#(also he's an orange cat it's in his blood) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

theonewiththefanfics · 1 year ago

Text

Homecoming (one-shot)

Synopsys: When Y/N goes missing during a simple supply run, she comes back with world-shattering news for Astarion. News he never thought to hear, and now he has a decision to make, one that will shift his life on its axis once more.

Set after the main events of BG3

Pairing: Astarion x fem!Reader

Genre: angst, fluff, a bit of SMUT, but nothing explicit

Warnings: talks of blood, injuries, swearing, mentions of abuse, but nothing explicit, kidnapping

Word count: 8397

A/N: I have not played Baldur's Gate 3 (I don't own a PS or a PC where to play it. all of this is based on the info gathered online and through Neil's own gameplay etc. Please be kind :) )

Part 2(ish) - Love Conquers All (one-shot)

A home was not something to ever be taken for granted, that much they had learned during their adventures.

A home was a fire slowly crackling in the hearth, warmth expanding through the living room. A home was Astarion sitting on a loveseat, a book in his hands while he waited for his love to finish puttering around in the kitchen. A home was drying tea leaves and making preserves for the coming winter as she shooed him out, saying that his fussing would only hinder her process.

He’d huffed, puffed and whined, trying to make Y/N pull away from her plans just so they could curl up and read together, but she was adamant.

“I’ve already started.” She dropped an orange peel and pressed some lemon juice into the steaming pot. “It’ll be wasted produce if I just leave it now.”

“But it will take you hours!” Astarion whined like a child and even stomped his foot, making her snort.

“And it will take me twice as long if you don’t stop annoying me.” Y/N threw him a saccharine smile over her shoulder, batting her lashes at the pouting vampire. “Now, be a good boy, and quit pestering me. We’ll have all the time in the world, once I’m done.”

Astarion just groaned, going up to her and wrapping his arms around her waist, the incisors he usually sank into her neck now nipping at her lobe. “I can be a very good boy if you only let me prove it.”

“My love, you will be getting absolutely no sex from me, if you don’t let me at least finish this batch.” A shiver rushed down her spine as he licked at her neck, so close to that sweet spot he always used as a place to bite and drink from. But she had to be strong. The jams wouldn’t make themselves. “Every additional minute you keep me from this will be an additional day of your dry spell.”

The vampire spawn jumped back from her as if he’d been scalded, scarlet eyes narrowing in on her. “You wouldn’t dare. You wouldn’t last an hour!”

Y/N turned around, crossing her arms as a devious smile bloomed on her lips, a brow raised in challenge. “Would you like to test those waters?”

Astarion stood, staring her down. His crimson gaze was blazing from underneath his lashes, but she didn’t budge. They’d played this game for close to three years as a couple now, and she’d learned very quickly – Astarion was very much so a cat. But especially – he was a cat that liked to knock things over while keeping direct eye contact with you, though the second you placed a palm underneath whatever it was he wanted for to fall, all his need for chaos disappeared. It just wasn’t fun anymore.

For twenty long seconds, Y/N and her pale elven lover didn’t break, hoping the other would crumble and be announced as the loser, but part of what he loved about her, was her stubbornness. It was because of that part of her personality, she’d stuck by him when his doubts had crept in, when his own mind called him worthless and not good enough for her, almost as if to spite those vicious words in his mind. She didn’t give up on the people she loved, and as luck would have it, Astarion owned her heart.

But Y/N also knew how to handle a cat like him, so just after a few more tense moments, his eye twitched, and he huffed in defeat.

“Fine,” he scoffed. “But if you are not done by sundown, I shall have no other option but to drag you away from the stove. Kicking and screaming preferred.”

Y/N simply shook her head, and went to him, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling the man into a deep, breathless kiss, but not before nipping at his bottom lip, dragging the piece of flesh between her teeth and making him let out a desperate moan. “I’ll even let you tie me up if you wish to do so.”

Astarion’s pupils almost swallowed the red irises in a matter of seconds, as he threw his head back in a groan. “My love, you’re absolutely killing me here.”

“Then I hope whatever punishment you deem fit for me, will be just oh, so sweet.” Y/N stepped back, untangling herself from him, but the mischievousness in her eyes didn’t lessen.

She could see how the words tortured him, how it took every single last piece of his fraying self-control, to not rip off her apron and the clothes underneath and just lay her down on the kitchen table, legs spread with his mouth licking into her until she orgasmed.

With eyes holding nothing but pure lust and hands clenching and unclenching, Astarion retreated. Y/N would be lying if she said she wasn’t hot and bothered and absolutely dripping between her thighs, and the thought of finishing those jams was the last thing on her mind, but she did have to do it. If only to keep him waiting longer, knowing whatever his beautiful brain was cooking up would leave her screaming and shaking for hours.

They’d been growing their own vegetables and fruits, Y/N tending to them during the nights to spend more time with Astarion as he fussed over his flower gardens, so it would simply be wasteful to leave their berries to rot. The year had been very generous and offered a variety of things to gather, so a while back, she’d decided to pickle some of the tomatoes and cucumbers, turn another batch of peppers and tomatillos into sauces while the sweeter things would be turned into syrups and jams.

Y/N shook her head, trying to clear it from the haze of lust, as the aroma of lemons and cranberries, raspberries and oranges wafted all around, encasing her in the scent. She was just about to add the sugar when the tin rattled with the sound of the last grains left.

Her brow furrowed as she opened the lid and looked inside. Sure, enough it was empty.

The woman huffed. She was absolutely positive she’d gotten the right amount during the last trip, but somewhere along the way it seemed a miscalculation had happened, and now she had to get more. Y/N would have asked Astarion, and had the sun dipped below the horizon, he would have jumped at the request, but alas his little vampiric predicament forbade him from walking during the day, the sun still high in the sky from what she could see through a tiny slit in the shutters.

Quickly, Y/N snuffed out the flame below the pot, untied her dirtied apron and grabbed a basket from the pantry, tying a pouch of coins to her side. She only needed sugar, but maybe she would grab some other necessities as well. They were low on Astarion’s favourite wine, one he claimed didn’t taste like vinegar at least.

“I’m off to the market really quick,” Y/N announced as she peeked into the living room, taking in Astarion as he flipped a page in a book. “Do you want anything?”

“No, my love.” He looked at her like a love-sick puppy. “Just your darling self back as quick as you can. I have picked up some… inspiration for your punishment if you will. Just as you suggested, of course.” He closed the book, showing the cover to her.

Heat crawled all over her body as she read the title, one of her smuttier romances she had started to read, and when she could do nothing but gulp and nod, his smile turned from a sweet one into a wicked-fanged thing. It was all she needed to know whatever awaited her once she was done would leave her unable to walk. Gods, she needed to finish this whole thing up as quickly as she could.

Y/N was out the doors like the wind, the usual stroll to the market cut from half an hour into a brisk fifteen-minute jog, the thoughts of the man waiting back home for her at the forefront of her mind.

The needed sugar, some coffee beans, a loaf of fresh bread, Astarion’s wine and some sour cream were all bought in quick succession, Y/N didn’t even try to haggle. Her eyes drifted across various stalls and merchants and she almost deemed it done when her gaze caught onto a rose seedling. It was a beautiful bloom with blood-red petals that whitened at the very tips. She smiled and went to buy it. Astarion would love the symbolism even if a bit too on the nose.

Once satisfied with everything, Y/N marched across the market and was back on the road to home. It was a humble little house they’d purchased with whatever had been left in their pockets after all was said and done with the tadpoles, but Astarion had bigger plans. This was only a temporary situation.

“I want a whole room full of books. Nothing but books from one end to the other and then some,” he’d confided in Y/N one night after both were panting and spent from multiple rounds of bringing the other to ecstasy.

“And a large ballroom,” he continued, and Y/N couldn’t help the loud laugh that escaped her.

“A ballroom? And what will we do with that?”

“Why, have grand balls, of course!” He threw his hands up in the air as if her question was preposterous.

“Star…” Y/N tilted her head to look up at him from where she was lying on his naked chest. “You hate people. A ballroom full of them – it would be your literal nightmare.”

“I don’t hate people.”

“I don’t count.”

“Alright,” he conceded, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her closer. Y/N placed her palm atop where his heart was and rested her chin on it, looking deep into his eyes. “I hate most people, simply dislike them, but I wouldn’t be opposed to a get-together, from time to time. Maybe… maybe see our friends. Catch up on how they’re doing. I absolutely despise to admit this and will say you are lying if you ever mention it to anyone, but I – I miss them… even Gale…”

A gentle smile lifted her lips as she brushed a wild curl out of his face and tucked it behind his pointy ear. “I think I’d really like that too.”

His eyes were so soft and full of love, that Y/N swore she could feel his heart beating once more in his chest, thudding against her palm in a confession of adoration.

She was almost out of the city by that point, already on the small, secluded road leading to their house which lay on the outskirts of Baldur’s Gate right by the edges of the woods, so Astarion had easier access to game in between feeding on her when her attention was drawn back by someone calling out.

“Miss!” the voice, male she made out, yelled after her. “Miss, please wait!”

Instantly, her guard was up, but when a breathless man, looking to be in his late sixties appeared from behind a copse of trees, she somewhat relaxed. Y/N was still cautious, but if anything, she had a dagger holstered against her thigh. She was always prepared.

“Miss,” he gasped out, leaning his hands against his knees to catch his breath. “Miss, you are a quick one. I’ve been calling for you since by the rose stalls."

“Oh, I – I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you!” Y/N said but didn’t move forward. “How can I help?”

He huffed, as if regaining her breath, before fishing out a piece of fabric from his pocket, and extending it towards her. “You dropped this by the flowers.”

When she took a closer look at what he was holding, it seemed to be some sort of a silk scarf. She narrowed her eyes at him. She didn’t own silk scarves and definitely hadn’t worn one on such a warm day. “You must have mixed me up with someone, as it’s not mine. Sorry, for you to have troubled yourself like this.”

“No.” The man furrowed his brow, taking a step closer. “I am fairly certain I saw you drop it. Such a fine piece… didn’t want you to lose it.”

Y/N took a step back, angling herself in a defensive position with the basket in front of her. She didn’t like the tone he was speaking in, nor the way his eyes seemed to be appraising her. “No,” she asserted. “It’s not mine.”

His back stiffened, eyes growing cold, the grip on the scarf tightening as he hummed. “Well… a pity then.”

She took another step back, but he was already lunging at her.

Dropping the basket to the ground, she reached for the knife strapped at her thigh, but he was quick as a viper as she hadn’t even noticed when a rope appeared in his hands, lashing it at her. Years of having fought had kept her agile and aware, but years of domestic bliss with Astarion had dulled her senses a bit.

The rope caught and wrapped around her ankle, knocking her to the ground. Y/N’s teeth clattered and snapped, her tongue almost in between them, but as he rushed to pin her down, she twisted her leg around the rope and pulled, making the man lose his balance and stumble.

It was enough for her to swipe her leg underneath his, and send him sprawling. It was enough for her to untangle her legs and roll away as he snapped it at her head. Her clothes were dirty as was her face, but it didn’t matter. She’d cover herself in blood if needed.

It was almost animalistic how she pounced – teeth bared, a snarl ripping from her throat and hands forming claws as if she would gouge at his face with just his nails, but as her palm brushed her thigh, unclipping the holster for her dagger, Y/N didn’t see the man had crouched on his knee and swung the cord.

It knocked the air out of her, as it wrapped around her chest, and he pulled her down, hard. Her ribs were screaming as the tether tightened and tightened with every pull, but as she thought this would be it, something strange happened – instead of offering her the killing blow, he opened a palm, now covered in a leather glove, and blew the contents of it onto her face.

Y/N coughed and sputtered, but whatever it was, was fast-acting and her lungs, still incapable of proper breathing due to the rope couldn’t expel it. In just a few seconds, the bright day around her turned into darkness.

She didn’t know how long she was unconscious for, but enough time had passed to dry out her throat. Or was that a side effect of whatever was blown into her face? In any case, as she slowly came to, Y/N noted there was a soft mattress under her body, which was an oddity for someone kidnapped. She could even tell the dagger was still by her thigh, the comforting weight of the blade pressed under her. Even weirder, if you asked her, to not disarm your victims.

Darkness still encompassed her, but the soft cloth against her cheeks told her she hadn’t permanently lost her vision, but with her sight obscured, she had to rely on her ears. That’s when voices invaded her senses.

There were three people somewhere further away, most likely in a different room if taken by how muffled the words were. She focused harder on what they were saying.

Two men and a female, Y/N differentiated, when the woman spoke.

“This is not what we agreed upon!” she hissed, and a grumbly-sounding man scoffed.

“You said to get her to you. I did. You never specified how.” It was the same man who’d knocked her out.

“We want her to help us!” A different male voice, this one softer, even kinder, rebutted. “I highly doubt kidnapping is a good incentive for that!”

“Look,” her assailant said. “I fulfilled my end of the deal. She is unhurt, maybe she'll sport a couple of bruises and a headache, but that is her own fault. She could have come willingly but didn’t. Other than that, though – she is completely fine. Now you do your part!”

As the trio argued between themselves, more angry whispers than shouting, Y/N started to shimmy her hands which had been bound, out of the restraints. She had a good inclination they needed her alive but had no want of staying as a prisoner.

Though her fighting skills seemed to have mellowed, which she was not happy about, even a couple of years without mortally dangerous adventures, hadn’t changed how quickly she could slip her wrists from their bindings. Astarion might need to get more creative during their debauchery.

Y/N froze the second she heard a door open and shut, two pairs of footsteps moving closer and closer to where she was. Her breathing was shallow and almost imperceptible, as she tried to make it look like she was still unconscious.

She could sense two bodies enter the room and one move to stand where she faced, the other going to her back.

Y/N tensed. In just a few moments, whoever was behind her, would notice her undone binds. But she’d be ready.

“Darling, please be careful,” the woman said, a tremble in her voice.

Good. Let them be scared.

“Don’t worry,” the man replied. “I’ll just make sure she’s – what in the -”

But Y/N was already up, the blindfold off and ready to pounce. This time, she’d have the upper hand.

For a second, the light in the room blinded her, but her sight refocused fast enough to take in her captors’ faces.

The woman was beautiful, with high rosy cheekbones, and jade green eyes so vivid they looked like actual gemstones. Her hair was long and dark, down to her waist while grey strands seemed to have invaded the brown tresses in some places, but she was still ethereally gorgeous, her pointy ears covered in piercings.

Y/N snapped out of the shock quicker and using this to her advantage, she was behind her in a matter of a blink, her dagger pressed tight against her throat.

A gasp entered her ears, but she just pressed the blade harder, making her whimper.

“Please!” the man made her look at him, but instead of bracing for an attack, he had his hands up in surrender. “Please don’t hurt her! We just want to talk.”

“Funny way of having a conversation you’ve got there.” Y/N tightened her grip on the knife, surveying the man. Again, those same pointed ears, but his eyes were the most brilliant blue she’d ever seen and his face was marred with more age lines than the woman’s, yet he still was as gorgeous as she. “Typically, only my enemies would knock me out and tie me up before spilling their grand plans. But I will be kind and give you a choice – what would you like to be – friends or foes?”

“Friends! Friends! Please! We – we’re looking for our son!” the elven man pleaded. “And we – we heard a rumour that you might know him. Have even seen him.”

Y/N narrowed her Y/E/C eyes, piercing his with her gaze. “I’ve known and seen a lot of people. Usually, others just ask me about them, they don’t have someone kidnap me.”

“And we’re sorry, we’re so very sorry, but we had to make sure you came. It went too far and we apologise, but please…” He took in a deep breath, worried eyes flipping between his partner and her. “Our son – his name is Astarion. Astarion Ancunin. Have you – do you know of him?”

Hearing his name, knocked the breath out of her as if they’d snapped a rope around her chest again, making her stumble back. Her grip on the woman released, and she used the moment to leap over to her partner, using the bed as a buffer. He instantly wrapped his arms around her, pulling her half behind his back, but not before checking if Y/N’s dagger had pierced the skin.

Tears brimmed in the eleven woman’s green eyes as she looked at her, not even caring that just a moment before she was so close to having her blood dripping on the floor. “Please,” she whispered. “I – I know we didn’t go about it the right way, but please… is it true he’s alive?”

"I,” Y/N stammered, her gaze snapping back and forth between the two.

Astarion.

They were Astarion’s parents.

Even after all this time, they were searching for their missing son.

Y/N should have noticed the details – how the woman had a small mole on her cheek right where Astarion did, how the shape of the man’s eyes was the exact same as his son’s. Astarion even had the same high cheekbones as his mother while his sharp jaw was that of his father.

What had his eyes been like before? Green like his mother’s or the sky blue of his father's? What had he been like as a child? No doubt as mischievous and scheme-prone as he was now, but who had he gotten it from? So many different questions rattled through Y/N’s brain as she kept glancing back and forth, before shaking her head and pulling her out of the shocked stupor.

“You – you’re Ancunins?” She had to ask. Had to make sure she hadn’t overheard them or maybe hallucinating because of the powder she’d inhaled.

“Yes.” The woman nodded, brushing tears from under her eyes. “Our son has been missing for more than two hundred years, and we almost lost hope until… until we heard about you and your company a few years back. How one of the party members resembled our little Star so much.”

They hadn’t been inconspicuous, though they had tried, so it shouldn’t have come as such a surprise that tales of their adventures had gone far and wide, especially after saving Baldur’s Gate, killing Cazador and the absolute, and Gods know how many other evils along the way. But she never thought Astarion’s parents would have heard of it.

In fact, Astarion had barely even mentioned them over the years, and, for whatever reason, Y/N had concluded they must have passed, despite knowing elves lived extremely long lives. Had he maybe tried to find them on his own and couldn’t? Or had he forgotten about them?

Until Astarion and Y/N had become an official couple and she’d commissioned a portrait of him as a gift on an anniversary, he hadn’t even seen himself in two centuries. He’d forgotten what he looked like. It didn’t seem too crazy to assume, the memories of his parents’ names or their faces, might’ve slipped away as well, or even the love they had for him. Especially knowing how deeply Cazador had ruined that notion for him.

She needed to get home. She needed to see Astarion, and then she could figure out what to do.

“I need to go.” Y/N nodded to herself, muttering under her breath. “I need to think.”

“No, please!” the woman lunged, trying to grasp at her, but she had a knife pointed at her chest in an instant, making the elf shrivel back, but still, she pleaded. “Please help us. You’re the hero of Baldur’s Gate! If you can’t help, who will?”

“I promise I will do my best,” Y/N said. “But I need time… I – I need to figure all of this out.”

Her mind was swirling like a hurricane, but the man interrupted her breakdown as she realised how pretty much her in-laws, had kidnapped her. “At least tell us this – is – is it true he is alive? Or have we travelled across Faerun under the pretences of false hope?”

In truth, Y/N wanted to take them by the arms and drag them to her house, but whether Astarion wanted to reach out and reconnect, was up to him. That sort of a choice was not hers to make, but she could grant them this one request.

“He is.” Y/N nodded.

And then she left as quickly as she could because if she had to stand there and watch as the elves crumbled into one another, cries of relief and joy escaping into the slowly setting day, she would crumble too. Their faces were already permanently burned into her mind, and she needed a moment to process everything.

By a stroke of luck or fate, Y/N instantly recognised she was in the woods on the other side of Baldur’s Gate, so retracing her steps to the market was fairly easy even though the whole way back home, she was pretty much stumbling around in a daze, knocking into people and tripping over her own two legs.

Her discarded basket was right where she’d left it, gold coins scattered around it. The pouch must’ve broken during the struggle. Y/N made sure to pick every single piece up and was more than relieved to see, that the rose bloom was still intact.

By the time she arrived, the sun was starting to dip below the horizon, and as the last rays warmed her back, she extended her palm to open the door, though she didn’t even get to touch the handle as it was ripped open by a visibly distressed Astarion.

His eyes looked like he’d been crying, his hair as if he’d been relentlessly raking his fingers through the locks and his lower lip so bitten, there was a small hole where one of his incisors had gone through.

“Oh, thank the Gods!” Astairon instantly grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her in a bone-crushing hug, burying his nose into the crook of her neck. “Thank the Gods!”

Y/N dropped the basket over the threshold and closed the door with her foot, her own arms weaving around his middle, a palm soothingly brushing along his side, as he soaked her in.

“I’m alright, Star,” she said, kissing his temple and didn’t even make a noise as he gripped her waist tighter, right where bruises were forming. “I’m sorry I was gone so long, but I’m alright.”

