no one will ever love me. That-" I pause, looking at him. "That you'll leave me one day because I'm so unloveable and a mess you don't want to clean up."

Levi stared at me for a moment, analyzing my features, taking in my words. I raise my eyebrow and hope that words will come out of his mouth sooner rather than later.

"I'm not leaving you." Levi put his hands on mine, rubbing my knuckles with his thumb. "If you're a mess, then I'm a mess too."

"You don't need to say that, I'm sure there are plenty of other women who are put together that would love to be with you." A tear rolls down my cheek. "Fuck, I hate crying." I wipe the tear from my face. "Especially in front of you."

Levi was silent, caressing my face slowly with his index finger. Somehow he knew exactly what I needed at that moment. No talking, just silent reassurance.

He gently pulled me down onto the bed, wrapping his arms around me. His fingers traced shapes on my skin as he left kisses on my head. I began to cry more, simply because I feel so comfortable. I expected Levi to say I'm dramatic, insult me, and leave.

That's what my father did to my mother.

We laid together for a couple of hours just soaking in each other. I occasionally felt Levi's lips on my skin, reminding me he's still there.

"Why don't we get you cleaned up?" Levi suggested as he gently pulled my arm.

"You're gonna help me shower?"

"Only if you want me to."

Well, duh I want you to. What person in their right mind wouldn't want to be naked and soapy with Levi Ackerman?

I grabbed Levi's hand, leading him to my bathroom. I brushed my teeth, making sure I scrubbed every part of my mouth.

Levi stood behind me, observing.

My back is to him as I change, sliding my t-shirt and shorts off my body, revealing my naked body. I looked at Levi's face in the mirror, which looked like he was stunned.

He said nothing though. Soon enough his shirt and pants were off, exposing his chiseled physique.

"Hot or warm?" Levi turned the shower on.

"Hot, please." I shivered, crossing my arms over my chest. Once the water was hot enough, Levi led me into the shower, making sure I was under the water.

I closed my eyes and leaned my head back - taking in the hot water. I haven't showered in days so this felt invigorating

As I pull my head back up I notice Levi staring at me with a half smile. He's sudsing up my shampoo, massaging it into my scalp, and making sure it's clean afterward. His black hair stuck to his forehead as he did this, and every move he made had me mesmerized by the way his muscles move.

Levi began washing my body, being careful on my sensitive areas. He never tried anything sexual, he just wanted to take care of me.

I smiled as Levi rubbed the washcloth over my skin, leaning my forehead on his.

"Thank you." I whisper, leaning my head on his shoulder.

"Don't thank me. Thank me by trusting me." Levi continued scrubbing, making sure every inch of me was clean.

Once Levi decided I was clean enough, he wrapped my body in a towel and kissed my forehead. "I'm staying here tonight. No if ands or buts, got it?"

I nodded, shuffling through my drawers for clean clothes. Putting on a new sweat set actually helped my mood a bit. I walked out to my living room where Levi was lighting candles while simultaneously cleaning. Leaning against the doorframe, I smiled as I watched him. He didn't seem to notice me since he was so in the zone with cleaning. His bicep twitched as he cleaned, taking off any speck of dust that lived on my furniture.

Was I taking a glimpse at my future? God, I hope so.

#levi #levi ackerman #levi ackerman x reader #levi x reader #levi fanfic #levi fanfiction #levi ackerman fanfic #levi ackerman fanfiction #attack on titan fanfic #aot #aot x reader #levi smut #levi ackerman smut #levi ackerman attack on titan

[caroldantops]

milk and cookies

ship: kate bishop x milf!reader

summary/request:  with your kids gone for the holiday, you're left alone with the babysitter.

word count: 1.6k

warnings: smut (18+ only), hints of power bottom reader, hints of service top kate, implied switch&vers!reader and kate, vaginal fingering (r receiving), lactation kink (r has the milkies), slight overstimulation, mentions of your lame ex husband

a/n: takes place at around christmas eve, but i tried to keep the holiday reader is celebrating vague! they do watch shitty hallmark christmas movies tho.

masterlist | ao3 link

Headlights fade into the distance as your ex-husband peels out of the driveway. You cringe as they go far too fast for your liking with the snow steadily covering the street, pulling out your phone to remind them, again, to text you when your kids are home safe. 

You sigh, feeling a mix of relief and sadness that your two children are no longer your responsibility for the rest of the holiday. The decorations that you'd put up twinkle, a few older bulbs flickering weakly. They illuminate the dark hair of the babysitter cleaning up wrapping paper from the floor. 

"Kate, dear, you're free to go home," you tell her. "I'll get all that later." 

"Oh no, I don't mind, really!" 

"I don't want you to have to spend your holidays with me," you give her a weak smile. Her eyebrows furrow in confusion, as if she doesn't understand why that would be painfully boring. "Unless you really find it thrilling to watch horrible Hallmark movies while my breast pump runs, then falling asleep at nine because being a parent is exhausting even when the kids aren't home." 

Kate laughs, cheeks slightly flush. She crinkles the ribbons in her hands, lithe fingers always restlessly fidgeting with anything within reach. "My family isn't...doing any holiday things this year. And all my friends are out of town. So, I don't have anywhere to be. I don't want to be a burden though! I can go and let you enjoy your movies."  

"You're more than welcome," you give her a much brighter smile this time, which she returns with enthusiasm. "But seriously, leave all the mess. I'll deal with it in the morning."

"Fine. But!" Kate jumps over the couch, and you cringe as you watch it tilt and then thump back into place. "I'm going to make you my world famous hot chocolate." 

"World famous, huh?" 

"Practically a James Beard winner," Kate says, shuffling through your cabinets and pulling out what is clearly your stash of boxed hot cocoa. 

"Funny, I think I use the same recipe," you roll your eyes affectionately, even though Kate is now completely focused on getting milk to heat on the stove. You sit down and flip to the right channel, already amused with the milquetoast white couple surrounded by Christmas trees on your screen. 

Kate starts humming to herself in the kitchen, and your eyes drift back towards her. As she patiently stirs the hot chocolate, you can't help but admire her. Her long legs clad in purple sweatpants, fuzzy holiday sweater, and her plump lips curled into a smile as she hums along to the Christmas song playing on the television. Kate can feel your gaze on her, and her eyes meet yours, crinkling at the corners with a knowing smile. 

You immediately tear your eyes away, embarrassed at being caught. 

Stop it, you tell yourself. That is your children's babysitter. 

Your children's babysitter who you know for a fact has a thing for you. Kate has been painfully obvious about it, showing no shame in flirting with you over the few months that you've known her. Nothing aggressive, but most certainly not subtle. 

Your favorite is when she gives you a compliment in front of your ex-husband, something that he never did. 

Desperate to keep these thoughts about Kate away for the rest of the night, you get up from your spot and go to find your breast pump. You switch the light on in the nursery, puzzled when you don't see the travel bag that you usually leave under the changing table. As you search the other bedrooms, wondering if you dropped it there instead, realization hits you that the bag that the kids usually take overnight is on the bed. They must've taken the travel bag - the one which has your only working breast pump in it - with them. 

Normally, this wouldn't be a huge deal. Sure, you would be sore, but you could survive a day. Except your kids - and the bag - are traveling to see their grandparents for a couple of days. No feeding, no pump. 

You look at the icy roads out of the window. Driving isn't an option right now, and even then, most stores are probably closed for Christmas. 

