#see see it’s about closing distance it’s about removing layers

[whaliiwatching]

gradual closing of the gap

#spider man: across the spider verse #spider punk #spider noir #hobie brown #noirpunk #see see it’s about closing distance it’s about removing layers #i’m joking there was zero thematic planning to this #i just forgot i’d already drawn the pose once #hobie so cute tho.. ugh #yes they’re badasses with little to no emotional filter #but I WANT THEM TO BE SWEET AND SHY #as a treat for all the spider-man related trauma they can be soft w each other…….. #stick it to the man!!!!! hold ur bf’s hand!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader

Simon needing to hold you after a bad day.

The tiny apartment was completely silent as Simon unlocked the door and stepped inside, head hung low and shoulders tense. Lights were turned down, tv was off; you were most likely already asleep by now. It was late, much later than he had told you he’d be back, but he had been struggling with the weight of his thoughts again today and had barely made it in. He would have let you know that he was going to be late… it was just…he couldn’t find the will to even shoot you a quick text.

It wasn’t like him to be concerned about who knew where he was or what he was doing, choosing to distance himself from everything and everyone that could potentially catch a glimpse of him cracking behind the mask, but right now all he wanted was to get back to the place he called home before he fell apart and the world would swallow him whole.

As quietly as he could he set his things down beside the door and continued on through the flat, catching little bits of you everywhere: your shoes lying scattered by the wall, the blanket you’d just been curled up in tossed haphazardly in a bundle on the sofa, a mug on the coffee table that had the remnants of your drink stuck to the inside. Scattered bits of you everywhere across his life as little reminders of what he had that waited for him here and for the first time all day it felt a little easier to breathe to know his angel was close by.

Passing near the kitchen, Simon spotted a piece of paper with his name scribbled on the front waiting for him on the countertop, your familiar handwriting obvious to his eye. He picked it up and unfolded it.

Hey baby,

I really tried to stay up, I promise, but you know how work has been kicking my ass lately. I thought maybe I could just take a nap until you got in, but I was worried that if I laid down I wouldn’t wake up, so I thought I’d leave this here for you to find. Didn’t want you to think I forgot about you. Just wake me when you get in, alright? I don’t care what time it is, I want to see you!

Love you.

P.S. I left some dinner in the fridge if you haven’t eaten yet. We can reheat it and eat it together. XOXO 

Christ, what did he do to deserve all this?

Always looking out for him, always making sure he had a place back in the real world whenever he came home. He held that piece of paper between his hardened fingers, the note more significant than it should have been after the type of day he had. You were the closest to heaven as he could get, more than he ever thought he would get to have and that’s why it was you he was trying to break down that wall to come to for comfort. 

His sight flicked to the fridge where you said you’d left him something; he was definitely starving, but just the thought of the effort it would take to eat right now was too much and the knot that rested in the pit of his stomach made him too nauseous anyway. There was something that would fill him far better than food could and he knew just where to find it now.

Moving on to the living room, he set himself down heavily on the couch and began to remove his boots and the outer layers of his clothing along with his mask, stripping away all the bits of his life as the stone cold sniper now that he was safe here in his little sanctuary. Stripped bare until he was down to his boxers, Simon gently crept towards the back of the apartment hoping he would make it to the bedroom before this feeling took him. 

Closer and closer he walked towards the other half of his heart.

The door stood slightly ajar to invite him inside and as he stepped up to it, he caught the hushed, rhythmic sounds of your breathing as you slumbered. It sounded so peaceful that he could have stood there in the dimly lit hallway and listen to it all night long. Just a few more steps, barely any distance left, and he would truly be home.

The room was completely dark save for the small crack in the curtains that let in just a bit of light from the streetlamp outside, helping him to find his way through the maze of darkness. As those brown eyes adjusted to the lack of light, Simon turned his attention to the bed and his heart skipped a beat. There you were: the outline of your body silhouetted under the covers, your head buried in your pillow, all cares left behind as you slept.

No sound did he make as he crept to the edge of the bed and lifted the sheets so that he could climb inside and up against your body laying in the center. One strong arm slipped up under your pillowed head while the other wrapped around your waist until you were encircled and he pulled you slowly so that your back rested up against his chest. His body molded into yours still warm from being wrapped up tight.

You stirred awake gently at the feeling of that familiar large body suddenly laying beside you. “Hey you,” you whispered sleepily, a smile on your lips as your eyes fluttered as they worked to open. “Tried to wait up, but I got so tired I had to go lay down. I’m sorry, but I’ll make it up to you.”

Only silence greeted you as a response. No chuckle at your predictability, no picking remarks about how you couldn’t even stay up to see him, just the sound of labored breaths in and out as he lay there in the darkness curled up against you.

Silence only meant one thing and you knew it well.

“You okay baby?” you asked, but again there was no answer. Only the squeeze of his arm around your waist pulling you in tighter to his chest gave you any sort of reply as Simon’s nose nuzzled into the crook of your neck, his eyelashes brushing over your skin.

It was clear just from the silence that he was far from okay, that he must have been bottling this up for God knows how many hours so that the world would not see that he was not always the tough, put together soldier he was supposed to be. But he could not hide it from you...he didn't want to hide it from you.

You heard him inhale deeply, trying to capture as much of your scent as he could until it filled his head: your natural musk mixed with the smell of the sheets and added hints of shampoo and body wash. That comforting scent that belonged to only you that he couldn't ever get enough of, the one that helped to relax his troubled mind. Instantly the tension he had been carrying like a boulder upon his shoulders all day finally released him from its stranglehold. 

Gentle, exploring hands tentatively went up under your baggy shirt, one of his old worn ones you loved to wear to bed to keep him close even when he wasn’t there, as he just wanted to make contact with all that delicately soft skin. He traced over curved paths he knew by touch alone: it was soft, it was familiar, it was safe and his heartbeat slowed as the ache in his chest dissipated enough that he could finally talk.

“Bad day,” he whispered finally, warm breath against your shoulder. "Really fuckin' bad day... again."

You rolled over in his arms until you came face to face with those sad auburn eyes, moved by the shame in his tone. It broke your heart that each time he had one of these days he felt such guilt about it, as if he simply should have been over it all by now, as if he wasn't human, but you were not about to let him overthink the struggle. There was nothing to be shameful about.

“I’m sorry baby. These things just happen, you know, but its alright; we'll get through it together, ” you said quietly, fingertips gently running over the line of his eyebrow, down his cheekbone and further to his jaw in soothing circles.

Together.

Simon closed his eyes and eased into your hand as you traced patterns across his temple and through the cropped sides of his hair, letting the vile, churning thoughts rummaging around in his brain to fall away. No one else could ever see him like this save for you, no one else's touch he craved more than anything to bring him back into himself after the day had brought him down so low. 

He brought his hand up and placed the tough palm over top of yours to hold it firmly against his cheek as if to make sure that all of this was real, that you were not simply a mirage cast by his broken mind. 

“You’re home now, baby,” you reassured him as he took deep breaths in and out with his eyes closed, only wanting to feel you. “It’s gonna be okay, I got you.”

Home, still such a strange word for him.

Wherever you were that was home. Not a place, but a person, one who made certain that no matter how far he drifted she would always pull him back in. Simon had never had such a tether before, but fuck did he need it. He could feel it like medicine running through his blood, when you held him he could feel the chemicals rush to soothe the gaping wound in his heart.

Pulling your hand off his cheek, he brought it to his mouth and pressed his lips to the surface before leaning in to give one to your gentle lips. You embraced him back with such tenderness as if to remind him of that promise you had made to each other that neither of you would have to traverse the hell of this world alone.

“Home,” he repeated the tender word in his gravely tone, letting the emotionless second mask fall away. "I hope ya know... that you are my home, sweetheart."

You smiled. "You're mine too, Simon."

He took a deep breath, trying to swallow down the lump in his throat. "Bein' near ya is the only fuckin' thing that seems to help quiet the shit in my 'ead these days."

Pulling him back in, you gave him another kiss. "Then get nice and close," you said softly as you squirmed up under him more, setting his arm back over you.

Securing his arms around you again he moved over top of you so that his head rested against the middle of your chest, ear pressed in against your sternum to listen to your heartbeat rhythmically thump inside. With his hand still inside your shirt he drew his fingertips along your bare hips, not wanting anything more than your company tonight. 

Your calming fingers ran through his short hair and over his scalp as he counted the beats of your heart until he melted into your body. Discussion could happen later if and when he was ready, for now this was all he needed. However long he wanted to cling to your torso, you’d let him.

You were his life raft, pulling him back in and no matter how far he drifted and it was because of you that for the first time in his life he didn’t feel like he was going to get lost.  

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #call of duty #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #cod mw2 #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simin ghost riley #ghost simon riley #simon riley fluff #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost x you #ghost #cod ghost #ghost call of duty

[dreamtuna]

Be a Good Girl For Me, Won’t You?

Attack on Titan - Levi x Reader || smut, fem!Reader, daddy, petnames, spanking, orgasm denial

Word Count: 725

This is the second piece in my Daddy series - a series of short pieces inspired by the Karatetsu/Karatez black suit official art. "Daddy" || Spanking || more to come...

The sound crackled in the room, reverberating in your ears as the pain blossomed across your skin, pink fingers of pleasure left in its wake. You winced, fingers tightening on his pant leg. He had pulled you over his knee so easily, promising you a lesson to learn as he gently lowered you down. “You really think that’s acceptable?” Levi growled, rubbing your rosy ass cheek.

The leather of his glove was soft and while it was certainly soothing against your tingling skin, it also held him at a distance from you. You longed for the feeling of his skin against your own, gripping you and giving you that closeness.

You frowned. “I was gonna do it, I swear. I just got caught up in stuff and-” Crack! His hand came down across your ass cheek again, making you yelp in surprise. He massaged your soft skin roughly. It made you groan. “I’m sorry, Daddy,” you whimpered, lowering your head. “That’s better, my pretty girl,” Levi whispered. “Don’t think you’re getting out of this that easily though.”

You couldn’t help but groan and wiggle on his lap but he just continued to massage you, hand gripping your soft cheeks possessively. A growing desire blazed in your core with each strike. It would be a lie to say you didn’t enjoy this to some extent, although you much preferred not upsetting him enough to warrant such actions. But you also knew he loved hooking his fingers into your waistband, pulling both layers down and exposing your bare skin for him. You knew he loved admiring the way the pink spread across your skin.

You felt him twitch near your body where you lay over his lap. He was getting more excited every time his hand fell on you. His voice was growing more hoarse and when you looked up at him it was no surprise to see the dark fire burning in his eyes.

“Good girl, you’re taking it so well,” he told you as his hand came down again and your back arched for him.

His gloved fingers drifted down, dipping between your legs and grazing against your wet slit. Without even trying he effortlessly slipped inside you. The way you moaned so shamelessly for him had him groaning in response.

“You’re so fucking wet for me,” he hissed.

You lay there across his knee as he fingered you, not even bothering to remove his gloves now he’d already slipped inside. It hadn’t been his intention, but something about the barrier between him and your slick warmth was driving him crazy.

Levi leaned down closer to you. “Did you learn your lesson?”

“Yes, Daddy!” you whined. “I’m sorry, I’ll do better next time!”

“Feels like you enjoyed your punishment.”

“N-No…” You groaned loudly. Your voice was weak as you continued. “It just feels too good.”

“Tch.”

Levi worked your pussy more harshly, relishing in the way you writhed and moaned for him. Warmth flooded your core, spreading rapidly throughout your body. Every nerve ending seemed to tingle. It didn’t take long before you were panting for him, thighs clenching in anticipation.

He smirked and pulled his fingers out.

You squealed, hastily begging him to let you cum, the words spilling out of your mouth. But he just looked down at you, enjoying the desperation on your face. He shook his head.

“This is your punishment for enjoying your punishment,” he said with a chuckle.

His hand came down on your ass one more time before he roughly pulled you up and pushed you off his knee. You stumbled several steps forward before looking back at him. He sat back, crossing his legs. He held his wet gloved hand to his face, biting one of the drenched fingers and pulling the glove off slowly, maintaining eye contact with you the whole time.

“Go on, back to whatever distracted you so much,” he said, dismissing you, lips curling into the slightest hint of a smile.

You huffed, turning away from him. You were halfway out the room when you heard his voice again.

“And don’t you dare think about finishing the job yourself,” he warned you, knowing damn well you had been intending to throw yourself on the bed to finish getting off as soon as you got back to the bedroom. “Be a good girl for me, won’t you?”

#levi ackerman #levi ackerman x reader #levi x reader #levi ackerman smut #aot x reader #attack on titan #aot smut #dream writes #dream writes: short #n.sfw #dream writes: daddy

[lex-the-flex]

Cosmic Veins

Luke Skywalker x reader

Summary: Rekindling after an unfortunate assignment, Luke devotes himself as the wonderful man that he is to strengthen your relationship, and fulfills only a fraction of his destiny.

Word Count: 2.5k

Warning(s): MEGA FLUFF, the reader and Luke just being in love, all the feelings; (both good & bad), mentions of amnesia, the reader + Luke being slightly insecure about the future, just two Jedi in their prime, Luke being a dutiful Jedi Master, the duo discovering their love languages, 18 + – PURE SMUT, loss of virginity (reader), oral f! receiving, body + skin appreciation, and unprotected sex. (wrap it before you tap it, kids)

A/N: It’s about time that I wrote for Luke! It’s been a hot minute and I love this man so much. 18+ FIC, MINORS DNI!! Thank you to @dailydragon08 for the AMAZING lines to kick off the smut. You're an absolute god! Feedback is always appreciated and enjoy!

Salt and lavender lingered through the air whilst the calming sounds of Naboo’s endless waves turn your room into the private sanctuary it was meant to be. The sun threatens to peek over the horizon of the still ocean while you stir in your sleep beneath the fresh silk bedding. Turning your head into the layers of plush pillows, your brows scrunch at the visions behind your eyes. Jolting awake, you gasped for air, praying that the dreams would soon end. 

The conflict finally subsided in the past, but the wounds remain on your heart. Luke had returned from the Dark Side, from the vile control of an evil presence that you never got to meet. Unfortunately, when Leia couldn’t find it in herself to fight her own brother, her twin, you were put on the chopping block. 

And it nearly cost your life. You were thrown into a coma for two months, but the worst part: you suffered from a miniscule moment of amnesia. You couldn’t remember anything about Luke Skywalker or your friends. Luckily they refused to give up and you recovered in time with the Rebellion by your side. Once you did, Leia immediately prompted a change of scenery for you and Luke. The two of you needed to get away from everything to heal. 

Removing your hand from your chest, you ran it along the empty side of the bed where you expected Luke to be. But he wasn’t. He refused to sleep in the same bed as you, in fear of hurting you, so he took to the marble floor. Gazing over to his usual spot on the floor by the changing screen, the makeshift bedding was messy, and he was gone. Twirling the engagement band around your ring finger, you fixate on the pale amethyst encased in silver within the dim light, and you remember why Luke gave it to you in the first place.

Wiping your face, you spotted your dark ebony robes neatly folded on the desk, and the room’s scents kickstarted the day. So with a heavy sigh, you quietly got dressed, and your faithful handmaid, Winter, brought you breakfast and to announce that Luke promptly requested to see you on the beach. You could feel that something was different in the air; he had good news to share, and a smile finally filled your lips for the first time in a long time. Descending the stone steps of the courtyard to the beach, you finished your early breakfast and discarded the pear’s core amongst the flower bushes where it would be finished by the sparrows momentarily. 

Rounding the corner, you spotted Luke amongst the dawn as your boots crunched the pebbled sand below. Noticing that he was deep in a meditative state, you quietly kept your distance, not wanting to disturb him. Glancing back towards the staircase, you thought about leaving for a second, but your feet remained planted.

“No, don’t go. You’re as strong as the waves, Y/N.” 

Inching closer to Luke, a large smile overtakes his lips, and he closes his arms around you. Feeling yourself let go in his embrace, his warmth was comforting as if it was something you were missing. Basking in your company, Luke kisses your forehead. 

“Everything alright? You’re trembling.” He asks, running his hands up and down your arms. 

“I’m fine, Luke. I just couldn’t sleep, that’s all.” You reply, gazing into his blue eyes. 

“Are your dreams still bothering you?” He asks. 

Raising his hand to your temple, Luke silently begins to peer into your mind, ready to discover what’s troubling you. But you take his gloved hand in yours instead. 

Rubbing your knuckles, he quietly understands that your nightmares are at their end, as is the shared exile. 

“They’re not the worst thing I’ve dealt with. Trust me.” You smirk. 

Chuckling at your response, Luke shields his eyes at the sight of the morning sun starting to peer out from under the waves. Basking in your company, Luke clasps his hands around your shoulders and a burst of excitement fills his face. 

“So, I have a small surprise for us, Y/N. Before my security team arrived, my Commander told me that he discovered something just off the coast.” Luke explains, leading you further down the beach. 

“A surprise sounds lovely, Luke. Besides, it gives us a chance to evade the power hungry Senators and staff for once.” You laugh at Luke’s proposition. 

Following Luke towards the end of the beach, the various oak trees start to blend with the damp sand and pebbles. Reaching the beginning of Naboo’s uncharted woods, the sight of a few broken rock walls line the shore before descending into the water. Taking in the new beauty of the planet’s nature, Luke playfully covers your eyes, careful not to spoil the surprise. 

“Are you ready? We’re here.” He teases. 

“Yes! The suspense is killing me, Luke! What is it?” You ask, trying to break his fingers apart. 

Removing his hands, you’re suddenly greeted with the view of an old and abandoned stone tower jutting out from the water. Surrounded by a ring of ferns and moss, the tower perfectly camouflages in the rest of the planet's green fauna. 

Your jaw nearly hits the floor at this awesome sight. Sure you and Luke had discovered many old ruins in the past, but nothing compared to this. 

“It’s an old lookout tower. Long before the Clone Wars, Naboo’s trading system used to operate on its soldiers living in lookout towers. Commander Uphsur said that this is only one of two remaining. I've already taken a look at the other one, but there’s something special about this tower. Like it’s calling to me.” Luke confidently explains. 

Refusing to believe him, you shoot him a nasty look. 

“Did you just make that up?” You question, crossing your arms together. 

“Yeah, I just made that up.” Luke nods, admitting his defeat. 

Nudging his elbow, you both smile at his joke. 

“Alright, Master Jedi, how are we getting across? We could jump.” You advise. 

Climbing to the top of a small boulder, Luke offers his hand and you join him, getting a better view of the tower. Then, without thinking, he dives into the cold water and resurfaces with a gasp for fresh air. 

“Luke, what are you doing? You’ll catch a cold!” You shout, hesitant about jumping in. 

“Come on, the water’s only a little chilly! Let’s enjoy the ocean while we can!” He emphasizes, wiping his wet hair from his face. 

With a deep breath, you launch yourself from the boulder and jump into the salty water below. Whining at the freezing water, the sound of Luke’s laughter fills the nature sanctuary. 

“Oh, you liar! You actually thought swimming during the spring would be a good idea?!” You shout, frantically swimming towards Luke. 

“I had to get you to join me somehow.” Luke replies at his victory. 

Splashing a wave in Luke’s direction, he uses the Force to block the water before meeting up at the base of the tower. 

“Now that’s cheating! How dare you block my shot!” You say, making your way to the tower. 

“Don’t doubt my abilities, Y/N! Besides, we all could use some fun in our lives.” Luke answers, extending his hand down to you. 

Joining your palm around Luke’s, he pulls you from the stream, satisfied with his trick. Shaking your drenched robes, you scoff at the foggy weather. Opening the old door, Luke rams his shoulder, cracking the weather wood in the process. Wandering inside the tower, the blinding light of the morning sun shines on the light grey stone flooring. 

Squinting inside, the once lived in tower remains empty with nothing inside. Squeezing your braid, you try to get as much of the water out as you make a circle around the room’s interior. Scrunching your brows, you take in the emptiness of this place, wondering as to why Luke brought you here. 

“There’s nothing in here. Why are we here, Luke?” You ask, unlatching your heavy cloak from your shoulders. 

Standing above the remnants of an destroyed tiny desk, Luke wipes off his dusty gloves. 

“Can’t I spend some time with my fiancée before we return to Ossus? That’s all I want right now.” Luke replies, with his back to you. 

“Luke, why are we here?” You ask again with a more serious tone, determined to get an answer. 

Turning to face you, Luke steps toward you, stopping to look you in the eye. 

“I couldn’t have the Senators and the others in the Palace eavesdrop. I already feel like a foreigner in my mother’s domain and you know I’m right. The truth is, I’m scared, Y/N. I’m terrified of what the future will bring …especially after I hurt you. I nearly killed you with my own hands and I wasn’t myself.” Luke’s shaking voice makes tears fill your eyes. 

A lump rises in the back of your throat whilst Luke bends his head down to you, almost as if he’s bowing to you out of respect. Taking your hands in his, he guides his thumb over the engagement ring he gifted to you out of pure duty. 

“But I’m here. I’m alive and stronger than ever because of you, Luke. I know the gem doesn’t feel like much, but it means the world to me. It means you love me with all our heart. I’ve never had anyone step up the way you have, regardless if they were a Jedi or not. You are your father’s son, Luke, but you are so much like your mother.” You explain, taking Luke’s face in your hands, with your eyes fixated on his facial features. 

“Will this change us from our paths, Y/N? I’ve gone past the Code. I’ve been on both sides of the Jedi Way, but this feels different from anything else I’ve felt before. Even though we aren’t meant to know the future, I can’t help but decide what I want, what I need.” He explains, walking closer to you.