“What happened? You said you’d be quick, but you were gone for hours! And you know what the worst part was – I couldn’t even go out looking for you because of the damned fucking sun!” Astarion cupped her face, turning it this way and that way, trying to find any injuries, but the biggest one would be in her head as she tried to figure out how to explain to him what had happened. “Gods, I am never letting you out of my sight again!”

Y/N indulged the vampire in the hug he pulled her in, holding him against her chest, trying to comfort him, but she was way too consumed with her new findings. Too quickly, as evident by the frown on Astarion’s face, she untangled herself from the embrace, anxiety immediately flashing over his handsome features.

She slid her arms from around his waist to take his palms into hers. “I – I don’t even know how to say this… How do you say something like that?”

Worry instantly marred his brow, and Y/N pressed a practised thumb between them, trying to soothe them away.

“Shit…” he muttered. “Did I do something wrong?”

“What? No!” She cupped his cheeks. “Astarion you’ve done nothing!”

“Then – then what?” He was tentative, still, scared Y/N might be angry at him. Or worse – wanted to leave, but her next words erased all that doubt.

“I…” She took in a deep breath. “Astarion, I met your parents today.”

Whatever he had expected, clearly that hadn’t been it. Probably a confession she’d met a past love, that their feelings were reignited and she wanted to go with them. But definitely not that.

He blinked once, twice, trice, completely and utterly stupefied before a small whisper of “What?” passed his lips.

“It’s why I’m so late,” Y/N explained. “They’d heard a rumour, that I knew you and had travelled with you during our tadpole situation, and came to me. Astarion, your parents are looking for you…”

A million thoughts seemed to swirl in his head, but Y/N held onto his hand through all of them.

“What,” he cleared his throat, “what did you tell them?”

“That I’d find them once I figured out what to do?”

“Which means?”

“Which means I would come home, give you this information and let you figure out what you’d like to do…”

So many emotions flashed across his face, but Y/N no longer needed that mind flayer tadpole connection it created – Astarion was an open book for her to read.

Joy. Such indisputable joy shone in his scarlet eyes before being consumed by confusion. Then anger and disgust and love, but by the end of it all his heart settled on one feeling – fear.

It’s what it knew best, though Y/N had tried her hardest to reduce it to ashes, yet still it lingered. She understood it, despite not being happy he ever had to feel it.

He feared what to do, what would be the right choice to make, he feared their reactions and what they would say of his disappearance or of his newest… condition. Would they accept him? Or would they be repulsed by him?

“What – what would I even say to them?” Astarion searched her Y/E/C eyes as if they held an answer, but when one magically didn’t appear, he hung his head, a tear rolling down his cheek. “I can’t even remember what they looked like. Their names, the house we used to live in… it’s all a fog.”

Y/N tried to give him an encouraging smile. “Well, your mother – she has the most beautiful green eyes. Like that dress you made for me for Summer Solstice, that same shade. And – and she has a little beauty mark on her cheek.” With a gentle thumb, she brushed over the mole. “Right in that same spot.”

His brows furrowed in concentration; his lips pinched tightly. “I – I remember blue eyes. Not green.”

“That might be your father's. His are azure I’d say. Like the summer sky. Gods, Astarion,” Y/N breathed out. “You look so much like them, but… honestly, the only thing you need to know right now is that they looked relieved.” Her voice was soothing as he tried to find lies in her words, but there would be none. “I didn’t tell them anything apart from the fact that you’re alive, and all I saw was complete and utter relief.”

Y/N placed a strand of hair behind his ear as he pondered. His carmine eyes slid to hers. “Do they want to see me?”

“Yes. It was the whole reason they sought me out because I might have a single scrap of information on you.” She’d mention the kidnapping later. Or maybe never, depending on how everything went. What he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him.

“Is it,” he hesitated, as if ashamed to be asking such a question. “Is it alright if I think this over for a bit? I’m just – there’s so much going on in my head…”

“Of course, Star!” Y/N cupped his cheeks and placed a reassuring kiss on his forehead. “Take all the time you need.”

“Thank you,” he sighed, his shoulders dropping, but she just shook her head.

“Nothing to thank me for. Not for this.”

And so, they continued on like that for a few days – Y/N didn’t bring the subject up, but she made sure Astarion knew, she’d be there whenever he needed to talk. Yet her mind couldn’t help but worry about the two elves in that little cottage on the other side of the town. How horrid it must be to wait for an answer that might never come, but her love was her first and only priority. When he decided it would be time, she’d support him no matter what.

It was a week after the revelation (and subsequent freakout on Astarion’s part when Y/N had removed her clothes before him, and he saw the raw skin and bruises on her ribs. She spent the whole night convincing him it was fine and talking him down from hunting the mercenary and bleeding him dry. She didn’t mention it had been his parents who’d hired him but rather said it had been an unfortunate coincidence), when Astarion awoke with a certain determination, shaking her awake.

She swatted at him like an insect buzzing by her ear. “Leave me be, you blood-sucking, elf!” Y/N grumbled, burying herself under the duvet. “It’s too early. And stop hogging the covers!”

She was just about to elbow him in the ribs if he didn’t let her sleep more, but what he said was like cold ice being poured over her, waking her up completely.

“I think I want to see my parents.”

Y/N was sat in a second. The sheet dropped down, exposing her naked chest, but she didn’t even feel the chilly air biting at her skin, even though Astarion’s gaze immediately dropped down to her breasts, eyes blazing with want.

Rolling her own eyes, she pulled the cover so that it obscured her indecency. Though it was his favourite outfit of hers, they needed to focus on the important things. “Are you sure? You can take all the time you need. There is no rush to this, and it’s a huge decision to make.”

“I’m sure,” Astarion sighed, running a hand through his moon-white locks and dropping back onto the pillows. “It’s pretty much all I’ve been thinking about.”

Y/N worried her lip before sliding back down next to him, letting him wrap his arms around her body. She knew in moments like these, Astarion needed reassurance, and he craved being close to her. Holding her grounded him, and made his scattered thoughts into something solid.

She kissed right above where his heart lay. “If, you’re sure.”

“I am… I just… Will you be there?” Astarion looked down at her.

The woman gave him a smile. “Nowhere I’d rather be than by your side.”

Gently, he brushed a finger against her cheekbone and leaned to kiss her, thankful he’d found someone to walk the world with, especially during the moments he feared he might break.

The day before they’d decided on meeting, Y/N ventured out to the cabin to inform the elven couple of Astarion’s decision. Once they’d seen her walking up through the window, they were out before she even managed to get to the door, faces full of hope.

“Astarion, he wants to come and see you, but there are some… conditions…”

His mother’s brow furrowed, the grimace so familiar it sent a pang through Y/N’s heart, but she swallowed it. “Whatever he needs. Whatever you both need. Anything for our little Star.”

“So… please just don’t question this, but umm… physical contact – I know I can’t possibly understand how you feel, but let him come to you first. It might not make sense, but it’s important that he is the one to make that step.”

“Of course,” Astarion's father nodded, his mother eagerly agreeing.

“And umm… he’ll be different. He might not look like the elf you remember him being. The world wasn’t kind to him for a long time… Please don’t mention this.”

Pain flashed across their faces at her words. They must have assumed something horrible had happened to him, but to have it confirmed was a different kind of agony. But as Y/N had asked – they didn’t question, simply nodded, holding onto one another a bit tighter.

“Alright.” Her heart was somewhat settled. “Thank you. We – uh- we’ll see you later tonight then.”

And with that, she left only to find Astarion pacing the inside of their hallway upon her return.

“Is it sundown already?” He snapped his neck to her as she removed her cloak, visibly upset when Y/N shook her head.

“A couple more hours, I’m afraid,” she said, taking his hand and kissing his palm, placing it against her cheek. “Please stop worrying. It will all be alright.”

“But what if I’m making a mistake?”

She raised her brow. “Do you think you’re making a mistake?”

“N-no?” Astarion huffed. “I don’t know. I know I want to see them at least once, but what if it’s best to leave the past in the past? Why torture myself and exhume it, so to speak?”

“You can leave it all behind if that’s what you wish. But, Star, you also have the rarest of opportunities people get – a second chance.” She stepped close to him, pulling his head down by the nape of his neck so they could rest their foreheads against one another. “But you can always leave. You can always say “no.” And if someone doesn’t get that, no matter who they might be, I will gut them navel to throat.”

Astarion chuckled, brushing his nose against hers. “My knight in bloody armour, always ready to ride into battle for me.”

Y/N pecked his lips in response. “As long as I get my kisses at the end of it – without a second to spare.”

They spent the couple of hours waiting until the sun went down cleaning up around the house and then it was time to go.

As Astarion took a deep breath before closing the door, Y/N squeezed his hand. “We can turn back whenever you want to.”

But he seemed determined, only giving her a reassuring smile and twining their fingers together, her hand in his solid hold.

They walked slowly, enjoying the warm night gracing Baldur’s Gate, and soon enough they were through the city and past the woods, a small log cabin coming into view.

He stopped them a few feet away, taking in a moment to gather his thoughts and emotions.

Y/N glanced at him encouragingly. “Are you ready, Star?”

Astarion took in a deep breath, held it in for a moment and then exhaled, nodding. With this confirmation, she released his hand and ventured to the door, gently rapping her knuckles against it, immediately returning to stand beside her lover.

Instantly his palm was back into hers, as if he needed her to ground him, reassure him everything would be alright as nervous energy coursed through his veins while they waited for the inhabitants to come and see them. And though it was probably no more than ten seconds since she’d knocked, it felt like time had stood still. Once the doors opened, even nature quieted down.

The breeze shushed the tweeting birds and seemingly even the worms digging underground stopped their burrowing as finally, after two hundred years, the lost Ancunin son returned.

They stood like that for what seemed like ages, just taking one another in, before a small sob of Astarion’s name from his mother’s lips broke the spellbound silence.

It’s when he rushed for her, the elf already on her feet, meeting him halfway. Her arms wrapped tight around his body, hands smoothing down the back of his head as all the while she kept whispering “My Star, my little Star, you’re home.”

Y/N was on standby, ready to rip her away if Astarion became overwhelmed. She’d asked them to allow him to be the one to make the first step, and they had, but with such all-encompassing feelings, she just wanted him to be safe.

Though all that anxiety dissipated like ice under the blazing hear of the sun when Astarion practically melted against his mother, his fingers digging into her shoulders and back as if he never wished to be let go, both of them crumbling to their knees, still in each other’s embrace.

Tears welled along Y/N’s bottom lashes and when his father joined them, wrapping his arms around his family, they fell like rain on an autumn evening. She had to press a hand against her mouth to not sob out loud, but it didn’t seem like anyone would care, as Y/N noted Astarion’s shoulders shaking while his mother and father were freely crying, all the while touching and caressing his face, trying to ingrain the memory of having their son back in their arms.

She couldn’t imagine that feeling, didn’t ever want to, of finally being reunited with a family which you were so brutally ripped away from. Y/N almost wanted to resurrect Cazador, just so she could drive a stake through his heart again, but that might’ve been a bit too morbid of a thought in such a tender moment.

“You’re home.” His mother pulled back, cupping Astarion’s cheeks and smiling from ear to ear. “Our little Star is back home.”

“I’m sorry it took me so long,” he choked out, but his father shook his head.

“Doesn’t matter. You’re here. That’s enough for us.”

Y/N watched as he took in the people who’d searched for him relentlessly. He never knew they’d never given up. She wondered if there would be a time, he’d believe he was worth all it. She certainly hoped so.

“Thank you,” the elf with eyes like jade said, snapping her eyes towards Y/N. “You have no idea what kind of a gift you’ve bestowed upon us. We will never be able to repay you.”

She could only wave them off, a knot in her throat. “You owe me nothing. Seeing this – this is enough for me. I’ll – uh – I’ll leave you to it then.”

Just as she was about to turn around, Astarion jumped to his feet, untangling himself from the limbs of his parents, eyes full of concern. “What? Why? What’s wrong?” He was by her side in an instant, pulling her hand to rest against his chest.

“Nothing!” Y/N shook her head. “I just – I just think maybe I should take my leave. I can be back in a few hours if you’d like, but this just all seems like – like a private family reunion.”

Astarion scoffed, his free arm weaving around her waist, completely offended. “And what exactly do you think you are to me if not family, my love? Arguably, you might be the most important part of it.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that -,”

“Hush now!” he scolded her. “You promised to be by my side through everything. Are you breaking that promise?”

“No, I just,” she stammered. “Are you sure you don’t want me to leave you to it? This just feels awfully personal.”

“My love, you are the keeper of my heart. You are my true home.” Astarion cupped her cheek, resting his brow against hers, chest against chest, not caring who might see. “Without you, none of this would have happened. I could still be on that beach with a mind flayer tadpole wriggling behind my eye.” He took her hand, and kissed her knuckles, sighing as they brushed against his jaw. “I don’t want to do this without you. I want to relearn who my parents are, and I want them to get to know me, but a non-negotiable part of that is you. That is if it’s alright with you?”

A tear slipped down her cheek, as she looked deep into those ruby eyes that once held nothing but fear and pain, only to now show love and compassion and happiness. When she smiled, her grin could have rivalled the sun itself. “I’d be honoured.”

When they glanced at the two elves by the threshold of the house, they noted the horrified looks on their faces. Astarion’s guard was immediately up, but his mother beat him to it.

“My Star, I am so sorry!” She put a hand over her mouth. “We swear we didn’t know you two were lovers! We just...” She glanced at her husband in desperation, but it seemed the little scene they’d put on had rendered him speechless. “Had we known, we would have never…”

Astarion squinted at her, a dangerous note appearing in his voice. “Never would have what?”

“Oh Gods, we had your partner kidnapped,” his father finally got out, eyes only widening in more shock as it settled that Y/N wasn’t just a travelling companion or a friend, but just what she really meant to Astarion.

“You did what?!” His head snapped to Y/N who now retreated to stand between the two shocked elves, and her quite furious boyfriend.

“Astarion, it’s alright,” she tried to calm him down. “They didn’t know! Besides, I heard them arguing with that mercenary. They didn’t hurt me. In fact, I,” she let out a nervous chuckle, “I held a knife to your mother’s throat. So, call it even and let’s move past it?”

His gaze was hot like the flames, as it burned into her. “We will discuss this later.” He pointed an accusatory finger at her before taking a deep breath and exhaling. “This is absolutely not how I ever imagined a family reunion to go, let alone the introduction of my partner.”

Y/N’s shoulders dropped as he broke the settled tension, but something in his eyes told her she’d pay for her omissions. And oh, how delicious that punishment would be.

His mother still seemed to be all nerves as she invited them inside, spouting apologies in Y/N’s direction, but when she took the elf's hand in hers and gave a comforting embrace, she relaxed a little. “Let’s let the bygones be bygones.”

“I’d appreciate that,” she smiled, and wrinkles of age and time appeared around her eyes.

It was awkward at first, two centuries of hurt laying between them, two centuries of torture on Astarion’s end, of lost love and people, but slowly they opened up. And when his mother mentioned how he always used to bury his nose into strawberry fields, because it reminded him of his mother’s hair care products, it was like a damn had been opened.

The memories were still there, buried under layers of pain and horrors, but there. Maybe a little jumbled up and out of sorts, but with every hour spent together, locks were being broken and a light long lost lit up again.

Astarion had changed, but so had his parents. He let them know of his adventures, how he met Y/N and how she had turned his world upside down but abstained from the more gruesome parts. He wasn’t ready for that. Not yet. Maybe not ever, but if he so wished, she knew his parents would be there to listen and welcome his vulnerably with open arms.

An hour before the sun resumed its place in the sky, Y/N nudged Astarion, telling him it was time to leave. She had little doubt in her mind, his parents had caught onto what he was, even if they hadn’t mentioned Cazador. If not for the shape of his elongated canines, or the colour of his eyes, which Y/N had found out had been a beautiful shade of pale green, then because of the brutal scars on his neck. But they still pulled him into a hug with such vigour, it was like they feared they’d never see him again, which was probably a thought always haunting their minds.

“Would – would you like to come over to ours?” Astarion asked, still holding onto his mother’s hands. “It’s a bit of a mess, our place, but if you come after the sun’s down, I’m sure we can have it proper enough to take on guests.”

It was an odd request, but thankfully, neither his mother nor father said anything about the specific time request, simply hugged him once more and promised to be by their door the second the sun dipped, wine and lemon cakes in hand.

As they waved their goodbyes, Astarion slipped his palm into Y/N’s and made sure they walked all the way back like that. Once behind a closed door, he pulled her into his chest relishing in the way their bodies melded together – two puzzle pieces finally connecting and forming the most magnificent picture to exist.

“What is it like to be finally home?” Y/N asked as he swayed them to a tune only, he heard.

Astarion shook his head, pulling slightly back so he could cup her jaw. “My love, I have been home for a long time now. I’ve been safe and cared for, all thanks to you.” His eyes were so full of love and adoration, she almost choked on a breath. “Now… now it just feels complete. So thank you… thank you for being my home,” he muttered that little confession against her skin, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Thank you for keeping me safe.”

“Always, my love.” Y/N didn’t hide the tears rolling down her face and he brushed them away with a soft thumb. “Always.”

When their gazes locked, all she could see was excitement for what the new day had to offer, and she knew whatever was in store, as long as they were by one another’s side, there was nothing they couldn’t overcome.

But for all that, there was an important thing she was unaware of.

As Y/N entered their living room, talking to herself and making a list of what they had to do before his parents arrived, Astarion stood and watched her, leaning against the doorframe, all the while his hands rested in his pocket, where in one of them, a beautiful ring was being twirled between his fingers.

Before they’d left, his mother had slyly pulled it off her own hand, pressing it into his palm, and whispering to him while hugging that she didn’t want to see Y/N without it the next time around.

Astarion had no intention of living his life without Y/N as his fiancé for a second longer.

When she turned around to find him on one knee, he didn’t even get to ask the question before she responded with a shout of “Yes!” and jumped on him, pulling him into a kiss he swore breathed life into his still chest.

He couldn’t wait to reintroduce Y/N to his parents as his intended.

Now all was as it should be. He was finally home. And somewhere in the garden, a rose bloomed in full.

Tags:

Everything tags: @palaiasaurus64 @supernaturalbaesduh @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @sea040561 @staryeyedgirl @deathbyarabbit @m-a-t-91 @maladaptive-ninja-returns @averyrogers83 @gallifreyansass @dewy-biitch @avxgers @unlikelygalaxygiver @magicwithaknife @ollyoxenfrees @bnhvrdy @tvwhoresblog @thatkindofgurl @sj-thefan @lestersglitterglue @im-squished @strangersstranger

Astarion tags: @spacebarbarianweird

A/N: This idea was inspired by that one post of a painting Astarion's parents probably had of him, but had put away somewhere just so they didn't have to look a the son they lost, so I rectified it (Link to the inspo pic :) :( Now they have a portrait of Astarion and his love right above their fire place :)

P.S. my tags are always open :)

P.S.S. please don't plagiarise or repost on other platforms.