As you give up on thinking of a solution, you make your way back to the living room and find Kate sitting criss-cross on the couch with two mugs of hot cocoa on the coffee table in front of her. She looks up at you, eager eyes softening in concern as she sees your face. 

"You okay?" 

"Yeah," you groan, flopping on the couch next to her. "The kids took the wrong bag, so I don't have my pump." 

"Oh," Kate responds, falling silent as she stares at the pair of mugs. 

"It's fine," you sigh. "It'll just be a day or two before I can get another one, which sucks." 

"Are you sore?" Kate asks, eyes darting down to your chest, then away again. 

You notice, but simply answer, "Only a little right now, but I'm sure when I go to sleep I will be." 

"Maybe I can help." 

"All the stores are closed right now Kate, plus the snow is coming down much harder now--" 

"No, I meant," Kate's cheeks turn as red as the Rudolph nose on her sweater. "I thought maybe I could help in a different way." 

As she says this, your brain finally clicks into what she means, and you suck in a breath. Chewing on your lip, you consider for a moment. You want this. You're going to let this happen. But you want to hear her say it. 

"In what way, baby?" Your voice drops lower, and Kate audibly groans, shifting so that she's facing you. Her hands dart to the edge of your sweater, twitching as she pauses and waits for your permission. 

"Can I?" 

"C'mon, Kate," you cup her cheek, running your thumb over her chin and teasing her bottom lip. "Use your big girl words." 

"Can I taste you? Please?" Her voice cracks, coming out in a whine, and you lose any semblance of composure that you were holding onto. 

You pull her into a warm kiss, a gasp leaving you as she nips your bottom lip. Kate tugs your sweater up over your tits, not bothering to take it all the way off. She fumbles with the clasps on your bra, not understanding the little panels that are slightly damp. You help her, allowing her full access to your breasts, and she wastes little time admiring how full and swollen with milk they are. 

Her soft lips wrap around your nipple, and you sigh shakily with relief as you feel her suck. Both of you moan together as your milk first hits her tongue. Kate looks up at you, eyelashes fluttering with contentment as she drinks. You scratch at her scalp, enamored with how cute she looks gazing up at you. 

As feverishly as this began, the room settles into surprising calmness. Kate's eyes fall shut as she switches sides, and the only thing you can hear is the droning sounds of the television and the wet noises of Kate suckling you. 

Kate pauses her drinking for a moment to come up and kiss you, letting you taste yourself on her tongue. A gasp leaves your throat as Kate's knee presses against your core and your hips jerk against her. She raises an eyebrow at you. 

"Need help with that too?" 

"Yes," you answer plainly, guiding Kate's hand to your clothed cunt. 

"I think you should use your big girl words," Kate teases. You glare at her. 

"Just fuck me, Kate." She takes the hint, rubbing your dripping cunt over the material of your increasingly soaked leggings. 

"Fuck, you're so wet." Kate guides you so that you're laying down, allowing her to easily slip her hand under your waistband to stroke your clit while moving her mouth back to your breasts, unable to get enough of you. 

"God, Kate," you moan. It's been so long since any hands other than your own have touched you, and the combination of Kate's mouth and fingers have you coming far quicker than you'd like. The feeling of you clenching around her doesn't stop Kate though. She moves away from your nipple to suck marks into your neck, fucking you through your climax and sending you tumbling into a second. 

"Kate, Kate," you whine, pussy sore with overstimulation. Kate slows her movement, allowing you breathing room as she pulls out her hand and lays her head on your chest. Both of you breathe heavily, sitting with the realization that months of tension finally paid off. 

Kate breaks the silence. "Our hot chocolate is probably cold by now." 

"You're still thirsty?" 

"I have a big appetite," Kate laughs, nose bumping against your jaw. 

"Well, you obviously can't go home now," you point to the white-out outside the window. Kate props herself up on top of you to see, and you get momentarily distracted at how pretty she looks in the holiday lights. "So how about we shower and then reheat the hot cocoa?" 

"Okay, do you wanna go first?" Kate asks innocently. "It's your shower, after all." 

"Oh, we're going together," you sit up, grabbing her hips so she settles in your lap and wraps her legs around you. Kate bites her lip, hips shifting under you. "You gave me a present, now it's your turn."

"I think I gave you two presents, actually," Kate says smugly.

"I'll have to give you three then."

#kate bishop x reader #kate bishop smut #silver writes #c: kate bishop

[fowlfics]

How Frog Earrings Saved the World

Short fic written entirely within discord based on a picture of tiny clay frog earrings one of my friends made!! I might clean it up and post on AO3 later bc it ended up at nearly 1.3k, but for now, here it is

Contains: Sabo, Luffy, Ace, cute earrings, brotherly bonding & potential spoilers for Dressrosa if you're reading this before then, light angst

"Ooooh, this looks fancy!" Luffy absently called out towards his brothers, digging a small jewelry box out of the pile of trash.

He dusted it off as his brothers approached, only opening it when they were right over his shoulders.

".....whoah," Luffy gasped out, staring at the contents with stars in his eyes.

"That's rubbish," Ace scoffed derisively, moving back to the pile he had been digging through before.

"Ace is mean and grumpy," Luffy stuck his tongue out at Ace's turned back. The boy seemed to have sensed that - or he just knew Luffy far too well - and had raised a middle finger over his shoulder.

"He's right though," Sabo said, straightening up. "It might be pretty, but it's rather worthless."

Pouting, Luffy turned to look at him, pushing the small box with two very tiny clay frog earrings inside into Sabo’s face. "But I like it!"

Sabo smiled. "That just means you can keep it, yeah? It could be part of your treasure that you wear- or, well, I guess you can't, but-"

"I can wear them?" Luffy repeated eagerly.

"Well, no, your ears don't have the holes-"

"I can wear them in my ears?!"

"I- You know what," Sabo sighed. "Yes, you can wear it in your ears."

***

"Stop. Wriggling," Sabo said, exasperated, putting the needle down from where he had almost pressed it to Luffy's ear. "I can't do this if you keep moving!"

"Sorry," Luffy said, but didn't seem to be able to stop waving his legs excitedly.

"Here," Ace passed by, grabbing one of Luffy's hands and dropping into it a random beetle which he had probably just picked up from the ground. "That ought to keep him busy."

He was right, of course. Luffy stilled completely, his hand brought up so close to his face that his nose was nearly touching the beetle.

Sabo didn't waste the opportunity. It was a testament to how engrossed Luffy was - or how large his pain tolerance was - when he didn't even wince at the feeling.

By the time the beetle finally remembered it could fly away, Sabo had pierced both of Luffy's ears and placed the frog earrings in the holes.

"Okay!" Luffy straightened out. "I'll stay still, I promise!"

...Seems like he had genuinely not noticed anything Sabo had just done.

"No need," Sabo smirked and continued before Luffy could complain. "Go take a look in the mirror."

"!!!" Somehow, Luffy was capable of perfectly conveying that with his whole body. "You put it in!!! That's so cool!!! It's so- Oh, you put both of them in my ears?"

Frowning at the sudden change in tone, Sabo stepped closer to Luffy, looking his reflection in the eye. "Did you not want that?"

Fiddling with the earring, Luffy had somehow managed to pull it out of his ear without causing any damage. "There's two of them, so one's for you!"

"Oi!" Ace, the eavesdropping idiot, butted in. "What about me?"