Placing your hand in the center of his chest, Luke leans his forehead against yours, matching his heartbeat in time with your soothing rhythm. The pale amethyst beams up into Luke’s peripheral vision, allowing him to fully combat the moment. His bright icy eyes reflect against your e/c orbs just as his pink lips hover an inch above yours. 

The presence of his hands playing with your belt’s sash makes butterflies rise in your stomach. As the two of you stood here in this private intimate point in time, the two of you were no longer Jedi. But two people who are in love with each other to the very core. 

“What do you want?” You ask, raising your chin. 

Breathing out, Luke swallows his pride. 

“You.” 

Closing his lips around yours, you barely have time to register his answer as his hands begin to wander along your drenched robes. Roaming against the seams and stitching of the sash at your hips, Luke quickly rids you of the tight knot, while guiding you backwards into the growing sunspot. Discarding the ebony robes from your chilled form, freeing your exposed chest underneath. Descending your goosebumped filled body, Luke glides his lips along every part of your exposed skin, and tugs around the shape of your breasts, letting go once you begin to shiver unnaturally from the cold.

Untying your boots, he pulls your pants from your shaking legs, hoping to quickly get you warm. Ridding himself of his frigid clothes, Luke is suddenly hypnotized by the beauty of your nude form, his lips pressed along the crease of your hips, and continues towards the sensitive skin of your thighs. Collecting your throbbing folds in his lips, your mouth falls open just as Luke’s tongue plays with the bundle of nerves. 

Running your fingers through his dirty blonde hair, Luke inserts his tongue past your virgin entrance, hoping to explore all of you first. Moaning at this unfamiliar feeling, your fingers repeatedly scratch his scalp as the booming sound of your heartbeat fills your ears, drowning out every other sound. 

“Luke?” You call out. 

Immediately stopping, Luke stands up in a heartbeat and gives you all of his attention.

“Yes?” He responds, taking your chin in his hand.

“I need all of you.” You whisper before him. 

Collapsing your arms around his broad shoulders, your nearly exhausted pants fill the air. 

Deepening the kiss once more, Luke captures your taste in your mouth, before laying you down in the middle of the floor on top of his cloak. Hovering above your body, Luke gives you soft kisses along your jaw, allowing some of your tension to disappear. Closing the space between you, Luke guides your legs around his waist, opening yourself to him. Shifting yourself to get comfortable, Luke adjusts his weight to his knees, and presses his hands on either side of your face. 

“I don’t want to hurt you, Y/N.” Luke says, touching your nose with his. 

“You won’t, Luke. I trust you.” You whisper, closing your eyes. 

Capturing your neck with a series of kisses, Luke gently touches his manhood against your openings causing you to gulp at the sensation of it all. Teasing your throbbing folds with his erect tip, a gasp escapes your lips and you grip his broad shoulders at the unknown feeling of your bodies melting around each other. Your bundle of nerves soak up Luke’s warmth and he slowly thrusts himself past your entrance, Luke desperately wanted nothing more than to be deep inside of you, allowing you to surrender to his euphoria. Wincing at this foreign feeling, you lean into his arms, silently begging for support and Luke senses your growing desperation. 

“Are you alright? Do you want me to stop?” He asks into your ear. 

“No, I’m alright. Just keep going.” You answer. 

Smiling at your sudden boost of confidence, Luke quickened his pace, wanting to feel you around him. Trailing his lips down to your collarbones, the sweet sounds of your shared moans became more valuable than anything on Naboo. Gliding your hands down Luke’s muscular form, you suddenly became overwhelmed with all the love and lust in the world, causing a few tears to fall down your face. 

Pepper kissing your tears away, Luke’s lungs suddenly clogged with lust as he opened himself up to you, and he buried his face in the softness of your neck. Stretching himself out, you welcomed his pleasure into your heart as he placed his hand on your chest. Discovering your sensitive spot, you both moaned and whimpered at how good everything felt. Digging your nails deeper into Luke’s hot skin, you felt a fluttering in your stomach. 

“I’m here, Y/N.” Luke says as his voice echoes in your ears. 

Nodding at his declaration, you couldn’t handle the tension for a second longer, and your walls squeezed around Luke. Finishing after you, your whole body went numb and Luke’s ears started to ring. Shielding your nude skin from the cold, Luke pulled his cloak around tired body. Hugging his muscular form, the warmth of his cloak made your eyelids grow heavy as Luke gave you his arm to lay on.

“I’ll never stop loving you, Y/N. Even until the end of time.” Luke declares, brushing a few strands of hair away from your face. 

“I love you beyond the limits of stars, Luke.” You reply, feeling sleep take over your mind. 

luke skywalker taglist ~

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@gabbasposts

#star wars #star wars fanfiction #star wars luke #star wars luke skywalker #luke skywalker x you #luke skywalker x y/n #luke skywalker x reader #luke skywalker fic #luke skywalker fanfiction #luke skywalker fluff #luke skywalker imagine #luke skywalker smut #luke skywalker book of boba fett #luke skywalker bobf #graham hamilton #mark hamill

[french-unknown]

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒: luffy, zoro, nami, usopp, sanji, robin 𝐂/𝐖: fluff 𝐖/𝐂: 1.6k +

| m a s t e r l i s t | - | p t . 2 | - | p t . 3 |

Luffy lay down with you as you gazed at the stars from the Thousand Sunny. You weren't on call tonight but the frustration you felt prevented you from falling asleep so, annoyed, you had to give up the idea. The problem was that Sanji had made cannelés for everyone the day before and, not being hungry, you had hidden your in order to eat it later. Unfortunately, when you went back earlier, your dessert had disappeared and you didn't want to disturb Sanji who had already finished cleaning the dishes for the day.

You sighed as Luffy talked next to you, creating wacky stories about the clouds passing in the night sky above you. Needing solitude, you got up to leave, not without taking advantage of his inattention to search his pockets as discreetly as possible. If there was anyone on this ship who might have food on them, it was him. But the boy had nothing but crumbs so you left wishing him good night.

Arriving further, however, you saw that some crumbs had remained stuck under your fingers then, when you tried to remove them, you noticed that they had remained because of their sticky layer. Intrigued, you realized that, in addition to the food residues being sticky, they were still fresh since they were still soft and they smelled slightly of rum and vanilla. You hesitated a little in disgust but ended up placing one of the crumbs on your tongue. It was a cannelés leftovers. In Luffy's pocket.

"You ate my dessert, jerk!"

Since this morning, Zoro has been blackmailing you into washing the dishes instead of him. You weren't very happy to see a photo of you, drunk with a tomato-red face, dancing furiously with movements so random that they looked like you were defending yourself against an attack of invisible seagulls. Having lost track of that evidence after he put it in his pocket, you were determined to get it back.

When you separated in town, you decided to leave with Zoro. Saying he was wary at first would be an understatement, but he eventually relaxed even though he kept a safe distance between you two. You had tried everything to get closer: to accelerate towards him, to pass in crowds, to try to jostle him "accidentally" or to attempt a fall towards him. However, nothing helped, he always remained a few steps away from you. Growing more and more frustrated with your failure, you let yourself be left behind without a struggle as you thought of other ways to bring it within reach.

Luckily for you, you saw him stop as you passed a sword shop. Totally hypnotized by one of the exposed blades, you seized your chance and thrust your hand into its pockets in search of the coveted object. Luck may not have been so on your side, though, because you found absolutely nothing. You had to remove your hands so he wouldn't notice the intrusion, still totally shocked to find nothing.

"You expect it to be easy?" you heard him ask sardonically as he continued on his way.

As you were about to go to the bar with some of the Straw Hat Pirates, you were brutally arrested when Nami refused to give you your share of the pocket money. In front of your incredulous face, she invoked the money she had to spend to repair the material damage you had caused during a fight on the previous island. Unless you pay her the interest on a so-called "at-risk" loan amounting to 300% of course.

Shocked at having been scammed, you jumped out of the ship anyway to join the others on the road. Just because you couldn't afford a drink yourself doesn't mean you weren't going to drink! However, on the way, you saw a berry note protruding from the back pocket of Nami who was walking in front of you while talking with Usopp. So you approached the duo innocently then, when you were close enough, you reached for the note. Sadly, your hand came into contact with something firm, warm and tight that stopped your hand before it could reach the paper of the ticket. You looked down, curious, and felt a bead of sweat slide down your spine as you realized that the firm, warm thing in question was actually Nami's hand holding you in a death grip. You had just enough time to raise your eyes to see her murderous smile pointed directly at you.

"Did you really think you were going to get me?" She asked too sweetly, unsheathing her Clima-Tact. "I think you need to be reframed."

It was no secret on the boat that, before joining the crew, you made money by scamming and robbing people who came to Rain Dinners, Crocodile's casino in Alabasta. Your pickpocketing tendencies were therefore well known to the crew.

However, while you were chased by Luffy on the boat because you were holding a piece of meat, you tripped over Usopp at the bend of a hallway. Neither of you saw the other coming so he remained frozen while you found yourself on all fours on top of him. For your part, old habits die hard and, with a gesture more instinctive than conscious, you slipped your hand into his pocket to remove trifles that you had recovered. It was Luffy's cry coming closer that pulled you out of your torpor and pushed you to get up and run with your loot. But a few meters away, you felt that your thieving hand began to heat up and sting without really worrying you at the time. It wasn't until you got to the other end of the ship and your hand began to seriously burn you that you wondered what was going on when, at the same time, the captain snatched the meat from your hands before running away happily to eat his treasure safely.

For your part, you collapsed on your knees, your aching hand folded against your chest as you winced in pain. In your fall, you saw what you had stolen from Usopp fall from your pocket to land in front of your eyes. There were two small balls of an alarming red accompanied by a small note written by the hand of the sniper: "For the thieves who cannot keep their hands to themselves".

He was hesitating between two kinds of melons at the market so, with a different fruit in each hand and totally lost in thought, he continued to weigh them before making a choice. Suddenly, he jumped when he heard your laughter behind him.

"Not that I'm complaining about the pleasure of your company but how long have you been around?" he asked, surprised. "A little moment." You answered.

Having finished shopping, you returned to the boat where Sanji immediately began to store the groceries. As he listened to you talk, he felt the urge to smoke. He jammed one of his cigarettes between his lips as he retrieved his lighter from his pocket. He was then surprised when he did not find it. Without cutting you into your story, he began to look in all the pockets of his suit: those at the front and back of his pants, those of his jacket and even inside it but there was nothing there. He was however convinced to have it on him before going to the market.

All of a sudden, you offered your help. Though surprised at the offer, he was still relieved as he followed your directions and leaned towards you with his cigarette still between his lips. Your face, now less than centimeters from his, seemed almost irresistible to him as his eyes lowered inexorably to your mouth. Warmth crept close to his face and, as he inhaled, he felt the smoke rush into his lungs. Silently, he looked down further and saw your hand below his face holding a lit lighter. A lighter so familiar that it took him two seconds to recognize it; it was his.

The meal with the Straw Hat Pirates was always something. It was noisy, messy and sometimes stressful but it was still a moment of happiness and sharing among your crewmates. Despite that, your only concern at the moment was how you were going to manage to steal Robin.

You had never picked the pockets of the archaeologist so, out of pure competition, you had it in your head to steal her at least once and, unfortunately for you, her only pocket was on her chest. Impossible to steal her like that. Yet, no matter how hard you tried to find solutions on how to position yourself, how to divert her attention and put her in confidence or even what opening to use, you couldn't. The target was much too close to eye level and the fabric too close to the body for her not to notice.

A sudden and unusual silence pulled you out of your thoughts. You then realized that everyone around the table had shut up and looked at you without saying a word. Robin on her side, sitting right in front of you, had partly covered her neckline with one of her hands, embarrassed.

"If you keep staring like that, you'll soon have to paid." Nami spoke from across the table.

Instantly, a blush bloomed on your cheeks as you tried to defend yourself by stammering pitifully. Whatever you say about the rest of the meal, everyone looks at you suspiciously and you end up keeping your head stubbornly turned towards your plate.

𝐉𝐎𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐘 𝐔𝐏𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @iheartamora @bontensh0e @opchara @idsmash717

#one piece #one piece x reader #imagine #luffy #luffy x reader #roronoa zoro #zoro x reader #nami #nami x reader #usopp #usopp x reader #sanji #sanji x reader #nico robin #nico robin x reader

[spooky-pomegranate]

Price, What's Wrong?

Captain Price x Gn Reader Word Count: 3.2k

Summary: Price struggles to deal with his emotions after your first mission with the 141 goes terribly wrong.

You stood outside the operating room in a brightly lit hallway and stared down at a small crack in the floor. You had been pacing over the same five-foot square of tiles for over two hours now. If someone had given you a blindfold, a pen, and a piece of paper you were confident that by now you’d be able to draw each tile from memory.

The doctors and nurses had tried to convince you and Price to wait in the visitors' lounge. They had told you that Soap’s surgeries would take a few hours and that you’d both be more comfortable waiting there. But Price didn’t care about comfort. He had demanded, and pretty adamantly so, that you both be allowed to stay as close to Johnny as possible. At least until he was awake again. But Price’s demands hadn’t gone over well and things had gotten heated rather quickly. Security had been called to forcibly remove you both from the hall, but a phone call from Laswell had righted the situation before it went too far south. Or at least that was your best guess. You had seen Price wave his cell phone in the air and yell something about “national security” and “highest clearance.” But you weren’t entirely sure what had been said beyond that because ever since getting to the hospital Price hadn’t spoken a word to you.

For two hours he had kept his distance, circling on one end of the hall while you circled the other. Occasionally you would pull your eyes up from the floor and catch a glimpse of him. Even from a distance, he looked more tense than you had ever seen him. His shoulders were ridged, pulled back in a taught line, and his fists were clenched by his side. You caught him rubbing his temples more than once and you wondered if he had a headache. You wouldn’t be surprised if he did.

Physically Price looked like he’d crawled out of the pits of hell. He was caked in dirt, grime, and blood. There were small cuts on both of his cheeks and one long gash above his left eyebrow. He was limping ever so slightly on his right leg and a fresh bandage wrapped his right shoulder in a thick layer of white gauze. After the incident with security, a nurse had bandaged Price’s injured shoulder. Although he’d been more than a little reluctant to let her. It wasn’t until the nurse had pointed out how unsanitary it was that he had been dripping blood all over the hallway that Price had eventually agreed to let her bandage him.

The entire time the nurse's hands had been on Price you had stared at him, watching his face. He had been completely stoic. There hadn’t been a single glint of pain or discomfort. Just a hardline expression that looked like it had been chiseled into his features. But then for a moment, when the nurse dug a little deeper into his open wound Price’s eyes had met yours and something in them flickered. You had thought that maybe he was going to break the silence and say something to you. That maybe he was going to call you to him. But then just as quickly as your eyes had met he had looked away and you were left alone again to wander your end of the hall with only your thoughts to keep you company.

But then two hours later your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps. You turned and saw Price walking towards you. His eyes met yours before he turned and leaned against the wall, his head tilting backward and resting against the wall while his eyes closed. You took a step towards him, concerned, but before you could get close he held up a hand to stop you.

“Don’t,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Just…give me a minute.”

You nodded, though you weren't sure if Price could see you.

"Are you okay?" you asked quietly.

"I'll be fine," he replied, his eyes still closed. “I… I’m sorry,” he began again, his voice breaking slightly. “I’m so sorry, love.”

“You don’t have anything to apolo-”

“No,” Price snapped and his eyes shot open.

“Price, it’s not your-”

“Don’t!” he interrupted, turning to face you completely. “Don’t do that. Don’t fucking do that. You don’t know what you're talking about. You have no idea and I…I can’t…”

Price’s words hit you like a brick, punching straight through your chest with an unexpected force. He’d never spoken to you like this before. With so much anger. So much rage. Then, before you could do or say anything, Price raised his hand in your direction. You reacted quickly, taking an uneasy step backward and nearly tripping over your own feet. Without thinking you raised your hands to your head and braced yourself for a blow.

But it never came.

“I… Love, I would never… that’s not…” Price’s voice was so quiet you barely heard him. He immediately dropped his hand. His anger deflated in an instant, replaced by a profound sorrow that etched deep lines on his dirt-streaked face. He took a shaky step toward you and timidly raised his hand again. You closed your eyes, this time without an ounce of fear.

You expected to feel Price’s calloused palm against your cheek or his fingers tangle into your hair massaging your scalp. You expected him to comfort you like he had done so many times… but again Price’s touch never came. Instead, you heard a soft thud and you opened your eyes. Price slumped against the wall.

"Please," he whispered, his voice laced with remorse. "Please listen to me. I didn't mean… I didn't mean to scare you. I could never hurt you."

———————————————————————

“I could never hurt you."

Price lied.

He knew that wasn’t true.

How could that possibly be true when the strongest men Price knew, the men that were under his care and his protection, were all in this very hospital broken and battered worse than he’d ever seen them.

Gaz had taken a bullet to the leg and was lucky that he hadn’t bled out on the drive to the hospital. Ghost wasn’t any better. He had suffered several broken ribs and a punctured lung. Although Price was surprised his injuries hadn't been any worse. He’d look like death when Price had found him in the hangar. Ghost had been pinned underneath heavy rubble after the last remaining enemy soldier had detonated a block of C4 in a suicidal attempt to take him out. The blast had been so large that it had blown up half the hangar in a fireball. And Soap… fucking Soap. So much of Johnny’s blood had seeped into Price’s gloves that he’d ditched them in the crumbled hangar while trying to free Ghost from the rubble.

Things had never gone this bad before. Never with the 141. Never with his own. His team. His brothers.

Suddenly Price felt hot and the lights became so bright that he could barely keep his eyes open. Price stumbled forward as his legs became weak beneath him. He reached back to steady himself against the wall, but it offered no support. Everything around him was spinning, the world tilting on its axis. He blinked, trying to clear the haze from his vision, but it only intensified the throbbing pain in his head.

Then a hand grabbed his arm and pulled Price away from the wall and onto a nearby chair. He looked up and saw you, concern and worry etched across your pretty face. You looked so scared. It only made the pain worse.

"Price, what's wrong?" you asked.

What’s wrong?

Everything.

Everything’s wrong.

Price was supposed to be a leader, the one who made the tough decisions and protected his team. He was supposed to be your love, your rock, your defender. All he had wanted to do was punch a hole in that stupid plaster wall, but he’d scared you half to death. He’d been so angry with himself at his failures that you’d expected his wrath to spill onto you. And now he couldn't help but feel like he had let everyone down. The weight of his failures bore down on him, each one a heavy burden that threatened to crush him. How had it come to this? How had he let things spiral out of control?

But the worst question of all was the one that hurt him the most. How was he going to keep you safe when he couldn't even keep his men safe?

The room seemed to close in around Price as he struggled to catch his breath. He pressed a hand against his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath his palm. His breathing grew shallow and erratic. Each inhale felt like tiny shards of glass scraping against his lungs. Sweat trickled down his forehead, mixing with the grime and blood that stained his face. His vision turned fuzzy.

Price knew he was having a panic attack. He’d been taught the signs…he’d read the pamphlets on mental health and sat attentively in all the required lectures. But he’d never actually had one and now he couldn’t remember what to do. He couldn’t remember how to breathe. How to live.

He watched through the haze as you knelt in front of him. Your hands gripped his shoulders with a firmness that sent cool shivers down his spine.

"Price, listen to me," you said, your eyes locking with his. "Breathe. Take deep breaths with me, okay? In through your nose...and out through your mouth. In...and out..."

Price followed your lead, inhaling the crisp hospital air and exhaling all the tension and fear that held him hostage. Gradually, his racing heart started to slow and the suffocating weight on his chest eased bit by bit. Inch by inch.

"That's it," you murmured. “There you go, baby. Just like that.”

Price focused on the sound of your voice and on the sweet things you called him.

Baby.

Sweetheart.

Love.

Each endearment was a lifeline, pulling him back from the edge and he followed you to the light. Price closed his eyes as your hands slipped down his shoulders and ran over his biceps and forearms until your fingers slid in between his own. They fit so perfectly there, nestled against his skin, warm and soft.

“You’re here for Sergeant MacTavish?”

Price opened his eyes. A male doctor stood just outside the metal doors that separated the hall from the operating room. Price nodded at the tall man, afraid that if he spoke his voice would give out.

The doctor explained the details of Soap’s condition. By some miracle, they had stabilized Johnny. He’d require another round of surgeries in the coming weeks and he’d need months of rehab after that, but if things continued to go well they expected him to make a full recovery. It was a miracle. Truly Price couldn’t think of any other explanation.

“Sergeant MacTacish is asleep at the moment. But the sedation will wear off in a few hours.” the doctor added. “He’ll be groggy but you should be able to speak with him when he wakes. I’ve also arranged for an orderly to move him into an adjoining room beside Sergeant Garrick and Lieutenant Riley.”

Price nodded again, as the doctor turned back toward the operating room.

“Oh… one last thing,” the doctor added turning to look at you and Price over his shoulder. “Tell Laswell that she doesn’t need to threaten my entire nursing staff to get me scheduled for a surgery. I would have come in for this if she had just called my cell.”

Price laughed for the first time in nearly 24 hours. “I’ll let her know. Thanks, doc.”

The doctor disappeared behind the metal doors and Price let out a long and low exhale.

“Come on,” you said, standing up. “Let’s get out of here. I think you need some fresh air.”

Price followed you, hand in hand through the corridors of the hospital until you made your way to a quiet and empty snow-covered courtyard. You led him to a wooden bench under a weeping Higan cherry tree. The cascading and barren branches swayed in the evening breeze and Price stared up at the moon.