3K notes · View notes

sh1-n0bu · 6 months ago

Text

✿ 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙤𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙛𝙪𝙡 𝙩𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙡𝙞𝙛𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙖 𝙘𝙖𝙩 𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙥𝙩2 ✿

characters: penacony men x gn!reader

warnings: fluff, slight angst, poor attempt at comedy, slight spoilers for some character story and 2.2 penacony quest, injury and blood mention

notes: another popular demand! this time with more cat bois!!! part 1 can be found here! tho this can be read as its own part too. genshin boys ver is here!

art credit goes to Flambo_19 on twt!

you just can’t keep yourself away from taking in random strays that are an absolute shit to you huh, [name]?

his breed? orange. that’s it, that’s the breed, what more do you want me to say? jk but he’s still orange. american shorthair orange me thinks. friendly, adaptable, easygoing, playful, good with children and other pets — a perfect american shorthair orange

you first found the poor thing at the streets, hiding under a vehicle, too scared to come out or any approaching humans. sweet cat had a broken limb, holding the dangling paw to his chest as he pathetically meowed

thankfully, you managed to scoop the orange cat up into your arms, wrapped up in your coat before rushing him to the nearest vet

since then, nyanturine has made his progress to be your next addition to an ever growing collection of cats

a strangely crow like cat. nyanturine likes shiny, expensive things. shiny rocks? his. shiny clothes? his. material that glitters? his. expensive earrings and diamonds? his. expensive jewelries? his. everything shiny and expensive that the orange cat lays his eyes upon is his now. pretty please, [name] buy him that earring for him to play with?

out of every cats at home — you sure your home isn’t a daycare for cats? — nyanturine gets along the most with dr.nyatio and occasionally with nyelt. the orange and brown cats can be found chatting away, peacefully settled on the windowsill

not so surprisingly, nyanturine is chatty as every orange cats are, except he needs to get used to the human first before turning into a yapper. with you, it only took a week spent in your arms for nyanturine to get used to your presence

just sit him beside you on the table behind his own mini computer with one of his favorite shiny earrings laid before him while you do your work on your own computer and nyanturine will be chatting your ear off in a storm. though, his yapping sometimes tends to irritate the other cats. dr.nyatio being one of them as you watched the bigger cat jump into the table before smacking nyanturine over the head with his paw

you were pretty sure you witnessed an attempted homicide between cats that day…

surprisingly, nyanturine also likes games! card games, poker, monopoly, uno. don’t ask how but somehow you once got bested by your damn cat when nyanturine placed down +10 on you at uno. you nearly ended up behind bars if it weren’t for meow yuan’s big floofy body holding you down—

he will push all of the tokens in front of him towards the table with a meow. sometimes, you swear you can hear “all in!” in his meows but maybe that’s the ghosts in your home talking

out of every cats you housed and still do till this day, nyanturine has the most unique eyes. cyan blue on the inside fading out into a pinkish hue. when asking about it from the vets, all they could do was shrug and say it could perhaps be a very unique ocular albinism or dna mutation. either way, your cats are a fucking model

nyanturine loves the mini fedora hat you made for him as a joke. wears it nearly everyday, every time, anywhere unless he accidentally knocks it over when zooming around the house

a solid kitty if you can get behind the creepy gloving of his eyes in the dark and his tendency to win against you in every poker games

art credit goes to nasuka_gee on twt!

you first found dr.nyatio by… huh? whatchu mean you didn’t found him? you’re telling me he just waltzed his ass inside your home one day through the window and has been making himself one of the many feline bosses of the house just like that? you sure dr.nyatio isn’t anyone else’s cat? [name]? [name], answer me…

well… whatever floats your boat i guess…

the most sassiest out of all of the fucking cats and that is saying something because you literally have nyan heng and meow yuan

a bengal, me thinks. snow lynx type of marbled tan and brown bengal. a smart piece of shit and he knows it, always yapping your ears off about a certain topic. more specifically, anything to do with algorithm, geometry etc etc

but compared to nyanturine and meowhill, dr.nyatio only ever yaps about those topics and those topics only. oddly enough, he kind of reminds you of one of those annoying lecturers at your old university…

very very curious cat. what’s up there? why are you late? what did you bring? what’s inside your bag? why do you smell so different?

pause.

why do you smell so different, [name]? where have you been? who have you been with? why are you later than usual, [name]? [name] answer him. answer dr.nyatio right now before he loses his shit—

oddly likes bathing time compared to the other cats. though, dr.nyatio is a diva when it cones to taking his baths. the water must be lukewarm, not too full so when he sits in the bathtub, the water will be around his low chest area. the bath must have bubbles and those cute yellow ducks floating around or he will not step inside the bathroom

do you think of him as a low class cat? how dare you, [name]

yeah… safe to say that dr.nyatio spends more money on shampoo, hair treatment than you do

gets along with every cats actually. other than nyanturine. the two tend to scuffle sometimes. and sometimes, you can find dr.nyatio just yapping away to the other cats while he points at… an encyclopedia? since when and where did he drag that out from?

dr.nyatio has an odd hyper fixation and obsession with ancient greek things. anything related to them and the cat is not leaving the site or the front of the screen, patiently watching and listening to the documentary about ancient greek and its architectures and impact in the field of mathematics

once, you decided to bring him along to your local clay making club for shits and giggles, making a mini ionic order pillars and he fucking loved it. loves to sit in the middle of the curved placed pillars and have his pictures taken like a model

dr.nyatio also loves the cute cat helmet like thing you made for him from plastic diy materials. it works as something akin to a mask for him and the bengal loves wearing it whenever you have to step outside with him

once, one of your friends who came over at your home asked you why you named dr.nyatio that way

“is he a doctor or something? what field is his research then?” they asked, unknowingly opening a jar of worms upon themselves. you simply opened up dr.nyatio’s favorite encyclopedia in front of your friend as the bengal cat takes his place, starting to yap up a storm as the cat points to random parts of the book

after a good hour or two, your friend turned to you for help, quietly coming to regret their decision. dr.nyatio didn’t take that kindly, smacking your friend’s face back to focus on him with his soft paw before continuing

yep. doctor veritas nyatio, everyone

“meaw! [name], mrrp ammmeow mrrep mrrya! you will refer to me as doctor and doctor alone!”

art credit goes to Flambo_19 on twt!

a very demanding grey korat breed of cat, mr.meowday is

he isn’t much talkative nor is he much affectionate. but what meowday is, demanding and loves control. you once asked your local vet for advice after months of the grey korat telling you exactly how to make his food, which kibbles to buy etc etc and the vet simply reassured you with a “korat breed of cats tend to be a bit demanding and intelligent. they love to be in charge so don’t worry” and a pat on the back

yeah… you have yourself another demanding cat that loves to make you his human slave alongside dr.nyatio. don’t you think you have enough cats reigning over you in your own home now, [name]?

you adopted the poor thing from a shelter near your workplace when you heard the poor thing constantly crying out. when asking the shelter workers, they said that the cat tends to do that at random hours of the day, just calling out for attention from someone or a certain something

taking pity on the poor lonely korat sitting in the corner of his cage with his back to the world, you decided to adopt him, making yet another dumb decision

really loves sundays for that is one of the days that you have time to spend the whole day at home with the cats. and you also love to dub the last day of the week as ‘lazy day’ and therefore, you decided to name him after it. meowday, he was since then

still, even after months of living with you and the other cats, meowday still sits on the window sling, meowing out for someone or something as he wistfully stares out the window. poor cat… you’re still having some problem trying to understand what was the problem and why meowday would do that so you can at least comfort the poor thing

one day while you were showing your co-workers who loves cats as well of your cats and landed on meowday. seeing the grey, elegant korat, your co-worker asked over and over if that really was your cat

you nodded with a furrowed brows, finding it odd that your co-worker would ask such questions. until they whipped out their phone, scrolling through their gallery before showing you… an eerily similar korat

same shade of eyes, same pose, same elegant manner — you would nearly mistake it for your own cat if it weren’t for the slight shade of white grey of your co-worker’s cat fur

a korat as well. from the same animal shelter you adopted meowday too!

after careful consideration and a lot of talk, you two decided to let the two felines meet on the weekends to see if they are perhaps lost siblings, parents or anything along the lines

finally, the day arrives and your co-worker comes over. a carrying bag slung over their shoulder as they step inside. meowday could barely care for your human companion coming over, it happens all the time and he had grown used to the presence of visitors unlike some of the other cats

until he hears a soft meow that sounded eerily similar to his sister. whipping his head around, meowday nearly broke his paws due to his sudden rough landing from the window sling, practically zooming over before tackling the smaller korat to the floor

sad yet happy meows coming from meowday, grooming the other cats’ face with loud constant meows. you were pretty sure that your co-worker’s cat was meowday’s sibling now

ever since then, the grey korat constantly scratches at your feet, doing his utmost best to silently ask you to let him see his sister again, nearly everyday. please just allow him to see his sister, he had dearly missed her. please, he will be a good kitty! the best kitty in the house!

meowday could barely go a day without glooming if he doesn’t see his sister, and so you and your co-worker arranged a weekly meetings and a video call everyday to allow the siblings to meow to each other through the screen

art credit goes to Flambo_19 on twt!

is it a mini panther? is it a dog? no! it’s just your one of the most chillest cats, gallagnya

he’s a havana brown like nyelt— wait a minute, what do you mean he wasn’t a havan brown like nyelt? you sure you got it correctly? the fur sample? huh…?

“gallagnya is actually a bombay cat. brown bombay” you can hear the vet on the phone, your face immediately going pale at the news of what breed gallagnya truly has been all this time as the said cat stares at you with a “mhm. that’s right” face from the kitchen counter

why? what was the reason you were suddenly going pale you ask? you were so sure that gallagnya was another havana brown like nyelt and has been feeding him nyelt’s kibbles for havana brown. in simpler terms, you’ve been feeding gallagnya the wrong kibbles

very wrong kibbles

but don’t worry, gallagnya is a chill cat and he immediately forgave you with a lick to your forehead the next day you came home crying with a bunch of treats and the correct kibbles for the shaggy, brown cat

gallagnya isn’t exactly a mean cat but he enjoyed the look of jealousy and anger on the other cats’ face as you pampered him day in and out for giving him the wrong kibbles. the bombay cat secretly hoped that you spent a little bit longer without knowing his exact breed so you could pamper him more. eh, oh well

the main reason your vet had a hard time finding out exactly what breed he was is because bombay cats aren’t the most easiest to spot or find out. it’s a bit hard to detect them and their breed since they are a human bred cat breed

but at least you have another big cat! third biggest cat after lion like meow yuan and cheetah like nyepard. safe to say you feel safe as hell whenever you go out for a quick walk with your three big cats

another funny thing about the story between you and gallagnya is that… you genuinely don’t know where the fuck the large cat came from. did he follow you home? did he slip in through the open window one day and made himself home? who knows. not you

at least gallagnya is chill. and nice. gets along well with basically every cat except for mr.meowday— “WOOF!”

“eh, it’s probably just the neighbor’s dog going out for a walk in the hallways of the apartment—“

“WOOF!” before you could finish your little excuse for the barking you just heard, you feel the heavy big body of gallagnya pounce on top of you on the bed, effectively knocking the air out of your lungs

… great. not only do you have hundreds of cats inside your home, three of them being nearly as big as predator wildlife animals, you have to worry about the third biggest cat being a barker rather than a meower

when and where the fuck did gallagnya even learned to bark rather than meow anyways? eh, that’s a question for you to find out next morning. right now, you were too damn tired and your bed was a siren that you willingly gave yourself to

you did not found out the answer to that question the next morning. even the vets were weirded out by it since, although bombay cats are indeed seen as dog-like with their playful and friendly nature, they never cane across one that literally barked like a dog

well… at least you can scare people away with gallagnya’s barks…?

art credit goes to Hanres4 on twt!

the siamese mom in me wants to say that meowhill would be a siamese, but the logical brain in me is shouting TUXEDO CAT

and yes, meowhill is indeed a tuxedo cat. one that just won’t shut up and leave you alone

going to the bathroom? let him come along and get real political while lying on the bathroom rugs while you take a shit

leaving for the convenience store? just let him stay on your shoulder while he yaps your ears off about which seasoning to pick— no, screwubaBOO THE KOREAN SOY SAUCE TASTES BETTER ON BARBECUE!

staying home and trying to type up your work on the computer? you have a free proofreader for you who wouldn’t hesitate to meow your ears off and point at some of the things you wrote. he will even sit on your keyboard

due to his yapper nature, meowhill tends to irritate some of the cats. especially those who love their peace and quiet and staying silent

which is a huge surprise whenever you find the mischievous tuxedo cat constantly beside nyan heng, the poor black manx looking dreadful as he allows meowhill to yap his ears off. you did not wanted to get entangled nor did you go over and wanted to hear what meowhill was yapping about

meowhill also gets along with nyagenti! the two cats seem to share a past together as when you first brought meowhill home, the tuxedo cat went straight first to the elegant norweigan forest cat

ah right, speaking of bringing meowhill in…

you found the poor thing with a rotted paws and bad burn wounds. poor little thing was burnt so badly it was hard to tell the color of his fur and he kept yowling in pain when you wrapped your coat around him to rush him to the nearest vet

sadly, his front two legs were badly broken and injured and had no way of recovering. and so, the vets had no other choice but to put him under anesthetic to cut off his front two legs and replace them with prosthetics

due to the nature of his injuries, meowhill required a lot of your and the other cats’ attention. recovering from losing both of his front legs and the nasty burn wounds is a long journey and meowhill needed the support from his new human friend and fellow felines

after a long and sometimes painful 2 months, meowhill had made a full recovery! the tuxedo cat’s fur grew back and he had gotten used to walking and sprinting on his prosthetic legs. you never realized how much of an energetic cat he was until you broke the news that he made a full recovery

though, like meowday, meowhill has a slight problem of constantly sitting on the window sling and meowing out the window. why? you didn’t know

is very protective of little nyanqing. you can find the tuxedo constantly nagging meow yuan and stealing meow yuan’s little cub away from him. holding the tiny munchkin by his scruff and taking him away to dote on the little cream cat somewhere in the house

it wasn’t until you took the tuxedo cat out for a shopping in the pet essentials store as a congratulations for making full recovery and the tuxedo immediately latched onto a tiny, white kitten plush did you connect the dots

poor thing had a kitten before…

you bought the white kitten plush for him of course. you don’t have the heart to wrench it away from him

making a trip back to where you originally found meowhill, you couldn’t find anything much other than an old, burnt, red scarf. you made an exact same replica of the mini scarf in secret and gave it to meowhill for his birthday gift, wrapping the soft silk around his neck snuggly before wrapping the same scarf around the plushie

ever since then, meowhill has been deathly clingy with you and the plushie. there isn’t a single day or night where you won’t see meowhill without the white plushie, grooming it, cuddling with it and taking it with him by the scruff of the kitten plushie

art credit goes to helen_zzhao on ig!

an elegant norweigan forest cat! is his fur, brown? burgundy? red? no one knows!

nyagenti is such a beautiful cat that he competes with meow yuan in their beauty level whenever you take them out on a walk. everyone wants to pet the elegant kitties and it doesn’t help that meow yuan and nyagenti are both such gentle kitties

gets along with every cats! anyone! your friends that came over for a game night, the sitters when you need to be away for a few days of business trip, the neighbors — everyone! nyagenti has no enemies

out of everyone, nyagenti gets along best with nyelt, nyan heng and meowhill. meowhill and nyagenti used to share a past it seemed as the two cats hit it off right away while the norweigan forest cat got used to the presence of nyan heng and nyelt very quickly

tends to yap sometimes — more like pray to someone or something — but isn’t as bad as meowhill or nyaturine

doesn’t really mind bath times but he prefers grooming more than bath times. he has a beautiful long fur and they’re very dense and thick so it takes the whole day for him to finally become dry so, please let’s just settle on grooming? he can bring over the brushes for you!

a very big gift giver! shiny jewels, pretty leaves that just fell, nice shaped rocks, cockroaches— nope. nuh-uh. you are NOT getting cockroaches as a gift even though the thought is swee— OH MY GOD HE DROPPED THE COCKROACH ON YOUR BED!!!1!1!

yeah… your friend looks at you as if you’ve finally lost your mind when they came over one day and saw hundreds of rat poisons, bug and insect killing sprays just racked on your shelf like you’re gonna sell them. in return you simply deadpanned back and pointed at nyagenti who already had another cockroach in his mouth

how did you ended up having nyagenti? who knows. at this point you gave up on trying to keep track of how, when, where you got your cats from. he probably just made himself known in your house one day and you simply accepted the sign from cat distribution system no.195826592649

such a gentlemanly cat. you joke that he can kiss the back of your hand to the guests and guess what? one day, nyagenti actually did do that. the look on the guest’s face will forever live rent free in your mind

really likes red roses for some reason. thankfully, roses aren’t toxic to cats unlike some other flowers such as lily, daffodil, hyacinths but nyagenti’s love for red roses nearly borderlines on obsession in a sense

when asking the vet if there could be any reason or explanation for this, they simply patted your back, told you that you had a tendency to attract weird cats and shooed you out. not fully, but they lowkey did that and said “roses have a nice scent that tends to attract cats or dogs. they might end up taking a bite from the flower but it isn’t poisonous or toxic, so no need to worry”

still, you’re getting tired of constantly living with red rose petals thrown everywhere in your house. so much so you have gotten used to it and just decided to leave it be. if your friend comes over and sees the rose petals as something romantical, you simply shove nyagenti into their faces

unlike the other cats, nyagenti isn’t the most clingy or affectionate cat. though, that isn’t to say he is cold and distant, he does love you! but he just shows it in small ways and in quiet manners

bringing over his brush for you to help him groom his beautiful thick fur, waking you up gently in the morning with soft meows and gentle licks, even knowing to turn on the AC on a warm temperature after your shower because you always come out shivering

and he is definitely the one who leaves the fresh red roses on your bedside nightstand every morning you wake up

1K notes · View notes

murdrdocs · 7 months ago

Text

death do us part

description. there's murders happening at camp half blood, and you and LUKE CASTELLAN care about them. really, you do. but you can't help but sneak off and break a few of the rules of survival laid out by luke's brother. besides, what's really the worst thing that can happen?

includes. SMUT 18+, mutual masturbation (kinda), oral (f receiving), fingering, handjobs, mentions of vibrators (m and f receiving), shower sex, some mentions of death, subby luke vibes, dom reader vibes, whipped luke, situationships, slightly bitchy reader

wc. 3.4k+

a/n: art is record separator by phil hale. barely edited

Both of you are being selfish.

Distantly, in the back of your mind beneath the raging hormones perhaps, you’re aware that this is not only disrespectful but also irresponsible.

Luke’s brother’s words ring in your head, reminding you over and over again.

You had been sitting around an unsanctioned campfire at the time, a dozen or so of you all passing around bottles of alcohol that had been snuck in by one of Luke’s younger siblings who was desperate to impress and please all of you. With the buzz taking over your body and providing a general feeling of elation, you must admit that they impressed you. Maybe Luke too, who was surely delighted to have you all over him. Your little game of cat and mouse was finally coming to an end, likely spurred on by the havoc that had taken over Camp Half-Blood. Everyone was on edge, wondering who was next. Because according to Chris and a few other kids who were slasher fanatics, there would be a next. And soon.

Which is likely why all of you were down by the shore and letting off steam. Simply existing before something happened by the time the sun rose.

Usually, come morning you would blame your touchiness towards Luke on alcohol. But now, if either of you made it to the morning, you swore you would stop playing hard to get, throw caution to the wind, and kiss him during first daylight, a signifier that your relationship, whatever was going on between you two, withstood the test of the night and could now be official.

You two could do it. If that was tipsy delusion or rationale talking, you didn’t know.

All you knew was that Chris Rodriquez was definitely drunk, but there had to be some truth to his words.

“Listen, listen.” He stood, raising his beer bottle as if he were about to toast. You hoped the bottle wasn’t empty yet, for Chris had a habit of pulling you all into a game of spin the bottle whenever he got like this. Sometimes, you didn’t mind it. Not when you got to kiss Luke. But watching Luke kiss someone else always left a sour taste on the back of your tongue.

When Chris took a swig, you sighed a bit and slunk further into Luke’s side.

“If we’re going to survive this–” each of you knew what he was talking about. The grieving families and empty beds made sure you each knew what was happening. “We’ll have to live by a set of rules.”

“Rules?” Luke spoke from beside you for the first time in a while. You turned to look at him and immediately got distracted. His scar shined in the warm lighting, the orange making the slight flush along his cheeks a little more distinct. His eyes were heavy. They were relaxed. He was relaxed, and the irony didn’t fly over your head.

Weirdly enough, you found yourself relaxed, too. Tucked into his side with his arm slung over your shoulder like the two of you were together. It was normal for you both to get like that late at night, but the difference in the air made it seem more sentimental.

Luke, likely sensing your staring, turned to look at you. He smiled just a bit, and you didn’t hesitate as you leaned forward and pressed your lips to his. The two of you separated soon enough to hear Chris’ rant.

“Yeah. Rules.” When no one around the bonfire seemed to understand what rules he was referring to, he took a swig of his beer, sat it on the log behind him, and stood on his soap box.

“There are a set of rules to surviving something like this. Rule number 1: never say you’ll be right back. Trust me, you won’t.”

One of the girls raised her hand, her face scrunched into a pout. Chris stopped to look at her, pointing a finger as an indicator for her to speak. “What do we say instead?”

Chris took a second. He hesitated, his dark and glassy eyes searching around him for an answer, then, “Just leave and come back. Don’t announce it.”

The answer seemed good enough for her and Chris continued.

“Rule number 2: don’t shower alone. This is just an invitation for the killer to sneak up on you, and slash you up. Next thing you know, we’re finding you stark naked.” This rule seemed to make sense for everyone else and no one spoke up. “Rule number 3: do not have sex. And if you’re a virgin, now is not the time to lose your virginity.”

This incited a low level of outrage from a few people around the camp. Your hand settled on Luke’s thigh, and you could feel him staring at you. Still, you continued to stare ahead at Chris.

“It’s not safe!” He exclaimed. “You’re left vulnerable, just like in rule 2, and for some reason, killers love to prey on the promiscuous. Just keep it in your pants until whoever is doing this is caught. That’s all. And rule 4, the most important one: never ever, ever go off alone. This will single you out and make you an easy target. You follow these rules, and maybe you’ll survive.”