Luffy didn't even look his way, too focused on Sabo. "Ace called these ugly trash so he won't get one."

Sabo couldn't help but snicker at Ace's outraged grumbling.

"Alright," he said, gingerly taking the offered frog and putting it into the ear holes his parents had insisted on.

For the first time, Sabo didn't mind them forcing him to get a piercing anymore.

"Now we match!" Luffy exclaimed excitedly, throwing himself at Sabo.

"Now we match."

***

Luffy spent a lot of time on the cliff overlooking the sea, one hand always resting on the frog earring.

He only had one, now. One frog. One brother.

"Ugh, you gotta stop being so... so maudlin!" Ace complained, pacing behind Luffy as he had for the past half an hour. "Sabo's gone, so what? We're still here! And, more importantly, our treasure is gone, so we have to start from scratch-"

"I don't care," Luffy mumbled into his knees petulantly.

Ace's sigh was unnecessarily loud.

"Look, I-!" He paused, taking a deep breath. "Would it make you feel better if I had a matching earring with you, too?"

Luffy straightened up, looking over at Ace in surprise. His oldest brother had always scoffed at the idea before; For him to offer...

"YES!" Luffy jumped up, throwing himself at Ace. "YES PLEASE!"

***

Makino didn't know how to make earrings, but that was okay. Luffy could figure it out on his own. He just needed some thin wire and black paint and the resulting beetles were pretty misshapen, but they were still recognizably bugs, and that's all that mattered.

(Ace winced when he saw the results, but didn't comment. )

Makino did know how to pierce ears, though. She did Ace's right one only - he insisted on that - and re-did Luffy's free one, seeing as the hole Sabo had made had closed already with nothing to hold it open.

As they both looked into the mirror - Ace with his arms crossed, Luffy with his full of snacks - for the first time sine the Terminal fire, Luffy smiled.

***

"Hey, Sabo!" Koala called, waving a newspaper at him. "Come look at this!"

It could have been anything - with Big News Morgan's style of sensational writing, "have been published in a newspaper" wasn't really as much of a filter as Sabo would have liked - but knowing Koala, this expression spelled shenanigans.

Sabo approached cautiously, in case the newspaper was just an excuse to prank him.

But no; As he got closer, Koala folded the paper to show the bounties, pushing it towards Sabo.

"This new guy who just got a bounty has the same earring as you do!"

"...That's weird," Sabo said, taking the newspaper. "Maybe it's a really popular design in the East? Damn, 30 mil as his starting bounty is pretty wild, though."

"And we've never seen it before?" Koala said skeptically. "Oh, the bounty's one thing, but also! He's not just from the East; He's from Dawn Island!"

Sabo blinked. "Maybe this kind of an earring is just... Really popular on Dawn Island?" He repeated his earlier suggestion.

He's not really sure what Koala had been expecting. For him to magically regain his memories just because a guy was wearing a frog earring-?

"And!" Koala raised a finger, taking the newspaper back. "Not only does he match with you, he also matches with-" She triumphantly held out two bounties. "This guy! They both have a... Well, I don't know what it's meant to be, but it's clearly the same thing."

Sabo blinked as he glanced between the posters. There and back, Strawhat and Firefist, Luffy and Ace.

"...He said he would never get an earring," he mumbled. "Called it trashy. Called it a risk in a fight. Called it _ugly_. Who's wearing ugly earring now, huh, Ace? At least mine's a fancy one..."

"Uh, Sabo?" Koala looked over the top of the bounties. "You realize you are talking to pictures, right?"

"Never mind that!" Sabo groaned, rubbing at his eyes. "Where the hell am I meant to find someone to do custom earrings for me?"

"...?"

"Luffy's going to be easy," Sabo motioned towards his bounty. "I'll just find him and tell him I'm alive and he'll be happy as a clam. But Ace? I'm going to have to do some SERIOUS grovelling for all those years-"

Koala seemed rather baffled at that idea. "... You have - had? - amnesia."

"Yes," Sabo nodded. "And he's going to give me so much grief about forgetting him."

"I... don't think he would hold this against you?"

"Then you clearly don't know Ace. Anyways, that's why I need the custom earring; We both match with Luffy, but if I want to get away only lightly maimed, I'll have to find something cool to match with him. Do you think he'd like a scorpion?"

#one piece #one piece sabo #portgas d ace #monkey d luffy #fanfic #asl brothers

[jadelion]

I need to know that you're ok

This is my first fanfic, I hope you like it.

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53663482

1849 words

Adaine x Fabian

Mostly fluff and a bit of hurt/comfort

Summary: Fabian doesn't want to go home, Adaine wants to help him

(Junior Year spoilers)

"You guys wanna go to Basrar's?" Fabian asked, as nonchalantly as possible.

It was the end of their first week back at school and Seacaster Manor had only felt lonelier day by day. He didn't want to make it obvious, but going back to that empty home was something Fabian desperately wanted to avoid.

Fig was the first to respond, “Sure, I got nothing else to do!”

Each of the others responded in turn, until it came to Adaine. She paused for a moment, knowing that they all did in fact have quite a lot of work to do. However, as she looked at Fabian she saw something in his eyes that convinced her to agree.

As they all climbed into the Hangvan, Adaine sat next to Fabian. She bumped his shoulder to get his attention.

“You good?” she asked with a kind smile.

“Yeah… yeah! I'm good.” he responded, in a not very convincing tone.

She nodded her head, “Alright.”

She had decided to let it rest for now, but Adaine was determined to figure out what was troubling her friend and to help him though it.

——————————

They all sat around a table at Basrar's, sipping milkshakes and eating ice-cream.

“Do you guys think Squeem will make it back here?” Kristen asked.

Fig responded, “I believe in him.”

Gorgug nodded along.

Riz pushed some papers towards Kristen and she picked them up to read with a sigh.

“Oh, is that for the campaign? How's it going?” Adaine inquired.

“Yeah, it's going great. I really think we have a shot at this.” Riz answered.

“We're going to destroy that Kippercopper Whatever-the-fuck.” Kristen said excitedly.

“Hell yes!” Fabian yelled.

The bad kids went on discussing life and school, but every now and then Adaine shifted her focus to Fabian. She just couldn't get the thought of that look in his eyes out of her head. It was lessened now, but it still worried her. She needed to know that he was alright.

——————————

Later, they were all sat around the TV in Mordred Manor. They'd picked out some fun, shitty horror movie to watch. The sun was setting by the time the credits rolled and Gorgug got out of his seat.

“I better be getting home.” He announced to the group, “Fabian, Riz, you two want a ride?"

“Yeah, sure.” Riz responded.

“Ehh, I don't need to go home right away.” Fabian said, leaning back in his seat on the sofa. “I think I'll stick around here a bit longer.”

Gorgug and Riz said goodbye and the others went back to chatting. After a while, Fig jumped out of her seat, announcing that she had just come up with an idea for a song. Without another word she ran off to her room.

About half an hour later, Kristen left as well to do her pre-bed workouts, leaving only Adaine and Fabian in the living room.

“I can leave if you want to go to bed soon.” Fabian said.

“No, no, I actually wanted to talk to you about something.” Adaine responded, turning to face him on the sofa. “What's up with you?”

“Huh?”

“You've been acting weird all week. You brushed me off when I asked about it earlier, but I know something’s wrong.”

“Adaine, I…”

“If you really don't want to talk about it that's fine, but I really just want to help you.”