“I wish I could know what you’re thinking,” you said, giving his hand that hadn’t left yours a gentle squeeze.

“I don’t think you do.”

You smiled at Price and it broke his resolve. It always did.

“Try me.”

Price looked deep into your eyes and searched for the right words. The truth was heavy, tangled in a web of guilt and despair. He didn’t want to say it.

“I love you. More than I’ve loved anyone in my entire life. I love you more than I thought was possible. Please… please believe me when I say that.” Price paused. He let go of your hand. This was the hardest thing he’d ever had to do. “But I can’t do this anymore.”

———————————————————————

You stared at Price, your heart pounding in your chest. The world around came to a standstill. "What do you mean, you can't do this anymore?" you whispered, voice barely audible as tears welled up in your eyes, threatening to spill over.

You didn’t understand. He couldn’t be talking about you and him together could he? It had to be something else. This didn’t make sense. You loved him and he loved you. He had just said so.

"Price, I don’t understand. What do you mean?"

He stood, leaving you alone on the bench.

“We can’t do this anymore. You and me,” he said pointing to the space in between you. “It’s over. This thing has to be over.”

Your heart shattered into a million pieces.

“You don’t mean that.”

“I’m going to call Laswell and she’s going to get you somewhere safe. Somewhere far from here… from me. She’ll put you in a witness protection program and I’ll make sure you go somewhere warm like you wanted. No one will be able to touch you. You’ll be safe. You can start over again and leave all this behind.”

“But I don’t want that. I don’t want to go anywhere. Please. I love you. I want to be here with you,” you sobbed as tears streamed down your face.

“This isn’t a choice.”

“It is a choice,” you insisted, standing up from the bench and stepping closer to him. “You can choose to be with me. We can figure this out together. There’s always hope, right? Isn’t that what you said to me? That there’s always hope, even when things feel impossible. We can do this together,” you pleaded, reaching out to grab his hand but he pulled away. “Price, please look at me.”

Price began walking toward the hospital, “You should say goodbye to Gaz and Ghost. You won’t have a lot of time.”

You sprinted toward him and blocked his path. Price looked down at you. Normally the height difference between you was something you enjoyed. You liked having to stand on your tiptoes to kiss him or wrap your hands around his neck. But now you felt intimidated by his size. He loomed over you and it made you uneasy. His eyes were cold and unrecognizable. The man before you had changed. You wanted your Price back. You wanted the man you loved back.

“Why are you doing this? Why are you pushing me away? Is this because you don’t think I can do this? It was my first mission and I know I didn’t shoot when Ghost was with me on the water tower. I was just scared. But I fired when he left me. I did Price. I tried. I promise I really tried.” The words came tumbling out of your mouth at a dizzying speed. “And I’m sorry you had to save me again. I’m sorry that I got caught and forced you to save me. But I knew you would. I won’t let that happen ever again though. I promise you. I can do better next time. I will. Please I will do better. Just please don’t send me away. Please don’t do this. I need you.”

———————————————————————

Shit.

Price wished you hadn’t said all that. He wished you hadn’t spewed all your insecurities at him like that. You had opened the door for him and now he was going to push you out.

“You’re never going to be good enough.”

As soon as the words left Price’s mouth he wished he could have taken them back and swallowed them whole.

You began sobbing so hard Price thought you might get sick.

And just like that he’d hurt you again even after promising he wouldn’t. Price didn’t want to, but he had to keep you alive and this was the only way he knew how. He’d failed at everything else. Sending you away was the only thing he could think of. It was his final resort. If he could just put you on the other side of the world and let you start over, without him you’d finally be safe.

And then you could move on. You could start over. You’d done it once already. He knew you could do it again. You’d hurt for a while but it would only be a matter of time before someone else would fall in love with you. You were too beautiful, too smart, and too perfect to be alone for long. And then you could have a normal life. One free from terrorist, blood-shed, and torturous nightmares. You deserved that. A normal life, a better life. He could already see you with a house, a white picket fence, and a family. A real life. A happy life.

And you deserved that. You deserved normal and pretty things. All the things that he couldn’t give to you. He’d been selfish to ever think otherwise. Neither of you had ever talked about the after. About what you’d be to each other after the enemy was finally dealt with… and maybe this was why. As Captain of the 141 Price would always be facing some kind of danger and so would anyone he loved. He never wanted that for you. Maybe you both had avoided talking about your future because this was always how things were going to end.

Maybe this was never going to work.

Maybe this had been doomed from the start.

Tears stained your cheeks and you were shaking. “You don’t mean that,” you whimpered. “I know you don’t mean that.”

Price couldn’t look at you anymore. If he did he would fall apart. Quickly he turned and walked away, opening the doors to the hospital and sprinting through its labyrinth of hallways until he found himself in the parking lot. His chest ached and he felt bile rise through his stomach.

He fell to his knees.

He was going to be sick.

———————————————————————

(Read more from this story on AO3)

#captain price #call of duty #captain john price #john price #cod #captain john price x reader #captain price x reader #call of duty modern warfare #cod mwiii #cod mw3 #cod fanfic

[veronicaphoenix]

To drown your sadness in a sea song.

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x mermaid!reader Parts: one - two - three - four - five - epilogue Trigger warnings: sexual content, fluff, angst.

PART FIVE — THE NECKLACE | Words: 2.9k

She wipes away her tears. 

How did she even consider that this would work? How did she even entertain the idea of leaving her world behind and building a life with a young man that doesn’t even know her name?

It’s all a twist. 

Humans dreaming of mermaids while she, a mermaid herself, dreams of a human. 

She’s been dreaming of Noah for some time now. 

The ocean’s gift of a chance to be with him should fill her with gratitude, but instead, she’s consumed by anger, frustration, and desperation. She knows she can’t stay. The blood on her skin is a reminder of the truth she can’t ignore. Of her nature she can’t evade. 

If she does…

She doesn’t belong to Noah, and Noah doesn’t belong to her. They don’t belong to each other. Time is slipping away. 

When she looks at her reflection in the mirror, the ocean’s call is right there in her own eyes. 

Come home.

The ocean can be gentle some times. Its music and its touch can soothe and heal your pain, as Noah now knows well. The ocean guided him back to his path through the girl he picked up from the shore.

But the ocean isn’t meant to be threadbare, and it’s calling her back.  

When Noah found her, naked and stranded in a human form, it wasn’t her he was given—it was a respite carrying inspiration. The ocean hadn’t offered her to him; it had offered a conduit back to his previous life as a successful artist. 

Take what you need from her and return her to me. 

He took what he needed.  There’s a nearly completed song stored on his computer. He will send it to his bandmates soon, and he has a feeling that when it’s released into the world, it will touch lives.  

But what happens when need remains unfulfilled and it grows endlessly?

She runs her fingers through her hair, watching as clumps fall into her open palm. 

In a matter of hours, her allure will fade to sickness and dust.  

She should have known, but her desire to aid him clouded her judgment. She didn’t anticipate that she would want him all for herself.

Unaccustomed to selfishness, she doesn’t want to be parted from him. She yearns to share in his everyday joys—cooking, cleaning, immersing himself in work. She longs for the twinkle in his eye as he finds the perfect note, the next melody, each kiss given to her in between. She craves his laughter, his jokes, and the playful innuendos that make her flush and make the butterflies twirl in her stomach. 

He’s a stranger, the human boy from the beach. He’s the stranger that has made her feel at home in his care and in his hugs in less than a day. 

She doesn’t want to say goodbye to him. 

She tends to her wounds and discards the stained cotton into the small bin next to the toilet, hoping that Noah won’t see it.  

She steps out of the bathroom and pauses before Noah’s bedroom door to collect her thoughts. 

With a deep breath, she prepares herself. 

If she has to say goodbye, she wants to do it right. She wants to do it in a way that makes him understand that it’s not by choice. She would stay if she could, in his arms, her head against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat the lullaby she would fall asleep to. 

She opens the door. 

Noah is standing by the bed, his inked skin peeking from beneath the hem of his pajama shirt as he slides it over his torso. He’s getting ready for bed. The duvet has already been pulled back. 

His bed is waiting for her. 

He’s about to say something when she closes the distance between them and stands on her tiptoes to reach his lips. She pulls him closer by his nape. The air leaves his lungs. The world around them fades. 

 His hands find her waist, seeking purchase, but she holds him at bay, unwilling to be touched through layers of fabric. Stepping back, she removes her shirt. By the time it touches the ground, her hair has fallen over her chest and the scent of the shampoo he used on her the night before reaches his nose. She’s offering herself to him and he’s unsure if he should take her. This is not why he went down to the beach time after time after discovering her for the first time. This is not why he brought her home. 

He can’t deny that he’s dying to know what it feels like to sink himself in her, though.

He stares into her eyes. He will not make a move until she gives him confirmation.

“Please, touch me.”

He’s at her mercy.

With tender fingers, he brushes aside the curtain of hair veiling her chest, revealing her breasts to his hungry gaze. Her nipples respond eagerly to his touch, hardening under the caress of his fingertips. 

She arches towards him, craving his touch as much as she yearns to explore his own body. She pushes up his shirt, revealing the intricate designs adorning his skin. She’s been dying to touch them. As her fingers trace the contours of his tattoos, Noah’s resistance crumbles beneath her touch. 

Their kisses grow frantic and desperate, some sloppy. His hands are placed under her backside and he lifts her up. Her legs struggle to find their way around his waist, but he lays her on his bed soon enough, covering her fragile human body with his. 

She doesn’t let him get away. Her grip tightens, fueling the flames of desire that burn inside of them. She runs the tip of her nose along his neck and collarbones, savoring his intoxicating scent. 

Their bodies are pressed together. 

His crotch rubs the spot between her legs. 

If he could only bottle up the sound she makes when he applies some pressure…

He knows he’s going to get hurt. He’s treading on very dangerous grounds. He’s been living a fantasy since he picked her up in his arms and brought her home. There’s so much they haven’t said to each other. They’ve been living in a poisoned bubble, breathing in each other without noticing the flames that are shattering everything outside. 

With his right hand he ventures beneath the fabric of the underwear she’s wearing. He feels her curls and the slickness of her arousal. His mind spins. It’s all fuzzy. Her kisses are not helping, only intoxicating him further. She’s pure sweetness and poison. 

She clings to him desperately, her need palpable in every touch and caress. Her knees are rubbing against his, her chest arched so that it’s pressing to his, her hands don’t release his hair, and her lips are all over his face. 

It’s a struggle to swallow.  

“Have you ever… done this before?” He manages to ask. 

It takes her a moment to reply. She shakes her head no. 

Her answer makes him take a deep, defeated breath. 

He wants to make this right. He asks for a moment and she gives it to him, though she knows it’s a luxury they can’t really afford.  

As he rises from the bed, leaving her a mess, she feels a pang of fear. He’s tall and muscular. And she’s currently fragile as a flower. She wants to see him unleash himself, doesn’t want him to restrain his needs when their bodies are fused, yet she worries about her own ability to endure it. To endure him.  

He’s opening the last drawer in the dresser while those thoughts haunt her, filling her with apprehension.

When he turns back to her, he’s holding a square silver package between his fingers. There’s hesitancy clouding his gaze.  

“What is that?” She asks. She remembers seeing it before, when she was exploring the house, but she didn’t stop to examine it further. 

“It’s a condom,” he answers, slightly flustered. “It’s supposed to…” He never had to explain what they’re for. He struggles with the explanation, uncomfortable with the necessity. “It’s better if we use it,” he ends up saying. 

“How do we use it?” 

Her innocence just ads to his discomfort. 

Her questions are just going to mess him up. 

He’s at a loss for words. So instead of battling himself searching for the right words, he shows her. 

He takes off his remaining clothes and climbs onto the bed, positioning himself on his knees at her side. The way she’s looking at his fingers working the condom down his length makes his cock twitch. He hasn’t felt so self-conscious since the first time he had sex, and that was a long time ago. 

Before she can voice any more questions, he takes off her underwear, and as she opens her legs to him with such newlyfound confidence, he’s certain he doesn’t deserve her, much less when she’s smiling at him so sweetly, inviting him in. He’s disarmed. 

He lowers his body onto hers, enveloping her. He’s all she can see, hear, smell. Feel. 

He catches her eyeing down between their bodies, at the way his length is touching the inside of her thighs. She trembles a bit and clutches onto his biceps for support.

He’s too concerned to continue without letting her know that he will be gentle. She doesn’t want gentle, and so she tells him. He wants to reprimand her, but finally opts for acknowledging her about the three colors she can utter to let him know how it’s going. Red if she’s in pain, yellow if she needs him to go slow, green if she’s okay. 

“What if I want more?” She whispers. 

Oh, she will be the death of him. 

“I’ll give you more,” he promises, fire in his eyes. He seals his vow by fusing his mouth with hers and his body with hers. 

She might be the daughter of the sea, but in this moment, she is his and he is hers. 

He swallows her moans and restrains himself the first few minutes, easing into their intimacy with slow, deliberate movements. She’s tight and warm and wet. She’s heaven, paradise, and every other realm that nears perfection. 

His grip on her is firm, solidly guiding with a strength she can feel through his hands against her flesh. Not rough, but not gentle either. He’s positioned her exactly where he wants her, silently asserting his dominance as the one leading the pace. He’s the experienced one and he knows just how to make her feel good.  

She’s still catching her breath from the way he filled her and stretched her as he entered her. 

He takes her at his pleasure. Each trust takes her deeper into ecstasy, his fingers intertwined with hers on the pillow, his other hand on her hair, his voice a low growl that intensifies with each tug of her free hand on his hair.  

He’s a tidal wave, and she’s not a mermaid anymore. 

She will drown. 

She does. 

She’s quiet during her climax, but the way she digs her nails onto Noah’s back and spasms against him tells him exactly what he wants to know. He holds her against him through her orgasm, holding his own release as she tightens herself around him. 

His orgasm is not much different. It’s an explosion of everything he’s been bottling up for months. He feels free in the bliss that follows right after, when he’s able to breathe again and she’s holding him in her arms. 

It’s only when he’s coming down from his high that she studies his face with affection, admiring the way his features contorted and clenched while he was orgasming. He’s covered in sweat and some hair is stuck on his forehead and temple. A lose strand hangs from his front, and she tucks it behind his ear. It fills her heart with warmth. A bittersweet warmth. She wants to keep this boy with her forever and give these moments to him again and again.  

Her fingers brush against the necklace he’s still wearing. It’s been trapped between their bodies during their lovemaking, a silent witness. She toys with it. Noah is softening inside of her. Outside, rain begins to fall, mirroring the downpour of their emotions and synchronized releases. 

Noah moves to lay on his side and removes the necklace. 

“I don’t need this anymore,” he announces. She frowns until his hands place the necklace around her neck. “Because now I have you,” he says. 

His smile is so genuine —as if he truly believes his words—, and therefore, her heart breaks. 

He thinks this is the beginning when, in fact, it’s the end.

Tears soon follow. She wants to drift off to sleep cuddled next to him and never wake up again, but he won’t let her. He doesn’t want her to sleep because he can feel her fear, and he doesn’t like it. 

Something is wrong, he knows, but he doesn’t want to ask. He’s too afraid. He’s too coward.

He hugs her delicate frame and listens to her cries mingling with the raindrops tapping against the window. 

It’s not in his plans, and probably not in hers either, but she finds herself straddling his lap later that night. They’re making love again. 

She’s starting to feel empty. She’s also in quite a lot of pain. But she will die before she lets Noah notice it. She wants him to soothe that pain, to drown it out with pleasure, and he complies. She’s wrapped around him, legs around his waist and arms around his neck. 

They’re seated in the middle of the bed, in the most intimate position possible. He enters her which such ease this time that he wonders if he isn’t truly made for her despite both belonging to different worlds. For a while, while she dances on him decadently, he truly entertains the idea that a future for them might exist, that a human can fall in love with a mermaid, and that they can have endless moments like this and can live happily ever after. 

 He’s starting to consider that he might die for her. This thing that has grown between them in a matter of a day and two nights is everything he could’ve ever asked for and more. 

How will he ever live without her after everything she’s given to him? After experiencing the depth of her care, love, pleasure, and inspiration? She’s been nourishing his soul in ways he never thought possible. 

She’s more confident in her movements this second time. She asserts herself with more determination. She’s more demanding. When she screams and he asks for a color, she responds instantly: Green. She’s okay, she’s fine, she’s just dying from pleasure, and he can’t help but encourage her with a quiet ‘good girl’ and a harder thrust. He’s loving her screams, and when he has the chance, —maybe when they have explored sex together a bit further in the coming days and weeks—, he will show her other ways in which he can make her scream for hours on end. 

Contrary to his intentions, exhaustion overtakes him, and he falls asleep before her. She’s given him a run for his money on that second ride. He had hoped to stay up and lull her to sleep, make sure she’s feeling okay and hold her, but his body is spent. 

She’s the one lulling him to sleep, singing to him in a whispered melody as her fingers trace the lines of his face and, every once in a heartbeat, as her lips press a light feathered kiss against his cheek and the line of his jaw. 

 He drifts to slumber with the certainty that this is not a dream. 

She never falls asleep. She waits until his breaths become steady, signaling his descent into the realm of dreams. Only then does she allow herself to cry again, her heart heavy with the weight of her impeding departure. 

She leaves the warmth of the bed, gathering his t-shirt —she’s unwilling to leave without it—, and a pair of sweatpants that will do until she reaches the water. 

Crossing the threshold of Noah’s bedroom door takes all her willpower. Her heart pounds in her chest, threatening to burst. Part of her wishes to sink to her knees and stay, to surrender, to let herself die at the foot of his bed. 

It would be the sweetest of deaths, to die in his arms. 

Maybe that’d be a better ending than going back to the depths, where she knows there is no future for her and the boy sleeping in the tangled sheets. 

It’s a struggle to walk back to him. The need to touch him consuming her entirely. 

With trembling hands, she removes the necklace and places it gently on the pillow beside him. His brown hair appears silky and tempting in the moonlight filtering through the window. If only she could awaken him, convince him to follow her to the beach one last time, to hold his hand as she returns to her home beneath the waves… If only she could make him understand that it’s because she wants him and loves him so desperately, because she cannot bear the thought of living without him, he… 

…he would…

…he would drown. 

She stifles a sob and covers her face with her hands—the same hands that once held him close, that traced the contours of his thin lips after one of their many kisses, the same hands that drew a heart on his chest after the first time they made love and as they lied contently and spent on his bed. 

When Noah awakens the next morning, just before dawn, he finds himself alone in bed, with no name to call out for. 

"EPILOGUE — THE MERMAID" COMING UP BEFORE FRIDAY

Author's note: if anyone wonders if I enjoy putting myself through this suffering, the answer is yes, apparently I do. 🥲

#noah sebastian #bad omens #bad omens cult #noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian x ofc #noah sebastian x you #noah sebastian fic #noah sebastian fanfic #bad omens fic #bad omens fanfic

[starshipsofstarlord]

Solitary Soldier

Summary - in the dark of night, after coming home from your job at SHIELD, you encounter an unlikely visitor; The Winter Soldier (3.2k)

Warnings - 18+ only! Contains smut, unprotected sex, mentions of murder, sleeping with the enemy, swearing, praise

bucky barnes works mcu works main masterlist

Death was always watching, he came in the shape of a man, pretending to be an ally when in reality he was really the enemy. James Barnes was the name he had introduced himself by, though you knew he was far more than a simple human alone when you saw his name scribed on the wall in the SHIELD interstate. He was supposed to be dead, deceased, no longer breathing, a corpse in the cold snow that he fell into below the train. There was no way that anyone could have survived such a vast impact, but as you looked at him you saw nothing but cold behind his frosty eyes; the sight made your spine shiver and take a step back and away from him, his head cocked from the action alone. James was not here to make friends or sweet love as it seemed, no. Rather he was in this place to gather intel to pass onto his handlers and take down everything that you had tiredly worked towards, but you could not let him. It didn't seem as you had a choice however as he trapped you against the wall, his contrasting warm breath scuffing up and along the skin of your neck, causing you to grimace.

Moments ago you would not have withheld any distance from him, in fact you had wanted to get as close as humanly possible, without layers of clothing keeping you apart, releasing any trapped sounds from your mouths that were speaking no other language but ecstasy. But he was no good man, and it was proven as his lips littered emotionless kisses upon your throat, lightly biting down on your flesh as a silent threat. Peggy would have had your head if you gave in, and you'd have probably shot yourself there afterwards if you chose to, and so you remained strong and stoic, refusing to give into his primal advances. Whoever he had become after his treacherous journey from the speeding cart was evil, a monster who had been playing a ploy to break you down so that he could entrap you and make you vulnerable in your own home. And that was precisely how you were feeling in the second, if you were strong enough to escape his vice enchantment you would, but alas you feared what he would do if you so much as attempted.

"James... please..." That name no longer seemed to serve any affect upon him as his hand on the left flanked up from his side; he had removed the glove, the only garment in the room that had so much as been dropped to the floor later than scheduled, revealing silver plates in the shape of the appendage that was reeling off from his opposite shoulder. A metal arm, a weapon. "What is it you want?" In conclusion it wasn't that you'd give him what he desired, you had to waste as much time as possible so that Officer Perry that lived beside you would see what was ongoing through your windows that had yet to be enclosed by the lace curtains. He was always a nosy neighbour and for the one time in your life you prayed religiously that he would not change his intrusive mannerisms and show up soon. Whilst you may have been a trained agent, there was no way that you could take this phony on all by your lonesome. Someone had sent him, that much was clear. Whether they had resurrected him from the dead or had somehow gone back in time to prevent his unfortunate death, they had him wrapped around their sly finger, and he was their soldier, working as a manipulator by their vigil command.