Chris finished his rant, took a final swig of his beer, and sat back down.

Luke’s hand fell to your thigh. He ran his touch up and down once, and then squeezed your flesh twice. From the corner of your eye, you saw the grin grow on Luke’s face and turned to him. Neither of you had to say anything. Luke raised his eyebrows, smiled at you, and you nodded.

Luke opened his mouth to likely spew out some bullshit excuse, but everyone’s attention turned towards one of the kids sitting next to Chris who suddenly broke out of a stupor to protest Chris’ rules. Which left you and Luke an opening.

He took his arm from around your shoulder, placed his hand out for you to take, and then stood with you on his heels.

“Where’re you two going?” Silena asked from beside you.

You grinned down at her and communicated all you needed to in that one look. “To sleep. Chris said not to leave alone, right?”

She was clearly unconvinced, but she still nodded and kept her mouth shut.

And the two of you walked away to the sound of Chris pitching yet another spin-the-bottle game.

Which brought you here, in the bathrooms instead of your cabin. Your poorly formed excuse spoken to Luke was something along the lines of needing to scrub off the grime from the day, and especially the thick layer of bug spray that you’ve recently had to use. Some of the more superstitious kids in camp attributed the increase in bugs to the increase in deaths. You attributed it to a malfunction of the Mist.

You knew that Luke, being the gentleman that he is, wouldn’t dare let you shower alone. Not since his brother laid out the rules. You also knew that Luke, being as infatuated with you as he is, would take any chance he could to get with you, even if it was selfish and irresponsible.

But you don’t think he’s considering either factor right now as he’s kissing you as if he has a one-track mind.

One of the showers is running behind you. The two of you had originally been waiting for the water to turn hot, but that happened a while ago, and now Luke was keeping you busy in the center of the bathroom, his hands gratefully roaming over your body, feeling you up.

He has one hand settled along the back of your thigh, just right under the end of your jean shorts. His other hand grips your cheek, holding your face steady for him to messily kiss you. You don’t mind the mess of it, you’re not bothered by the way his tongue clumsily slips outside of your mouth a few times, because it’s a sign of how he’ll fuck you. Unabashed, uninhibited, maybe he’ll even whimper in your ear when he cums.

Just the thought alone is enough to encourage you.

You hook your fingers under Luke’s shirt, a faded graphic tee you thrifted and brought back to camp for him, and lift it just over his navel. He gets the message and pulls away from your lips, but there’s a force pulling him back once, twice, and one final time before he pulls back just enough to pull his shirt over his head. He looks like something out of a movie as he lifts the black shirt off by the neckline and tosses it to the floor. You don’t know if he means to, but he flexes while he does it, his abdomen taunt and the veins in his arms popping out more than usual.

You’ve seen Luke’s body many times and in many different scenarios, but each time you have to take a moment. And he knows you well enough to anticipate it.

He stands within arms reach, watching you watch him. You can’t tell since your eyes are focused on the way his abs frame his navel, the way his skin has deepened a shade, and the scars and moles that are dotted across his body, but he’s smiling. A small, barely there quirk of his lips.

Eventually, you take a step closer to Luke, pressing your fingers into his skin and sliding your hands back until your fingers interlock around his back. You pull Luke closer to you, lifting your head and nudging the tip of his nose with yours.

“You done?” he asks, referencing your prolonged staring.

You hum, nodding as you reach for Luke’s lips with your own. “‘m done.” And then Luke kisses you again.

There’s some repetition when Luke lifts your shirt over your head, but he appreciates your frame with his lips. He kisses your shoulders and neck as he unclasps your bra and pulls it off of you. He litters kisses into your stomach as he sinks to his knees, pulling your now unbuttoned shorts with him. He helps you step out of them, taking your shoes off as he does so, and when you’re only left in your panties, he looks up at you.

“Mind if I do the honors?”

You answer him through a grin. “Only if you let me return the favor.”

And he does.

It has been clear that your shower with Luke was likely going to be more than a shower, even though it was previously unspoken between you both. It doesn’t need to be spoken, not whenever there’s an obvious wet patch in your panties when Luke pulls them down, or when you’re face to face with his semi when you pull his boxers off of his hips.

You look up at Luke, your eyes slightly narrowed and a tiny smile on your lips. You don’t say anything, but Luke still rolls his eyes. He scoffs, jerks his head in a motion that tells you to stand. As soon as you do, he has your face in his hands and his lips on yours. Your hands grip his sides, keeping him pressed close to you.

Luke blindly walks you both back to the shower. He turns when your back faces the shower head, and lets the water flow down onto him first, pulling away only when his hair starts to get wet.

He has his eyes shut, water cascading down his body in a way that makes him look like one of the Greek sculptures that now sit locked in museums.

He pushes his hair off of his forehead, tipping his head back.

“Hair,” he tells you. And it takes you a second to tell that he’s asking you if you’re gonna put yours back. You quickly throw your hair up and out of your face, putting it back enough to avoid the stream of the shower, and then you pull Luke closer to you.

“Not even gonna pretend to shower? Maybe do a quick rinse?” He’s teasing, but you roll your eyes, move Luke out of the way, and then stand beneath the stream, lifting your arms and turning around to let the water roll over your body.

You look up at Luke and catch him staring. His eyes trail along your tits, deep gaze following individual droplets of water as they collide with your shoulder and roll all the way down to the peak of your tits, where they drop off to fall to the shower floor.

You scoff but don’t say anything. You’re not a hypocrite.

“Happy?” You ask him as you step out from the water.

His answer comes in the form of grateful hands pressing into your lower back. His fingertips pinch your hips as he directs you to the side wall. You don’t have to be told to tilt your head up. You’re already waiting for him, unable to resist smiling into the kiss when Luke brings his lips down onto yours.

He trails a hand down between your thighs, knocking them further apart with a tap of his knee against yours.

When his fingers, the middle and index, pull your lips apart, you sigh into his mouth. When they press against you, spreading the wetness already gathered there, you mewl against his tongue.

Luke’s good with his fingers, you both know it. At this point in your relationship—or whatever both of you decide to call it in the moment—with Luke, he knows you well. He knows that you like it when he hooks his fingers and slightly grazes the top of your walls. He doesn’t have to ask if you’re feeling good, but he does it anyway.

“Good?” Spoken against your lips, the ghost of his own lips brushing against yours as his words enter your mouth.

You nod, knocking your head back against the wall without much care of the water there.

Luke’s other hand clasps behind your knee where he lifts your leg, pressing the inside of it to his hip. He has you opened up for him, giving him free range to practically piston his fingers inside of you. It’s a fervorous pace, more hungry than you’ve known Luke to be. But you don’t mind it.

It’s late, the two of you are as tired as you are horny, it’s nice to rub one out quickly and then knock out. It’s a routine both of you are used to.

Like usual, you reach forward and wrap your hand around Luke’s cock.

It’s no surprise when you swipe your thumb over his tip and are greeted with precum. Truthfully, you’re shocked there’s not more. But tonight, unlike other nights, you hadn’t given Luke the workaround. You wanted him. He knew you wanted him. And you were tired of pretending, tired of acting like you didn’t want to really and truly be with Luke.

You would tell him. You were gonna tell him tonight.

… After you came.

It doesn’t take much more of Luke’s work for you to feel the beginnings of an orgasm creeping in. The urge to reach it is what has you locking your fingers in Luke’s wet curls and nudging him down.

He doesn’t protest. He just smiles and sinks to his knees, settling his head between your thighs. Without much hesitance at all, he latches his lips onto your clit.

Soon thereafter you’re arching into his mouth, your standing leg locked while your bent one hooks over Luke’s shoulder, pulling him closer even though your hand in his hair has already assured that he’s as close as he can get. His fingers curl within you, massaging your fluttering walls as you cum around them. Your moans are loud, echoing off of the walls and barely shrouded by the thunder of water meeting the tiled floors. Distantly, you hope that no one else has decided to come for a shower tonight, but the thought in the forefront of your mind is that you hope your orgasm never ends.

It feels so good when Luke makes you cum. It always does. Rather he does it like this, with his fingers and mouth, or even his cock, or if he does it with one of the toys you brought back from home with you, a recent fascination of his.

The image of when you had used the toy on Luke, pressing the vibrating shape onto his tip, pushes an aftershock out of your body, one that is pulled to completion by Luke’s eager work between your legs.

When he pulls himself from between your legs, he swipes his palm, spread out as flat as it can get, along your cunt. You don’t realize that he did it to gather your wetness until he has that same hand wrapped around his cock. He tugs, spreading your arousal with the movement.

It does the trick, Luke’s eyes fluttering shut as he twists his wrist.

You tut and pull his hand away from his wrist. He doesn’t question it, only watching you through heavy eyes as you spit a large glob into your hand and replace Luke’s work with your own.

His arms wrap around your waist. They wrap around your shoulders. He rests his forehead against yours and then lets his head fall to your shoulder whenever you pick your pace up a bit.

He’s noisy, you can feel his chest vibrating from where you have your hand pressed into his sternum. But he’s too quiet for you to hear. His volume, paired with the noise of the shower, frustrates you. You dip your head to the side, attempting to get your ear closer to Luke.

It works a bit, you’re able to hear his low groans, but it’s not enough.

Eventually, you call his name. It comes out as a mix between a request and a demand, existing somewhere in the middle where you hold a considerable amount of control of Luke Castellan, practically the leader of leaders at Camp Half-Blood.

Yet, you’re his pied piper.

He hums, his eyebrows pushed together. You can’t tell if his look is one of confusion or pleasure. You figure it’s both.

“Look at me. I wanna see you.” This is a plea.

Luke nods once, and then he looks at you.

It’s something you wanted, but it makes you flush a little. Having Luke’s undivided attention always made you squirm a bit, even when it usually made your ego flare. But that was when you weren’t here. When you were fully clothed and surrounded by the protection of your friends. When they giggled and nudged your side to tell you that the Luke Castellan was staring at you. This look isn’t much different from the one he gave you then, but there’s weight to it. He’s staring at you, with something so sincere in his eyes. Beyond just horniness, beyond a desire for you to make him cum.

It’s so much, too much, but you were the one to request it, so you don’t back down.

You square your shoulders and jerk Luke off with more determination.

His eyes start to flutter shut as he gets closer, getting heavier and heavier as if he’s fighting off sleep. But each time they close, they open back up in a couple of seconds. He’s so determined to obey you, it’s flattering. It’s impossible for the way Luke Castellan treats you to not go to your head. Especially when he starts speaking to you.

“Feels so good. ‘m so close. A little bit more.”

He knocks his forehead against yours, holding you still by cupping the back of your neck when your head lolls from the force of the collision.

He kisses you as he cums. His cock twitched in your hand as warm cum spurts onto your stomach and thighs. His lips move slowly, languidly, not kissing you as much as they just linger.

But it’s fine that way. You don’t mind it that way.

By the time both of you have come down, really came down, you’ve washed yourselves clean of the bug spray, cum, and general grime of camp. Luke shuts the shower off, he pads over to the linen closet at the end of the bathroom and you’re momentarily grateful that the kids have actually done their chores and restocked the closet with fresh towels whenever you realize neither you or Luke have clothes.

Not only did you not have clean and fresh clothes, but the clothes you were wearing before were gone now.

When you alert Luke of the problem, he groans. He tosses you a towel, wrapping his own around his waist, and stands in the center of the bathroom with his hands tossed onto his hips. He thinks for a second, clicking his tongue a few times.

“Okay,” he turns to face you. “I’m gonna go grab us some clothes. You stay here.” He kisses your forehead, readjusts his towel on his hips, and tells you, “Stay put. I’ll be right back.”

#lukesworld!#luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x you #luke castellan smut #celeste writes pjo

1K notes · View notes

chaptersleftunwritten · 3 months ago

Text

Darkest Desire

Based off of this nonnie request! It’s a bit scarier than intended and I do apologise for that teehee. There’s also no smut…

Blurb: With a group of friends you visit the local Halloween Scare walk, an event that is hosted annually out in the creepy plaines of Hawkins and whilst it’s masks on for the locals, it’s very much masks off for the scare actors…

Pairing: Scare Actor!Eddie x Reader

Warnings: 18+, the holiday of Halloween is mentioned, talk of blood/gore, faux blades/knives, cursing, reader is referred to as girl, use of pet names, degrading, praising, stalking (cat&mouse), sly/cocky and slightly mean!Eddie. Characters are all 20+

divider by @reveriesources

Crunchy dry blood orange leaves litter the earth and frost tainted wind nips at your nose and cheeks. The squeals of excited children racing by your costume clad frame fills your ears with immense joy and you giggle airily as they launch themselves into one another. Racing toward the brightly lit luminescent funfair games in hopes of winning a stuffed animal or a goldfish in a bag.

Their parents lug behind them, their attire consisting of some makeshift costume they had thrown together at the last minute in hopes of pleasing their tiny humans and earning themselves a quiet car ride without any tantrums or fuss.

Your group, on the other hand, weren’t here for the childish and conning games. You were all here for the Scare Walk.

You hadn’t agreed on a coherent group costume so it was a pick and mix of totally different genres and ideas and from an outside perspective it was abundantly clear that there was no communication on the matter whatsoever.

Steve was dressed as the main character from Nightmare On Elm Street, Freddy Kruger. Nancy clearly had helped with the makeup aspect of the costume assemble but everything else screamed Harrington. He cropped the stripped knitted jumper to better suit his athletic frame and his hair was still very much classic Steve.

Robin had taken a whole new approach, dressing up as the colourful Rubik’s Cube puzzle toy. Deriving inspiration from the colourful squares she wore a long black jumpsuit covered in humongous reflective and vibrant square sequins. She more resembled a neon glitter ball, but you gave her the benefit of the doubt.

Nancy’s body was hugged by a khaki green boiler suit that had the long legs cut off and on her back she wore a black backpack with some DIY altercations made to it. She has begged Mike to help her create her costume, and that’s how she ended up dressed as a Ghostbuster, putting a strong feminine spin on the male dominated film. You hadn’t expected anything less from Nance, she was always looking for ways to empower women and her costume made you smile. Proud.

Jonathan had chosen a much whackier costume to better fit with his personality. The pungent smell of weed radiating from his body only complimented the fluorescent green costume he was wearing and the radioactive orange bandana blindfolded over his eyes. He had opted for the beloved character from the children’s series Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles’, Michelangelo. Which shouldn’t have surprised you— but it did.

And finally, you had chosen something distinctively different from your friends. You had made the bold choice to go as a flapper girl from the 1920’s, inspired by Fitzgeralds novel The Great Gatsby. It was a bold move because you paired the costume with kitten heels and although they were small you knew by the end of the night your feet would be crying out for rest. It is a Scare Walk after all. Your body was adorned by glitter and lace and the fringe of your dress tickled at the exposed skin of your legs.

It was a bit chilly tonight, but you were having too much of a ball to really hone in and pay attention to the sharp gusts of wind. Steve and Robin were arguing over whose costume was more original and whilst Robin’s was, Steve always somehow managed to argue himself into being ‘right’.

“Talk to me when you have hand sewn a bazillion sequins onto something and not just took a pair of shears to a ratty old sweater.” Robin remarks with a smirk, crossing her arms over her chest and marching ahead of Steve.

“Hey! I’ll have you know that it was surprisingly difficult to cut this thing into a straight line— and it isn’t ratty or old, I literally bought it like two days ago.” Steve fires back with a squinted gaze as he follows closely behind Robin’s reflective beacon of light that seems to lead us through the dimness. Nancy grumbles inwardly to herself.

“Can you two stop bickering like babies? We’re here to have fun! So let’s go and do that!” She hooks her arm with yours, charging forward, “I heard that some people from campus are working here this year. I don’t know what they’re doing but isn’t that exciting? We might bump into them!” You admired how Nancy could make a good situation out of everything, however you didn’t quite share her enthusiasm for meeting people you already knew. Nancy was all about making and strengthening connections whereas you wanted to just have fun— judgement free.

And now that you knew that your peers were watching your every move you couldn’t help but feel your confidence shrink slightly and your words clam up. Dying in your throat before they could ever be heard aloud.

The walk started off relatively slow and rather boring. You kept mistaking your dress tickling your calf’s as insects running up the skin of your legs and Robin would giggle at the way your head was constantly shooting downward.

“You seem awfully jittery— is someone scared already?” She taunts, wiggling her eyebrows at you and grinning widely as she did.

You scoff in response, “Please. I’m nearly dozing off back here.”

An eerie dark silence falls over the group and the golden haze from the spooky funfair starts to fade into the background behind you as you venture further and deeper into the doom and gloom of night fall.

The smell of sweet popcorn no longer lingers in the hairs of your nostrils and a sinister chill runs down the back of your spine; like fingers tickling your bare skin.

“Are we sure we are sticking to the trail? It’s getting pretty dark out here— OH MY FUCKING GOD!!” Two little girls dressed in bloody dresses and horrifying makeup charge toward you from a nearby hidden brush. Their eyes glow a disturbing shade of white and they hold faux knives that still look devilishly real. You stumble backwards, nearly collapsing from shock however before you could fall to the ground you feel a hard body hit your back which makes you scream out in terror.

The figure laughs at you, jeering and sharp as you whip around to meet him and your hand is quick to find your chest. Your fingers claw at the fabric of your dress and you fist the fabric with a shaky grip. You’re panting, struggling for breath and the skull painted face looms over you for a moment too long; cocking his head to the side as he examines your costume.

That’s when you realise something. Something that you immediately recognised as a dark secret. A dark desire that should be kept hidden.

As his onyx orbs gleam and glare down at you, you feel a wave of heat feather your cold skin. Your core pulses between your thighs and your mouth hangs open in dreadful clarity; you were fucking turned on by this.

His chiselled face is painted to resemble a bare skull. White with inky dark circles that deepen his eye sockets and his cheekbones are defined with thick blended shadowy lines. His lips are painted black to match his contours and he has hand drawn on a stretched toothy smile and an empty nose cavity.

He doesn’t speak a single word.

He just stares at you. Almost as if he is furious with you.

And before long he drags himself away from you, like the simple task is deemed painful and impossible for him.

His torso is dressed in a fitted white button down shirt which is rolled up to his elbows and it exposes his tattooed forearms. On his legs he wears a simple but professional pair of black trousers paired with black suspenders that sling over his shoulders. On his feet he has combat boots supporting his ankles and some sort of padded device strapped around the joint of his knees.

You gawk at him as he skates across the concrete on his knees at an alarmingly fast rate toward another group of poor people; leaving sparks of light in his dust as they squirm and scream. Some of them even go as far to sprint off into the darkness away from him; which leaves the masked man cackling darkly and running after them.

“Holy shit! I had no idea he would be working here this year!” Steve slaps the palm of his hand onto your shoulder as he chuckles heavily and you pull away from him confused and slightly annoyed.

“Who is ‘he’ and how do you know him?” Steve’s laughter dies out slowly and his hands come to rest on his hips. A stance that he did often. The rest of the gang come to join you with curious expressions on their faces.

“Seriously? You don’t recognise him?” There’s a pause as you shake your head ‘no’ and Steve rolls his amber eyes dramatically, “That’s Eddie Munson, dipshit. He’s always smoking weed out in the courtyard on campus? Playing with the fire from the benson burner during chemistry— is this ringing any bells?” You shrug, crossing your arms defensively over your chest.

Is Eddie Munson someone you should know about?

“He has long, curly hair— not better than mine but hey, it’s definitely up there.” Steve’s hand smooths over his slicked back hair that is thick with gel and you laugh, now being able to form an image of Eddie in your mind.

“Ohh, the metal head? He sometimes walks around with his guitar slung over his back?” You reply as you begin to walk off after realising that you have all come to a stand still— and partially because you want to see Eddie again.

“Yeah! He is wicked with a guitar! I’ve seen him play.” Robin chirps from your left and Nancy hums on your right.

“He is pretty good.” Jonathan speaks through a mouthful of candy and you try to disguise your disgust as you unfortunately get a glimpse of the food on his tongue.

“Right…” is all you quietly reply as your eyes scan the bluish darkness. You can hear an owl hooting off in the distance and if it weren’t for the jump scares waiting for you, you would find this promenade quite peaceful.

Crickets whisper conversations from the tall blades of grass and you can see lanterns dotted up ahead of you. They cast ghoulish shadows all around the dirt path and your head twitches from side to side— trying to catch any of the silhouettes moving.

But they don’t.

You have strayed further ahead of the group, their voices hitting your ears in the form of muffled sounds but you don’t bother to wait on them. They are too busy laughing and booing at some of the scare actors whereas your heart is still palpitating at a ridiculous rate from the last scare.