Fabian sighed. “No, it's fine. It might actually be good to talk about it. So, you know how my Mama and Gilear went on holiday?"

“Yeah.”

“Well, I have no idea how to live on my own. I don't know how to cook, I don’t know how to clean my clothes… I don't know how to do anything.”

“Oh, you should’ve told us sooner, we can help you learn how to do all that stuff!”

Fabian lit up a little at this, but there was still something bothering him. “That's wonderful, thank you Adaine.” He said with some hesitation.

Adaine moved a little closer to him on the sofa. “There's still something wrong, what is it?”

“Well…” He sighed, “God this is pathetic.”

She put her hand on his shoulder and looked him in the eyes. “No Fabian, it's not pathetic to ask for help. Please, tell me about it.”

He looked away from her, fidgeting with his hands. The feeling of her hand on his shoulder made him calmer, yet somehow more nervous at the same time.

“I don't think I want to live alone. Each night in that empty house makes me more and more miserable.”

“I see, well I’m sure Jawbone and Sandra Lynn would be more than happy for you to stay here. Tracker’s old room is free now, or I have a spare bed in my room if you’d prefer that.”

Relief flooded Fabian’s body as he felt as though a weight was lifted. Though, his heart still raced for some reason that he couldn't quite understand.

“Oh, Adaine, you’re far too kind.” He said, but then he took a moment to think. “I thought Aelwyn was staying in that bed.”

Fabian’s question caught Adaine off guard, now it was her who couldn't look at him. She removed her hand from his shoulder as she stared at her reflection in the blank TV.

“Uh, not anymore. She moved out before we got back.” She paused for a moment. “I wish I could have spent more time with her before that.”

Fabian wished he could help her the way she had helped him, but there was no easy solution to this problem. So, he tentatively put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her into a hug, in hopes to at least comfort her.

His touch was warm and soft, breaking through the brave face she had being trying to put on. She leaned into the hug, struggling to keep her composure.

“We save the world and I reconnect with my sister, only to have to go out and save the world again and not get to spend any time with her. And to top it all off, I'm going to need to get about 10 jobs just to pay for school supplies.” She started crying as she buried her face into his chest. “I feel like we never get a goddamn break.”

“Adaine.” He said softly as he hugged her tighter. “I'll pay for your school stuff if you want.”

She sobbed softly. “I don't want to burden you.”

“It's not a burden. I have plenty of money, why not use it for something good?”

She was silent for a few moments, thinking it through, before she responded quietly, “Thank you, Fabian.”

——————————

They sat there silently in each others’ embrace for about 10 minutes, until they both suddenly became rather aware of their current position. Adaine could feel Fabian's heart racing and her mind wandered back to a memory that it often did, a memory that she was always trying to forget.

It was about two years ago when they had fought at the Durinson Mithral Factory. Fabian was talking to the Hangman and he made a comment about her that she wasn't really supposed to hear, but she did.

"She is rather cute”

It shouldn't have stuck in her mind the way it did, they were just friends. When he started pursuing her sister she tried to completely shove any other possibilities out of her mind. Though, that was extremely difficult to do when so much of what he did still made her heart pound.

At the same time, Fabian was trying to push away similar thoughts. That's what he had always been trying to do, attempting to find distractions that could keep his mind off her. First with Aelwyn and now more recently with Ecaf. He could let himself get caught up in those toxic relationships to keep himself from the possibility of getting his feelings truly hurt by someone who actually mattered to him.

However, he couldn't stop the fact that every time he saw her cast a powerful spell he would get a little flustered. He couldn't deny the fact that so often when he was showing off it was in an attempt to impress her. He wished these things weren't true and that he could just see her the same way he saw the rest of his friends, but they were and he couldn't.

Neither of the two knew the other’s feelings and they were both so sure that their feelings could never be reciprocated.

Adaine pushed herself away from Fabian as she felt her face flushing. His heart sank as he felt the space grow between them, but a part of him was thankful for it. However, as she turned away from him, he noticed something that made him a little worried.

“Adaine, are you feeling alright? Your whole face is red. Should I go get someone to help?”

“N- no no, I'm fine, it's nothing.” She stammered.

She stood up and moved a few paces away from him. He followed behind her, but stayed a little back, not wanting to overwhelm her.

“Adaine, seriously, what's wrong?” He asked softly.

So many thoughts were rushing through her head as she desperately tried to figure out some way to brush this all off. Without thinking, she suddenly blurted out the loudest thing on her mind.

“Do you still think I'm pretty?”

Fabian just stood there in stunned silence, trying to figure out how to respond. As soon as Adaine realised what she had said she began to panic.

“Oh, no no no no no no no.”

She started walking away, not able to face him, not able to face the look of disgust that was surely on his face. But before she could, he gently grabbed her. As she stopped in her tracks, he turned her to look at him.

“Wait, Adaine, I… yes.”

As he looked into her eyes, Fabian knew that he couldn't run from it anymore. Still holding her hand in his, he gently placed his other hand on her cheek and took a deep breath.

“Can I kiss you?” He asked quietly.

Adaine’s heart pounded in her chest as she heard those words and nodded her head. It felt like nothing mattered outside of this moment with him.

He leaned forward and kissed her softly. It was different to any kiss he'd had before. Not as intense, but just as, if not more, passionate.

As he pulled away they both took a second to process what had just happened. They each felt like they had been freed from something that had been trapping them for a while now. However, Adaine was still slightly anxious.

“What will the others say?” She asked.

“That's an issue for tomorrow.” Fabian responded, leading her back towards the sofa. “Let's just enjoy this right now.”

As they sat back down, they kissed again, this time more sure of themselves. They held one another tightly. After a while, they fell asleep in each others' arms, nervous and excited for what this change in their relationship might bring.

#fantasy high #fantasy high fanfic #fhjy spoilers #dimension 20 #fabian seacaster #adaine abernant #fabian x adaine #adaine x fabian #fabadine

[ggomos-maribat]

Soul-Stitching: The Heir and the Guardian

Masterlist

Chapter 5: death and revival | AO3

CW: Human experimentation, mentions of religion, cult-like behavior, child abuse, childhood trauma, mentions of death, grief, killing, blood, violence, injury

“Adrien, why are you screaming—oh.” A girl steps up to the top floor, and her face instantly morphs into disgust when she sees him. Her hand reaches up to her choker necklace. “It’s him.” 

“Who?” The boy, Adrien, turns to her wide-eyed after stepping over the spilled milk and cereal.

“Damian al Ghul. Or should we address you as Wayne?” 

Damian takes a tentative step back, looking down on himself to realize that he rushed out of Gotham without a mask on. But his head snaps up when it dawns on him that the girl called him ‘al Ghul’, which means they must have heard it from Marie. 

Which means she hasn't forgotten. 

“ That Damian?” Adrien puts a hand over his mouth. “Wait what's he doing here anyway?” 

“I don't know, but it might have something to do with that thing she's telling us.” 

Before Damian can try to comprehend what that meant, another figure emerges from the shadows. 

Marie. Marinette. 

What is she doing here? Damian is frozen with shock. 

Marie seems surprised by his presence as well, but she quickly schools her expression and stands behind her two friends.

“Should we kick him out, M'lady?” Adrien frowns. 

She sighs. “No. I'll talk to him. Kagami, please help Adri clean up the spill. I'll pass a message to Fei that we have a guest.” 