"Hail HYDRA." Those words caused you to freeze like a shocked statue, frightened more so since it was practically just revealed that the organisation still thrived within the universe. You had heard about them, they were ruthless, and they hid behind the Nazis so that their true corrupt plans could carry on unnoticed. He may as well kill you in the instant rather than drag it out any longer, but James as he had introduced himself wouldn't, the people tat he worked for were maniacal torturers, scientists that ran underground experiments, and if your senses were right which you had no doubt they were, he was one of the many that had survived the trials. The arm he wore literally on his sleeve gave that much away, but so did the untamed appearance that glimmered on his features; he was ready to strike whenever you gave him a reason to. "They've been watching you and your work y/n." It was vile to hear him say his name after his previous words, but you stood straight as you squinted directly at him.

"What are they, jealous?" You retorted as a sneer, and perhaps taunting him and the values that had no doubt been beaten into him was a death sentence, but it didn't matter, not when you knew you were going to die anyways, and if that was at the hands of HYDRA, then at least you'd know that you faced your worst mortal enemy before your untimely demies. "Aw, they are, aren't they? And they sent you to get beneath my skin, but I think perhaps you should look at how that's turned out so far, you may need to compensate for more if you don't want the hand that feeds you to be sincerely disappointed." That made him snap, his metal hand enclosed around your throat, blocking your air flow as you gargled from the tough grip, the smirk that had rode your face disappearing as you struggled to breathe. "I. Know. Who. You. Are." Each word was strained through immense difficulty, with rather large breaks between each stopping point, though in the end you had gotten your sentence out, coiling his curiosity to unsheathe from the animalistic exterior that he was wearing.

"Say it." He dared you, and you knew better than to think of him as James Barnes. Whilst he had the same appearance and had used the same alias to grip your attraction towards him with the usage of the charm that he had once made women swoon with, that man was well and truly gone. There was no redemption for a monster quite like himself, the things that he had forcefully pursued were horrifying; he was a ghost story, a grim reaper that did his job without any imperfections. And although he attuned the skills to pretend to be someone with humanity, all that was rid from his slate, he was nothing more than a historical rouse of destruction, a hitman that served those with cruel intentions of world domination. They were smart to create him, but they knew and feared the facts that you were smarter, and if you so much wanted to you could focus your resources and brilliant mindset onto unravelling the web that they had swarmed Barnes' mind with. Mind control, it was a complex devise for people to get what they wanted, though it could be broken down piece by piece, and all memories had the interception and possibility to be restored.

"The Winter Soldier." You choked out, feeling his hand loosening slightly. "I can help you defeat them, help free you soldat. All you have to do is let me go, and no one will pick at that brain of yours again." Inevitably if you ever tried HYDRA would only wipe him again, but you thought for the time being you were wearing the criminal down, and cracking his exterior so a source of his true self could peak through and see the devastation that he was causing. Again, his grip loosened, it almost felt too good to be true until you reached up, cupping his heavy cheeks with your hands. He was puffing air, getting confused by all the choices that were laid out before him, and you realised that the only thing that could win him over was a bit of kindness, you had doubts that he saw much of that. "This world is so fucked up, but I believe that I can make it better for you and everyone else that is in comprisable situations. Do you understand me James?" His eyes reeled up meeting your own, silence hanging around the orbs as he dauntingly gulped, thinking of speaking in his original mother tongue once more.

He had been taught how to speak multiple languages but English was always a comfort to have on his tongue, it reminded him of home of which the memories were a little hazy, however he knew where it was. Brooklyn. Not the dingy cell nor the cryo chamber, both of which he was often stored in until he was required to serve his superiors and fix their endangering problems which more often than not involved killing someone. And not you were the person that his flawless assassin arson of abilities were attuned towards, and you'd be mistaken with the truth if you said that you were not scared by the potential death of yourself that would be oncoming. "You're my mission." He croaked out, conflicted between the orders that he had been given, knowing that if he did not follow them then it would only end badly for him, and the seeping of his past self that was wanting to free himself from the cage that was his own body.

"Then take me, not my life." The way in which he understood your words was due to you popping a couple buttons open on your ivory blouse, his eyes lingered on the flesh that you were exposing and it kept him dormant for the moment. His ironically gentle blue eyes scorned your skin as though he were searching for an option, something to do which would allow you to live and relieve himself of trouble for being weak at heart. “Take me soldier…” Something snapped inside of him, as though someone had pulled a trigger within his mind, and he perused forwards, clashing his form against your own as each bone in your body trembled from the impact. He was a source of danger, you however were willing to risk it in order to be close to him, and feel his scarred and punished flesh against your own. Your lips conjoined in a passionate and hungry smoulder, his hands tearing out the mixture of smoothness and texture upon the skin of your chest that you had exposed to him; he was veering away from his instructions and to that you were relieved, knowing that for now that you weren’t his victim.

Though you still remained his target it was under different circumstances, James rutted his hard on along your thigh, groaning mindlessly as he finally felt free from the chains that had once bound him. If you could, you would unshackle the prisoner in every which way, having a moderate span of pity for the personality that hid beneath the ruthless layers, he was starved for a touch like this. And if your life was on the line, then you would no doubt allow him to relieve his touch starved self with your body. He inhaled your scent, as he attempted to push you farther into the wall, convincing you there was a shape of your body moulded firmly into it from the force of his dominant weight. Your hand caressed his shoulder, no doubt being the softest treatment he had received in many years, however he snapped from that.

His vice grip wrapped sternly around your wrist, no doubt forming a bruise beneath the flesh as his wild eyes tore into your soul. He was in control, and he wouldn’t allow you for a second to let you think otherwise. All of the darkness that was wrapped up and tangled inside and outside of him bore into your very soul, as though you were a source of water that wished to put out his spreading fire. Within a flash he uncovered the rest of your flesh beneath the tailored and ironed shirt, buttons flickering on the ground as your smooth flesh was ether for his pupils to take in. And to his selfish luck you had forgone any upper undergarments, which made the soldier wonder if the lack of private shielding was matched on your lower half. “If I take you little agent, there will never be an escape from me. I will return every night just so that I can use you without any mercy.”

It was unlikely to be a confident promise on his part, HYDRA would no doubt become suspicious as to where their super soldier was wandering about all by his skulking lonesome. But that didn’t mean that the thought of his continuous return so that he could use you as a vessel for his own pleasure didn’t make you feel things. Your small panties were wet beneath your straight skirt, and if it weren’t for his blockade of a thigh your legs would have desperately squeezed together so that your brain could make a slight amends with your suffering arousal. “Then perhaps you should stop being merciful and get on with it soldier. After all the teasing isn’t that cruel if it’s postponing me from fraternising with the enemy, is it?”

In his ruined little mind, the Winter Soldier had perceived the delay to wrecking your insides the worst kind of punishment, however he was only being malicious to himself more so than you. “You’re going to regret that y/n.” He confirmed, and before you could retaliate with words again, he suffocated your lips with the plume of his own, pushing you farther into the wall before his hands scalded your scalp with his relentless grip and his other hand unzipped his military grade slacks. The sound alone of the teeth coming undone had your pulse racing; this was wrong in so many ways, if your colleagues were to know of your amorous betrayal than you would no doubt be shunned from the secretive work that you had spent so long studying and experimenting upon. You would no longer be a part of SHIELD, they’d see you as a traitor, but in the moment you could care less, the soldier had seduced you, and continued to do as he hiked your leg up around his waist.

His cock, hard and ready, pressed against the inside of your thigh, fluttering along the flesh as he realise that you had indeed forgone any panties. His mouth salivated at the fact, and with his tongue that was being malleable against your own, he transferred his spit into your mouth as he frivolously groaned behind your teeth. But for some reason, although he had told you that he and colliding your bodies together would be a grave mistake, it was impossible to think of it as such. Even as he dragged the head of his cock along your sopping and eager folds you could do all but wait to taste the forbidden fruit. Everything in concern to the present was morbidly enticing, and your eyes were ushered with a drowning of lust as he began to push his length into your desiring cunt. All of your senses were on overdrive as you felt the enemy stretch you out, your hands were washed with a haste of white as your fingertips dug into his strong shoulders; it was the only grip on reality that your body could fathom.

It all felt like a nightmare and a dream all at once, the atrocious merge of both ghosting up into your lungs as you gasped and whined as you welcomed him into your body inch by veined inch. Your head leant back into the wall behind you as Barnes hoisted you up into his arms, the action instantly causing your vessel to react by wrapping your legs around his waist as you felt him even deeper than before. And with the new angle, he began to thrust inside of you, and like he had promised before, he showed not an inkling of mercy as he used your tight little pussy for his own needs. You were coiled so tight around him it was making his head delirious, it felt like another hallucination that he often had to escape from his imprisoned life, but it was all very real. Too real as he probed the spot deep inside of you with your tip, drawing succulent moans out from your vocal cords.

If your neighbours had heard you, they would think that you were being attacked, and you were, but in the best kind of way. His eyes hazily scoured your submitted form as he rammed into you again and again, and he noticed that the column of your throat was within his reach, and so he leant forward and scraped his teeth along the skin, feeling how you gulped at the sensual action. “You’re never escaping from me now agent, you’re going to be my little whore until the day you die.” It felt like a threat, but it only made you clench around his length tighter and draw an animalistic moan out from his pink mouth. You huffed as your cheeks bloomed with a blushing heat, it rising to your temples and you leant into and towards the face of the man that was fucking you, resting your nose upon his as you exchanged breaths between your mouths.

“Yes soldier.” You nodded restlessly at his command, feeling your high approaching, and thus you bit your lip, stopping yourself from screeching out his name - Bucky. “I’m so close sir, can I please cum on your cock? Please.” You begged him with tears burning in your eyes, glaring helplessly into his own that were stern. He was on a mission, and that was to fuck every aspect of life out of you until you spilled all over him, perhaps spilling some information at the same time. A sigh settled on his chest as he continued to ravish you, a curl quirking at the ends of his sinful lips. “Cum for me my little agent, betray every one that you’ve ever held dear by soaking my cock.” His words only pushed you closer to the edge, and after a couple of seconds you finished on his length, feeling him continue to move even as he filled you up with his poison seed.

“You were so good for me krasivyy.” The tortured man told you as he slipped his cock out from your walls and settled you steadily on your own feet. Hesitantly, he reached forward and brushed some askew strands of hair behind your ear, his kindness compensating for how rough he had been with you. It was a gesture that felt nice, it had your heart swarming with a skyrocketing high almost as much as the orgasm that he had given you. You smiled at the man, despite having droplets of sweat clinging to your hairline and puffy cheeks that were rosy from his untamed kisses. “Until next time, little agent.” He zipped himself back up, walking by his lonesome to the door, and vanishing until the darkness. And as much as you wouldn’t admit it to any soul, you couldn’t wait until his return.

#bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x you #bucky Barnes x reader smut #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes fic #winter soldier smut #winter soldier imagine #winter soldier x y/n #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier x you

[skyward-floored]

Whumptober Day 2: Thermometer, Delirium (“I’ll call out your name but you won’t call back”)

This one has similar vibes to day 1, but it was originally for a different later-on day so that’s why (if you know the prompts, you can probably guess which!). Also there’s no actual thermometers here, but I definitely used the prompt as inspiration lol. Sorry Sky.

Warnings for: being out in the heat too long, an implied head injury, and a character thinks briefly about how it wouldn’t be so bad to die.

Read it on ao3

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Sky couldn’t remember why he was here.

Blinding sun shone in his eyes, even when he shaded his face with his hands, that made the pounding in his skull twice as worse. The glare made it impossible to see across the desert he was walking through, and his eyes hurt from squinting. Sand blew past his face, tripped his steps, and the heat rose off of it in waves, making it hard to focus on why...

...why what, exactly?

Sky shook his head, unable to remember, and kept walking. There wasn’t anything else to do, after all.

He’d been walking for ages, and the temperature had risen sharply as he’d gone, making sweat pour down his face and drip down his back. His sailcloth had long been put away in his pouch, and as tempted as he was to remove more layers, he didn’t want to be vulnerable to attack, or exposed to the blinding sun any more than necessary.

Not that it mattered much. There was no shelter anywhere.

Only sand. Endless sand.

Sky squeezed his eyes shut a moment, the uncomfortable sting from their dryness worth the temporary respite from the sun. He only had a few sips of water left, and as much as he wanted to gulp them down, he needed to conserve them so he could make it back to... to somewhere.

...to someone?

Sky swallowed, the motion barely relieving the dryness of his throat.

He was alone, but it hadn’t always been like that, had it? He did faintly recall being in a desert like this before, but... but maybe he’d always been wandering out here by himself.

Alone in the desert, with no water and a headache that only got worse.

He kept walking.

There wasn’t a cloud in the sky above him, no respite from the sun that beat down on his head. A scorching wind sometimes brushed past his bangs, kicking up the sand, but bringing no relief whatsoever.

Sky’s legs dragged more and more the longer he walked, his clothes soaked in sweat. He gulped down the last few drops of water he had, but it didn’t do a thing to quench his thirst. His head pounded, his headache worsened from the bright sun and pulsing behind his eyes, but Sky couldn’t even close them. Whenever he did, he always tripped soon after, and pulling himself back up got harder each time it happened.

A sound suddenly caught his attention, one that wasn’t just harsh wind or shifting sands. Sky dazedly looked up (when had he lowered his head?), and his eyes widened at the sight.

There were trees a short distance away, trees and tents set up around a large rock that reached up towards the sky. They all provided a glorious amount of shade from the sun, and in the middle of it all was a large pool of water.

Sky stared, then felt his aching face stretch in a smile.

Shelter. Shade.

Water.

He let out a raspy laugh, and began to run towards it, stumbling in the sand as he went. Finally, civilization, and a respite from the awful heat. Somewhere to rest, to figure out why he was wandering through the desert, why he felt like he shouldn’t be alone.

Sky was so fueled by the sight of something other then sand that in his excitement, he suddenly tripped on the large dune he’d been running down. His legs were too exhausted to recover, and he fell forward, arms pinwheeling.

Sky’s yelp was quickly cut off as his face hit the sand, and he tumbled down the rest of the way, limbs flying and sand getting on every bit of him that didn’t already have it.

He finally rolled to a stop with a groan, his exhausted body even more tired from the fall. He felt bruised and dizzy, and the same spot in the back of his head that kept pounding was blazing with pain now, but the reminder of water got him to fight through it, and Sky took in a steadying breath. Once his head finally stopped spinning, he carefully raised it, trying to focus on the oasis again and reorient himself.

Nothing but empty sand met him.

Sky stared, eyes widening as he lurched to his feet and looked around with increasing desperation. He could no longer hear the splashing of the water, see the leaves of tall palms rustling with a cooling breeze, just... sand.

Nothing but sand.

There had never been any oasis. It was just his mind, desperate for something to cool itself off with, tricking him.

Sky closed his eyes, a wave of despair crashing over him. It was so intense he nearly fell over, and he felt a frustrated cry build in his throat. He’d been so close, to shelter, to water, to people... but no, there’d been nothing to be close to at all. Just his dehydrated mind playing tricks.

He shook his head, and swallowed back the sting in his eyes as he reopened them. A dull feeling settled over him as he stared at the empty sands, and he sighed, the sound raspy and weak.

Nothing to do but keep going.

He began to walk again, and he couldn’t bring himself to scan the horizon for help any more. Maybe there just wasn’t any shelter anywhere.

Maybe the desert had no end.

Waves of heat rose off the sand, making the horizon impossible to make out no matter how much Sky squinted at it. The sun was right around its peak, scorching its rays onto his head, and Sky took his sailcloth back out with shaking hands and rested it over his head to protect his face. It barely helped, and he knew his skin was already peeling from burns, but he kept it there anyway. The faint sweet smell coming off of it was comforting at least.

He wondered why it smelled so nice. He couldn’t remember.

The sun seemed to stall above his head, getting no lower. Sky’s stomach began to roll unpleasantly, his dry throat crying out for water. He wasn’t sure why he kept walking honestly, when it would have been so much easier to just stop, but something kept his feet moving, even despite the pounding in his head.

A laugh floated by on the wind, and Sky blinked, a flash of pale hair in the corner of his eyes. He thought he saw a man approach him, covered in armor, but when he looked again he was gone.

The light grew more orange, his shadow squirming like snakes over the dunes. Harsh wind stung at his face like bitter words, and a wolf laughed at him when he stumbled, barks ringing in his ears. Something with fiery hair challenged him to a fight, but when Sky drew his sword to face it, there was nothing but a distant laugh in his ears.

He kept his sword out after that, using it as more of a walking stick than anything. Apologies spilled from his lips, for scuffing her steel and getting sand stuck in her hilt, but he didn’t know why. She was just a sword, wasn’t it?

Something circled lazily above his head, and Sky squinted at it, pausing as he tried to figure out why the shape seemed so familiar. Something outstretched to either side, a tail in the back...

Red flashed in his vision, and an intense hope caught in his chest as a memory surfaced.

“Crimson?” Sky breathed, watching the bird swoop around, wings stretched towards him as if it was coming in for an embrace.

Then it abruptly changed course and began to fly away.

“No— nnno no Crimson no, come back—!”

Sky bolted after his loftwing, but barely took a step before tripping in the sand, sending him sprawling. He desperately looked up, but his bird was long gone, lost in the blue sky.

It had left him. Everyone had left him. The scarf, the leaves, the golden hair, even his sword— Sky sobbed and tried to get up, but he’d finally reached his limit, the loss of his bird one loss too many.

He collapsed, muscles worn, heart aching, and his vision went dark.

(...)

A faint whisper tickled his ears.

Sky breathed out a soft moan, too hazy to try and listen. It was a gentle voice, one that made his chest hurt for some reason, but everything was disjointed, dark color smearing around the inside of his eyelids.

The voice repeated itself, but he couldn’t focus through the darkened void, too weak, too faint. But the voice continued, kept trying, and eventually Sky could hear it enough to just barely make out what it was saying.

“...Link...”

It was if his name was spoken through a heavy fog.

Sky still didn’t move, feeling utterly drained. It was like a weight had been dropped on top of him. Even when he thought he heard something move nearby, he remained still, listening silently as it approached. The sounds were strangely distant, but he listened to them anyway, unable to do much else.

The footsteps stopped, and Sky could feel that he wasn’t alone.

Maybe it’s a monster finally come to finish me off, he thought distantly. The idea was almost a welcome one, and he exhaled, sure that he’d feel a blade cutting into his heart any moment now. Then maybe he could truly rest, and join everyone who had left him.

“Sleepyhead, it’s time to get up.”

The familiar nickname abruptly cleared some of the fog that had descended in Sky’s head, and he forced his eyes open through the grit encrusting them.

Warm yellow met him, not like the painful glare of the desert sun, but a kinder, cheerful shade. Like gentle spring sunshine, with a silver glint from the moonlight. Sky blinked, and felt a huge surge of emotion as he looked up into crystal-clear eyes, their middle a blue even brighter than the sky.

“...Zelda?” he croaked, and she nodded from where she stood next to him.

“Sleepyhead, you need to get up,” she said in a teasing voice, and Link closed his eyes again, already exhausted from opening them the first time.

“...I can’t... Zelda, I...” he whispered, and he felt a light touch on his cheek, fingers gently caressing him.

“Open your eyes, Link.”

He obeyed, and Zelda smiled at him again, her form strangely hazy in his vision.

“You’re close to help, Link. It’s not much further, you can make it. I know you can.”

“I can’t,” he repeated in a whisper, wishing he could do as she said, but unable to gather the strength.

The sun had wrung out any energy he had, sapped by sweat and heat and the endless pound in his head. Sky belatedly realized it was much colder now, but the temperature switch was of no relief to his worn and wearied body. The air was now freezing instead of burning, and he barely had the energy to shiver, the cold leeching any remaining strength he had.

He was deathly thirsty, his stomach still hurt, and he still couldn’t remember why he was in the desert in the first place, or what he’d been doing beforehand.

Link closed his eyes again, a sudden wave of despair crashing over him through the confusion and haze.

“I can’t,” Link trembled out again, and tears would have sprung to his eyes if he’d had any water left in his body. “Z-Zel, I can’t.”

“You can,” Zelda replied in a voice equally firm and soft. Link couldn’t stand to look at her.

He kept his eyes closed, and then something moved at his side where his pouch was. He stayed still as it moved, then felt something soft fall over his shoulders, a familiar perfume drifting into his nose.

“You can, Link,” Zelda repeated, her voice encouraging. “I’ll be with you for every step. Don’t fall here. It’s time to get up.”

Link exhaled, and looked into Zelda’s eyes, watching the way the moonlight made them shine.

“Is that a command from my goddess?” he whispered in a barely-there voice.

“No. It’s a request from your friend,” Zelda said as she leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his hair. “Now come on, Link. It’s time to keep going.”

Something alit inside Link’s chest at her words, something weak, and faint. But it was warm, and Link clung to it like a drowning man, curling around and snatching at it, and suddenly felt as if he had some of his strength back. Not a lot, barely any, and he doubted he could even raise his sword... but he could move.

He wasn’t going to die alone in the desert. He wouldn’t fall here.

He would keep going.

Link clutched at his sailcloth with trembling fingers, and turned himself off his side and onto his hands. Then he moved to his knees, and ever so slowly, body shaking with the effort, got to his feet.