Some of the actors were so gruesomely scary that you felt transported into your favourite slasher films whereas the others were just looming and ominous— more human. Humans are the scariest creatures after all. You fear your own kind in opposition to the unknown.

That’s why when the familiar skull skates over to you on his knees, you freeze this time. No fight or flight; just freeze. Your mouth gaping wide as his nose nearly brushes yours.

“Eddie.” His name is a breathless squeeze from your lungs as it leaves your mouth. You have to say his name aloud in order to ground your thundering heart. Were you excited or frightened? Maybe it was a mixture of both.

Whatever it was, the man stood in front of you wasn’t best pleased. His eyes narrow into irritated slits and his fingers toy with a piece of your hair— twirling it before yanking on it playfully.

Steve, Nancy, Robin and Jonathan all sprint past you in urgency. They screaming until their throats run raw as a deranged man with a faux chainsaw chases after them. Hot on their heels.

You and Eddie go unnoticed by them… and now…

Now you feel afraid.

“Y’know you aren’t supposed to address the actors personally, right?” He sneers through a tight jaw.

“He speaks.” You quip back sassily and Eddie huffs a distorted laugh.

“I’ve seen you around campus— even prettier up close. It’s a shame your attitude ruins that.” He circles you like a shark in water and you follow him. Twirling around makes you dizzy but Eddie’s chuckle makes your dizzier.

“Like a little lost lamb.” He coos, “Where are your cronies? Seems they’ve ditched.” His glove clad knuckle grazes your cheek and you flinch away from his soft touch. Taking a few steps back you widen the close distance between the two of you.

This causes Eddie to grin hugely; showing all of his teeth as he did.

“What? Don’t tell me you’re scared now?” He prowls toward you however you are quick to match every one of his steps. He takes a stride forward? You take a step back.

“You could run away if you wanted… but that’ll only entice me more. Didn’t they tell you? I love the chase.” His voice is a low animalistic growl and you couldn’t understand if this was Eddie or his character talking to you. Was this all an act or was he genuinely this menacing?

“I thought you actors weren’t supposed to get this close to the public…” You hunch your shoulders upward toward your ears as you cower away from his stalky frame and he stares through you; the gears in his head turning.

You shift on the balls of your feet uncomfortably and your skin blazes beneath his intense gaze.

“You’re blushing.” He says matter of factly and suddenly you feel the need to straighten your posture and try to get as far from him as possible.

“I am not.” The lie is pathetic as it meets the frosted air and Eddie smiles eerily.

“It’s the makeup, isn’t it? You like the makeup.” His head strains back on his neck as he lets out a loud laugh, “Fuck— that’s pathetic. You must be into some really weird shit.”

“I- that’s absurd!! I have no idea what you’re talking about!” You squeal and slink your arms around your torso. Partially because you were cold but also to be protective and assertive of yourself, “You don’t even know me—“ Eddie interjects, his finger tapping impatiently against his painted lips.

“Shhhh.” You feel the soft grain of his leather gloves as they tickle your skin and Eddie’s hands fully embrace your bare shoulders, “It’s okay— I like your costume too, I suppose.” He shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly, “I mean, it’s a bit outdated and boring but hey, you look good.” He flashes you a teasing wink that is nearly enough to make your lungs implode with lack of oxygen.

“Goodbye, Munson.” You swivel on your kitten heels and briskly find the frozen dirt path again. Your head involuntarily looks over your shoulder, trying to catch sight of Eddie one last time as you leave him behind but to your total disadvantage the metal head was no longer standing where you had left him.

He too, had taken off.

And unbeknownst to you, you had just pressed play on one of Eddie Munson’s all time favourite games; Cat and mouse.

It was getting later and later with every passing second and you couldn’t find your friends anywhere. You had last seen them run off whilst laughing and screaming in total horror but you hadn’t seen them since.

Had they actually ditched you and went home?

Once the thought infiltrated your psyche you contemplated on cutting the scare walk short and heading back to the funfair to search for them. However, going back meant that you had to go alone and there was something devilish about that.

To your left, through a thick canvas of sweetgum trees you can hear the owl again. Hooting softly— a sound that should calm your nerves but instead it tugs on them viciously. It’s more like an emergency siren warning you. A sign for you to run and to never look back.

A man made whistle slices through the chirping of the birds and it cuts at your skin like the edge of a blade. You look left and right, frantically dancing in circles as you try to determine where it’s coming from; but you are met with nothingness.

“Eddie, if that’s you then cut it out! This isn’t funny!” Your fingernails pinch at your skin as you begin to walk panicked in the opposite direction. Never paying attention to what’s in front of you, your gaze always trailing off to the side and behind you.

That’s when you see him— the skull peering at you from a dark line of trees in the distance. Your feet come to a staggering stop as you eye him. Was your mind playing tricks on you? Was Eddie really staring back at you or were you deluding yourself?

You swallow thickly, your mouth dry as you watch him emerge from the greenery. Before your brain can compute what your body is doing you are running; charging into the fullness of the forest.

Tree branches whip and rip at your skin, causing it to redden and sting. You wince but you continue soldiering on, your shoulders barge through sticks and nettles and thorns.

Your mind had convinced you that this was real. That you were being chased by a psycho.

“Hey— hey, stop!! It’s okay! Wait—“ Eddie is close behind you, crunching twigs beneath his boots but you are quicker than he is; more frightened and resilient to get as far from him as possible. For your own safety.

“Sweetheart! Stop!” You can hear him getting frustrated as he trudges through the cluttered landscape but you can see lights shining in front of you, just up ahead, and it causes you to force your legs to quicken. Desperate to reach there.

But just before you explode onto the funfair grounds your legs give way beneath you and you crash to the ground. The palms of your hands scrape against the jagged forest floor and your dress rips against a spiked log. You thought this shit only happened in the movies— but tonight you were proven wrong.

You look behind you and your eyes well up with tears of both pure adrenaline and fear at Eddie propelling himself toward you.

You bring up your hands around your head to protect yourself as you shrink back onto the floor, over the fact that your hair is full of pine needles and your knees are scraped and bleeding.

Eddie crouches by your side, a deep frown on his face and worry in his eyes.

“Hey, sweet girl, you’re okay…” Eddie bites off his leather gloves and throws them to the soft earth. He is gentle to pry your cold hands away from your muddied face and he hisses quietly at the temperature of your skin compared to his. He examines the palms of your hands tenderly, “Ouch… this must hurt. What were you thinking?”

Your foolishness almost causes Eddie to laugh, but after witnessing the genuine anxiety plaguing your features he decides not to.

“It was too real.” You blubber, letting out a dampened sob and Eddie’s heart pangs with guilt and sorrow, “I couldn’t find anyone and… and I saw you and I just couldn’t think of anything else…”

“I’m sorry, love. C’mere, let me help you up.” Eddie is crouched down, his knees bent as he braces himself in front of your shaking frame. He outstretches his hands toward you and you take them hesitantly.

Thanks to Eddie’s strength he pulls your weak body up to meet his with ease and he hold you against his chest. Breathing softly as he tries to calm your laboured and nervous breaths.

“I really am sorry… it’s just me, ‘Kay? I’m not gonna hurt you. I promise.” He peppers comforting pecks into your hair and your nails claw at the back of his shirt, “It must’ve been pretty scary; being out there all alone with me.”

You nod, your mind finally calming at the sound of his lulling and gentle voice.

“I do like the makeup.” Your confession is meek and muffled against his chest, “I think there must be something wrong with me.” You laugh, managing to pull away his chest and look at him much more confidently now.

“Not at all,” Eddie grins, “I think it’s quite the opposite, actually. Very normal— it might even be considered vanilla to some people out there.” Although you have removed yourself from the skull painted man’s chest, the closeness between the both of you remains the same.

The truth was; Eddie had always admired you. Your intelligence and your cunning. You were beautiful, which was the cherry on top of your infectiously bright personality. He had noticed you at the beginning of the academic year and he was too chicken to talk to you. You both were connected through Steve but Steve never really paid attention to Eddie’s longing and begging looks toward you.

But Steve didn’t have to say anything. Not anymore. Because you could see it for yourself. You could see beneath the intricate paint on his face that Eddie felt something for you. You weren’t sure what it was; lust, a crush or plain friendship but you could see it. Feel it.

“You must think I’m a total freak.”

“You have no idea who you’re talking to, sweetheart. I am the biggest freak to have ever lived.” Eddie lets out a giddy chuckle and his hands continue to rest lightly around your body. You welcome his lingering touch and his nearness. It felt familiar. Nice.

“We both look like weirdos standing out here in the dark.” Your eyes scan around the auburn horizon of tall trees and a soft smile rests on your smudged lipstick covered lips, “People are going to think we’ve been up to no good.”

Eddie smiles, his hand coming to stroke your cheek gently and tuck some of your rouge hair behind your ear, “With how windswept your hair is, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

You both stand there, the air is clouded with electrifying tension and you can’t think of anything else other than how badly you want him to kiss you.

“I wanna take you out… on a date.” His hands cup your face, “When I’m not this caricature. I’ll just be me and you will be you. You won’t have to run from me…” His cold nose brushes the tip of yours, “I won’t have to chase you.” You can smell mint and nicotine on his breath and you have never been more intoxicated by anything in your entire life.

“What’d ya say, sweet girl? Let me take you somewhere nice so I can kiss you properly at the end of the night?” There is a slight desperation to his voice and you bite your lip to suppress a wide smile.

“I’d like you to chase me, Eddie. Chase me with daisies and a boombox and your guitar. You won’t have to run after me for long…” You are dangerously close to him now, your breath quickening as you press a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth. It takes every ounce of self control not to eat his entire mouth with yours, “Take me anywhere. As long as it’s with you.”

“I will.” He promises.

“And kiss me at the end of the night?” You are desperate yourself now, your eyes sparkling with moonlight as you look up into his shadowy hues.

“I will.” He strokes your hair so delicately; like you are the most precious thing he has ever handled, “I promise.”

taglist: @colorful-white-ideas @littlered0000 @ali-r3n @daisy-munson @serenadingtigers @rainybloo28 @munson-enthusiast @godcreatoreli @littlefreckles4 @what-the-jams @tlclick73 @ameliapond1995 @thepurplelovewitch @somethingvicked @costellation-hunter @munsonzgf @emxxblog @ingridvasquez @sadbitchfangirl @im-julessssss @munsonburn3r @unclecrunkle @cierra222 @ziggeddie @yarafae @sidthedollface2 @kellsck @your-nightmaredoll @purplewitchcauldron @manitskatrina @georgeweasleyslostearhq

#eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #halloween #scare actor!eddie munson #scare actor!eddie #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson imagine #eddie x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #fanfiction #fandom

734 notes · View notes

rosenclaws · 2 months ago

Note

Hi again! 👋

I'm throwing another request at ya since you did such an awesome job with the last fic idea I requested. (Thank you again for that)

This time with the OG Logan and all his kitty cat hair glory lol.

The reader has similar powers to scarlet witch. Like telekinetic powers, levitation, etc. Can it be a scenario where she loses connection (like how wanda feels connected to vision) with Logan and thinks that he's dead and she just snaps. The villians who claims they killed him mock her and she pulls the move like wanda did in Endgame where she's like you took everything from me, and the villians don't know who she is and she's like you will and just goes full beast mode on the villians involved.

Bonus, Logans alive, he just was knocked out real bad and sees the whole fight happen and was like wow I love her and they reunite and it ends all fluffy with a kiss, maybe a proposal? Lol 😘

Heartbeat || Logan Howlett x Reader

a/n: This was such a great request and I have to say I really loved writing this. I did. go a little angstier than I thought I would and its darker than I expected it to turn out but I really hope you like it. Your mutant name is firefly. Also. I still haven't seen the movies so I apologize if its not accurate to how the X-Men work or anything im sorry sdakfjl;

warnings: fake out death, violence, blood, killing, angst, hurt/comfort, happy ending, the reader goes on a rampage, he calls you honey, reader almost dies, creepy ass villian guy.

wc: 2.3k

"You alright there honey?" Logan's hand gently rests on your shoulder.

You're staring blankly out the jet window, watching the clouds pass by as you ready yourself for what is pretty much a suicide mission. A whole organization that had been hiding underground, dedicated to eradicating mutants.

They've studied you. Planned. They know things, your strengths, your weaknesses. A few people had infiltrated their base and what they found...It made you shiver. Photos and articles and deeply personal information.

They had photos of you and Logan.

It made you paranoid sometimes. Like they were always watching. So you had to put a stop to it as soon as possible. You didn't go on missions often. Your powers were, quite destructive. Powerful yes but not always needed but the X-Men needed everyone they could. You take a deep breath and try to smile convincingly.

"Yeah, I'm fine." Logan snorts and cocks an eyebrow.

"You're lying right through those pretty teeth." There's an air of fear in the jet. You all know what might happen if you don't succeed.

"Hey, it's gonna be okay. Promise."

"Yeah they're no match for the Wolverine and Firefly." Scott teases making Logan roll his eyes. Scott just loved messing with Logan, taking any jab he can to lighten the mood.

"Can it bub." He turns his attention back to you, happy to see a small smile on your face. Logan takes your hand and places it on his chest. Your hands glow as you reach deep and feel his heartbeat.

"See?" You take a deep breath as you listen.

Sometimes you got too much into your own head. Your powers were tricky and when you got overwhelmed Logan always knew how to calm you down. The world around you fades as you focus on the beat of his heart. The rise and fall of his chest. He was your rock. The jet jolts and Logan holds onto you as you stumble.

"Think I got time for a quick smoke before we head out?"

"No you do not." Storm walks up to the two of you, she shoos Logan away who reluctantly leaves.

"We're landing in 10 minutes, are you ready Firefly?" You take a deep breath and nod.

You stare at your hands as you little particles of orange start to sprout from your fingers. You had control of your powers most of the time but they were still a work in progress but you knew that this mission was important so you couldn't afford to lose control.

Once the jet lands Scott and Storm tell everyone the plan again. This was for the future of mutant kind and there was a lot at stake. Each of you had a small usb drive that would corrupt and destroy any files still left in their system. Infiltrate and destroy all of their plans.

"Do you feel like pancakes?" Logan asks as you step out of the jet.

"What?" He shrugs and stands a little taller.

"There's this diner, open all night. Thought that after you'd want to get something to eat." You know what he's doing. Trying to make you feel better, to believe that you'll make it out alive. You can't die if you have a plans.

"Sure Logan, pancakes sounds great."

"Then it's a date." Logan heads in the opposite direction of you.

He's part of the brute force while you slip into the shadows. Still it pains you to be away from him. A storm rumbles in the distance and you hurry off to your position, afraid of what was to come. Still you keep going.

This was going to end tonight.

"Shit!" You hiss as a bullet wizzes past you.

Things had went to shit pretty quickly and it's an all out brawl now. With a wave of your hands soldiers go flying to who knows where. You sneak behind one and infiltrate his mind. Using his fears to show you exactly where the main computer was being held. He falls to the ground and you step over him as you sneak inside.

It was getting bad, you could feel it. Feel the tiredness and pain your friends were feeling. The guards fall one by one as you make it to the center console room. Exhaustion was creeping up on you. Your powers exerting every bit of strength you had. Still you knew what had to be done.

You plugged in the usb drive and watched as the system crashes, deleting every single bit of information they could have on the X-Men. Then you slowly envelop the console with your powers, crushing it until there's nothing left. You press your finger to your ear, alerting the team you had wiped their main computer in the comms. There's nothing but static on the other end.

"Guys?" You feel your heart start to race as you run out of the building.

"Hello? Anyone? Storm, Jean, Logan?" Still nothing.

Suddenly you feel this horrible, horrible pit in your chest. You stop in your tracks. Blood running cold as terrible feeling washes over you. Logan. You can't explain it, but somethings wrong.

"Logan!" You plead into your comms for him to respond.

You burst through the doors and back onto the field. Your breath hitching as you see the destruction in front of you. For any normal villain's they would have been nothing in the way of you guys, but these people knew exactly who you were. Exactly how to stop each and every one of you.

It was a losing battle.

Your eyes dart around as you send blast after blast, trying to help but with every move of your hands you feel weaker. Suddenly you hear a loud yell, you turn around to see Logan driving his claws deep into the chest of someone. You feel relieved seeing him still standing.

"Logan!" You call out to him and he looks your way. There's blood splattered all over his face and he looks worried. He runs towards you as fast as he could go.

"Get down!" He roars.

BANG

It all happens so slowly.

You look to your side to see a man with a gun aimed right at you. The exhaustion plagues your brain as you react too late. You see Logan running at you. A desperate look in his face as he jumps at you. You hit the ground and so does Logan. He rolls away and lays still. To your horror there's a bullet right in his forehead.

"Logan!" You screech.

You scramble to his side. He's not getting up. Why is he not getting up? He heals. He should be fine. His healing factor should have kicked in so why isn't he getting up. You reach out to him but someone grabs your leg before you can. Your hands dig into the ground as you're yanked back. Dragged to the center of the field.

"Get the fuck off me!" You kick your feet and scream loudly.

Your hands glow but you're face is shoved to the ground, a foot on your neck slowly stopping the air from entering your lungs. You can feel your strength draining. You try and use your powers but you can't.

"He's dead sweetheart. Think we don't know about that neat little regeneration of his?" The man above you laughs and you start to feel sick.

"We're not fucking stupid." He takes his foot off your neck and you gasp for air. He reaches down and grabs you by the neck, forcing you to turn and look at Logan.

"Where's that healing of his now?" Logan remains unmoving, you try and reach out to him. Using any bit of your power to search for him but nothing. You can't feel anything. Tears start to fall as you let out an anguished cry.

"I thought you were supposed to be strong? We heard so much about you and now look at you." He lets go of your neck and you crawl to your knees. Clutching your chest as sobs wrack your body.

"Don't worry though," You hear a gun cock behind you.

"It'll be over soon. Go ahead and say hi to your little boyfriend for us."

You look up at him and feel nothing but an overwhelming amount of pure rage. How fucking dare they. They threatened your life, your friends, your world. They took your peace. They took Logan. The love of your life, he died saving you. Your hands glow bright orange, your chest heaving as you glare at the man standing in front of you.

"Oh look at that, looks like you can do something." He sneers. You chuckle darkly. Tilting your head to the side you smile. Your eyes start to glow as you become strangely calm.

"You took everything from me...So I'm going to take it all from you." You scream as a large wave of energy bursts from your body.

A wave knocking back everyone in your radius including your team. The line of friend and foe blur as you go on a rampage. Disposing of anyone who came after you with ease.

"Firefly!" Storm calls out to you, you were becoming uncontrollable. No one can even get near you. Jean tries to get into your head but you block her out.

No one can get to you now.

They took him from you and you were going to make him pay. You stalk to the ones that were foolish enough to stay. Though they were crawling away now, pleading for mercy. It almost makes you laugh. They were showing no mercy when they planned to eradicate you and your friends. Why would you show them any now?

"That's enough!" Scott fires a beam to stop you in your tracks.

"They're surrendering." He reaches out to you but you push him away.

"I don't care." You snarl. You raise your hand and lift the stragglers up in the air. You're about to slam them to the ground but someone grabs onto your wrist.

"Stop!" The grip is tight as they spin you around. The glow in your eyes fade as you take in who stands in front of you.

"Logan?" You whisper. You try and shake your hand free but he doesn't budge.

"Let them go, honey." He says gently.

"They tried to kill you." You feel the fire come back but Logan does everything he can to calm it.

"But they didn't. They can't hurt us anymore." Still you don't move. He loosens the grip on your hand, taking your other hand and placing it on his chest.

"I'm alive, just feel." Slowly you lower your hand, softly letting the men fall as the rest of the team deal with them as you collapse into Logan's arms.

"I thought you were dead!” You cried. You rest your head against his chest, hand still gripping his suit.

“You weren’t moving and I, I couldn’t feel you.” He cradles the back of your head and holds you tight.

“I’m so sorry I scared you honey, I’m alive. Just knocked out for a little bit.” Logan feels horrible.

Maybe if he had been a little quicker you both would be okay and you wouldn’t have had to deal with any of that. He grabs your face and kisses you with an intensity you've never felt. It's sloppy and desperate but full of life. He's alive. He's telling you that he's alive.

When you pull apart there's still tears streaming down your face. Still so overwhelmed from everything. He lets you cry into his chest as he soothes you. Wiping away the tears as they come.

"I love you so much." He whispers so only you can hear.

The rest of the team watch but don’t say a word. Letting the two of you sit there as long as you need. Soon your tears dry up but you don’t let go of Logan.

It’s a quiet walk to the jet. Everyone is absolutely drained. You lean on Logan's shoulder as he draws shapes on your thigh with his thumb. Your hand rests on his wrist, pressing into his pulse just to make sure he's still breathing.