---

Damian follows her quietly down a winding flight of stairs, with only a bit of the moonlight guiding them. His eyes end up on her hand, which braces against the wall—there are crimson marks around her wrist.  When she doesn't utter another word, he breaks the silence himself instead, “What are you doing here?” 

She halts and turns back to him, making him stumble back. Her eyes shimmer more luminously in the dark. “I escaped for a while. There's a decoy up in the Watchtower.” 

That explains one of the questions he had. She can escape on her own after all. Of course, he's not telling the others this. She must have been shaken up after the memory projection. 

They reach a landing that extends into a carpeted hallway. If the place isn't so dark or badly damaged, the temple's design can rival that of the League. She leads him to a set of double doors and into her bedroom. 

“What are you doing here?” asks Marinette. 

“I—I saw what they did . . . and um, the Order . . .” He trails off, hoping that she can fill in the blanks. 

She sits down and beckons him over. Normally, he wouldn't blindly follow anyone, even if he has known her in his childhood. But something about the temple makes him feel safe. It's not enticing , but rather comforting. It's like his entire being knows there's no danger around him. 

“If you're looking for the Order of the Guardians, I killed them,” she says plainly. 

“What?” 

“I guess I should start from the beginning huh?” 

---

The Waynes decide to give Damian his space and instead focus on investigating the case. Mainly, it's Barbara immersing herself into research, with Tim helping in the sidelines. Five hours later, she calls everyone to the cave. 

“Where's the old man?” Jason strolls in, tugging off his helmet. 

Dick pulls his lips into a thin line. “Watchtower still. I think the JL is investigating on their own too.” 

“Well, he has to be here, ‘cause this is all fucked up.” Jason leans against the railing as the rest of the family gathers around Barbara. 

“What do you mean? You're caught up in this case too?” Tim is about to lift his cup to his lips but Cass is quick to snatch it away from him. 

“I asked Jay to look into it too,” Barbara explains calmly. Her tiredness is evident in her eyes, but it's coupled with an air of rage. “Marinette's past is more complicated than we think.” 

“There is a small village in Tibet inherently blessed by the gods. The records date to several hundred years ago,” she begins. “Every two decades or so, a child called the ‘Guardian’ is born in that village. They possess every power we know that is manifested through the miraculi.” 

She pulls up several pictures: a few photos of children, but most are paintings. A striking feature appears as a pattern. “The Guardian always has these blue eyes. They're not from any specific family; the children appear randomly from different lineages. And there can only be one of them at a time. If the previous Guardian dies, a new one is reborn.” 

---

“My eyes . . .” 

“They weren't as blue,” Damian breathes out. 

Marinette touches the corner of her eyes, chuckling humorlessly. “Yeah, they weren't. This is where the Order of the Guardians come in. They operate under the guise of a religious group who worship the Guardian and the gods so that tragedy doesn't befall the village. Every time a new Guardian turns four, they fetch the child from the village.” 

---

“In reality, they're just a sick disgusting cult of old men,” Jason spits out. “People who know about the miraculi believe that they came from a mage that put the power of the kwamis into the magic jewel. That's bull. The Guardian is the source of that power.” 

Stephanie draws in a shaky breath. “So . . . so when they were drawing blood . . .” 

“It's some kind of ritual,” Barbara continues. The tension in the air multiplies. “With magic, the blood mixed with an accessory creates a miraculous.” 

“But each miraculous is only one of its kind,” Dick points out. “Unless there are duplicates?” 

“The ritual doesn't work all the time, that's why they have to—to experiment which methods will work to combine the jewel with the power.” 

---

Damian swallows a lump in his throat as Marinette speaks monotonously about the Order. “The monks weren't strategizers so they usually tried every variation of the ritual they could think of. For instance, to extract the power of Emotion—the Peacock—should they make the Guardian cry? Should they anger the child or subject them into an assortment of emotions? What about the power of Destruction? Will breaking every bone in their body work?” 

He hasn't noticed how hard he's clutching the sheets. 

“Multiply that with the variations in the jewels. Which power will work with earrings? A necklace? That's one vial of blood for each variation.” Marinette rubs her arm. “Over the course of seventy years, they ran their experiments and created all the miraculi you know that showed up in Paris.”

“That's why they're unique,” Damian mumbles. 

“Not entirely. Some of the ‘failed’ jewels worked, only they don't possess even half of the Guardian's power. They are like . . . disposable miraculi. Their power can only be used once and it doesn't even transform the user. The Order produced hundreds of these—they call them miraculous-adjacents.” 

How many children did they sacrifice? He wishes he can revive the Order just to subject them to torture himself. 

“How did you end up in . . .?”

---

“How does Marinette fit into all of this?” Dick asks. 

“She's a Guardian, isn't she?” Tim guesses. 

“It's not as straightforward as that.” Barbara adjusts her glasses, opening another file: a picture of a dark-haired girl with bright blue eyes. 

Yet it's not Marinette. 

“Like you saw in the memory projection, Marinette came from the League of Assassins. There's a League base not too far from the temple; it's where she and Damian escaped from. When she died, I'm guessing they found her body. This girl was the Guardian at that time.” 

---

“She didn't have a name. Guardians usually weren't given one. She fell into a coma because of their experiments,” Marinette leans back. 

“Did they not kill her?” 

“They can't draw any more blood or directly kill her, because they risk waiting for years until a new Guardian is born. I don't know the exact rebirth cycle—the life expectancies of Guardians are already low but that girl was too young to die. Bottomline is, they refused to kill her but they couldn't wake her up either.” Marinette waves her hands around. “Lucky for them I guess, they found me.” 

Dread settles on Damian's chest. “But you . . .” 

“Were dead? Yes, but I had the body strong enough to withstand the Guardian's power. They performed one important ritual. I'm not sure exactly how they did it, because I was—obviously–busy being dead, but they joined the two of us somehow. Her soul, my body. When I woke up, everything was healed–my leg, the wound from the knife, my scars. I had memories that weren't my own but at the same time, I knew I lived through them. They called me a vessel.” 

He can only imagine the confusion, the stress taking a toll on her that time. 

“You—you don't have to tell me if it's too much,” Damian stammers. 

“What? No, it's okay. I owe you this much.” She seems surprised at his interjection. “I've told this story a few times already.” 

He gives a nod and she continues, “Even if I was healed, I was still weak from the cold and hunger. I stayed quiet the whole time, gathered as much information as I could, and let them get blood from me. One day, I saw an opening.” 

She pauses. 

“I killed them.”

She waits. Perhaps for judgment from him? 

“I killed them all, Master. I had all the powers at my disposal anyway. I knew I was an assassin first before a Guardian, so I made sure I got rid of all of them. I made this temple into what it is today.” 

Damian remembers seeing the powers of Destruction manifested through the ring in the videos of the akuma attacks. She must wield a greater degree of power than that. He moves closer to her and takes her hands into his, telling her slowly, “I would've done the same.” 

“Master–” 

“Do not call me that,” he cuts in. “You cannot call me that after what I've done to you.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“It's my fault you died.” Damian starts to shake. “I treated you terribly even when you protected me. I was too arrogant to see that you were in pain—” 

“What are you talking about?” Marinette frowns, this time covering his hands with hers. “You never treated me badly. You were the reason I remained in the League.” 

“I . . .” 

She runs her fingers over his knuckles. “You protected me even if I was weak. You made sure I ate and slept. You would protect me in fights just as I tried to protect you.” 