He stood for a moment, trembling in the moonlight, afraid to move for fear that he’d fall over. But Zelda’s words rang in his head, and he breathed in, tightening his grip on the sailcloth. Then he took a single swaying step, and then another, and another, legs trembling like those of a newborn loftwing. Walking through the sand seemed more impossible than earlier, and once he began shivering, it was even worse.

But every time he faltered, every time he nearly collapsed, wanted desperately to stop and just rest... he saw a shine of yellow hair ahead of him, a glint of blue eyes... and he kept going.

All through the night he plodded along, boots slipping in the sand, clutching Zelda’s words to him as tightly as he clutched the sailcloth.

Something at his back gave out an occasional weak pulse, and Link matched his steps to the faint rhythm. The horizon began to lighten, orange streaks shooting through the sky, and somewhere in that time, Link stopped shivering, the temperature rising again as he trekked endlessly across the sands.

Step, after step, after step.

He kept walking.

The sun broke over the horizon, making his eyes sting from its brightness. His footsteps weaved uncertainly as it cast orangey rays across the sands, voices warbling to him on the wind, cheering him, jeering at him, words both indecipherable and clear as ice.

A red haired man yelled at him after spending all day with Zelda, and a tall woman fiercely berated him, making his ears sting. The armor looked at his sword with dislike and anger while a bunny twitched his whiskers, the very grass and trees laughed, dusk fell and cried out as he struggled against the darkness, his parents looked at him with pride and grief and Mia wove around his legs as she begged to be picked up—

Link belatedly realized he’d fallen to the ground, still-cool sand pressing against his cheek.

Zelda’s voice had gone quiet, no more yellow hair to follow, no voice urging him up. Link breathed out, his strength gone. The faint flicker he’d regained was utterly spent. His body had been pushed to its limit, and he’d gone as far as he could. He’d given it his all.

He couldn’t keep going.

The darkness started to creep up on him again, but it felt colder this time, deep, reaching out to drag him down with its claws. Link shivered and wanted to brush it off, but he couldn’t even raise his arm.

I’m sorry Zel.

The claws hooked into him, began to cover his vision, sending darkness over his sight, but as they did, Link thought he saw a flicker of color out in the sand.

A yell rang faintly in his ears as he closed his eyes, footsteps pounding the sand. More yells joined the first as Link relaxed, and the sand brushed his other cheek, though it felt remarkably smooth and gentle as darkness swept over him like a wave.

For some reason, he felt perfectly safe.

#linkeduniverse #linked universe #lu Sky #zelink #lu Sun #...or is it? #whumptober 2023 #day 2 #thermometer #delirium #I’ll call out your name but you won’t call back #writing from the floor #these first few ended up so longgggg #but I guess that’s what happens when I actually have time to plan #don’t worry after the first week they’ll be pretty disastrous XD

[ginger-pup]

Oh you just had to be a BRAT didn't you? Stuck alone in his room to think about your thoughts and hear him speak to his friends on the other side of the wall. They don't know you're here. They have no clue what a filthy little brat you are, tied up and whining into your gag as the vibrating plug pushes another orgasm through your pathetic form.

He had given you three chances, three chances to behave. But your dumb little head just absolutely had to tease him! First, it was the miniskirt. Wearing it around home, showing yourself off for him with a feined innocence with the idea that since his friends were coming over soon, he surely couldn't do anything about it. Right?

The second chance was when he was having a quick shower. You just absolutely had to join him didn't you? Just had to pretend you had no clue what you were doing while posing and pressing up against his frustrated crotch, feeling his warmth and eagerness grow. Denying him any advancements because, well, his friends are over soon aren't they? You two shouldn't waste time letting off some steam when they're on their way already.

Third chance was the final attitude, the brattiness you showed when he tried to dominate you into fulfilling his desires. When he gripped your hips with his rough hands and took your neck into his mouth and you fought him every step of the way. He knew your complaints were false, your crotch visibly dripping against him as he tried to overpower you. He almost succeeded, but his phone saved you with a message from his friends that they'd be here any minute.

Pent up, angry and sick of your attitude. He tied your hands to your ankles, sticking your body in a permanent pose on your knees. Your favourite toy, a vibrating buttplug, stuck in you at full power and a gag stuck between your teeth so that his friends won't hear your desperate sobs. The perfect combination to remind you where your place is.

Time ticks by, every minute feeling like forever as the sounds of laughter and conversation echo throughout the house. The next orgasm quickly approaches, adding another layer to the ever growing puddle of juices between your legs. Your mind is so foggy, there's not a thought left other than the desperate urge to remove the overstimulation. But even that's beginning to fade. This is where you belong isn't it? Crying, strapped into place and just waiting for him. Why should you do anything else? You're just his toy. Your Dom is your life, he's all you should focus on. Right?

And eventually, the sound of goodbyes and the front door closing signal the next part of your punishment approaching. With a small click, the bedroom door unlocks and he stands there with a grin on his face. Almost too hazy to feel embarrassed, you try to cover yourself somehow but your weak body won't move itself. So pathetic, such a slut.

His eyes study you for a few moments before grinning even more, the sound of his belt unbuckling bringing a sense of excitement to your ears. Finally, he'll fuck you and then you're punishment is over right?

"such a silly little thing. Since you refused to help me finish earlier, I don't think you deserve to do so now. I'll just leave you like that hm?" A small pause follows, interrupted but your desperate whining against the gag.

"Oh shut up, sit there and be my porn. You don't deserve my attention"

And with that, he begins masturbating only a small distance away. Close enough so that you can see every fine little detail. His crotch throbbing, so desperate for release that he cums quite quickly. The cum that should've been destined for you, spraying onto his lap and tummy. Such a waste right? Surely if you'd behaved it would've been deep inside you, where it actually belongs.

After cleaning himself up, he sits and appreciates the view for a while before moving over and undoing your gag. Letting your jaw rest for a few precious moments he asks

"what's your colour pup?... green?..good puppy"

Eager for release from your bondage and punishment you can't help but have a hint of eagerness in your answers, your stomach dropping as he continues speaking.

"well if that's the case, I've got to go pickup some things from the store. I'll be leaving you like this, that's not a problem is it?

Little brats deserve it"

Thanks for reading!! Just a little rambling story I wrote at midnight so please excuse my grammar! Just a bit of an idea for plot or a story I guesss. 🥰

#bd/sm pet #bd/sm dynamic #pet/play #trans nsft #daddy’s puppy #nsft puppy #mind conditioning #puppy pl@y #cnc k!nk

[slytherwrites]

Hello, I hope I am not disturbing you. Your writings are great. If you are getting requests, can you write for yandere husband Pollux Black, Crygnus Black, Orion Black, Alphard Black, Severus Snape, Gellert Grindelwald, Aberfort Dumbledore, Albus Dumbledore? Please

You're not bothering me at all! I love requests! Here are your husbands lol

Characters: Pollux Black, Cygnus Black, Orion Black, Alphard Black, Severus Snape, Gellert Grindelwald, Aberforth Dumbledore, and Albus Dumbledore

TWs: Yandere Content, implications of forced sex, implications of forced pregnancy

Pollux Black

There was no denying it. Pollux was drunk out of his mind.

He'd always carried himself with guilt. A twin who's brother died in the womb. The firstborn son of his father, thus complicit in whatever he wanted, in order to keep his place in the family. He was man who's back was so spineless that it should've curled in on himself already. A disappointment, not proving himself better than Arcturus and not securing the switch in power between his branch of the family and Arcturus'.

But he was you husband, and you had to stick by his side.

"Baby," He crooned in you ear, "You know I love you. You know your the only one for me."

"I am aware."

"Oh, darling I need you, there's no one else for me." He continues, "Love is just what keeps me going. And love is just you in that dress."

"Is that some song?"

"Loving you is just what I do best..."

You take the cup from his hand and slip him out of his formal robes. The reception is over. Cassiopeia got out of this family and is married to someone who loves her. You wish you could say the same.

"It's how I feel, darling." Pollux continues, "I can't stand to see people around you."

"I'm all yours, Pollux." You tell him, "I'm all yours."

"When are you going to act like it then." He whines as more layers get removed between the two of you. You've holed up in the main manor, in one of the side rooms. Pollux is too drunk to apparate or use the floo network. And nobody in the Black Family would dare be seen riding the Knight Bus.

"I do act like it." You tell yourself, "I'm yours, Pollux."

"You don't say I love you. You recoil from my touch. You refuse to call me anything other than my first name." Pollux's tone gets serious, "You don't act like you love me."

"I love you." You tell him.

He grabs your shoulders and throws you onto the bed with him, "Then start acting like it."

"Pollux—" You tried to put some distance between the two of you, "Pollux, wait."

"No." His tone was much more sober, even if he was still slurring his words, "No. You are mine. Quit acting like you're not."

"Please—" You start but he interrupts you, "No! No. You are my wife. You shall act like it."

"I do!" You try to get back onto your feet, "I do!"

"I am your husband and you are my wife." He says, "We shall be one. We shall grow ourselves—our family."

What he means dawns on you and you know that this was always a part of your marriage contract, but you believed that by the time it happened, you'd be in love with him.

You tried and your tried but the light are off and the curtain is closing. This performance is over and act two's about to begin. This time, with a proper pureblood family from the two of you.

Cygnus Black

Cygnus was raised as a righteous man. He has a duty to the family—to live long and prosper. And he wanted to do that with you. Second-born son of the second-born line, he wasn't close to leading the family, even in his wildest dreams.

But he could lead his own family. And he wanted to create that family and that legacy with you and you alone.

"Spin." Your dress robes shimmered with the brightness of the stars themselves, the glimmer bouncing off of them in the waves of your turns, shining as bright as you do.

You don't say anything to him as he takes in your figure. You need to be perfect for him. It is your wedding day, after all.

"Muggles wait to see what they're partner is wearing until they are right in front of them." Cygnus notes, "What fools they are."

"How do you know what muggles do at weddings?" You try to laugh, tease him so that this moment isn't as daunting for you.

"Because I do." Cygnus growls, "Don't question your husband."

"You're not my husband yet." You laugh weakly for your own sake. Cygnus has always been quick to anger, quick to contempt. Hopefully you're quicker—especially than he is at action.

"Look at me." He grabs your arm and squeezes until all of the blood rushes from the hold, "You do not question me. I am your husband. It would behoove you to learn that quickly."

"Alright." You rub your wrist, comforting yourself, "I understand."

"I'll train you up. Don't worry." He says, "You'll learn before our children are born. You'll be an optimal parent. You'll be the perfect spouse. I'll make sure of it."

Somehow, you silently note, that you know that you'll never be as perfect as he needs, no matter how much he teaches and you endure.

Orion Black

Orion Black looked at you with a gaze so sharp it could pierce your body and soul. His straight black hair was combed neatly. His eyes were concrete grey and he kept his face just with the hints of what his beard could be if he didn't shave it regularly. His suit was crisp and clean and his shoes shined like motor oil.

He was well dressed and angry at something. And he was looking at you to fix it.

You took the initiative, silently accio-ing a bottle and a glass, pouring him a drink and then handing it to him. "Rough day?"

He takes the glass you offer, "News you won't like."

"What is it?" You ask, "I can handle it."

"I know, darling. You're so strong for me." Orion takes a sip of the drink and bridges the gap between the two of you, taking your hands into his, "They know the gender of Druella's baby."

The realization dawns on you, "Another girl."

"Yes," He offers you a sympathetic smile, "You've always been bright."

"I don't think coming to that conclusion took much brain power."

"I talked with my grandfather. He's expecting us to pick up the slack."

"Have the heir." You fill in.

Orion nods.

"No." You put your foot down, "That was the deal. I was to stay with you, play the perfect Black Family Wife and I would remain financed, protected, and untouched."

"That was if Cygnus was able to have a male heir." Orion says, "Do you think that I want to go back on that arrangement?"

"Then don't!"

"And have Bellatrix be the next Head of the Black Family?" Orion asks, "I'm already set up to be heir. It was always expected of me."

"It's not going to be expected of me."

"Yes it was." Orion's grip tightens, "We are already wed. You are mine. You cannot leave. Now you can do this the easy way, or I'll imperio you."

"You wouldn't."

He looks you in the eye and reaches for his wand. He doesn't say the words outright, but you made a deal with the devil so he wouldn't hurt you further. And maybe you will have to slide back on that deal a bit. But if you didn't, he'd take it painfully. And he would feel as if he could take more and more out of you.

You can keep some semblance of control this way. And what's one kid in the grand scheme of things?

Alphard Black

Alphard Black loved you to the moon and back. He was Hephaestus and you were Aphrodite, but like the mythical husband and wife, you were not loyal.

No, you'd found your Ares.

A muggleborn, in fact. Some man in the French Ministry of Magic who's been in Britain working on a project. Alphard didn't care who he was or what he done, except for when it was with you.

He used muggle means of subduing him. He's always been fascinated in the magicless. After all, he took you as his wife, even after his family threatened him.

It took all of his convincing to prove that you'd be a good partner, despite being a squib. You can still produce magical children after all. And he's not of the main line anyways.

But you had to go and fuck it up, didn't you?

He has your man tied up in a chair in the parlor, stripped of his wand and his clothing. He was still out cold and you came running when your darling husband told you oh, so sweetly that he had a surprise for you.

He stands over and behind your passed out lover. He's able to see your face when you notice what's gone on. And he can see the horror on your face as you see his manic smile.

"Alphie... what did you do?" You take a step closer, kneeling in front of your lover, "Alphie! What are you doing!"

"Don't Alphie me, sweetheart." He replies, "I saved you from a horrid life in the muggle world and this is how you repay me? By fucking some muggleborn swine!"

"Alphie, it's not what you think..."

"No, baby, it is what I think." He says, "I've been working and you've had a bit too much free time. So you took a man who would give you that attention. I'm sorry, darling. But I'll give you the attention you deserve."

"Alphie, please!" You try to reason with him, but he grabs a knife, "You can't do this!"

"Oh but I can. Knife to the head, incendio for the corpse, and aguamenti to put out the flames. It's simple, really."

You try to run to your lover, standing with him so that if Alphard was to light him ablaze, he'd have to do so to you as well. But Alphard casts a spell you don't recognize and you fall to the floor as you loose consiousness.

You come too as the fire dies down. Your lover no more than ashes. Alphard has himself pressed against your back, arms around your waist. He's singing the song at your wedding and it dawns on you:

You can never escape. You will never escape. The world that you admired so much and was desperate to be a part of you had a chokehold on you so strong that you were unable to leave it, even if you wanted to.

Severus Snape

You were in this marriage for your own personal protection.

The Snape name wasn't known as a Wizarding name just yet, but Severus was a halfblood. He could trace his lineage.

You could not, on account of being a muggleborn.

Honestly, with how Severus acted, you'd wished a death eater would take you out already. It wasn't nearly as torturous as being the wife to such an insufferable man.

"Darling," His slow manner of speaking irritated you, as if you couldn't handle him speaking any faster than this, "You mustn't linger about like that. You seem unhappy."

"And what if I am unhappy?"

"With the favor I have provided you?" He asks, "It would be foolish of you."

"Then call me a fool."

In all honesty, he was right. Staring out the window in the muggle home the two of you shared wasn't healthy for you. It only served to remind you of the home and happiness that you have since lost.

You change the subject, "How is your lord faring?"

"Better, now that he's decided on whomst his biggest threat is."

"Not Albus Dumbledore?"

"No, not Albus Dumbledore." Severus won't tell you more than that and you do not push the matter.

"Anything interesting in the potions you've been making?"

"No." He replies, "It is all the basics for getting a potions mastery. I will have to show it to the Potions Mastery Committee, down at the Ministry."

"You're heading into London?"

"I was planning on flooing, actually."

"Pick me up a new book." You turn to look at him, seeing him flip through the pages of his own book, "I've finished the last in that series and I want something of a similar author."

"Alright." He replies, not looking up at you. You look at his face, still ever-present in his book.

You suppose that he could be worse. He could be active in this situation, not just complacent in your slow torment under this roof. He could lay an unjust hand on you. He could treat you like the other wives of Death Eaters.

There is a mercy in how he acts. There is love in his distance.

You could reciprocate it, you could let it grow and blossom. But for now, you let the waves splash softly against the sand that is the foundation of your relationship with the man.

Gellert Grindelwald

Gellert Grindelwald doesn't love you.

The truth of the matter is that he's never loved anyone, only having obsessions. And, for all of his life, he's only been obsessed with two individuals: Albus Dumbledore—and you.

The fact that you have something in common with Albus Dumbledore makes you laugh. Him, one of the greatest wizards of all time, and you, a witch with so much self-loathing you almost formed an obscurus.

Almost, being the key word. For Gellert Grindelwald made it certain that you would not succumb to this deadly affliction, that you would find love within yourself and the world and its magic, so that you would keep on living.

And, it was all so he can keep you funneled away, hidden from the rest of the world in a small flat near Godric's Hollow.

It's embarrassing really, how quickly you fell for him. And yet, he does not love you, even after all that he did to make you love him.

You just stare off into the fireplace, awaiting his arrival. Because he's the only thing that keeps you from slipping into that state again. He's the only thing that brings you joy.

Aberforth Dumbledore

Aberforth wasn't the gloriest of husbands you could of had.

In all honesty, you befriended him to get closer to Albus. That was the real catch, your mother told you. Handsome, intelligent, hardworking—the world was falling at his feet and you could've been the woman smiling by his side, perfectly cared for and content while he tool the Wizarding World by storm.

But Aberforth had to actually take a liking to you, one he took violently, one that tarnished your reputation afterwards.

One thing lead to another and there was a child between the two of you. Aberforth made you an honest woman and you got yourself stuck with a child you didn't want, a job you hated, and a husband you hated even more.

At least nobody cares about what you did, out of wedlock. It's been decades now. You and Aberforth are over a century old. So is Albus.

And even if you can't call Albus Dumbledore yours, you still get to be near him and bask in his intellect. You two are friends, even if you always wanted to be something more.

Albus Dumbledore

He was an odd man. Never violent, even if you wished he would be.

He was kind, wise, put love as the forefront of everything, even though you didn't love him.

You didn't even like him. No, you were filled with pure, unadulterated hatred for your husband.

He's a gentle man. Smart, intelligent, caring. He keeps to himself on most occasions and lets you roam the walls of Hogwarts freely, just like you did, when the two of you were students.

You remember him well, you suppose. Back then, he wasn't like this. Back then, he was easier to endure. Back then, your dislike of him was validated.

Now, he's the war hero and headmaster of the greatest wizarding school in the world. He's saved countless of lives and mentored everyone who's walked through the walls of Hogwarts for the past century or so.

And it's exhausting, staying by his side. You're expected to be a proud person, prideful in your husband's work and all he has done, joyful in how the Dumbledore name has flourished and grateful for the man you've married.

But you are not here willingly. You would not have joined his side by choice.

You honestly hope Minister Fudge finds a way to oust him. Maybe his crimes in the wars will be released. Maybe he'll keel over and die already.

Because being the partner to such a perfect man is exhausting. Especially when you're the only one who sees all of his flaws.

#yandere hp #yandere alphard black #yandere pollux black #yandere cygnus black #yandere orion black #yandere severus snape #yandere gellert grindlewald #yandere aberforth dumbedore #yandere albus dumbledore #i'm not too familiar with fanon interpretations of these characters so if something seems off that's why #some of these are more fem aligned than others that's just how the cookie crumbles i guess #vaguely fantastic beasts canon with this because ive only seen the first one and seen discussions of the latter two

[sizzleissues]

toxic (748 words)

Toxinelle/Marinette/Shadybug drabble thing

The apartment was a shell. 

The furniture they retained from the move sat in the positions they logically belonged to but there was no heart to their placements. The objects knew they were miles from where they were supposed to be and languished in their new dusty light. The space between them, places that should have contained something else — not something physical but a concept — was chillingly bare. Marinette doubted anyone had sat on the couch in a few days or treaded across the creaky floorboards in any direction other than to the bedrooms. The kitchen that had sung in its constant use; pots and pans clanging, cupboard doors slamming and kettles hissing — was quiet.

The lack of something pressed into her skin, a constant companion to her nowadays. 

Marinette could have tried to make this home, she had tried at first, back before she’d resolved herself to seek fulfilment through other means. Made dinner — burnt dinner — decorated the table and sat at its head and waited. If she hadn’t thrown out the food two months ago it would still be there, under the layer of mould it had accumulated. She tried to fill the house with song and light but no matter how many curtains she parted it never reached the shadows. Her parents were never home to see her efforts.

So she gave up and did her best not to spend too much time inside. Her new hobby helped greatly with that.

She hung her jacket up, dumping her belongings by the door and making her way through the apartment to close an open window. This may not be home but she didn’t want stray animals to make it theirs. As she passed the couch, her eyes caught on the enigmatic grin of her a certain stray cat, lazed across the disused cushions. He allowed her three seconds to process his appearance before leaping up and grabbing her wrist, pulling her against him.

“Found you.” 

She fought against his grip, weaker as Marinette than she was as Toxinelle. His grin only widened, flashing razor sharp fangs she’d seen tear through metal (and bloodier things.)

“It wasn’t that hard. Stop looking impressed with yourself.”

Griffe Noire dropped her wrist, putting distance between them as easily as he’d removed it. He detransformed, leaving the haughty Adrien standing in her living room. His height and slender frame was less elegant and more awkward as his civilian self — as if being human returned gravity to his body and mind. She already knew the depths of his mind quite well.