"Pancakes." You say quietly. Logan looks over in slight confusion.

"Huh?"

"You promised me pancakes," You crack a tired smile.

Logan stares at you for a moment before laughing in disbelief. The weight of what happened finally catching up to him. How close he was to losing it all, how close you were to complete destruction. The toll it's taken on everyone in the jet. The last thing on anyone's mind mind should be doing anything other than sleeping for a week yet pancakes feel like the best fucking idea ever.

"Yeah we can get pancakes honey, as many as you want." He kisses your forehead and places his chin on your head.

"With chocolate chips?" You ask playfully.

"I'll make 'em put in extra. Just for you." You hum happily as you lean in closer to him.

It's still a long flight back and one by one everyone starts to fall asleep. Soon it's just the rumbling of the plane. You look up to see Logan has fallen asleep, you watch his chest rise and fall. Just for a little bit.

He grumbles in his sleep, twitching slightly. There's a scowl on his face as he starts to shift more. Quietly you tap your fingers against his head, taking away his nightmares. He stops moving, relaxing under your touch. You smile softly as you slide your hand down to his chest.

Closing your eyes you feel his heart again. In the back of your mind swirls the horrible memories of today but you choose to ignore them for now. You close your eyes and allow yourself to rest. The steady beat of his heart acting as the perfect lullaby.

Just a steady reminder that everythings okay, there's nothing to fear anymore.

Thump

#logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #wolverine #logan howlett angst

433 notes · View notes

zara-renata · 1 month ago

Text

How you learned to stop worrying and embrace Sylus Qin | ao3 | the Sylus series

Summary: Sylus reveals his latest little plot and makes you an offer that you ultimately can't refuse. More lying around talking in different beds with Sylus Qin.

Notes: Sylus x gn reader, Sylus x mc, second person POV We've moved past the enemies part of enemies to friends to lovers, now we're into slow-burn friends-to-lovers territory This story contains: as the summary says, lying around and talking in a bed, and then not on a bed, boundary crossing typical of Sylus, which means you ultimately consent but he still should have talked to you first, but in his defense he pulled this bullshit before your Q&A with him, an mc with self esteem issues, sexual tension, profanity, mentions of being physically and mentally unwell.

As you lie on your side with Sylus in his sprawling, unlikely greenhouse, feeling his heart beating steadily under your hand and his soft breath against your chest, you’re tempted to stay like this for as long as he'll allow. To just call in sick and rest here until he gets bored and kicks you out. In this pocket of space-time that is just yours, shared with the person who is quickly becoming your most favorite creature in the universe. But you’re responsible. And needed. You can’t leave your team in a lurch, especially if Xavier is still away on one of his secretive little forays to who-knows-where, doing who-knows-what.

You sigh and can’t help yourself as you lean in a little and breathe in the scent of Sylus’s soft hair. Warmth, and that faint undercurrent of oranges that you now know comes from his shower products. Bright and tart. Just like him.

“You can use my shampoo, if you like it so much,” he murmurs, shifting a little until his cheek is resting against your chest over your heart. His stubble is a cat’s tongue along your skin above the edge of your tank top.

“How generous,” you smile, hating the idea that you need to get up and somehow get home. You have no idea what time it is, or even what day it is at this point. You think Sunday, maybe?

“Why so surprised? You should know at least that much about me, by now,” he grumbles.

“Yes, yes, I’m sorry. How could I forget, with your insistence on sharing so many things with me, even if such things were unasked for, or even dare I say, unwanted.”

“I like to anticipate your needs,” he says smugly. “And sometimes you don’t even know what you want until it's given it to you.”

“Yes, like blood in my foyer, feathers in my bed, and intense embarrassment during your business meetings.”

He lifts his head and looks up into your face. “What about an earring that you stopped wearing?” he asks, eyes shifting to the now empty piercing in the same ear in which you wore his ruby for a little while, before you thought he was dreaming about someone else.

You hate thinking about it, now. You had changed his name in your phone, and taken the ruby stud out of your ear and left it hidden in a bathroom drawer. It seems so silly, and petty now. A sad little attempt at controlling something in your life, when you couldn’t control your feelings, or his. As if by removing evidence of his gift, you could remove the sting of rejection. You don’t know how to answer him, because you don’t want to explain why you stopped wearing it. It doesn’t matter now. Now he’s your friend, and he has promised not to hurt you again in the ways that matter. So what, if he has romantic feelings for someone else? Him, here with you now—that’s enough for you, for now.

“And the pistol I engraved for you. You were strapped with it tonight, but you haven’t used it since I gave it to you.”

This, you don’t want to talk about either. The gun he gave you is beautiful. But you still can’t stand the sound of a gunshot so loud in your ears. It’s also probably illegal, and not something you can use during your official hunter duties if it’s unregistered or modified against regulations. You look away, letting your gaze wander to the plants spreading beyond the tiled clearing where you lie in the swinging garden bed, as if in some fairy tale or cheesy romance novel.

“How do you get all these plants to grow, since the N109 Zone doesn’t experience sunlight? The torches along the paths can’t be enough to sustain this much vegetation,” you ask, hoping he’ll let his current line of questioning die.

He’s quiet for a moment, and you can feel the weight of his stare on your face. “When I’m not here, there are grow lamps programmed to activate in an imitation of the day-night cycle of the natural habitat of the plants in this part of the greenhouse. I deactivate the system when I come in here, because the lights… are not pleasant for me.” He pauses and squeezes your hand. “There are smaller partitions within the main greenhouse to accommodate the plants that can’t handle the level of light, heat and humidity out here. Spend some time exploring, if you’re curious about this area of the base.”

You wonder if you’ll have the time anytime soon, to come back and take him up on his offer. Now that you know—to a certain extent—what was going on in his head during the first few days you spent in his base, and now that he has promised that he won’t ever pull that bullshit again, you are willing to try to see if you can be in his house without being on the verge of a heart attack. It’s only fair, if you’re going to be friends, that you visit him instead of him always having to come into Linkon City, with its bright sunshine and his wanted posters plastered in every administrative building. Even if they don’t feature his stupidly handsome face. Maybe spending time here, in this place that is so different from the rest of the sprawling house, would be a good start. But you have no idea when you’ll be able to make it back here again.

“Maybe I’ll take you up on your offer, someday.” You fall quiet, and the only sounds are the water rippling from the soft flow of the fountain and the call of birds high up in the foliage.

Just as you think you’ve successfully derailed Sylus’s line of questioning, he picks it up again. “If you don’t want to answer my questions, you can just say so.” He sits up on his elbow so that he can lean over you and your hand falls away from his heart, but it’s still shackled to his wrist by the evol linkage. His hand falls with yours. “But if you’d like to tell me, and just don’t know how to say the words, we can play a game.”

You tense. “What kind of game?”

“The kind where I ask you specific questions, and if I ask them in a way that makes you feel like you can answer, then I win.”

“And what do you win?” You’re intrigued, despite yourself. You notice the tie keeping his dark, silk pants tied around his waist has loosened a little. Without thinking, you reach out and gently pull one of the ends between your fingers, just to have something to do with your hand. Your knuckles brush against his firm abdomen, and the soft silver hair there. His muscles underneath your touch shudder and contract as he sucks in a sharp breath.

“As enjoyable as that might be, that’s not what I want to win from this game,” he says softly, covering your hand in his and guiding it away from the waistband of his pants.

Realizing what it just looked like you were implying, you try to jerk your hand out of his like it’s on fire, but he holds it tightly. “Sorry, I wasn’t thinking, that’s not what I—”

“I’m not interested in hearing apologies from you.” His eyes search yours. “Ever.”

All you can do is stare at him, because once again, you feel like he’s trying to tell you something in code and you just don’t have the key to decipher it. “But what if I do something that hurts you?”

“You will never be able to hurt me in a way that warrants an apology.” You open your mouth to protest, but he continues. “If you’re that worried about it, let’s make a deal. If I ever want to hear you say sorry, I’ll ask you for it.”

You feel like he just steamrolled you and normally you'd keep bickering with him, but you honestly do not have the capacity to spar with him on this point tonight. So you just nod.

He deigns to accept your agreement with a little haughty sniff, as if he can’t believe he had to review with you how invincible he is to anything you could do to him. “And to answer your original question, I win your honest answer,” he says, running his thumb along the back of your hand—you’re starting to wonder if such contact is to soothe you, or himself.

You squeeze your eyes shut, still embarrassed despite his reassurance and trying to remember what the hell you were even talking about before you groped his clothing. “And if you don’t manage to ask the right questions?”

“Then you don’t have to answer, and can keep your secrets until you’re ready to play again.”

“This is not a very interesting game for you,” you groan, rolling away from him, but he keeps hold of your hand, so your arm is now pulled awkwardly behind you as you face away from him. He can keep the damn thing.

“That’s rather bold of you, kitten. Even you don’t get to decide what’s interesting to me.”

You look over your shoulder at him and scowl.

“Oh, I’ll keep going to keep that look on your face,” he taunts. “What, are you mad that only I get to decide what I find interesting?”

You roll back over so he can’t collect his reward from your face, and he just laughs softly behind you.

Do you want to talk about the earring? No. You’re going to help him win over his crush, and then you’ll keep the little ruby in the same way you’ll keep these memories of him: cherished, safe, and hidden in a drawer for when you want to remind yourself that you were able to live this dream, for a little while.

But you don’t want him to think you don’t appreciate the earring, or the gun. “Fine. I’ll play this guessing game with you. But not right now, please. I’m so tired, and I need to get going.”

“How about you stay with me instead.” It’s phrased like a question, but his tone sounds like a command.

“What? I can’t. I told you, I have to work. Do you think I could borrow one of your vehicles to get back home tonight?” You look longingly at the plants through the gauzy drapes, not looking forward to a cold, dark drive home.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“Like what day it is? Yeah, I think that’s just one of many things I’m forgetting.”

In response, he just leisurely lifts your linked wrists.

You roll over yet again, facing him, and groan.

“Make that noise again,” he teases, lightly cuffing your wrist with his thumb and forefinger.

You ignore him. “Fuck, we really need to figure out how to sever the link at will, instead of just… waiting to fall asleep. Which seems to be the only thing that releases the damn thing.”

“Do we?” He pulls your hand up so he can rest his full lips against your knuckles.

You absolutely refuse to let him distract you this time. This is your job. This is your life. “Don’t you find it inconvenient every single time this happens? Surely there are better things you want to do.”

“Are there?” he murmurs into your skin.

“Take this seriously, please!”

“Am I not?”

You have the urge to kick him off the bed, but with the linkage, you’d just go over the edge with him. Normally you might be that petty and willing to take the hit, but tonight you’re exhausted. What you need to do is focus on a solution. First, gathering intel. “What time is it? What day is it, even?”

Sylus sighs and lowers your linked hands to his pants pocket and slips his own hand inside, leaving your palm with nowhere to go but on his hip. You refuse to think about the solid warmth underneath the cool fabric, and how easy it would be to keep sliding your hand further down, and everything you would be able to feel along the way.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket and you’re released from the torture. “It’s five in the morning. And it’s Sunday.”

You let out a breath of relief. It’s not in the middle of Sunday night like you feared. You must not have slept that long, before you woke up in Sylus’s bed. “Great, then all we have to do is take a nap, or I guess you just have to go to sleep as usual, and I’ll nap again. Then when the link is gone, can I borrow a vehicle to get back to Amnesia? I need to get my bike back.”

“What’s the rush?” Sylus asks, apparently uninterested in your efficient plan to get your life back on track before you head back to work. He scoots closer to you again, resting his head on the pile of pillows, linked wrist pulled up between the two of you near his face.

“There’s stuff I have to prep for, before a long work week. Laundry. Groceries. Watering the plants.”

“How are you going to work with your feet injured?”

You flex your toes, and yeah, your feet sting from the cuts, but you’ve worked through much worse injuries. The key is just to keep the bandages clean and regularly changed. “I’ve had worse. It’ll be fine.”

Sylus sighs again. “You really shouldn’t be working if you’re injured at all, kitten.”

“It’s really fine.”

“It’s really not.”

You’re starting to get annoyed. “Okay, I appreciate that you’re trying to express your concern for me, but it’s not up to you whether or not I’m fit for work. It’s up to my boss. And she’s fine with me working like this too.” You try to soften your voice, because despite your irritation, you can recognize that he’s trying to look out for you. And unlike this guy, you’re nice. “So thank you, really. But it’s my fault I’m hurt in the first place, and I’ll deal with it.”

“Mmm, must suck being wrong not just once, but three times in the span of ten minutes,” he rewards your attempted kindness with a taunt.

You again resist the urge to kick him off the bed, because you’re trying to be fucking nice here. You narrow your eyes instead. “Oh, I didn’t know I was in the presence of ye mighty, all-knowing master of truth,” you snark.

“Oh?” he perks up. “I like the sound of that. Does this ‘Master’ title also come with your obedience?” He sounds way too pleased at the thought.

Okay, that’s enough being nice. You draw up your knee and plant one leg on the bed while grabbing his forearm with your linked hand. You roll, jerking him with you fast enough that his momentum causes his body to roll on top of yours—for a moment, you experience what it’s like to have the full weight of his big body pressing you into the mattress, and it’s so overwhelming good that you almost pause to savor it, but you’re a fucking professional. You keep the momentum going by thrusting with your hips into a bridge and send him sailing over the edge of the bed. As he goes, you roll with him but plant one knee into the mattress to halt yourself before going over the edge. He ends up dumped over the side of the bed on his ass with a grunt, but you’re starfished on your stomach on the bed with just your linked arm hanging over the edge of the mattress. For a moment you’re worried about how hard the tiles are, and that you might have just hurt him, but then you picture his thick ass and reassure yourself that all that cake must have cushioned the fall. He’ll live. Right? Okay, now you want to pull him up and pat his butt… to soothe any pain, not because you just want to able to touch his—

Suddenly you’re yanked by your wrist from your position on the bed with a yelp, and despite scrabbling with your free hand to prevent your descent, you’re suddenly ungraciously sprawled across Sylus’s big chest, your legs straddling his lap as he sits supporting himself with his unlinked hand behind him.

You plant your hands on his chest and push yourself up, trying desperately not to squeeze his huge pecs like your hands are aching to do.

He looks at you smugly, but there is a pink flush creeping up his neck and cheeks. It must be because of how warm it is in here. “I’ll take that as a no,” he smiles, clearly pleased with himself for having dragged you down with him.

“That’s a no,” you scowl, pretending that you are completely unfazed by this position, by his big warm… lap underneath you, his soft skin and chest hair under your hands, his face so close to yours. This is an everyday experience for you. Straddling a big, half-naked, handsome warlord with your robe open, falling off your shoulders, pooling around the both of you.

You need to focus. You’re so focused right now. On getting home, not his big half-hard dick between your thighs. FUCK.

“I need to go home.” You breathe very slowly. Because you’re calm. You’re a block of ice. You will not melt into him. You will not think about why he is apparently afflicted with a partial boner. He seems untroubled by it, so you refuse to acknowledge it, even to yourself.

“You need to stay with me,” he counters, despite the scowl you’re still giving him. “Are you not even going to ask me what else you’re wrong about tonight?” he asks, tilting his head. His silky hair falls across his forehead.

You close your eyes. You’re focused. You’re learning that if you don’t answer Sylus’s questions the first time, he will simply keep asking until you do. You’re an ice sculpture. Ice sculptures are immovable, poised and out of reach. They don’t squirm in their friend’s lap, just to see if there will be a a bigger reaction—

“What else am I wrong about, Sylus?” you ask, eyes still closed against the dream spread out underneath you.

“Look at me,” the dream says. For some reason, you don’t hesitate and obey his command. His pupils are large in the low light of the torch-lit greenhouse, so his eyes are like the color of the most heady wine. “It’s my fault that you’re hurt, not yours. And technically, it’s up to Dr. Iceman to decide whether you’re fit to work or not, not your captain.”

Now, you do actually freeze, everything else forgotten. “Dr… Iceman?”

“Oh, I wasn’t aware that only you can assign silly nicknames to people,” Sylus lifts his hand and taps you on the forehead, bringing your wrist up with his.

“What do you mean, it’s up to Zayne to decide whether I’m fit for work?” You suddenly have a very, very bad feeling.

He narrows his wine-dark eyes. “Zayne, is it? Not Dr. Li?”

You just stare at him. It’s his turn to answer questions, now.

“I noticed that you also have him listed as ‘Zayne’ in your phone,” he says as if he’s bored while admitting that he’s been nosing around in your phone again. “And what I mean is just what I said. It’s not your captain, but your primary care physician who signs your fitness for duty certificates. If ‘Zayne’ refuses to certify you as fit, you don’t have to go to work.” He emphasizes Zayne’s name, as if to underline what he thinks of you calling your childhood friend and doctor by his first name instead of his title. And what he thinks doesn’t sound entirely approving. Well tough shit, if you don’t get to determine what he finds interesting, he doesn’t get to judge what you call your friends. Even if Zayne doesn’t seem to think of you as friends anymore, you will always care for him and the little boy you knew all those years ago.

“Zayne hasn’t refused to sign any of my health certificates since he became my doctor, so I don’t even know why we’re having this conversation.” Thinking about Zayne, and how he treats you with such long-suffering coldness now, you suddenly don’t want to be on Sylus’s lap anymore. You sit back, letting your hand fall away from his chest. He breathes in sharply, and grabs your wrist to force you to sit still.

“Although he has failed in this regard up until now,” he says, voice dripping in disdain. “That’s no longer true, as of last night.”

You don’t need Sylus to hold you in place to keep you still now. Ice water courses through your veins.

“What the fuck does that mean, Sylus? This isn’t funny.”

He narrows his eyes at your cold tone. “Does it look like I’m laughing?”

“No, which is why you’re going to explain, right now, what the fuck you've done.”

“Your doctor has agreed that you should go on indefinite medical leave. Your captain has been informed, and agreed. As of tomorrow, you’re on sick leave until you're actually fit for duty again.”

You just stare at him. Mind empty, breath stopped, shoulders tensed to your ears.

“And it looks like you could really use it right about now.” Sylus gifts you with one of his subtle smiles and lets his hands drift up your shoulders, your shackled wrist going with his. He gently urges you to relax them by pressing down. “Stay with me, instead of going home tonight.”

“You don’t get to make this type of decision for me. How did you even pull this off? This is my job. This is my life. I have to go to work tomorrow.” You can’t seem to resist his gentle, firm press against your shoulders, despite how rigid you currently feel. You're a piano wire garrotte strung too tight, caught in a block of ice.

“It’s not your life, sweetheart,” he cups your shoulders in his big palms, stroking his thumbs along your skin. “It’s your calling, but it’s not your entire life. And again, you don’t have to go to work tomorrow.”

“Explain how this happened, Sylus.” You’re basically pleading with him, hoping that you’re wrong about what you now are almost certain he has done.

“You’ve already texted your doctor asking for medical leave.”

You flinch. “What?”

“And you should probably get your hearing checked while you’re on medical leave,” Sylus muses.

“Sylus!”

“Yes, the jewel in the crown of my heart?”

“What do you mean, I texted Zayne?” Your voice is strangely high in your ears.

“Exactly that. You texted him. While you were sleeping last night. You’re really a great multitasker, I’m impressed.” He widens his eyes as if to emphasize his admiration.

“You can’t do things like this, Sylus!” You put your uncuffed hand back on his chest and push, just a little, almost futilely. You don’t want to hurt him. You’re shocked that he crossed such a huge boundary before you woke up. He’s crossed so many boundaries before, but has never interfered with your work. Even so, you don’t want to cause him pain.

He lifts a hand from your shoulder and cradles your cheek in his big, warm palm. “I can do things like this. I already showed you when I was at your place that I can do things like this. And I did this because your calling is going to fucking kill you if you don’t take the time to recover, physically and emotionally, before you return to it. I did this, because you won't do it for yourself.”

“This wasn’t your call to make.” You’re an iceberg, adrift, thinking about an indefinite stretch of time before you, with nothing to do, just you alone with your thoughts. Because you know that you can’t undo whatever he has done. If Zayne has already agreed, and Jenna has been notified, what possible explanation can you give for showing up to work tomorrow that doesn't sound insane?

“It was a text, not a call,” the pedantic ass corrects you. “And sure, let's say it wasn't my call to make, for the sake of argument. But it is your doctor’s. And he fully supports you taking extended medical leave. It’s a good thing I asked him, because it’s clear from the way he almost didn’t believe that it was you asking that you’d never do this for yourself,” he says, shamelessly indignant that Zayne correctly didn’t initially believe that it was you making the request over text.