---

“Climb on my back.” Damian crouches in front of the girl. He has noticed her labored breaths since they started walking through the snow. 

“Master, I can't possibly—” 

“It's faster this way. They made you work too hard, didn't they?” he hisses. “I will tell Mother this time. You have no other business in the bases except to serve me.” 

Marie reluctantly goes on his back, locking her arms around his neck and burying his face on his shoulder. His breath hitches when he realizes how light she has become. 

---

“Why are you sitting over there?” 

She blinks at him. “To guard the entrance, Master. You can go ahead and sleep.” 

“No. Stay here by the fire.” 

“But what if the enemies—” 

Damian sighs and digs into the backpack to retrieve the heat packs. He tosses two to her and tells her to wake him up at midnight so they can switch. But when he wakes up, he finds that it is dawn and Marie has dozed off by the cave opening, shivering. 

“Tt. Foolish girl.” He rushes to wrap her up in a blanket before carrying her into the sleeping bag and taking her place. 

---

“Marie!” Overcome with panic, he kills the assassin quickly and tosses him over the edge of the cliff. He tries to look for the backpack but then she grabs him by the sleeve. 

“I'm sorry, Master . . . it fell when I was . . .” she sniffs. 

“Ssh, none of that.” His heart is racing as he tries to look for a makeshift bandage and splint. 

“Please don't worry about me. We have to go—” 

“I will worry. What were you thinking? Why didn't you wake me?” He hoists her up again, taking care not to move her injured foot. 

---

“Master—I mean Damian. ” Marinette reaches up to cup his cheek. “Have you forgotten?” 

A sob comes out of him. It all starts coming back—his dreams have overshadowed his memories, painting him as the ruthless child who was indifferent to Marie. He was too overridden by guilt to remember correctly. He starts to cry while inwardly scolding himself for forgetting everything. 

She doesn't say a word but lends her shoulder, holding him close. Damian realizes it has never felt this liberating to cry. 

“I never blamed you for anything,” she whispers. “I did it to myself.” 

“I’m sorry—” 

“It's not your fault.” Her voice is close to his ear. “It's okay. I'm okay now.” 

---

“There's no record of what happened to Marinette after she was taken by the Order,” says Jason, “But after a year or so, she was found walking into the village alone. There was no blood on her or anything but she didn't speak at all. The monks weren't seen again after that and the temple was abandoned. Protective services picked her up months later.” 

“This is all just a theory, but she could have gained the powers of the Guardian.” Barbara rubs her head. “Must be why Constantine was so alarmed.” 

“So the Hawkmoth thing . . . actually checks out?” Stephanie says. 

Jason scoffs in reply. “No, it's the opposite of that. If she had the powers of the miraculi at her disposal, why the hell would she terrorize a city?” 

“Jason and I found another reason for the evidence against her,” Barbara explains. “Marinette is the Guardian in the sense of her powers, but also in the sense of being the keeper of the magical jewels.” 

“Marinette is—” 

---

“I'm Ladybug, by the way.” 

Damian's eyes widen while he tries to wipe the last of his tears. “Why didn't you say that in court?” 

“We had a plan, don't worry.” She smiles a little. “It's also dangerous to reveal my identity that easily. I have more duties to fulfill as Guardian.” 

“Duties?” 

←Previous Chapter | Next Chapter →

Did I just make Marinette Gojo Satoru? Yes. Yes I did. Taglist: @noisydreamlandkoala

#tw child abuse #tw suicide #maribat fanfic #dc x mlb #mlb x dc #maribat #maribat fic #daminette #marinette dupain cheng x damian wayne #tw blood #ggomoz #maribat damian wayne #maribat marinette dupain cheng #SS:H&G

[orionchildofhades]

steddie swapping soulmate au part 5

part 1 |[...]| part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | Ao3

---

when he wakes once more, Eddie is back in his body.

he knows because he is not hurting. and thats something.

he shift in his bed, enjoying the lack of aches and thinking over the previous day.

now that his mind is not as hazy, he tries to put the informations he learned in order. he wants to keep everything in, and make sure he understands his soulmate.

for a second he lets himself dream of waking up in his soulmates bed once more. but with his soulmate. with this person, his person, by his side. and it's stupid because they are fifteen, and Eddie is sixteen and they probably won't meet until much later when they both, hopefully, would have moved out.

he frowns. he didn't learn much though.

they can't see well, and they have a big bed in a big room in what is probably a big house.

and that's it.

I mean, they're also sick but that's only temporary, he adds, unless it's not? maybe they have, like, some disease?

he panicks for a second, not sure to be able to just leave their soulmate alone at home while suffering, everyday at every hour, without even company

he breath a little, reminding himself that both of them will be fine and that there is pretty much nothing he can do at the moment.

but it's okay. it's alright because he knows he has a soulmate know and he can carefully plan their wedding while acting cool and collected on the outside.

all thoughts are cut off when Wayne barges into his room, in very un-Wayne fashion.

"Patricia?" Eddie asks, trying to come back to earth from his little daydream

"What? No, son, why didn't you tell me you swapped? I just read over Patricia's note!"

"Patricia met my soulmate?" he jumped out of bed and almost fell over the pile of book that was not there the previous day. or the day before that perhaps.

"Yeah, and barely said nothing about them! she wrote, and I quote, 'it seems to me that Eddie has a very nice soulmate and I hope I'll can spend the day with them sometime again soon'" Wayne said before looking up from the paper he held in one hand.

Eddie on the other hand was walking to his own desk where he looked for a couple of books, which were now in the pile by his bed, before coming back and checking more titles. he could swear the last one was at the bottom of his laundry basket last time he checked. which had been a while, admittedly.

"I think Patricia and my soulmate cleaned my room..." he told Wayne with big eyes, full of both wonder, and terror.

seeing how clean and peaceful his other half's room had been, he couldn't muster the will to wonder about what his soulmate thought of him and the mess - organised mess!- of his bedroom.

with something akin to pity and understanding behind his eyes, Wayne nodded once, "that's tough kid, but at least they made cookies?" he said with a shrug before leaving the room

it's only once Eddie got back in his room, done with mopping about being shamed in his own space, and his belly filled with the delicious cookies Patricia had baked, that he saw the small note on his bedside table.

he was thinking over the fact that his soulmate had cooked him something, relishing in the addition of the sweet taste of cinnamon in the usual recipe, before he made a go for the furniture and took with careful hands, almost worshipping, the tiny piece of paper.

sorry you had to go through my flu, I didn't touch under your bed (that's personal), I enjoyed spending the day with your aunt(?), until next time ;)

Eddie lets a squeal escape his lips before falling, swooning really, on his bed, clutching the thin layer of matter witholding so many of his emotions.

he couldn't wait to meet them, he only whishes he had a name to put on them

#patricia and steve making cookies together #wayne feels for eddie because he himself went through the same thing with Patricia #but she left a lengthy note for him after shifting the first time about how she'd keep cleaning even if he didn't #as the writer #i can tell you #Patricia needs to clean everything #her truck is the cleanest motherfucker on the road #she smells nice #steddie #stranger things #steve harrington #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #eddie munson #eddie x steve #orionwritesthingies

[sweeter-innocence-fics]

Learn To Love Again - Chapter Twenty: Pegging

Pairing: Pietro Maximoff x Reader

Work Summary: You have a hard time letting go. Pietro helps you out. An exploration of kink with Pietro Maximoff. Each chapter from chapter 2 onwards will be a different kink.