“I only had to find it ‘cause you wouldn’t tell me,” he said. If it had been Griffe Noire there would have been a smile to it, constantly making everything a game. Adrien, even though he was but another side of the same person, said it with a sulky tone. 

“I can’t have you here if my parents come home. Especially as Griffe Noire.”

“As if they would. You said they're never home with all the work they have to do to pay for your tuition.” He flopped onto the couch again, throwing her previous words back at her with an ease that didn’t articulate the slap to the face they were for her. Things she’s admitted in confidence tossed around like nothing when it had taken her everything to admit. He seemed to notice her silence and realise the impact of his words. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. Just that this would be the perfect place to plan and hang out. I'm a bit sick of the sewers. It wouldn’t be weird for us as civilians to be here either and it's private.”

“No. Not here. I’m keeping any chance of them knowing about this out of it.”

This was her line.

Adrien examined her for a moment. The strength of her stance and the resolute set of her jaw. He could care less if his father became embroiled in this, as long as it didn’t stop him from doing it. 

“Okay. Do you want to go now?”

Marinette looked around the apartment, she wasn’t sure for what. Maybe for an excuse not to say yes. To see her parents walk through that door and finally figure it all out. Take away her miraculous because she wouldn’t stop them and free her from the burden she’d brought upon herself. 

Then again, she quite liked tearing shit apart.

“Let's go.”

-

Did you understand it? I'm I going in a direction you like? While I love a lot of peoples takes on the concept of the reverse world and have a few of my own, this particular is going for it all being quite toxic in its short amount of words.

Trying to get myself motivated to write but I am a fickle thing

Did you like it?? let me know and reblog blah blah blah etc.

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #toxinelle #shadybug #claw noir #griffe noire #ml fic #ml fanfic #ml paris special

[heartfullofleeches]

Eggnog smut with reader wearing their sweater?? :3c

[18+ Mdni. Reader is implied to be smaller than Eggnog but they are 6'6]

"Elisha- it's cold.."

"Mm..." Their mouth draws over your shoulders as they shift their head. "Five more...."

You shutter. As a change of pace, you joined Eggnog in their room tonight. Only problem was they lived in the attic and the temperature was abysmal this time of year. You thought it wouldn't be so bad for one night, but the casual chil has escalated to the point you could see your own breath. You needed something to Grabbing another blanket wouldn't have been an issue- had it not been for the large hybrid falling asleep on your shoulder.

"I'll be right back. I just need to get a blanket real quick."

Eggnog once again refuses to move, lazily stroking a hand up your spine as they mutter comforts muffled by their lips teasing your skin. Your shivering pulled them from sleep, but they weren't quite ready to let you go yet despite the short distance. Something about having you in their territory made them relaxed and more territorial than they would like to admit.

Fingers trace the curve of your neck when Eggnog suddenly sits up; the sleeve of their sweater rolling down their arm. It droops off their shoulder as a thought comes to mind. Others had always said their clothing was big enough to swim in, and with the years of wear the sweater had been stretched nearly twice as large.

You start to wonder what's got them so deep in thought. "Eggnog?"

Eggnog pulls their arms from their sleeves and holds you close as they pull their sweater over your head. It fits to where you're left with some wiggle room while also trapping you against their bare chest. The material may have grown thin, but it when combined with their natural heat the weather nothing more an afterthought. Their skin was a bit cold, but with some friction from yours they heated up nicely.

Wait.

"Are... you shirtless?"

Eggnog stiffens. "You haven't noticed before?"

"Guess I never really thought about it before.

Panic crosses their face. "Is that bad?"

"No, no- of course not!" You can tell they aren't convinced as they shrink away from your touch. "Really, it's okay.... I- can take off mine too if it would you want."

"But, you're cold."

"I'll be fine." You slip out of their sweater and remove your shirt before sliding right back. Eggnog squirms from the crawl of your exposed body against theirs, but relaxes as you settle. They lock their arms around you as they had before and ease against the headboard of their bed, pulling you along with them. Your torso fits against their beating chest, legs strewn over their lap.

Eggnog mindlessly paws your skin, fingers dipping with every curve and falling into the rhyme of exploring your frame. This - was nice. They've never experienced such yearning tranquillity before. The desire ro relish the calm, mixed with the urge to stay up with you till the dawn. Your body was warm, comforting. They always knew, but without a layer of clothing blocking the way they could fullly feel how true that was. Your soft heartbeat compating theirs up to the breaths on their neck. It was heaven - A paradise they found themselves diving deeper into until their wandering hands find the band of your underwear.

They reel back without consideration of your arrangement; the pull of their sweater as they stir bringing you closer despite their attempt to get away. You look up as they squirm. "Are you okay?"

Eggnog swallows, unresponsive. Your head rises from their shoulder. Eggnog can see down the sweater at your partially nude form. How were you so calm about this. How were they- in the beginning. They felt warm, heat pooling in the center of their body right where you sat.

"Fine. Just didn't take it into accountability how... intimate this was."

"Right, I trust you so, I thought it would be alright."

That only makes things worse. It was becoming increasingly more obvious to them how aroused they'd grown, and you just thought of it as nothing more than innocent cuddle.

"Plus... I think I know how you feel."

Eggnog jumps at the added pressure on their groin, your fingers catching the zipper of their pants. "A-ah?"

"It's kinda hard not to feel it when I'm right against you. Sorry, am I going to far?"

In an instant Eggnog's lips fall upon yours; mouths tangled in a heated, passionate kiss than ends with their tongue exploring every inch it could reach. Beads of saliva connect you them as they mutter beneath their breath.

"Please..."

Submitting to another kiss, you free their erection from their jeans. Eggnog whimpers against your lips as you pad your thumb over their engorged length. Their hands freely travel into your underwear as you pump the shaft, groping and squeezing your thighs and behind. They grind against your hand and moan into your lips as they sink into the mattress, your movements temporarily halted as you tear off your remaining clothing to the best of your ability. Eggnog in turn takes to rutting between your thighs as their fingers tease and slowly work into your entrance. You coat your fingers in spit and apply it to their length as you guide them to your hole. Their hand return to your back as you lower yourself onto them.

Eggnog turns their head to the pillow to muffle their mew of pleasure. You rest your hands on their chest in signal as you rock yourself through the initial stretch of their accordingly sized dick filling you in. Giving permission, Eggnog tests a small thrust. They gasp from the newfound, overwhelming sensation of your walls clenching around them. They switch the muffler of their cries to your shoulder as they grasp your hips.

"Y/n.... Ah...'

They drool against your skin, adding a wet smack to every sloppy kiss they send. You reach your hand through the back of the sweater and grip their right horn as you rock themselves into a steady pace with you. The second of control is lost once you stroke the base of their horn; hips slamming into your as they whine into your neck. Their arms tighten around you as they roll onto their side.

"Y/n... Love you... I.."

They thrust a few more strokes more breaking free as they move you onto your back. They roll out of the sweater and take a moment to look at you. Flushed skin, their sweater draped and hanging off your sweaty skin. That dazed smile that invites them in a makes their heart flutter with everything you give. You reach out to them and locks your fingers with their through the thick wool.

"I love you too, Elisha."

Something in them snaps. Blinking away tears, Eggnog holds your waist as they pound into you. They kiss your neck, your lips, anywhere their sweater wasn't covering. It was a blessing in it marked you as theirs, but a curse in shielding what they longed to claim. Your legs fold around their back as an orgasm tears through you, prolonging by their relentless caresses and speed. Eggnog buries themselves deep inside you as they finish and collapse on your chest.

Their lidded eyes widen as their cum drips down your inner thigh. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

You kiss the top of their head and throw your arms over them. Their apology dies out as you brush your fingers through their hair. "It's okay, Eli. Least I'm not cold anymore."

Eggnog lifts their sweater, resting on your bare stomach. You pull it completely over their head and close your eyes as they get comfortable. They look up and plant a sleepy kiss on you as they mutter.

"You're perfect."

#Milk farm tag #yandere oc #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #yandere scenarios #yandere insert #yandere blurb #yandere x you #yandere hybrid #yandere smut #yandere lemon

[xalygatorx]

Unbound | Chapter 11, "Old Scars"

Áine Ts'sambra—a wayward half-drow bard with a painful past—has her world upended when she's snatched up by a Nautiloid ship and furnished with a tadpole to the brain. In her journey to remove the infestation before it can turn her and her newfound companions illithid, she not only finds that their solution has more layers to parse through than she can count, but that a particular vampire in her party does as well.

Unbound is an ongoing generally SFW medium-burn romance based in the world of Baldur's Gate 3 between Astarion and a female OC. Any NSFW content will be marked in the Warnings section. Contains angst, fluff, explorations of trauma, spice, graphic fantasy violence, and a guaranteed happy ending.

For anything additional on what to expect (and not expect), check the preface post.

Summary: Astarion tries to make sense of his feelings following his tryst with Áine. When Áine wakes, she sees an alarming scar pattern on Astarion’s back, bringing up questions about his past. The group recovers from the party over breakfast and receives their next steps from Halsin, which unearth something buried for Áine. A monster hunter passes by the camp and alerts them to a rogue vampire spawn in the area.

Pairing: Astarion x Fem!OC

Warnings: Suggestive content & dialogue; trauma; angst; description of a panic attack; lightly proofread; struggled through the last half of this one a little bit; author note at the end

Word Count: 8.3k

Listening to: Dead Man - David Kushner, I’ve also had White Winter Hymnal on a literal loop for like three days bc vibes (and also I have a cute little recurring vision of Áine dancing to the melody at the tiefling party with Alfira)

Astarion found no rest that night, his mind far too full and his stomach far too twisted. What he did do was ensure that Áine was too exhausted by the end of their tryst to stay awake, lest she be coherent and, ever observant, start asking the right questions. He was unsettled by the idea of entering a reverie of any depth while knowing someone else was this close by. It was a vulnerable state for him to enter and he’d had enough of vulnerability despite seeming unable to avoid it when it came to being with her.

Instead, he’d eased her spent, supple body down to the grass and waited with something akin to apprehension until she’d fallen asleep. Astarion had run his hands over his face, exhaled against his hands, and risen to retrieve his clothes. Everything save his shirt went back on and he could admit that he felt a little less anxious now that he was no longer naked below the waist. He was a mix of residual feelings that had nothing whatsoever to do with that night in isolation and new inclinations that had everything to do with that night. 

He sat back down in the grass near where Áine was curled on her side, maintaining his distance yet still close enough to feel her gentle heat radiating from her skin. Even he couldn’t believe his excuses anymore. Astarion bridged his fingers, resting his chin against them while his elbows found purchase on his crisscrossed legs. He closed his eyes, venturing into a territory that frightened him by delving into his memory to search for answers to a question he needn’t even ask. 

Astarion thought back through the last couple of hours, but particularly to the first “round,” so to speak, and he forced himself to start admitting some things internally if only to make sense of what their situation had become. The first thing he needed to admit was that his physical reactions to her were based on how he felt about her. He could hem them in with effort, but when their night of passion first escalated, he hadn’t been ready in the slightest for how hard it would hit him to finally be with her. 

Taking her blood while they were fucking had also been utterly intoxicating and something he, of course, had never experienced before her. His troubled thoughts tried to latch onto that to serve as sufficient reasoning for everything he was contending with, but he swatted that compulsion away. He didn’t have to explain himself to anyone, but for his own peace of mind, he had to get to the bottom of this. 

Astarion rolled his shoulders, his jaw setting at the tension he felt in them. He supposed it shouldn’t have surprised him that he’d react this way to realizing he was growing attached to someone. The last time he’d been too sentimental to bring a target back to Cazador, he’d spent a year entombed, starving, and alone, as punishment. He’d raked his nails raw against the underside of the casket, desperate to carve his way out, until it became clear that he’d stay there as long as his sire desired. Then it was all a waiting game. Waiting to give up. Waiting to be released from the crypt and put back into service, free-roaming but never free. Waiting to die. Knowing all the while that he’d never have such an easy escape from this life as to die before his master wished it.      

Somber crimson eyes opened slowly, prematurely cast downward toward the sleeping beauty in front of him. She was, of course, not that sweet boy from all those years ago. Astarion had always wondered what had happened to him in the end. If because of his sacrifice, that man went on to live a full, wonderful life or if in the end one of his siblings had done what he’d not had it in him to do. Despite how hardened he’d become to everyone but himself in this wretched world since then, he still hoped the former. Then perhaps the pieces chipped from his sanity during that horrible, horrible year would amount to something.

That at least accounted for why he felt so afraid. He wasn’t afraid of her. In fact, she might have been the only person in this world he didn’t fear in any capacity. Astarion’s mind wandered back to when he’d taken her hands off his waistband and moved them to his shoulders, how she’d kept them there without question despite not knowing in full what he’d been through. And he’d trusted her to, also without question. That may have been the most unnerving part of all.

Astarion went rigid when Áine stirred, but she simply stretched a little and rolled over to her other side, curling back up but facing him this time. It suddenly crossed his mind that she might be cold, but as far as his icy body could tell, it was a balmy summer night. He supposed he had found her in this position when he’d trespassed on her tent the night she’d first let him drink from her, so perhaps this was just how she slept. He’d yet to truly get used to sleeping on the ground, but she seemed comfortable enough.

In her sleep, Áine set a hand on the grass beside her as if searching for him. He recanted the thought, considering that perhaps that was wishful thinking on his part. Astarion contemplated her hand—he knew its touch well after their coupling. How her fingers felt in his hair—a touch he’d nearly ducked from until he realized what she was doing wasn’t to inflict pain and, Hells, instead it had felt delicious—and how just one of his hands could hold both of her slender wrists (and pin them above her head). He knew where on her fingers playing her lute was giving her callouses and how the pad of her thumb felt when it brushed against his hand, against his jawline while the pinpoints of her fingertips dotted his cheek like the smallest constellation.

Should he let her find him? He was tempted. However something akin to panic lashed through him again and he looked away from her outstretched hand, his eyes instead finding the slowly lightening sky. Astarion rose when the sun finally poured down into their clearing, drawn like a moth to a flame. Under normal vampiric circumstances, that would’ve been an accurate analogy, but at least for the time being, he had a free pass to feel the sunshine on his skin again. He stepped into its rays, not without some habitual trepidation still, but sighed contently when it warmed him, his eyes fluttering closed. 

There was so much warmth, so much color, in this world he’d never noticed before being deprived of it for so long. He craved power, he craved vengeance, but he craved these small things, too. These simple, quiet moments when it was as if only he existed. And now, he supposed, that extended to Áine too.

Behind him, awakened by the same morning light, Áine drew a deep breath and opened her eyes. She was initially disoriented to find grass around and under her instead of the nest of pillows that she’d accumulated in her tent. And then, after remembering why she was out there in the first place and noting the empty clutch of green grass her hand rested on, Áine found herself confused about where her lover had gone. She only had a few seconds to wonder if he’d just left her out there when she raised her head and followed a familiar elongated shadow toward its equally familiar source.

Áine couldn’t help but smile. Sometimes she couldn’t look at him and not see a cat curling up in the afternoon sunshine. That was the sort of life he deserved. That was the sort of life they all deserved after everything they’d been through. 

“You’re staring again, darling.”

Discovered, Áine startled but felt unabashed. He was standing there practically glistening, what was she supposed to do but respectfully gawk? She ignored his statement and asked instead, “Not staying for a cuddle, I take it?”

Astarion didn’t turn to look at her but remained with his face and palms skyward as if he could absorb the sun’s fire. “In truth, I thought you’d be exhausted after last night,” he said.

Áine blushed, a sleepy smile touching her lips as their post-party activities resurfaced in her mind. Also swift to cross her mind were the moments she could’ve sworn, even in the darkness, that she’d seen sadness cross his features. At times, even something akin to distress. Every instance had been gone in a flash but stuck firmly in her memory all the same. 

Pursing her lips, she felt as if she simply had to ask, even if she was wrong. “You…seemed a little distant at times. Like you weren’t fully there,” she said hesitantly, a tilt to her head as she studied his profile. “Are you alright?”    

Astarion was glad he was facing away from her—he felt the mask over his true emotions fissure at the question. “Of course. Who wouldn’t be after a night like that?” he purred, turning his head just enough to offer her a debonair and yet still fiendish smile. “I will admit I was holding back a little… I didn’t want to lose control.” It wasn’t entirely a lie. “Delicious as you were, I didn’t want to go too far.”

She wasn’t sure she believed him, but she had no reason not to, she supposed. Absently, Áine touched her neck, her fingertips finding the small indents his fangs had left behind. “Mm, well I guess I should thank you for leaving me some blood then.”

Astarion chuckled darkly. “I discovered several new delicious spots on your body last night, my sweet,” he said, “but I do admit your neck is still one of my favorites. Second only to your—”

“Okay, okay,” Áine interrupted quickly, her hands finding her flaming face but doing nothing to hide the way her blushing darkened the tips of her ears.

Astarion crumbled a little internally, finding her shyness as endearing as ever, especially now knowing how devilish she could be between the proverbial sheets. He smirked and asked, “Shall we get on? I want to go before anyone else thanks me for saving their tails.”

“Gods forbid a show of gratitude,” Áine commented with feigned scandal. “What would that do to your reputation?”

“Exactly, my dear! So glad you understand.”

Áine smiled to herself and shook her head as she got to her feet, brushing herself off. The change in perspective also shifted the way her eyes caught the light and they adjusted accordingly just as she returned her eyes to Astarion’s back…

…By the gods, what had happened to him?

Her lips parted in shock and her eyes narrowed as she tried to discern what the markings she could now see were. She’d thought for just a second that perhaps they were a sort of tattoo or even a brand, but they were very much scars. Purposeful, deeply rooted scars.

“Once again, she stares,” Astarion commented and Áine flushed with chagrin this time, immediately turning her eyes to the grass. She knew better than anyone with her own old injuries that sometimes the worst ghost pains were people asking questions about them that they shouldn’t. There was a beat of pause before Astarion seemed to realize her dilemma. He sighed and said, “You can ask, you know. I’m not exactly hiding them at the moment.”

Áine swallowed thickly and chanced a glance up at him as she gathered her clothes from the ground. “You needn’t tell me anything you don’t want to, but… What exactly are they?” she asked, donning her smallclothes and then pulling her trousers on after. 

Astarion sighed, deciding that speaking on this now couldn’t hurt. There was never a “correct” time to surface this sort of thing. “It’s a poem,” he told her honestly. “A gift from Cazador. He considered himself quite the artist and used his slaves as a canvas.” He paused heavily, listening to the rustle of Áine’s clothes as she got dressed to help him ground his thoughts and evade the memories that threatened to sweep him back into those moldering kennels. “He…composed and carved that one over the course of a night… He made a lot of revisions as he went.”

The pain in his voice alone broke her heart in two. She wondered if his expression was as honest in this moment, if that was why he hadn’t turned around to look at her. “I’m sorry.”

Astarion’s brow pinched and he did turn to look at her then, finding her at arm’s length and as tempting as ever, standing there with her shirt on but still untied and her hair a glimmering tousled mess atop her lovely skull. His hands flexed against his sides as he resisted snatching her back up. It was a maddening feeling, to want her so much and be fearful of wanting her at all. “What for? You really must stop apologizing for things you had no hand in,” he said.

“I understand,” she said, beginning to try and work the tangles from her hair while they stood there conversing. When Áine’s eyes met his again, they shone with sunlight and her sincerity. “And I understand that it fixes nothing. But I… I hate what you’ve endured.” Áine pursed her lips. “And I wish I could do something better than tell you that I’m sorry for it.”

And you don’t know the half of it, Astarion thought, his brows knitting as he tried to decide how her sympathy made him feel. It was a complicated mess of irritation and appreciation that felt more knotted than her tresses. “Yes, well,” he said uncomfortably. “You’re right. It fixes nothing.” Áine internalized her embarrassment and the hurt that lanced through her, instead just nodding acknowledgment. This wasn’t about her, after all. Far be it from her to get upset that her words didn’t magically repair everything. “Anything else?”

Áine shrugged and gave up on her tangles, instead pulling her hair over one shoulder to make a manageable side ponytail to deal with the mess later. “Why is the poem in Infernal?”  

That, Astarion hadn’t been ready for. “Infernal? I… Who knows? The bastard was insane,” he said, quickly dismissing the question. “Anyway, enough pillow talk. Let’s go before the tieflings drag us into another mess.”

Áine watched him fetch his shirt before returning her attention to containing her pearly locks, feeling as though she’d thoroughly killed the morning mood. It wasn’t something she wasn’t used to doing, usually unintentionally, but as with everything so far her feelings around things to do with him proved more intense. That included the disappointment in herself at likely guaranteeing he wouldn’t be pursuing something like this with her again. 

Oh well, she sighed inwardly, but the casual nature of her thought didn’t mirror how she actually felt. Familiar and dismal, she wondered again why she was the way that she was. It really did seem to cause her nothing but grief when it came to these sorts of things. She supposed she just hoped he’d had a nice time up until their chat, that he’d gotten the bit of “fun” he’d been pining for out of it.

Áine finished knotting the leather tie around her hair and moved to the ties of her shirt next, only to find that Astarion had, at some point, moved to stand in front of her. Her hands paused against the strings and she looked up at him with a question in her eyes. He gave her a long, unreadable look, and she half-expected him to tell her they were better off keeping this as a one-night thing or scold her again for unhelpfully offering apologies or something to that effect. There was something beneath the surface of his expression that she just couldn’t quite see. 