“And he was right,” you bite out. “It wasn’t me asking.” Despite your helpless anger at what he has done, you let yourself lean into his touch, lifting your hand to circle his wrist and just resting your cheek in his hand. “Why did you do this, when I wasn’t even injured yet? I was still asleep. My feet were fine. I was fine.”

“No matter how many times you repeat that, it isn’t going to suddenly be true.” He murmurs, seeming to sense your pliability. He pulls the arm you’re holding towards himself, as if he knows you’ll go with it, and his hand falls away from your cheek. Instead, he’s now encircling you, holding you against his chest with his free arm. “You haven’t been fine for a long time, sweetheart. It’s time for you to admit that.”

“You don’t get to decide that,” you whisper, resting your forehead against his shoulder, breathing in the warm scent of his skin. Something about the way he smells is so calming, despite how distraught you are at the weeks yawning ahead of you now, an abyss of time and memories you’ve barely been able to claw at the precipice of for all these long months.

“Have you not used the gun I gave you because the noise of a gunshot triggers flashbacks of the bombing?” he suddenly asks, holding you even tighter, caging you against him in case you try to pull away.

You stiffen, but instead of pulling away, you turn your head and bury your face in his neck. You can’t answer. He asked the perfect question—all you have to do is say yes. You want to say yes. You don’t want him to think you’re ungrateful for his beautiful gift, but the words won’t come. But you agreed to play this game. He asked the perfect question to allow you to easily answer.

You clench your teeth and nod, just a little.

“I win,” he gloats softly, smiling into your hair. “Thank you.”

You still can’t say anything, but you feel a strange sense of relief, like pulling off a bandage and seeing that the wound underneath has been healing nicely when you were afraid it might have been infected.

“You made a deal with me tonight. If you don’t want something from me, you promised to honestly tell me. I did this before we had that conversation, but you can still say no. I’m not going to keep you captive here, and force you to take time to focus on recovering from everything you’ve gone through this year.” He runs his fingers up and down your back, warm even through the cool silk of your robe. “But can you honestly tell me that you don’t want to stay here with me and just take a break? That you don’t want to take advantage of the medical leave to let your feet heal, and to spend some time away from the stress and risks of your everyday life? You can think of it as a well-deserved vacation.”

You lift your head, straightening a little to look into his earnest face. “You would want me to stay here?”

"Oh, my kitten's hearing is actually fine," he laughs softly. “I thought I made that clear, with the three times I asked you to stay with me.”

Once again, you’re struck by how little you understand this man, even after your long talk tonight. You know he doesn’t hate you now. That he has no intention to hurt you again. He seems to even like you, as a person, and not just as someone who will be useful as an ally someday, or as a guinea pig for trying out romantic gestures. Your mind drifts to your shampoo and conditioner in his shower, and that brief flash of hope that he may care for you as more than a tool. As a person. You remember in the shower, wondering if he may care for you as maybe more than just... you can't let your mind go there. But you can't help but think of him caressing your skin with his thumb, and wondering if he gained reassurance from it too. He told you to ask questions when you have them. So you do. “But why?”

His gaze drifts from your eyes, to your mouth. Then he looks away, seeming to leisurely take in the wild life all around you, eyes narrowed in thought. “I’m never bored when you’re around,” he says, the picture of casual. He returns to looking at you, his lovely eyes searching yours.

Of course. You weren’t hoping for any other answer. That sudden weight in your stomach—it isn’t disappointment. You’re amusing, a sideshow: come one, come all, behold the strange deadly jester! You’re useful when maintained properly. That’s why he keeps showing up to spend time with you, and why he’d want you wandering around his base for weeks at a time. Your mind drifts back to Luke and Kieran showing you the psychology book about people who can have everything they want. How they enjoy a challenge. You’re just friends, after all. He’s just asking a friend in need to relax at his place, and in return he will get some amusement from it. Maybe he views you as a sniper rifle with broken components. A little side project, a fixer-upper. He probably has all sorts of people drifting around the place to satisfy his whims and need for entertainment. Not that you’ve ever seen anyone at the base besides Luke and Kieran, but you spent most of your time here previously in a locked room. What do you know? “You’re in that dire need of entertainment?”

“Not when you’re around,” he tugs gently on a lock of your hair. “So, will you accept my gift of a surprise holiday and stay with me?”

You just stare at him, trying to sift through your feelings. Do you want to take a break, in a place far removed from your silent apartment, from your deadly job? Not that the N109 Zone isn’t deadly, but… Sylus will be close, and there will likely be other people in and out to give you some measure of relief from the thoughts in your head. Even though he’s inviting you to stay in a place you just tried desperately to escape, a place which still gives you anxiety when you think too hard about it. But this time will be different, right? He says he wants you here. As far as you can tell, he doesn’t want anything else from you besides dodgy dating advice, and for you to be around to entertain him once in a while when he isn’t preoccupied with business. The place is huge. He said he has a gym. And this greenhouse… you can spend all the time you want in here. Weren't you just thinking how nice it would be, if you could stay here until he tires of you, in your own little pocket universe of frozen time? There are worse ways to spend a convalescent leave. Your mind returns to the most appealing part—Sylus will be close.

Apparently you’re taking too long to answer, because he tugs on your hair a little again. “Yes? No?—” you bring your hands up and cover his mouth before he can say “Maybe so,” because he apparently has limited lines at his disposal for being a little shit and you don’t want to hear this particular line from him again right now. He lifts an eyebrow, and suddenly you feel his warm tongue sliding wetly up your palm.

All at once you’re very aware, again, of how you’re sitting in his lap, with all of his bulk underneath you. That the soft warm skin and fur of his chest is under your forearms as you hold your hands to his plush lips. The feel of his tongue along your skin sends a jolt through you that takes you by such surprise that you rock against him with your hips, once, without even realizing that your body has simply moved on its own to get what it suddenly desperately wants. His tongue disappears from your palm but his breath hitches and he makes a low sound, deep in his throat.

You freeze and stare into his eyes. You don’t dare move, your palm still pressed against his full lips. You think you see a pink flush creeping up his cheeks beyond your hands, but again, it’s probably just because it’s so warm in the greenhouse.

This is just a dream, you tell yourself. His arm around you. This beautiful place, filled with thriving, living things. His hard warmth underneath you. He’s offering you a dream, for a little while. He’s inviting you into his world, as he invited you into sleep before, to help you rest, to refill your empty tank. Every weapon needs maintenance. Every tool has a breaking point if overused. You know, deep down, that he’s right about you not being fine. Maybe if you let him lull you into this dream for a little while, when you wake up you’ll be able to bear returning to the cold solitude of your useful life. You can hold the memory of this dream close to you, to warm you through the long years after he flies so far ahead of you that you’re unable to catch him. When whoever he loves begins flying by his side.

The thought of turning down his offer, and driving away from him right now, is suddenly excruciating. It won’t hurt anyone, taking a little bit of the comfort he so easily offers for yourself, right? His future lover won’t have to know about the tool he stored in his home, amidst all the other weapons in his arsenal, for just a little while. You’ll stay out of everyone’s way—no one will notice you here, and no one will notice when you’re gone.

You don’t think you deserve it, but you decide to be selfish. Just this once. The only person who will be hurt in the end is you. You’ll indulge in this little dream, just for a little while.

Suddenly you feel the slick of his tongue in your hand again. “Ith thith your anther?” Sylus asks from behind your palm. You careen back into the awareness of your body. You jerk your hands away and scramble off of him, landing on your ass on the pretty, colorful tiles.

As you go, you realize he isn’t coming with you. You look down at your wrist—the evol linkage has dissolved.

Sylus sits in the same position, leisurely sitting on the tiles next to the garden bed. He rubs his wrist with his other hand thoughtfully. “Is this your answer?” he repeats.

You take a deep breath. “Yes.” Just for a little while. You’ll take a little break. You’ll live the dream of going on dates with Sylus. Of being welcome in his house. Of not having to fight, every single day, just to survive. And since this is all just a dream anyway, you'll indulge in some of the things you'd never allow yourself while awake. You'll allow yourself the dream that each date is real. That each caress from his rough hands is meant for you, and only you. When he does finally get bored with you, you’ll go, and you’ll be grateful for the memories, each a little jewel that you'll tuck away in a safe place, to be taken out and admired when you're missing him and this bright, impossible dream the most.

"Why do you look so sad, if it's a yes?"

You try to steel your expression. "Sad? I'm not sad. Just—tired." That's not a complete lie. But Sylus shakes his head and gracefully gets to his feet. He offers you his hand. You just stare at it.

"New rule. You can lie to everyone else in your life, but not to me." He beckons you with his hand.

"Oh, I have to follow rules, but you don't?" You flick your gaze disdainfully from his hand to his face.

"My rules are always sensible. And I told you, give me a list of rules that make sense, and I'll follow them. I'm still waiting, for both the list, and for your hand." He motions with his hand again, this time impatiently. You just lean back, with all the time in the world now.

"Are you sad because you made the questionable fashion decision of leaving your ruby earring at home?"

The unexpected question startles a laugh out of you. "Yeah, Sylus. That's why I'm sad," you lie again. But your heart feels a little lighter at his obvious attempt to make you smile. You finally give in and take his offered hand, pulling yourself to your feet. The pain in your feet distracts you from any lingering pain in your chest. He must catch your wince, because you're swept into his arms again.

"Take mine," he says, turning his head to show you the stud that is still in his ear. You've been so distracted tonight that you didn't clock that he was still wearing it. "Until we retrieve yours from your home." He carries you back through the greenhouse, galoshes that he slipped back into before leaving the clearing crunching on the winding slate path.

You wonder why he's so insistent that you wear it, but also strangely touched that he is. "Okay. But I'm not taking that thing out of your ear while you're carrying me. And you really, really don't need to carry me until my feet are fully healed. This is one of those times I'm telling you no, I honestly don't need this from you. Okay?"

His only response is to hold you tighter and turn his head back towards you so he can run his nose briefly along your temple. "Fine," he says. "Starting tomorrow. For now, let's get some sleep. It's been a long night, and if you're going to be here with me, you need to align your sleep schedule with mine."

"Is that so?"

"Yes," he says. Efficient. Simple. With the utmost confidence. The essence of Sylus Qin.

"Okay," you sigh, relaxing into his arms. You'll take what he is offering, a gift to yourself, for just for a little while. You relish in the strength in his arms, the safety of his heartbeat against your body, the peace of having everything already decided without you having to do a thing. Just for a little while.

"Welcome to my world now, kitten," he says, his voice a purr of satisfaction, with a finality that sounds like a door slamming shut and the handle falling off, rolling leisurely, useless on the floor.

***

end notes: I promise that now that I've finished the exhaustive setup of addressing Sylus's main chapter in-game bullshit and the change of venue from Linkon City to the N109 Zone, more action will start happening! We have a tank! Sylus has a swimming pool and an armory! We will be getting a black card! We have a birthday party to attend! There are dates that must go sideways!

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #love and deepspace fanfiction #sylus x reader #sylus x mc #lads sylus #lnds sylus #l&ds sylus #my fanfic #i hope this is enjoyable for those still reading!#it's fun to think about every free moment and then write!

224 notes · View notes

girlfriendsofthegalaxy · 2 months ago

Text

this FIV+ man needs a home!

hello! this very friendly little stray orange boy in Houston TX needs somewhere to live that is not my house! I’m willing to drive within the texas triangle, or meet someone halfway. He has had some basic vetting.

why is he in my bathroom and why can’t he stay here?

He is a known community cat that is the bane of my first cat’s existence, and wanted to be friends So Bad I had to put bird spikes up on my windowsills. My two cats are FIV negative, and I can only hold onto him for two more weeks.

what’s his deal?

He's about two, about ten pounds, and is extremely people social to the point it is genuinely difficult taking pics of him, bc he is convinced both hands should be petting him at all times. You can sling him around with one while he purrs up a storm. I’ve seen him peaceably hanging out with other colony cats outside, so I assume he is cat social with a slow introduction.

He is not thrilled about having his ears touched (he is ear mite free) or having his paws touched, but we are working on desensitization. He is also extremely bad at being restrained for a blood draw at the vet.

what care has he received?

Basic exam

Neuter

Rabies vax

Microchip

Dewormer

Revolution II flea/tick/mite treatment

FeLV/FIV test (negative and a faint positive respectively, he can be retested in six months to see if it was a false positive but should be treated as if he is a positive cat in the meantime)

He’s eating (grain free dry kibble since that’s what my girls are on) and drinking and healing well from his neuter.

He's correctly using the litter box with basic clay litter, he's not spraying in my bathroom or pissing up the sides of the litter box, but he is a very enthusiastic advocate of burying waste as thoroughly as possible.

He will need a dental at some point for some gingivitis, and he will need to get the rest of his vaccinations and have a second round of dewormer (I’ll give it to you) in two weeks.

who else has been contacted?

Over forty local rescues and shelters, who are all at capacity or haven’t responded since I tried to contact them a week ago. I've also been posting on local Facebook FIV+ cat groups.

#cat rescue #Texas #Houston #San Antonio #Dallas #Austin #special needs cat #stray cat #cats of tumblr #the orange creamsicle

198 notes · View notes

a-leg-without-fear · 3 months ago

Text

Entre, Rouge🩸🔥

this is very silly

Ship: Logan Howlett x Mutant!Fem!Reader 🩸

Rating: 18+

Wordcount: 666

Warnings: story is told from Wade's perspective. need i say more?

Phew!

Okay, that last Wolverine didn’t quite work out. Several stab wounds in the shape of adamantium kebabs aside, I just wasn’t a fan of his vibe. The puffy hair, the leather ensemble, and the missing hand? No thank you. I’d like an intact Wolverine with access to a shower and a hairbrush to help repair my universe.

I sat on the log I once shared with the extremely-departed Logan. Lots of blood and guts spilled everywhere, pieces of TVA agents and metal bones strewn about the snow, thick snowflakes falling through the naked trees and onto my illustrious red suit.

Oh, I should probably introduce myself.

The name’s Wilson.

Wade Wilson.

Wade Winston Wilson.

Doctor… Esquire.

Also known as the ever sexy and permanently alive Deadpool. Sure, I look like the gum-covered underside of a highschool desk, but it doesn’t mean I’m gonna stop in my quest to fix my universe and save my friends. Like Lancelot and his Holy Grail, I’m going to find a Logan and shove him into my timeline until he fits. Or do whatever happens in that story.

The little dimension doohickey I nabbed from discount Mr.Darcy sat in my gloved hand. Lots of retro graphics and shiny buttons made it look like a flip phone, but fancier. I was scrolling through universes to try and find my next target.

“420? No, I don’t think I want pothead Logan. 69? Now that’s just too obvious,” I muttered with a laugh while flipping through universes. The numbers scrolled by like etch-a-sketched fruit in a slot machine. Except without the pants-tightening excitement of winning a jackpot.

My yearning for walking through rows of old geezers sitting in their own piss puddles while mindlessly playing the slots was overtaken by a fascination in the universe that filled the screen. Confetti exploded in my head like an edged bottom who’d held out as long as he could.

“Bingo!” I said, jumping up from my spot on the crumbling log. My fabulous boots made a nice crunching sound as I walked through blood-stained snow.

Earth-80085.

The Legiverse.

A universe filled to the brim with horror, trauma, copious sex scenes, and hyperfixations switching faster than Nosferatu fiddling with his light switch. You know the one.

I jammed the “go” button on the doohickey and a huge portal appeared in front of me. Orange, glowey, translucent, door shaped. Kinda looked like jello if you squinted.

“What’s the worst that could happen?” I asked myself, naïvely, “I’ll get burst like a blood-filled water balloon by Leg’s OC of the week? Nah, she wouldn’t do me like that.”

Taking in one last chilly breath of determination, I skipped through the portal.

What I was not expecting to step into was a bedroom.

Pale green curtains blocking out any sunlight, wooden walls with cutesy pictures, cat towers and toys scattered on the carpeted floor. And…

Is that… moaning?

My head whipped in the direction of that delicious sound. Rumpled and soaked sheets, wooden headboard slamming into the wall behind it, bed creaking under the rapid movement.

And there, tangled together in the way God definitely didn’t intend, were you and Logan. Him driving into you, toned abs flexing with each thrust and fluffy hair bouncing, with you squirming and moaning beneath him. Logan’s rough hands felt along your lucky hips.

“Damn,” I whispered. Why did you get to have all the fun? Can’t I get a little Lo-Lo action?

I hung my head, disappointed, as I pressed the “leave” button on the doohickey. It wasn’t fair! Readers get to fuck whoever they want, however they want, whenever they want. They even fuck me on a regular basis! And where does that leave poor Deadpool? Either in another fanfiction or taking care of myself the ol’ fashioned way.

Ignoring the growing discomfort in my rather-flattering pants, I stepped back through the stupid doorway to continue my search.

Why are all the good ones fucking, crucified, killing me, or Henry Cavill?

i got drunk and watched the third "night at the museum." this popped in my head while watching hugh be a silly man

Want to be on the taglist? Fill out this form!

#wolverine #logan howlett #hugh jackman #deadpool #wade wilson #ryan reynolds #deadpool and wolverine #deadpool fanfic #wade wilson fanfic #wolverine fanfic #logan howlett fanfic #wolverine x reader #logan howlett x reader #the legiverse #this is STUPID i hope you enjoy it

179 notes · View notes

charnelhouse · 2 years ago

Text

bad people

Gif by @jdmorganz

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!ReaderWordcount: 3kWarnings: rough sex. age gap (tho undefined). violence. oral. blood. joel being a dick. drunk sex. Summary: When it happened, it happened in the dark.

Ten Years Post Outbreak

Boston was dirty. The summer rain had been relentless, liquefying the dirt to unforgiving mud. She’d had enough of rain. Her shirt stuck to her skin, constricting her limbs and soaking her feet. She was lightheaded. She’d had a spoonful of canned peaches earlier, and the sugar smudged her tongue.

She blinked down at her feet, the sneakers threadbare and soaked. Her eyes flitted to the wood-brown boots beside them. They dwarfed her shoes in comparison.

The man next to her was one she knew. Joel Miller.

He was rough-looking with his weathered skin and dark hair threaded with a bit of silver. He was also handsome, seemingly carved from a shard of rock. Strong. Brutal.

Hephaestus.

If he were a God, she’d choose Hephaestus.

The things she did know about him were both second-hand and from afar. He was mean and ruthless. He beat the shit out of a rival smuggler and blinded another.

Tonight was purely coincidental. The rain was too hard. The soldiers were out in droves due to a recent Firefly attack. Joel had stumbled upon her hideout: a narrow storage closet that smelled like bleach. He’d turned the tiny light on, and she’d snapped like a feral cat. He’d shut it off without apologizing.

Instead, he glanced down at her, frowning, and for a split second, she thought he was going to murder her for the shelter. Instead, he tugged a large plastic bottle of brown liquid from his pack and offered it.

Whiskey–she guessed. A homegrown brew that might make her temporarily blind. The good stuff.

Wordlessly, she took it. The terms were met. You can share this space with me. She would have said yes regardless.

Joel sat beside her, and after she swallowed enough to burn her lungs, he accepted the whiskey again.

***

When it happened, it happened in the dark.

They barely spoke. Instead, they passed the bottle back and forth. Both of them were loose with it. The whiskey warmed her belly, making everything somewhat bearable. Her vision became edged with gauzy sweeps of color–finger painting in the dim light. The world was bathed in butter, gold, and temporary numbness.

Thirty minutes had passed when she finally spoke. “Great weather we’re having.”

He paused, the plastic crinkling in his hand, the rim scraping against his chin. He smiled briefly.

“Used to like the rain,” he replied. “But now?” He shook his head, and she noticed the raw cut of his jaw, his patchy beard. He was someone who had worked too long in the sun, and yet she found him unbearably attractive. Rugged. A hot coal pulsing fire, and she was desperate to get warm.

She thought of fungus. She thought of it growing in this narrow room with its perfect conditions. Humidity. Wooly heat. A petri dish. She could become it–become the sick and she could rot into the wall with Joel sitting silently beside her. She’d swell with a patchwork of pretty colors: blister-red, jaundice-green, bile-orange.

Jesus. She was maudlin. She was drunk.

The rain fell harder, pelting the walls of the building. She knew things were hanging on by spit and glue. She knew everything could–would–collapse eventually. No more clean-cut grass. No more distinct roads. No more potted flowers.

Joel turned his head, his dark gaze landing on her face. The irises shimmered like a sun-drenched black top. He had somber eyes. Expressive for once. Doe-like. He stared at her as if it was the first time he actually was actually seeing her.

She wondered if he went through life avoiding the periphery. There was only the direct line in front of him. When he came into this closet, he shoved the bottle forward and only saw her hand accept it.