Chapter Summary: Roles are reversed.

Series Masterlist

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2927

Read on AO3.

Masterlists.

Taglist: @ifilwtmfc @mcximffs @xlucyintheskywithdiamondsx @lanemarvels @maddieisbored @marrigold-2002 @kathrinchek @mrs-kai-anderson @ang3l1te @missryerye @strawberrysoldat @tayswozle @noz4a2 @rottenstyx @tiredbut-here @blueallover @alternativeprincess @annocaprosmaloka @thrutheburnout

Taglist info.

Previous Chapter

Notes:

yes I know it's been forever, sorry that it's been so long I wrote part of this while recovering from general anaesthetic, so if it doesn't make sense, I'm sorry and I'll try to fix it later.

warnings for the author being only semi-conscious while writing and posting, pegging, thunderstorms, pietro being emotionally vulnerable, mentions of war/bombs/parent death/pietro's childhood trauma

thank you for your kindness

---

You thought that Pietro was asleep until a rumble of thunder made him tense up beside you. Wordlessly, you pushed further into his space, pressing your lips to his cheek. He caught your hand and squeezed.

You hesitated for a moment. The bliss that you and Pietro were existing in seemed suddenly fragile, and you didn’t know if what you were about to say would break it. To soften the blow, you nuzzled him, pressing kisses along his jaw.

“Why don’t you like storms, baby?” you murmured.

Pietro just sighed. His arm tightened around your waist though, so he didn’t seem to be upset with you.

“It’s not storms specifically,” he said. “Just… I don’t like when things are out of my control. Most things I can see coming, but the thunder… Well. I can’t. Makes me feel helpless. Like I’m a kid again.”

The left remained unsaid. He’d already confided in you about the night his parents died. The way that he and Wanda had huddled in the rubble all night, clutching each other and praying that the bomb wouldn’t go off. No wonder loud, unpredictable sounds upset him.

You rolled over so that you were half on top of him, both hands pressed against his chest.

“Do you want me to fight Thor for you?” you whispered conspiratorially, and to your delight, he huffed out a laugh. There was a pause. He trailed his fingertips down your bare arm, making you shiver. “You know… You might not be able to tell when the thunder is coming, but I can.”

“You can?”

“Sure I can. It’s all electricity. I can feel it just before the lightning strikes, and the thunder follows a few seconds later.”

“That’s cool,” he said non-committally, tracing patterns on your skin with a fingertip.

“When I was kid, I loved storms,” you continued. “At my grandparents’ house there were these big double doors, and whenever there was a storm, we would all sit with the doors open and watch it. Sometimes it rained so hard that the road turned into a river, and then the frogs came out.”

Pietro still wasn’t looking at you. “That sounds very nice.”

“Pietro… Do you want to watch the storm with me? If you can see the lightning, then you won’t be surprised by the thunder. Plus, you’ve got me. I can warn you when the lightning is about to hit.”

He met your eyes. In the darkness of the bedroom, you could see his jaw clench.

“If you hate it, we can come back in here and I’ll find another way to distract you,” you said, smoothing a thumb over his nipple so that your meaning was clear.

“Fine. Let’s do it.”

You kissed his cheek and then slid out of bed. Pietro’s hoody was hanging on the back of the door, so you pulled it on over your bare chest. By the time you had put on a clean pair of panties and some pyjama bottoms, Pietro had put on a t-shirt and boxers.

“Hot chocolate?” you suggested, and he nodded.

As he heated up the milk, you leant back against the kitchen counter, admiring him. Your eyes trailed up and down his body, taking in the hard set of his jaw, the tension in his broad shoulders, the way he kept dragging his hand through his hair.

You slipped into the space behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist. His back was firm against your front. You weren’t tall enough to rest your chin on his shoulder, so you settled for pressing your face between his shoulder blades.

“What are you doing?” he asked, sounding amused.

“Cuddling you,” you said, squeezing his waist.

He didn’t try to detach from you as he finished up making the hot chocolate, so you followed him around the kitchen, keeping your hands under his t-shirt.

“You’re like a little koala,” he said as he picked up the two finished cups, and you finally had to detach yourself from him.

You scoffed. “You can talk.” You took your drink from him.

Mug in hand, you made your way into the living room. There was a very wide window behind one of the sofas that was perfect for your purposes. You set your hot chocolate on the coffee table and unhooked the latch, throwing the window wide open.

You stuck your face and arm out of the window, letting the rain fall on your face. Beside you, you felt Pietro settling down on the sofa. There was a familiar tingle of anticipatory electricity in the air.

You turned to Pietro. “Lightning is coming.”

He gripped his mug with both hands. After a moment, the sky flashed a bright white. You pressed your foot against Pietro’s bare calf. You closed your eyes, took a deep breath and then exhaled with the rumble of thunder.

When you closed your eye, you found that Pietro was watching you.

“Okay?” you asked, and he nodded. “Good.”

You picked up your mug and took a sip. It was delicious. Pietro knew just how you liked it. Sitting here, with the sweet taste of chocolate in your mouth, the heady, post-sex warmth in your gut, legs intertwined with the man you loved, your heart gave a little squeeze.

The air was rich and earthy with rain. You stuck your hand out the window again, catching the cool drops. Pietro’s hand came up to rest on your knee, and you looked over at him. He shot you a grin over his mug of hot chocolate. Although you’d been dating for close to a year now, your heart still melted every time he smiled at you.

“Prinţesă?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

*

Pietro may have brought a selection of toys for you to use while on holiday, but he hadn’t anticipated the little deal that the two of you had made, so a few days later, he disappeared for a few hours in the afternoon and came back with an opaque black plastic bag.

“Have you got me a present?” you teased, because you liked to watch him squirm.

“You could say that,” he said, pressing the bag into your hands. You opened it. Sure enough, it contained a strap-on and some more lube.

“You shouldn’t have.” You stood up on tiptoes to kiss him. “Does this mean it’s my turn?”

“If you want,” he said, a little shyly.

“Now?”

“I need to get ready.”

“Me too.” You kissed him again, letting yourself lean against him for just a moment before falling back onto your heels. “Go on then.” You pushed him away lightly, but he ignored you, closing the gap between you again.

He caught your lower lip between his teeth and bit down gently, just hard enough to make you gasp. He released your lip, then kissed you once more, and then with a wink, disappeared in a silver-blue blur.

You pulled the strap-on out of the bag. It seemed pretty simple. You kicked off your panties and shorts and then slipped the harness on over your hips. It had straps that pressed against the insides of your thighs too. You fastened all the straps as tightly as you comfortably could. The dildo that came with it was six inches, not too long or thick for Pietro’s first time. You attached it to the harness with fumbling fingers, securing it tight.

Once you were happy with it, you stripped off your t-shirt and bra, so you were naked except for the strap-on. Your phone buzzed. It was a text from Pietro.

Ready when you are ;)

Feeling a tingle of anticipation in your gut, you walked into the bedroom. Pietro was lounging on his bed in a pair of dark blue boxers that did nothing to hide the shape of him. He sat up, his eyes eagerly raking over you.

“Come here,” you purred, and he didn’t have to be told twice. He was in your space in a split second, nose to nose with you, hands on your bare waist. As he moved in to kiss you, you stopped him. “On your knees, baby.”

He stared at you, wide-eyed. You put a hand on his shoulder and he seemed to take the hint, sinking to his knees. You cupped his cheek, tilting his face up towards you. He looked up at you, his blue eyes piercing your soul.