Instead of any of those things, Astarion held eye contact with her as he replaced her hands at her shirt ties, lacing her back up. Áine stared back, feeling her face grow a little warm again. Would she ever get used to things like this from him? She had to imagine so, but every little touch from him felt like a gift. Especially given how touch-averse he seemed to be at times, each gesture felt intentional. 

With deft fingers, he finished tying her laces, polishing off his work with a small bow. Áine smirked and started to thank him, but he hooked a finger beneath the knot he’d made and tugged her into a kiss that smothered her words of gratitude before they left her mouth. Her hands reflexively rose from her sides to hold him, even just to rest against his arms, but he gracefully dodged her touch, looking smug when their eyes met again. At least she figured this meant he wasn’t too upset with what he saw as her excess sentimentality.

Offhand as he led the way back to camp, he innocently mused, “I wonder if anyone managed to get a wink of sleep last night despite your mewling…”

“You’re pushing your luck for this sort of thing ever happening a second time,” Áine informed him as she walked alongside him through the woods, toying with her hands to stifle her urge to try holding one of his or putting her arm around his waist despite his teasing. 

She was discovering that she was quite tactile in the way of affection once she had an emotional stake in a person and it was difficult to contend with that discovery while not being able to dote on her person of interest. Respecting him and his space was easy. Resisting the inclination to show him he was cared for with little touches here and there was proving trickier.    

“Am I?” Astarion wondered with clear doubt. “Pity. It’s swiftly becoming my favorite way to pass the dark hours. And you needn’t tell me so for me to know it’s just as appealing to you.” He’d leaned in toward her ear to whisper those last words and his cool breath against her sensitive skin sent a shiver through her that proved his point.

Áine glowered at him as he leaned away, looking mighty pleased with himself. “You know, that feels a little unfair,” she finally decided to point out, ever the one to be bold enough to bring up a hard topic. Even in an area she was very unfamiliar with it seemed.

Astarion glanced down at her. “Hm? What does?”

“That you’re able to enter my personal space on a whim, but I’m not—to my knowledge—allowed to do anything categorically similar,” she explained. “To be clear, I’m fine with you doing what you’ve been doing. And I’m also fine with whatever you’re comfortable or uncomfortable with for yourself. But some ground rules would be nice, I think.”

“You want ‘ground rules’?” Astarion repeated, bewildered as he tried to follow what she was saying. Was she asking his permission for something? To touch him? New things left, right, and center, he mused.

“Well…yes,” she said, becoming self-conscious but holding her ground. “I have inclinations but I’m too anxious to do anything because I’m worried about upsetting you.”

He looked at her consideringly, his lips becoming a thin line. “And what are your ‘inclinations’, my dear?” he asked in a measured tone. 

A not-distant-enough memory began nagging at the back of his mind. Of being grabbed and squeezed and fondled in all the ways and at all the times he didn’t want to be. Which, in fairness, he’d never wanted to be. It was a process, a means to an end. But the thought of her touch wasn’t an unpleasant prospect nor a necessary evil. He was no less apprehensive though—what if she surprised him in a bad way? What if she regarded him as some sort of plaything? 

Well, he could run what-ifs all day, but his mind had one consistent answer to all of those questions—he didn’t think she would.  

Áine met his thoughtful gaze with one of her own before she offered him one of her hands, palm facing up. He looked at it and then at her, not sure what she wanted him to do. When she recognized his hesitation as confusion, she instead reached out and gently took his hand, locking their fingers together after minimal fumbling. 

Astarion stared at their hands and waited for her to do something more—pin his arm back and use his defenseless position to grope him or use her grip to cause him enough pain to put him on his knees and there begin to make her threats and demands, all things that had happened to him before just without this much exposition. 

When she didn’t do anything else, he gave her a funny look that she took to mean he wasn’t a hand-holder by nature. Áine gave him an embarrassed smile and started to unthread her hand from his. “Silly things, I suppose, it’s fine if you—”

Áine quieted as Astarion followed the hand she’d attempted to extract, recapturing it and keeping it firmly in his. He craved her warm touch, her closeness as much as ever and she was simply allowing him some of that now with no strings attached. It was something he was aware of—he’d of course seen plenty of lovers in the city holding hands or linking arms and the like—but that had never been something meant for him. 

With as much hesitation as she’d yet seen him speak, Astarion studied their hands, unable to meet her eyes, and said, “...If you’re the one touching me, I don’t… I don’t think I’ll mind as much.”

A faint crease formed between her brows at hearing the vulnerable nature of this confession. Was he a master seducer who had never been shown affection? Or was something worse the cause of his anxiety? 

Slowly, Áine nodded and smoothed the pad of her thumb against his, something he’d remembered her doing the night before that he’d enjoyed in the moment. And she was just giving this to him again for free? He waited for the catch, but nothing came. Instead, she just said, “If it’s ever wrong or too much, you can tell me. In fact, I insist you do. And I’ll do the same. Fair enough?”

Astarion wasn’t entirely sure he believed that she wouldn’t be upset at all if he spurned her affections, but he was at least able to look at her this time as he nodded. “Alright,” he said.

Áine offered him a smile. “Thank you,” she said, and they kept walking like that, hand-in-hand. 

It was a strange sensation to Astarion—to Áine too but for vastly different reasons—and he kept occasionally tensing for the situation to flip. And it just didn’t. He just got to hold a little piece of her while they walked the rest of the way to camp, the little rhythm of her pulse occasionally tip-tapping against his silent wrist. They would occasionally readjust their fingers or he’d find Áine gently toying with his hand while her skin warmed his, but that was as far as the gesture went. And it felt…nice. Like they were part of something that was just them while still being allowed their own identities, their own freedoms. He could—with a surprising measure of confidence that she wouldn’t lash out at him or even bat an eye—let go right now if he wanted to.

And, by every single god he no longer believed in, he didn’t want to.

While everyone had still been passed out from the party the night before when Astarion and Áine finally made it back to the campsite and snuck back into their tents for a little extra rest before it was time to move out. It wasn’t near enough rest though before Áine was awakened by the sound of the refugees packing back up to make their way to Baldur’s Gate and she started to hear her own travel companions beginning to rouse and sort breakfast. 

The promise of food was what convinced her to leave her tent and join the others near the extinguished campfire, which she set to relighting while Gale sorted through their foodstuffs for anything worthy of a hangover. He greeted her when she sat down and took up the flint rock, and Áine didn’t notice the way his eyes fell to her neck and then darted away. 

“Did you enjoy the rest of your night?” he asked pleasantly enough, any poison in his words slow-acting in their sting.

“I did,” Áine said, managing not to blush and feeling invincible for it. “Did you?”

“Ended up tucked in for the night by the wine, but I’m no stranger to that, I suppose,” he chuckled. “We spent many a night back in Waterdeep with a dusty tome and a good vintage.”

“You and Mystra?” she asked in surprise. She wouldn’t have pegged a goddess for the “spending a night in” sort.

“Oh, no,” Gale chuckled. “Me and Tara. My assistant and my best friend. She’s a tressym.”

Áine’s eyes lit up. She’d never seen a tressym before in person but she’d seen illustrations of their likeness before. Astarion stepped out of his tent then and spotted the look on her face, nearly turning around and going back inside when he saw it was being gifted to Gale. “Is she back in Waterdeep then?” Áine asked, oblivious to her vampire’s plight.

“Yes, and better for it, I’d reckon,” Gale said emphatically as he started cooking some eggs and sausage. “I could never ask her to make this journey. She’s safer there.”

Áine nodded, feeling a wet nose bonk her arm and turning to see Scratch presenting her with his ball and a wagging tail. She wrestled the toy away from him and threw it across the camp, turning her attention back to Gale when the pup gave chase. “Then I’m glad she’s safe. You sound like you care a great deal for her,” she said.

“Very much,” Gale agreed. “She was the only one who stood by me after my condition began and worsened. Once we sorted out that magical artifacts seemed to help ease its intensity somewhat and I’d worked through the majority of powerful objects I’d collected in my tower over the years, she immediately went in search of whatever she could find.” His eyes softened in reflection. “I owe her a great deal and she’d scold me for saying so. You actually remind me of her, you know.”

Áine smirked, throwing Scratch’s ball again when he brought it back to her, wiping a bit of drool onto her pants. “Well, I’m flattered. She sounds brilliant.”

“You should come visit us in Waterdeep once this is all over,” he suggested. “Plenty of room. She’d likely adore the chance to play hostess as well.”

“Sounds delightful,” Astarion commented as he sat down next to Áine. “We’ll be there.”

“Great!” Gale said, thrilled at the prospect of company, it seemed. It wasn’t the reaction Astarion had expected to get and he almost felt bad for interrupting now. Almost. 

He looked over at Áine, knowing already what he’d find—eyes alight with amusement and a silent accusation of being jealous. Astarion found precisely that and sniffed dismissively in her direction while she stifled a laugh.  

“How are you faring this morning, Astarion?” Gale asked suddenly, plating some breakfast and handing it to Áine. “I thought I spotted you partaking in the wine at some point, unless that was blood I mistook for a red blend.”

“Technically both are red blends,” Astarion commented. “It was wine though—blood would’ve been preferable.”

“Can you taste wine properly then?” Gale asked as he sat down and started to eat as well. Their friends were slowly following the smell of cooked sausage out to the fire, each looking worse for wear than the last. “We’ve discussed food, so I figured wine may be a similar issue.”

Astarion sighed dismally. “Wine is a lost cause, too, I’m afraid. I’ve just yet to find it in myself to admit it for good. And I just have to try because what if this blend is different than that one or whathaveyou…,” he said.

“It’s too bad the tadpole couldn’t have lent you that back as well,” Áine mused. She cast a glance around the group now gathered around the fire and taking the breakfast Gale had made like medicine, but far more delicious. “Where’s Wyll? And Halsin?”

“Wyll ended up drinking with the best of them late last night,” Shadowheart said, looking a bit disheveled but smug at the prospect of someone ending up worse for wear than she had. “Even without the extra vintage,” she added quietly to Áine, who elbowed her arm. “I haven’t seen Halsin though.”

“He was packing up last I saw,” Karlach supplied through a mouthful of scrambled eggs. 

“Well, shit,” Áine muttered as she set her plate down and stood up. He owed her some answers before he managed to get away again. Thankfully she didn’t have too far to go—he was just walking across the camp and she was able to head him off not too far from the rest of the party. “Halsin! Were you just going to leave?”

“Only temporarily,” Halsin said. “I must square a few things away at the Grove before I join you on your journey.”

“Can you at least tell us where we need to go next?” Shadowheart asked from where she was seated nearby and Áine silently thanked her for being another voice asking for the information he’d promised them. She was starting to feel like she was badgering him, but she certainly wasn’t above doing so if it meant helping herself and her friends.

Halsin looked a little sheepish as he said, “Of course… But the journey will not be an easy one regardless of the path we take—there are routes leading through the mountain pass near here or alternatively via the Underdark. There were whispers of an entryway down into its depths under the Selunite temple where the goblins were taking up residence.”

“Was that why you went with Aradin and his crew?” Áine asked. “To try and find the Underdark route?”

“Precisely,” Halsin said. “Of the two routes, the Underdark will likely be the less treacherous to take, but it is ultimately up to you to choose your path.”

“The teeth…tiefling Zorru spoke of my people in proximity to the mountain pass,” Lae’zel interjected, giving Áine a meaningful look. “It is imperative that we seek their crèche. That we seek purification.”

“Where are these paths meant to converge exactly?” Áine asked, absently fiddling with the little bow at her shirt laces Astarion had left. “Maybe that can help us decide where we go from here. Or at least in what order maybe.” She’d added the last bit to appease Lae’zel, not wanting her to feel as though she wasn’t being heard.

And then Halsin said two words that Áine had hoped never to hear again.

“Moonrise Towers,” the druid answered. 

He’d singlehandedly turned her blood to ice and hadn’t the slightest clue. She wasn’t going to let him see it. Her face remained stoic, her arms still crossed over her chest while her fingertips toyed with one loop of the bow at her collar. The string was becoming akin to a worry stone, a touchpoint for grounding. 

Inside she was screaming. And not one person noticed the change apart from the vampire who could hear the way her heart skipped a beat and then began to thunder against her ribs.

Astarion heard the disturbance in her chest from where he still sat near the fire and he tried to read her expression from what little of her profile he could see, but she was as good as he was when it came to internalizing her feelings, it seemed. So much so that he started to second-guess himself, wondering if maybe she’d been startled by something he hadn’t seen or something to that effect. Astarion listened to her breathing, even and normal until he heard the faintest shudder on an inhale that he placed instantly. It was the same as when an intrusive thought or a familiar sight triggered memories for him and sent him spiraling, but he had to hold his composure.

Meanwhile, the blood roaring in Áine’s ears nearly prevented her from hearing what Halsin was saying, but she caught the gist of it all. The cultists were gathering at Moonrise and if anywhere held the secrets of their parasites’ origin, it would be there. “Then when can we expect you back from the Grove?” Áine asked. “Should we wait, would you rather catch up with us…?”

Astarion listened to her voice, not a tremble in her tone. It was like when he’d seen her pause her pitch-perfect singing the other night and turn around with tears still streaking down her face. It was no wonder she seemed so finely tuned to call him out on his masking—she did it, too.

“It will only take a half-day to do what I must do there,” Halsin reassured her. “Tying up loose ends and all that. I can return this very night.”

Áine nodded. “Great, we’ll wait for you here then,” she declared. “Thank you.”

“I can only hope that this gets you the answers you need, my friend,” Halsin said and, despite Áine’s momentary suspicions of his reasons for withholding information, she could see the genuine affection and concern in his eyes. That was more than enough for her in these far too-interesting times.

“Only one way to find out,” she said, waving as he headed out of the camp to consult with the druids back at the grove. The tieflings had gone before they’d even had breakfast prepared, so it was just their usual crew left in the camp now. 

Áine’s heart still hammered in her chest and she felt her hands begin to shake where she’d stuffed them under her arms. A high-pitched yelp from near her feet startled her, but she looked down and found only Scratch standing there, his ball placed before her on the dirt. She managed a weak smile and snatched up his ball, winging it across the clearing before she realized she needed to make herself scarce lest she have a panic attack out of seemingly nowhere in front of the very people who expected her to lead them.

It was an opportune time for her that a very hungover Wyll chose that moment to stumble out of his tent into the glaring sunlight and a loud “wahey!” of jeering applause from their friends. Áine was able to slip away, back into her tent, and she nearly collapsed inside the moment she did. 

Her knees hit one of the throw pillows when she went down, her face buried in her hands while her nails bit into her tender temples. Áine bit down the violent urge to scream, clamping her palms against her mouth when she started to lose that battle and managing to contain it to a low whine instead. Godsforsaken fucking Moonrise, she repeated in her mind, screwing her eyes shut and feeling them burn as hot as her chest. Would she never escape that horrible place and the sickly shadows surrounding it? The onset of ceremorphosis felt like a better option.

Áine drew in breath after shuddering breath, each more deeply and slowly than the last as she tried to calm herself down before someone came looking for her. Speak of the devil, she heard footsteps approaching and then someone cleared their throat just outside. 

Just go away, she prayed desperately, biting her trembling lower lip.

“Áine?” Astarion inquired, sounding the faintest bit hesitant. Gods, why did it have to be him? And why did her name have to sound so good from his lips? It just made her want to curl up in his lap until she felt better and she couldn’t think of anything worse to put him through than for her to ask for his emotional support.

She swallowed hard and asked in response, “Yes?”

He paused at length. “May I come in?” he asked at last. 

Please. 

Áine could tell he sensed something was wrong, which unnerved her, so she tried to reply in a way that felt like normal banter. “I thought you didn’t need permission to enter homes anymore,” she said.

Astarion wasn’t buying it, it seemed. “I don’t, darling. Still, may I?”

The bard sat stone-still for a long moment until she finally said, “...I think I need a few minutes to myself. Can we talk after?” He couldn’t see her like this. She didn’t want anyone to, but especially not him. 

There was a beat of silence from the other side of the canvas before she heard him say, “Of course,” punctuated by his receding footsteps. When those steps faded into the background sounds she heard from the others still near the fire, Áine’s shoulders slackened and she smoothed her ponytail with nervous hands. 

Moonrise Towers. Could she return and not lose everything she’d scrapped and pieced together of herself since the dawn she left? Did he still live? Did they all still live? 

Would she live through it a second time?

For reasons he still fruitlessly tried to deny, it had hurt him when she’d turned him away. He even understood quite well, he thought, what she was experiencing. Would he have been in her place, he would have turned her away too, and likely with less grace. And it still ate at him that he hadn’t been permitted to check on her.

For what? He knew she was safe, uninjured, and simply taking a rest in her tent. The mood of the camp was calm and unbothered. He, by all accounts, should have taken the free time just to settle in at his tent and parse through one of the books he’d snatched up from the temple ruins between rounds with the goblin cultists. Yet there he was, wearing a rut in the dirt near his tent while he waited to see or hear any signs of Áine stepping back outside.

Astarion wasn’t entirely sure how long she’d been sequestered in her tent, but it had been longer than a few minutes. He’d seen Shadowheart wander over to her tent door as well only to be turned away as he had. When the cleric had looked his way, first suspiciously and then imploringly, Astarion had simply shrugged in reply. He hated not knowing.

It had to have something to do with Moonrise Towers. He’d heard her pulse quicken and her breath hitch not seconds after he’d uttered the name. But Astarion had never heard of the place before and had no context for what it could mean to her. Or did he?

That vision of Áine in gleaming armor crossed through his mind’s eye again, a vision hand-delivered by her tadpole to his the night he’d first bitten her. Had she served there, before he’d met her, before the tadpole? Her hair had been cropped short in the vision, so it couldn’t have been that recent. A few years ago, however, was a possibility. 

What he could only approximate to be a half-hour or so later, Áine emerged from her tent, looking tired but no worse for wear. Astarion watched her cast a wary glance around the camp, seeming relieved at what she found before her eyes found him. She smiled when they locked gazes and the kind expression touched her eyes, which brought him more relief than he felt was due. Something was clearly still bothering her, but she at least seemed in better spirits.

Taking the smile as an invitation, Astarion approached her and parted his lips to speak when an acrid smell passed through his nose. He scowled in disgust, not realizing the scent hadn’t reached Áine’s less sensitive senses yet until she asked, a bit amused, “A fine greeting—do I offend?”

“No more than usual, my dear,” he ribbed her, earning her signature glare. “You can’t smell that?”

Áine inhaled deeply, this time catching the same odor he had. Her features contorted but she inhaled again, trying to understand what she was smelling. “What in the gods—”

“Well met, stranger,” said a strange voice. Áine and Astarion both turned to see an approaching man holding what appeared to be some sort of thurible with thin tendrils of smoke winding from its grating. It appeared to be the source of the horrific, sickly-sweet scent. “Ah, forgive the aroma. Powdered iron-vine—old hunter’s trick. Most monsters will think twice before making a meal of me while this holds up.”

“Most anything may avoid that,” Áine remarked, coughing against the back of her hand. “Sorry, who are you?”

“A Gur, it would seem,” Astarion interjected, an edge to his voice. “Funny to imagine one of your ilk as a monster hunter… I thought you were all vagrant cutthroats.”

Áine gave Astarion a look. “Must we?” she chastised him.

“No, no, your friend is right,” the man said tiredly. “We also steal chickens, curse your crops, seduce your daughters… The list goes on. Would that I had half the power settled folk think my people possess. Alas, I am a simple wanderer. And monster hunter, of course. My name is Gandrel.”

“Well met,” Áine said. “What exactly are you hunting out this way?”

“I seek a vampire spawn, so nothing that may charge us in this daylight hour,” Gandrel said. Áine’s stomach twisted, wondering what the odds were just before the monster hunter answered her question outright. “His name is Astarion, but I fear he’s gone to ground… There is a hag nested in these lands that I am hoping can help me flush him out. If I can afford her blood price, that is.”

Áine could feel Astarion tense beside her. As she’d just spent the past combined hour metering her expressions and concealing her true feelings, she was nicely warmed up for this by her estimation. “Bold to go toe-to-toe with a hag,” Áine commented warily. “What are you meant to do if you find this ‘Astarion’? Kill him?”

“Desperate times and all that,” Gandrel admitted before answering her question. “Not this time though. My orders are to capture him.”

“And bring him where exactly?” Astarion asked.

“Baldur’s Gate,” Gandrel said. “My people wait for me there. I don’t suppose you’ve seen any trace of such a creature in your travels ‘round these parts?”

“I couldn’t say,” Áine said. With a faint smugness that likely came off to Gandrel as overconfidence only, she asked, “Should we be worried? With him only being a spawn after all?”

Astarion took the bait immediately. “I don’t know… I’m sure a vampire spawn could still rip out your throat if he felt like it,” he mused, his words as pointed as the fangs he was being careful to keep obscured. Áine bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smirking at him.

“Your friend is right, unfortunately,” Gandrel said, oblivious to their wordless exchange. “They are only weak when compared to their masters. During the day, we have the advantage, but at night, when they hunt… Well, you will not find a more deadly quarry.” He frowned toward Áine. “If you’ve not already made it practice, it would be wise to post guards at night until you leave the area. The threat is very real.”

“Indeed, it is,” Astarion said gravely. “We should do something about this…threat.”

Áine scoffed at him before smiling pleasantly at Gandrel. “We will be careful. Thank you for the warning,” she said.

“That’s it?!” Astarion demanded of her, causing Gandrel to look his way in confusion. Godsdammit, Áine swore silently. “We’re just done here then?”

“Of course,” Áine said. To Astarion to cover his tempestuous outburst, she added, “No need to fret, we’ll be careful. I can take the first watch tonight if that will make you feel better.”