“Pretty boy,” you cooed. “Suck me off.”

He didn’t hesitate. He wrapped his lips around the dildo and then looked up at you through his lashes.

“Fuck, Pietro,” you groaned, sliding your hand into his hair. “That’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

He took the strap deeper, hollowing out his cheeks to suck. The motion was firmly pressing it against your clit, making you shiver. His hands came around to cup your ass. He rocked your hips forward, so that you were fucking his mouth.

You gripped his hair tight, drawing a moan out of him. He squeezed your ass hard, continuing to fuck his own face with your strap. His fingers slid down the crack of your ass, all the way around until they were skirting the edge of your pussy.

A fingertip entered your hole, and then another, and before you knew it you were gasping and whimpering as Pietro fingered you. His other hand maintained a firm grip on your ass cheek, rocking your hips back and forth to meet his fingers and his face.

“Baby,” you breathed. Your legs were beginning to shake, but you knew Pietro wouldn’t let you fall. As the strap continued to grind against your clit, you came with a stuttering gasp.

As you trembled with the aftershocks, Pietro’s hand slid upwards, splaying over your lower back to keep you steady. You swore, clinging to him until you no longer felt as though you were about to collapse.

You pulled back and Pietro looked up at you with his big blue eyes. You cupped his jaw again.

“You’re good at that,” you cooed, thumbing over his lower lip. “You ever done something like that before, sweetheart.” He shook his head. “You sure?”

He raised a hand. “Scout’s honour. I guess I’m just a natural.” His cocky grin had returned.

“I’ll bet, pretty boy. Now get up on the bed.” You slapped his cheek lightly. “Hands and knees.”

Opting to move at a normal human speed rather than use his powers, he got to his feet. Then he turned to the bed, crawling onto it so his ass was facing you.

He did have a very nice ass. You knew that already, but you’d never got as up close and personal as you were about to. You climbed up onto the bed behind him, grabbing hold of both his asscheeks. He let out a little contented sigh.

You slipped your left hand between his cheeks, pressing your thumb to his puckered hole. His breath hitched. You could feel the lube that he’d already used to prepare himself, but you still wanted to get him warmed up before you fucked him.

The bottle of lube was lying on the bedspread. You flicked it open and squirted a generous amount into your hand.

Leaning forward, you pressed your tongue against his hole. He jumped, instinctively leaning away for a moment, but then he exhaled deeply and moved back towards you.

“Okay?” you asked, bringing up a hand to stroke his spine.

“Okay.”

“You know the safe word if you want me to stop.”

“I know. I don’t want you to stop.”

You leant back in, licking over his hole. He shivered. You didn’t know what you were expecting it to taste like, but more than anything, you could taste the cherry flavoured lube he’d used.

With hand, you started to fondle his balls. He ground his hips back towards you, trying to get more physical contact. As your pinky finger traced the underside of his cock, he let out a stream of swear words.

“You like that?” you teased.

“Fuck you.”

“As you wish.”

You moved downwards, tonguing at his ball sack. The middle and ring fingers of your left hand found their way back to his entrance and gentle breached the ring of muscle. They slid inside with not too much effort. He had pre-prepared himself already, after all.

He let out a little whimper. You took that as a good sign. As you pressed your fingers as deep as they would go, you crooked them the way you’d read about online, searching for that sweet spot inside him, until,

“Fuck, right there,” he groaned.

“Here?” You massaged over the soft spot you’d found until Pietro was panting.

“I need- I need-”

“What do you need, baby?”

“More.”

“You want me to fuck you with my strap?” Wordlessly, he nodded. “I need to hear you say it.”

“Please fuck me,” he groaned.

You withdrew your fingers from inside him and his hips chased you, trying to maintain the friction. Kneeling up behind him, you grabbed the discarded bottle of lube and poured a generous helping onto your dildo.

You rubbed it up and down, coating it in the lubricant before you lined it up with Pietro’s asshole. His hips moved back to meet you again as you did so.

“Hi,” you said affectionately, running the fingertips of your free hand down his back. He turned his head to look back at you over his shoulder. He had a dopey grin.

“Hi.”

“Deep breath, baby.”

You heard him exhale, and then you slipped the strap into him, just an inch to begin with. You paused, waiting for any sign of pain, but none came.

“Let me know if it hurts, okay?” He mumbled his assent, so you slipped in a little deeper. This time, he let out a grunt of pain. You stopped moving, tracing patterns over his back with your fingertips until his breathing slowed to normal.

“More. Please. I can take it.”

You dug your nails into his skin the way you knew he liked, and pushed the rest of the way in. Pietro was gritting his teeth, so you went slowly. He had claimed he could take this, but he also had a cocky streak, and you didn’t want to hurt him.

Fully seated inside him, you stayed still, waiting for him to adjust.

“Fuuuuck, that’s good,” he murmured, making a fire bloom inside you. You hadn’t realised how worried you’d been that Pietro might not enjoy this until he said that.

“You ready for me to move?”

“Please.”

You shifted and began to thrust shallowly with your hips. You kept your movements slow and measured until Pietro groaned and said, “Rougher. Harder. More, please.”

And how could you say no to a request like that? Especially since as he asked so nicely.

You began moving faster, trying to angle your hips to hit his prostate. His arms were starting to shake, so you leant forward and grabbed a handful of his hair, pushing his face down into the mattress.

“Fuck.” His moans of pleasure were slightly muffled by the duvet, so you pulled back a tiny bit, just enough to let him turn his head to the side before you grabbed his hair again.

Your hips were moving faster now, fucking him hard and deep. With every thrust, the strap was bouncing against your clit, so you were chasing your own pleasure as much as you were giving him his.

He was barely coherent now, letting out a string of filthy words. With your free hand, you reached underneath him, curling your fingers around his neglected cock. You sent a tingle of electricity down it, and with one final thrust, he spilled all over your hand.

You felt his knees give way beneath you, and slipped out of him as he collapsed forward. You grabbed a tissue from the bedside table and wiped the cum off your hand.

He was lying limply on his front, staring at you with hazy eyes. You picked up the packet of baby wipes you kept on the nightstand.

His ass was sticky with lube, so you used a few wipes to mop him up, since you doubted he felt like showering right now.

“Roll over, baby,” you said, nudging his hip.

With great effort, he rolled over onto his back. With the wipes, you cleaned up the cum and lube on his front. The entire time he watched you dopily, smiling whenever you met his eyes.

“I like it when you take care of me,” he murmured, reaching for you.

“That’s what I’m here for. We take care of each other.”

“It’s nice to have someone love me the way you do.” His speech was a little slurred. He seemed on the point of falling asleep. “No one’s ever loved me like this before.” That made you pause.

“I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you, Piet,” you said. Following the guidance of his grabby hands, you climbed into his lap. “I’d do anything for you.”

“I thought I’d been in love before.” His hands were climbing up your body, urging you down towards him. “But it never felt like this before.” There was a desperate urgency in his tone. “This is it, right? You and me? For the long haul?”

“Of course, my love.” You let him pull you into a hug. He clung to you with surprising fervency. You had no idea where this was coming from.

“Just you and me?”

“Just you and me,” you agreed.

Next Chapter: Spanking Redux (Daddy Kink)

#pietro maximoff x reader #pietro maximoff x you #pietro maximoff smut #pietro maximoff fanfiction