“That’s the spirit,” Gandrel said with a nod of approval. “Go in peace, my friends. I hope our paths cross again.”

“They’d better bloody not,” Astarion muttered so only Áine could hear.

“You, too,” Áine said, watching the monster hunter as he retreated. When Astarion’s hackles went up and he turned on her, she raised a hand, still watching Gandrel’s retreat. After he was out of sight, she looked at Astarion and groaned. “Alright, go.”

“If this comes back to bite us, it’s on your head,” he gritted.

“He’s no threat to us unless he figures out who you are,” Áine said. “Which is unlikely since he’s seen you in the daytime now.” She looked at him speculatively. “Any idea who sent him?”

“Cazador,” Astarion spat. “It has to be him. Only he would know to send a Gur after me.”

“Why would that be poignant?” Áine asked.

Astarion blew out an angry sigh. “Because it was the Gur who left me to bleed out in the streets the night that bastard offered me an escape from death…,” he muttered.

“So he did it to taunt you, you think?” she asked.

“I do,” he murmured. Astarion growled low in his throat as he glanced back the way Gandrel had left. “I cannot believe you would let him walk!”

Áine frowned. “Like I said, he hasn’t a clue who you are. And besides that, would it not help Cazador to pinpoint where you are should one of his lackeys suddenly perish in the area? Surely this one can’t be the only one out looking.” Astarion grimaced down at her. “Look, if he comes back, you can kill him, alright?”

“Oh, thank you for your consideration,” he sneered, dripping in sarcasm.

Áine was baffled by his kicking and screaming. “You do know you don’t need my permission to do a damn thing, don’t you?” she asked, her tone incredulous. “Go kill him if you want to.”

Astarion gave her a long angry and considerate look before he snarled out a sigh and shook his head, stalking off to his tent. Áine watched him go and exhaled the breath she’d been holding, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Who was that?” Shadowheart asked as she sidled up to stand beside Áine, her hands resting on her hips. She cast her gaze back toward Astarion disappearing into his tent. “And why is he in a mood?”

“Some monster hunter that’s looking for our vampire,” Áine sighed, rubbing her temples which still throbbed a little from where her nails had dug in. “He’s mad because I didn’t outright stab him in the eye, I suppose. But we had the conversation in broad daylight, so I assumed we wouldn’t have to cover our tracks. Yet, anyway.” Shadowheart gave a noncommittal hmph. Áine looked at her. “Do you think I should’ve?”

“I don’t know,” she said simply. “Your logic tracks though. Who sent him?”

Áine wasn’t sure how much of what he’d told her about Cazador was meant to be between them, so she said, “His old master. To capture though, not kill.”

“Odd,” Shadowheart murmured. “I wonder why. I’ve never heard of a vampire going to so much trouble over a spawn.”

“Worries me more than a kill order would have,” Áine said, running her hand over the back of her neck and realizing how lucky it was that she’d had her ponytail on the side of her neck he’d bitten the night before, effectively covering the marks. Properly anxious now, she decided she’d stay up for guard duty that night.

“I think it’s good that you didn’t kill him yet, for what it’s worth,” Shadowheart said. “We won’t be in the area for much longer anyway if all goes to plan. Let them wander in circles. And if they come back—”

“Let them bleed,” Áine finished for her. 

“I’d meant to ask how your night went, you know,” Shadowheart pointed out. Her eyes gleamed with curiosity. “So?”

Áine sighed and glanced toward Astarion’s tent. “Moot at this point, it seems,” she murmured. Her gaze returned to Shadowheart. “But it was nice.” 

“That’s what you want, isn’t it? To lose yourself in me?”

The sadness in his eyes as he’d said those words resurfaced in her memory. There was much more she didn’t yet know, she was sure. Whether or not he decided to talk about it at some point remained in his hands.

“He’ll come around,” the cleric reassured her, mistaking the sadness in Áine’s face for fretting about the state of her new dynamic with Astarion. “I expect details when you’re more in the mood to share.”

Áine smirked and shook her head as Shadowheart retreated, looking down as Scratch trotted up to her. “Hi, buddy,” she sighed, kneeling to pet him when she saw he was holding something in his mouth. “What do you have there?”

Scratch’s tail swished as he carefully placed his prize on the ground, whimpering toward her hands as if asking her to take it. Áine’s brow creased when she saw what it was. “Did you swipe my mint pouch?” she chuckled, picking up the familiar knit bag. “Why did you—” 

She looked into Scratch’s large brown eyes, finding something akin to worry there, and her words trailed off. Áine looked back down at the bag, pursing her lips. She always did grab a little sprig when she needed to clear her head. So much so that apparently even their canine companion had noticed. 

She smiled faintly and looked at Scratch again, giving him a loving pat on the head. “Thanks, boy.”

Next chapter: Chapter 12, "Bergamot & Rosemary"

A/N: Two things. Number one, I'm very excited to write this next chapter as scenes from it were what finally gave me the inspo kick to write this whole thing. 🥰 Hopefully I do them justice in the end.

Secondly, Act 1's canon will round out at about Chapter 18 and I'll be taking a break to do some outlining for Act 2 after that point. So I'm not gone-gone! Just might take a bit before another chapter crops up. Thank you so much for reading! x

#angst with a happy ending #astarion x oc #astarion x female oc #astarion fanfic #astarion fluff #bg3 #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion ancunin #astarion #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate #tav #astarion acunin #astarion x tav #tav x astarion #astarion romance #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 astarion #baldur's gate iii #baldurs gate astarion #baldurs gate tav #baldur's gate #baldurs gate iii #bg3 tav #tavstarion #unbound fic #soft astarion

[sonkitty]

The Sideburns Scheme - LINK - Update

-Added "especially pockets" to this part:

Another important component in my theorizing is that Good Omens 2 is especially interested in these three things: doors, windows, and pockets—especially pockets. We'll be seeing these things a lot within the spaces when studying the sideburns, especially once I get to making more in-depth posts.

-Added a new section titled "The Past". Here are the contents:

The Past The Season 2 present day storyline is broadly solvable for the sideburns without examining the minisodes. Even so, once those minisodes are examined, other aspects of the spaces come into play as what may affect the hair or sideburns. These things suggest even season 1 had factors affecting the spaces to make his sideburns look more consistently short for its present day. For instance, he never wore a hat when driving and never had plants behind him in the car when driving either in season 1. These things affect how the sideburns change in season 2. In season 2's present day, they shorten during his drives in episode 1 when the plants are shown behind him both times. That happens yet again before the closing credits start in episode 6. In 1941, the car is surrounded by fire, Aziraphale is with him, not wearing a hat, and Crowley's wearing a hat. The sideburns lengthened instead of shortened for that drive. Nonetheless, the content below is primarily based on the season 2 present day storyline. You can find more about the minisodes in the links at the bottom.

...

-Updated about the "Standing with precision" at the ending part for longer sideburns. Here are the contents:

-Standing at the threshold with utmost precision in the season's ending The sideburns are at their longest-length in the season's ending up to the final cut right before the credits start. I currently think it is because of a combination of stillness, his left arm's exclusive touch on the threshold, his right hand pocket touch, and having his legs crossed. Every cut of him from the front ensures a symbol of fire from the coffee shop to his right, and a hat-wearing human somewhere visually to his left, even if it's all the way across the street in the first of the three cuts.

...

-Updated about how the present day sideburns shorten during the drives while specifically including the plants behind Crowley. Here are the contents:

-Driving the Bentley for a long enough time after de-activating it as a home base. His plants are ensured to be behind him as well.

...

-Updated that in addition to thresholds being able to force or counter the effect of shorter sideburns in human spaces...so can hats...still working through fire and roofs:

-Being present in human spaces. Thresholds can both force and counter this effect, dependent on their design. In the past, hats can also help force or counter the effect. There are things about fire and roofs I'm still working through as well.

...

Added the following as an activation point for shorter sideburns:

-Standing with his left hand in his pants pocket as Maggie and Nina are leaving while Aziraphale enters the bookshop in episode 6. He is shown blurred from some distance, so it's easy to miss him. He's to the camera's right behind Nina. Both humans are no longer looking at him. It's a cut that ensures Crowley is briefly visible before the next Muriel scene.

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-Got more specific about where the car is actually parked each episode when it's near the bookshop.

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-Committed to saying the border expanded.

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-General light re-wording in various places. I did remove the "former" of "former demon" since he technically claimed "demon" twice in front of Muriel compared to the one "former demon" in front of Shax. As noted many times by this point, I think Crowley has a deep trust in Muriel.

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-Added the following when talking about Crowley being alarmed at the demons arriving:

There is something about layering and switches they seem to have in the games they play that I don't fully understand.

-Added the following about the pub and music shop encounters:

Each encounter mentions lights of a similar nature.

-Updated the section on the simple answer to Heaven as part of The Bigger Thresholds Trick to the following:

I don't know the true simple explanation for Heaven though as more time passes, I lean most toward "pretended to be arrested". That's because it's emphasized as how he gets in with Muriel. His own dialogue brings it up once he's actually inside the threshold. It has a little rhythm to it. The problem with that solution is that the ideal one would include a noun, such as "buttons" or "cells" or "doorknobs," to represent the Triple. Another good solution would be something like "engaged in misdirection", especially given the context of the entrance scene itself. The "LETTERS" mailbox is a potential clue as is the doors closing in so specifically on Crowley's watch. So, I'm not fully convinced "pretended to be arrested" is the answer. It's still the one I lean the most toward as of the latest update.

-Added some more wording near the end about the "Separately Together" theme. So, generally updated that part to the following:

Crowley is giving everything he has in himself to see Aziraphale off without truly giving his full self up in the process. Aziraphale is going to a place Crowley will not follow. Even so, the demon of the pair has put pieces in place to help Aziraphale from the distance they will have between each other in the foreseeable future. They both contributed to creating and maintaining a connection with each other during Good Omens 2. They also had to work together separately. They both love Earth, and they are going to work to protect Earth in Good Omens 3. In my view, there's a hidden "Separately Together" theme in Good Omens 2 that one cannot find—or will very much struggle to find—unless you figure out at least some of the pocket puzzles. Linked to The Door Trick is something truly magical called The Door Catch. I found it on accident through never fully solving The Pocket Trick.

#crowley #good omens 2 #good omens #good omens s2 #david tennant #good omens season 2 #good omens meta #good omens analysis #good omens crowley #crowley good omens #crowley sideburns #crowley s2 hair project #good omens theories #good omens theory

[rebelwhump]

Gunshot & Dental Floss

TV Show: Supernatural

One of the first Sickfics I wrote for Supernatural, featuring Charlie Bradbury as the sickie. I hope you enjoy!

CW: emeto, burping, infected gunshot wound

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When they arrived at the cabin, Charlie was sitting at the table, lying face down in a pile of old books. 

“Charlie?” Dean called out, placing a hand on her shoulder. She shot up in her seat, a post-it note stuck to her face. “You okay?”

“Uh, yeah…hi guys,” she said, flinching as she stood up and wrapped an arm around her torso. 

“Whoa, take it easy,” Dean said, reaching out to place his hands on Charlie’s shoulders. “How’s the gun shot?” 

“It’s fine,” she replied, but Dean could see the pain in her eyes.

“Let me take a look at it,” he said, leading her over to the couch, which was a sickly green color that had rips and tears at the seams. Charlie laid on her back while he carefully lifted her blue graphic tee. She had a string of bloody bandages clinging to her skin, which Dean gently removed to reveal a red and puffy wound that had been sewn together with dental floss. 

“Charlie, this is infected,” he stated, shaking his head. He instructed Sam to grab the medical kit from the Impala. Dean pulled out a bottle of rubbing alcohol and disinfected the area before replacing the frayed dental floss she had used as makeshift sutures. Charlie let out a soft whimper as he poked at her tender abdomen. 

“It’s gonna be okay,” Sam reassured her, running a hand through her crimson hair. Once Dean finished stitching up the bullet wound, he wrapped a fresh layer of dressing around her waist. 

“Thanks,” she said softly, pulling down her shirt and attempting to sit up. Sam was there to help prop her up with a couple of mushy pillows. 

While Charlie filled them in on what little she knew about the Book of the Damned and the men that were chasing her, Dean kept his distance and decided to make them dinner with what little he could find in the cabinets. Ever since he laid eyes on that book, he could feel himself being drawn to it, as if it were speaking to him. In the background, he could hear Charlie and Sam discussing different ways to decipher the book's code, in an attempt to read the strange markings. Dean tried to drown out their voices, focusing on heating up a can of soup on the stove. He grabbed three bowls from the top shelf and found spoons scattered in several different drawers. 

“Dinner is served,” he said, filling up the bowls and passing them out to Charlie and his brother. A half hour passed and Sam noticed Charlie had barely touched her food.

“Not hungry?” he asked. 

“I thought I was, but I just feel a bit nauseous,” she admitted. 

“Dean’s cooking will do that to you,” Sam joked with a smirk.

“Hey!” Dean said, furrowing his brow and shooting Sam a nasty look.  

“I’ll be fine. I think I’m just tired,” Charlie said. 

“Why don’t you go lay down in the bedroom and get some sleep?” Dean suggested. At first, she protested, saying there was no time for rest and that they needed to decipher the code as soon as possible. Eventually, the two of them convinced her that they’d be fine without her for a few hours and Sam promised to continue working on reading the book. Charlie stumbled when she stood up from the couch, the room tilting beneath her feet. She felt a pair of hands pressing up against her shoulders, keeping her upright. “Whoa, slow down. Take it easy.” 

“M’ dizzy,” she mumbled.

“It’s okay. I gotcha, kiddo,” he reassured her, helping her across the room and into bed. Slipping off her shoes, he noticed that Charlie’s hands were wrapped around her stomach. Dean walked into the room carrying a large, heavy quilt that he draped over Charlie. She quickly wrapped herself up and snuggled in, falling asleep shortly after.  

The two brother’s headed back out into the living room, closing the door behind them. Dean expressed his concerns to Sam, worried that the infection is making her sick. 

“We’ll need to keep a close eye on it,” he said, rummaging through the med kit to see if they had any leftover antibiotics or painkillers. Unfortunately, they hadn’t been able to restock in a while and their supplies were running low. Sam took a seat in a big leather chair, positioned in front of the fireplace. He opened up the Book of the Damned and gingerly flipped through the pages made of human flesh. Dean could feel his heart pulsating in his chest and he felt like he needed to get out, so he decided to leave the cabin and go for a walk.  

Charlie slept restlessly, fading in and out of consciousness, while her mind dreamt. Sam could hear a faint whimpering coming from the bedroom and he decided to go check on Charlie. It looked like she was having a nightmare. Walking over by her side, he noticed that her face was coated in a shimmer of sweat and her hair was damply pressed to her cheek. Sam placed a hand on her forehead, which radiated heat. 

“Charlie, wake up,” he said softly, gently rubbing her forearm. It took a couple minutes, but she eventually fought her way out of her dream state. There was panic in her eyes. 

“It’s okay, Charlie. You’re safe,” he reassured her, brushing a few strands of hair back from her face. “I think you were having a nightmare.” 

“Yeah,” she sighed, “I was.” She tried to sit up, but a sharp pain in her abdomen forced her head back down on her pillow. “Are you okay?” Sam asked with concern. 

“I’m fine,” she whimpered, taking a deep breath. “It just hurts.” They heard the sound of the cabin door and then Dean’s footsteps growing closer. 

“How ya feelin’, kiddo?” he asked, appearing in the doorway.

“She’s in pain and she’s got a fever,” Sam chimes in, “did you find any meds when you were looking through the kit?” 

“Nadda. I’m sorry, Charlie,” he replied, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“It’s okay. I’m tough,” she smiled. “I mean, I managed to stitch myself up with dental floss and I only passed out twice!” The two boys laughed. 

“Yeah, you are pretty badass,” Dean admits. However, he couldn’t help but worry about that fever. They didn’t have any antibiotics and if the infection gets worse, it could become really dangerous. Although it wasn’t exactly safe to leave the cabin, especially with the Styne family after them, Dean figured they would need some supplies if they were gonna make it through the next few days. 

Charlie tried to fall back asleep, but couldn’t get comfortable no matter what position she was in. There was a pounding in her head and her stomach grew more unsettled. Slipping a hand under shirt, she gently rubbed her belly, which gurgled violently beneath her fingertips. That’s not good, she thought to herself.

“Guys!” she called out, a slight panic in her voice. The brother’s hastily made their way in from the living room. “I don’t feel so good.” 

“What’s wrong?” Sam asked with worried eyes. Dean noticed Charlie’s hand cradling her stomach. 

“You feel like you’re gonna throw up?” he asked. She nodded. “Okay, let’s get you to the bathroom.” Wrapping Charlie’s arm around his shoulder, he guided her into the next room and carefully placed her in front of the toilet, lifting the lid.

“Did you want us to give you some privacy?” Sam asked from the doorway. 

“Actually…could one of you stay with me? I don’t really wanna be alone right now,” she said weakly. 

“Of course,” Sam said. 

“Charlie, I’m gonna go to the store and pick up some meds to bring down your fever and help with the pain. Sam’s gonna stay here and look after you, okay?” he explained. 

“Thank you,” she sighed before resting her head on her forearms that were folded across the seat, waiting for what was to come. 

Letting out a few queasy burps, Charlie rubbed her bloated stomach. She had been on the floor of the bathroom for the past twenty minutes and still hadn’t thrown up yet. Part of her wanted to just get it over with, because then at least she might feel a little less miserable. Sam crouched behind her and rubbed her back. 

“Want me to get you some water?” he asked. She looked up at him, eyes glassy, and nodded. When he returned with a glass of water, Charlie was gagging over the bowl, but nothing was coming up.  

“Just breathe,” he said softly, offering her the glass. Sitting back against the wall, she brought the glass up to her lips and let the cool water slide down her throat. Suddenly feeling very thirsty, she gulped down the rest of the clear liquid. 

“Whoa, take it easy,” Sam said cautiously. The water sat heavy in her stomach and she could feel it sloshing around as she moved, trying to find a more comfortable position. Goosebumps started to form on her arms and legs and she felt a sudden chill course through her veins.

“M’ cold,” she said behind chattering teeth. Sam left and returned with a blanket that he draped around her shoulders. Charlie hunched over as her stomach cramped, feeling her insides contract and pushing up the water that she just consumed. As soon as she opened her mouth a stream of projectile vomit splashed into the toilet. Sam reached out to rub her back again in small comforting circles. After emptying her belly, minutes of dry heaving and coughing followed. 

“Think you’re done?” Sam asked once the gagging ceased. 

“I think so…for now,” Charlie replied. Gripping her arm, Sam helped her off the floor and back into bed, placing a full glass of water on the nightstand and a trash can on the floor next to the mattress. 

It wasn’t long before Dean arrived back at the cabin, carrying a plastic bag filled with a collection of pills, medical supplies, and gatorade. Sam greeted him in the living room. 

“How’s Charlie?” Dean asked, setting the bag down on the dining table. 

“She’s not doing so hot. She’s been vomiting and her fever is spiking,” he replied. “She passed out about ten minutes ago.”

“I hate to wake her, but we gotta get that fever down and I need to change her bandages,” Dean explained, walking towards the bedroom with the supplies he purchased at the store. “Wake up, Charlie,” he said gently, pressing a hand up against her flushed cheek. “I need you to take some aspirin while I change your dressing.” While she choked down the two tablets of aspirin, Dean pulled back the covers and lifted her shirt. When he removed the bandage, the wound looked even worse. Now there was pus draining from beneath the stitches and the redness around it had spread. Dean cursed under his breath. 

“That doesn’t look good,” Charlie stated, eyes wide.

“Uh, no…it doesn’t,” he replied, unable to lie this time.  “Good news is I swiped this from the pharmacy.” He pulled out a bottle of pills from his jacket pocket and shook them in his hand. Charlie struggled to make out the letters on the bottle as Dean waved them around.  

“Penicillin?” Charlie asked. “How did you get your hands on that?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he smirked and dumped out one of the pills in his hand, passing it over to Charlie.  

Charlie gagged suddenly, leaning her head over the side of the bed as she spewed water and bile onto the floor, missing the bin, and splashing up onto Dean’s pants and shoes. Sharp pain shot through her abdomen as she twisted her body and a few tears rolled down her cheek. 

“I’m so sorry,” she cried once she caught her breath. 

“It’s okay, kiddo. Don’t worry about it,” Dean said kindly, stepping to the side and holding her shoulders to make sure she didn’t fall out of bed. The commotion brought Sam into the room, who went and grabbed some towels from the bathroom to help clean up the mess. Charlie tried to remain strong, but the pain from her wound was excruciating and the accompanying nausea and fever made it ten times worse.  

“Dean, I really don’t feel good,” she whimpered, embarrassed that she would come across as weak. 

“I know you don’t, sweetheart,” he said softly, his heart breaking just from the sound of her voice. “I’m gonna need you to take some more medicine though because I’m pretty sure I saw one of those pills land on my shoe.” He grinned, trying to lighten the mood and keep Charlie from shedding any more tears. She gave a weak smile and nodded, swallowing the meds with a few tentative sips of liquid. Dean changed out of his soiled clothes while Sam laid a cool, damp cloth over Charlie’s forehead. They dressed her wound and eventually, she was able to drift off to sleep and let the medicine do its work.

#supernatural #sickfic #spn sickfic #nausea #emeto #vomiting #burping #upset tummy #sick #gunshot #fever #comfort #hurt #charlie bradbury #my writing #emetophilia