He blinked at her sluggishly, his pink lips parting beneath his mustache. There was a flicker of recognition.

“You ran with Luke, right?”

Surprised, she nodded. Joel had remembered her.

Luke. Gorgeous Luke, who was the very picture of a homecoming king. A movie star. Corn-fed. Blonde hair, white teeth, and sea-glass green eyes. He had been full of hope, and there had been a time when Joel and his brother, Tommy, had worked with them. She’d stuck to the corners. Watched. Observed. Frightened out of her mind because she didn’t understand how to live anymore—how to function, barter, or be content. Luke had done it all, protected her to the best of his ability.

“You’ve gotta take a deep breath, baby,” Luke had ordered, shrouding her face between his dry, clean hands. “You adapt. You live. That’s it.”

“Good guy,” Joel offered, somewhat awkwardly. Everyone knew what had happened to Luke. She’d been surprised that many people cared at the time. The Apocalypse had occurred, but the community still gave a shit over the handsome jock with the diplomatic smile.

She huffed a laugh, and he frowned.

“He was an idiot,” she hissed–very resentful even if it had been three years. He’d left her here.

There’d been so much blood—eggplant purple pouring out of Luke as he gurgled for her.

Joel pushed the bottle into her hand, his knuckles brushing her palm. She took a pull and didn’t wince. “He still operated as if the rules hadn’t changed. He didn’t understand that you have to be a bad person to survive here. He trusted too easily. Far too empathetic for his own good.” She scowled as she knocked her head against the wall. It throbbed–spots of white sprouting across her vision like a fungus–

“Hey,” Joel said, leaning into her. “You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

She could smell the honey-burn of whiskey on his tongue, in his beard. There was also the press of wet dog, sweat, and body odor. She was used to that. She was used to the smell of unwashed humans. Those were good scents because they didn’t carry that mildewy stench of fungi. A water-logged basement. A moss-covered stone at the edge of a pond.

She inhaled and found Joel’s hair brushed in smoke. Cigarette ash. He was closer to her, his denim sleeve rasping her bare arm.

“You’re shivering,” he mumbled.

“I know.”

It happened within a second. An unspoken decision erupting like a metallic click of a lighter.

She was lonely—so lonely and she wanted to burn. Perhaps, he did too.

His eyes found hers, his lids heavy, and his cheeks flushed. She wasn’t sure if she moved first or he did, but she knew they didn’t kiss. He jerked to the side last minute, his mouth scraping down the side of her cheek.

He encouraged her to lie down, his chest against her breasts as he petted her hips, the outside of her thigh. He was heavy, breathing hard as he buried his face into her neck.

“Lift your hips,” he murmured as he popped the button on her jeans and rucked them down to her knees with his nose still rooted against her jaw.

They fucked fully clothed on the filthy, cement floor.

She pushed his jeans under his ass as he gripped his cock and smeared it against the lips of her cunt. It was clumsy and desperate, but it felt good. Everything felt good. She had to bite his shoulder when he finally breached her. He moved too quickly, sinking to the hilt as her body tried to accommodate his girth. He’d broken her in, forced her to mold to his size, and she found herself fisting his hair, biting his neck.

“You’re good,” he hummed as he slowly began to saw his hips. “Fuckin’ great, sweetheart.”

The drag of his cock sizzled her insides and spread her apart. He pinned her down and buried her with his full weight. She felt safe—blanketed by him and all of his denim.

Every thrust forced her spine up the wet floor. Her knees dug into his ribs, her ankle wrapped around the back of his calve. He smelled like a soaked garden. Soil. A brushfire. Wood. His nails were dirty, and she arched when he dug them into her waist.

He ground against her in a way that made the wiry hairs at his groin stimulate her, his pelvic bone rubbing her clit. She climaxed a little too quickly. Embarrassingly quickly. It had been so long since Luke and Joel was big. The pain was welcome. The ache of him. She clenched around him, tightened to a knot as she cried out into his hair. His curls were caught in her breath, his beard burning her skin.

Afterward, he stood, tucking his soft cock, shiny with her, into his jeans. The near-empty bottle of whiskey rolled against her leg. He attempted a smile that was more of a glower and shook his head a bit to clear it before backpedaling out the door.

***

It ended up working out—forced proximity.

He needed a second hand, and anyone else found him scary. He seemed taken aback when she offered her help, perhaps surprised at her forwardness.

We fucked. That’s it.

But–he accepted her, begrudgingly pulling her into his plans. She was a tiny island in a sea of several. Her group had been Luke, and the others within it had done what they did to him. She’d killed them for that—no more group.

He gave her the couch in his small place. Tommy was in and out. Ships in the night, she supposed, though she didn’t know what had broken between them.

Most of the time, Joel ignored her. He seemed unable to look her in the eye, which she found hilarious. Her ego had long been snuffed out, but she couldn’t help the pinch of hurt at Joel’s coldness.

You’ve been inside me. C’mon.

He gave her orders. She watched his back. He was someone who would know of her existence if she died.

Would he care? She doubted it.

But he’d know she’d been there. Breathing. Alive.

***

One midnight, Joel returned to the apartment, pissed off. She hated waiting for him, being left behind. She’d rather be out there and with him.

Luke had died alone. He’d told her to stay put, and he’d gone out and died.

Joel had stumbled toward the couch in the dark. Forgetting she was there, he’d crashed into her, and she’d yelped.

“Fuck,” he growled, shoving a hand through his curls. “What the hell!?”

“It’s my bed,” she murmured, and it seemed to douse his fire. He blinked at her, the moonlight turning the edges of his face silver.

“I don’t understand,” she continued, voice a little thick with frustration. “If you don’t want me here–”

“Lie back.”

He went to his knees, hands moving under her ass and pulling it forward. He cupped it and lifted her pelvis. Shorts gone. Joel’s skin was cold from the outdoors, and he hitched her knees over his shoulders. His hair tickled her skin. He covered her cunt with his mouth and drank from her. He devoured without a hint of shame because she could hear herself on his tongue. The wet mess of her pussy. The room rang with her whimpers, and when she tried to silence them with her hand, he growled like an animal–a beast.

Afterward, he stood up mechanically, before stalking back to his room. He left her with her shorts around her ankles, her cunt tender and soaked.

He hadn’t even wiped his lips.

***

She learned from him—what he had become. He was selfish and drowning in the bloodlust that rippled under his skin like a parasite. She got it. She found it stimulating. His philosophy of kill or be killed. His ego stroked with every fight he caused or fatal situation he inevitably won.

Two months in, she watched him put a bullet in a newbie smuggler who had sold him pills made from chalk and sugar.

He turned around, grabbed her hard by the back of the neck and shoved her up against a wall. He dragged her pants under her ass as he fiddled with his belt. After a distressing second, he pushed himself into her. No spit. No preparation at all. It was dry enough to hurt them both, but she still moaned. He gagged her with his palm as he fisted her hair. He fucked her in short, brutal strokes. Thump...thump….thump against the plaster wall. An even, steady rhythm. He didn’t rush it. He didn’t speak either. Just grunts. Just feral, low noises from the back of his throat.

“Joel,” she gasped, and he pinned her with his hips. He withdrew until only the tip remained before plunging back inside her like he could fuck her guts. Maybe, he wanted to. Maybe, he wanted to punish her and remind her:

I’m a bad person. I’m the kind of person who survives in a world like this. Isn’t that what you want?

***

“How old are you?” Joel asked out of the blue; his brows knitted together in concern.

It was a little late for that. The air between them spiked before becoming sour and viscous as jelly. He pulled his shoulders back, his expression twisting into something hesitant and concerned.

She chewed her lip thoughtfully, wondering if she should lie for his benefit. Finally, she told him, and he grimaced. The age difference wasn’t that obscene. It wasn’t unheard of or ugly. There weren’t many people left to begin with. She’d seen him kill. He knew what she had done to avenge Luke.

Joel rubbed the scar across her belly. "Was this from the woods? After Luke?"

"You should see the other guys."

Joel grinned in a way that was so deliciously impressed. Smug. "Oh," he said, curling with glee. "Oh-I did. Had no idea a little thing like you could even think of such things."

She leaned forward, her lips hovering over his own. His hands found her ass and he encouraged her down until he was half-way inside her. He was all blood - unforgivably hard and he split her down the middle. She loved it.

"I lost my mind for a second," she revealed, deliberately flexing the walls of her pussy. He grunted and became slightly cross-eyed. "You know...” she continued. "If it had happened to you? I might have done the same."

"If I had been Luke?"

"If you had been Luke."

Suddenly, he grabbed her hard and shoved her down, impaling her on his cock until he couldn't drive further. He was in her throat--her lungs. Joel. "I wouldn't be Luke," he argued huskily as he snapped into her - once - twice. He smacked her ass and the sound rocketed through the room. "I'm a bad guy, remember?"

She tried to laugh, but it tumbled out of her like a whimper. "Still," she said between the continuous, punishing stabs of his cock. "Still--I'd avenge you."

She held her hand out, and he took it. He could wrap his whole fist around hers and she’d disappear.

“Don’t worry so much,” she warned. “You’ll get wrinkles.”

Of course, he was already well-worn. She bet he was lined and edged even before the infection. He was a constant overthinker. She knew he’d been a carpenter, but the rest was a wash—all diluted gray mass of nothin’. His life before was not something he gave her.

“Why are we holdin’ hands again?”

She lifted her shoulders, gaze wandering away from his pointed stare. “Just consoling you now that you’ve realized you’re a dirty old man.”

He squeezed until her bones trembled before rolling his eyes in a disarmingly young way. “You need to watch that mouth of yours.”

***

Joel was swollen with a fever. She touched his forehead, dragging her fingertips across his cheekbone. She traced a letter and then her name. He leaned into it, lips parting as his whiskey-damp breath brushed her skin.

“You’re not doing too well,” she observed. His bare shoulders bulged from the edge of the blanket, and his lashes fluttered. His mouth curled as he tried to shift against the thin mattress.

“S’fine,” he slurred.

She swallowed a scream. She wanted to burst. She could do nothing for him but wait. Hope it was a virus. Hope it was a plain old illness that had to tire itself out.

“Let me go to the other side of town,” she murmured. “I’ll find you meds. I’m sure I can.”

His eyes snapped open at that. He attempted to sit up before groaning. “Don’t–don’t–you fuckin’ dare.” He said her name softly as he melted back into the mattress. Coughing. Moaning. “Do not go.”

He pushed his head into her lap in the blurred daze of his fever. She swept his hair away from his face, combing his fingers through his damp curls.

If he got worse, she’d go. She’d have to.

The next day, the fever dropped a point. Joel couldn’t fall asleep, instead trembling in the bed, sweating rivulets of sickness.

She played him Lee Hazlewood. Your Sweet Love. She played it on repeat. It rocked him somewhat, and with her imagination, she turned the popcorned ceiling into stars and a twilight sky.

Joel curled into her. “You smell nice,” he sighed. He held her closer, demanding warmth even though his skin was oven-hot.

In the morning, his fingers wandered down between her legs. He touched her, stroked her until she shook in his sweat-sodden sheets. The intimacy killed her. It was too much and not enough.

***

She worked one of the body disposal shifts and cut her hand on some glass. The wind was painfully cold, and the blood that bubbled up from the gash felt like hot tea. She studied it, somewhat enraptured by its brightness of it. It turned the dirty snow at her feet maroon.

She heard her name. It was muffled, and then it was louder, familiar, and seared with frustration. Joel. He gripped her hard by the arms, twisting her around. Joel handled fear terribly. Terror could only be molded into anger for him. Violence.

He shook her. “Where have you been? I waited an hour.”

She lifted her hand to show him. She still could be childish. She wondered if she had stopped maturing after the world had ended.

His eyes slowly crept from her face to her hand. “How?”

“Some glass,” she shrugged.

“Is—are—-,” He trailed off, audibly swallowing.

She found it off-putting. Joel was usually so collected.

“If I were infected—they would have shot me,” she reminded him, and he sagged an inch. Of course. Of course. How silly of me.

He rearranged his expression so that it was his usual gruff stoniness.

“You’re freezing,” he accused as if she could help it. Boston winter. Not enough layers.

We thought the cold would stomp out the infection–the bacteria–the fungus.

“It’s fine–”

Wordlessly, Joel wrapped his arms around her shoulders, hauling her into the heat of his chest. Surprised, she gripped the fabric of his shirt as he forced his jacket around the both of them. The sky was blue-black, and the snow clung to her hair and scalp. It coated his coffee-brown hair in powdered sugar.

She pressed her face into his sternum, nuzzling her nose into the space between his pecs.

“Let me see your hand,” he urged.

She gave it to him, still dripping and tender. She needed a bandage. Of course, FEDRA tested her, but they wouldn’t waste a single strip of gauze.

She heard Joel curse them under his breath before cradling her hand, fingertips barely nudging the injury. He dropped his head and kissed the vulnerable space between her thumb and index finger, and when he pulled away, there was the faintest trace of her blood on his chin.

“So weird,” she said. “So alive.”

His brow furrowed. She might be a little light-headed.

Yes. Yes. Hot-feverish blood meant her heart was pulsing, thumping with life just like Joel. His anger. His pain. What he does to her in the dark.

“C’mere,” She grasped his face between her hands. Unshaven. Prickly. Her blood. On tiptoe, she claimed his mouth, and he accepted, even demanded more.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #tlou fanfiction #joel tlou #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller imagine #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x female reader #pedro pascal #the last of us hbo

2K notes · View notes

aerynwrites · 1 year ago

Text

Freckles

Rolan x GN!Reader

A/N: based on this request - hope you have a happy birthday nonny!

Word Count: 988

Warnings: none

*tried to make this gn! Please let me know if anything slipped through*

It took you longer than expected to settle into the tower at Socerers Sundries. Mainly because the thought of staying in a place that caused Rolan so much pain and suffering made you so angry your blood boiled. But after a few mornings waking up to the sun filtering in through the windows…You started to love it.

Now you relish going to sleep beside Rolan in your chambers on the top most floor of the building, knowing you’ll wake up to a most perfect sight each morning.

The sun always manages to creep in the window above your bed, rays turning from orange to soft pink and then eventually the gentle morning yellow that manages to wake you most mornings.

The sunlight kisses your skin in a warm caress, wrapping both you and Rolan in its gentle embrace as the day begins. You’re almost always the first to wake, Rolan only beating you when he has important tasks to take care of.

Today is one of the days he does not, allowing him to sleep peacefully beside you as your eyes peel open to greet the warm rays of sun. Slowly, as not to wake your partner, you stretch your arms above your head, yawning wide as a cat basking in a pool of light before settling back into the soft sheets.

You roll over to your side just as Rolan mumbles something unintelligible in his sleep, one of his arms reaching out to slip around your waist as he pulls you subconsciously closer to him before settling once more.

He’s laying on his side, hair loose from its usual hair tie, allowing the chestnut locks to lay errant on the pillow, some strands even falling haphazardly across his face and around his horns. Gently, you reach up to tuck the hair behind his ear, revealing more of his face to you.

Rolan is one of those people that always has a look of worry or thought seemingly permanently stuck on his face. His brows drawn together, lips pulled tight, nose scrunched adorably. When he sleeps, however, all of those things slip away, leaving his face blissfully smooth.

You’ve always told him he actually looks his age when he sleeps, his youth coming out when he isn’t constantly worried about one thing or another. You always take a moment to admire him when he sleeps, the moment allowing you to see him truly at peace. It also allows you to take in one of your favorite features of your partner.

His freckles.

It was one of the first things you noticed about him when you met, immediately finding them curious as you hadn't seen many other tiefling with the same markings. You’d always fantasized about tracing over them before you both confessed your feelings, and now it was something you did more often than Rolan liked.

Although as much as he complains when you do it, he never stops you, and you never mention the way his lips twitch upwards ever so slightly at your ministrations.

Slowly, your fingers trail down from his ear to his cheek following the faint trail of freckles across the bridge of his nose. Your eyes and fingers trail lower then to where they travel down his neck to his chest.

That was another pleasant surprise. That Rolan has freckles other than on his face. They’re pretty much everywhere on his body, darker in some places like his cheeks and shoulder and lighter in places like his chest and belly.

But you love them all the same.

Finally, after you’ve completed your roaming, your eyes flick back up to his face, still peaceful in his undisturbed sleep. And you can’t help but lean in to press a kiss to his cheek and the smattering of freckles there.

Then you press a kiss to his nose. Then his forehead, before dropping down to his other cheek.

You plan to travel lower, following the trail down to his jaw and neck, but another arm sliding beneath you and a soft groan stops you in your tracks, a smile splitting your lips.

“Hmm…” Rolan hums tiredly. “What are you doing, my love?”

His words are thick with sleep, voice deeper than usual as he turns to brush his lips against your own before moving to nuzzle into the crook of your neck, eliciting a small sigh from you as he presses featherlight kisses there.

“I was admiring you,” you say simply, smiling as Rolan pulls away to look at you, eyes fluttering sleepily.

“Admiring me?” He repeats. “I should be flattered, a beautiful partner waking me up like that…”

You raise an eyebrow. “But…?”

Rolan smiles, wrapping his arms tighter around you until he rolls you both so he’s lying on his back and you lay atop him on his chest.

“But I was up late last night working on research, and I would very much like to keep sleeping with said beautiful partner in my arms. If that’s amenable?”

You roll your eyes and give a dramatic sigh before settling against his chest, pressing one last kiss there before wrapping your arms around his waist.

“Fine,” you say in mock annoyance. “I suppose if I have to stay here my admiration can wait.”

Rolan chuckles, eyes slipping closed again. “Oh, feel free to admire all you want, my love. Just don’t wake me up this time.”

You scoff, hitting his chest playfully as he tugs you closer to him. “You’re a jerk sometimes, you know that?”

Rolan hums contentedly before sitting up just enough to capture your lips in a quick kiss before settling back against the pillows once more.

“You wouldn’t have me any other way.”

You smile, shaking your head before finally settling against him as sleep tugs lazily at your eyes.

“I love you, Rolan,” you murmur.

And as sleep finally pulls you both back under, you hear Rolan respond in kind.

#rolan x reader #bg3 x reader #bg3 rolan x reader #bg3 #Rolan #bg3 Rolan

441 notes · View notes

g0blintears · 6 months ago

Text

[Yandere! Dead By Daylight x Reader]

Summary: You are a mystery to both the survivors and killers within the fog. A servant of darkness, a creature created by the entity itself, you are the shadow behind the scenes that provides the survivors with the necessities they need to survive, while also assisting killers with the weapons they need to sacrifice. You are a servant void of humanity, but not one that seeks out despair. An empty slate that perhaps just needs to be taught a little bit of hope and empathy to help the survivors escape once and for all.

Eight. Thrilling Tremors

Danny has always loved the horror genre.

Ever since he was a child, his father would tell him real life horror stories. Those stories of a cat chasing a mouse. A predator hunting down prey. It was all the same stories that ended with a field of bloodshed and a victor that would rise above it all…and Danny was absolutely fascinated with each thrilling tale.

Mutilated bodies would engrave itself into his mind. Haunting scenes with vivid details would replay in his head like a broken flickering filmstrip. From the creepy music to the dramatic pauses, Danny would find his heart pounding in his chest with a wide smile curving on his lips as he became enamored with each piece of horror media he consumed.

However, the exhilaration of facing the unknown, the details from the unsettling sounds to the tense atmosphere— none of those things were his favorite part. And for a while, Danny actually wasn’t sure what he loved so much about the genre. He knew he loved true horror. The real stories of monsters that lurk in the night. The real boogeyman that blends into society. He was captivated by true, raw horror.

So, that begged the question, was he simply just entertained by the reality of human nature? Did he just enjoy seeing how ‘civilized’ people would react to the real demons that ran around with the same blood that they bled?

Or, did he simply love horror because it fed into his own bloodlust?

When Danny brought his first horror story to life, he knew he had found the answer. Although his first design was sloppy, it was still created with passion that was driven by instinct, and that was when Danny had come to a realization.

Humans are animals. They are destructive by nature. As intelligent and ‘evolved’ as they may be, Danny knew that all humans have primal instincts, and those instincts were bloody and chaotic. Some may deny it, but Danny knew the truth. And if he was going to accept his human nature as a whole, he may as well be creative with it.

So, Danny went on with his life, loving every second of it. He loved existing as a human. He loved having the ability to create. And most of all, he loved creating real life horror stories. Obviously, his passion is looked down upon. But that doesn’t stop him. If anything, Danny was glad that the playing field was so small. It made it easier for his work to stick out, and it made his stories even scarier.

However, as much as Danny adored bringing terror to the public, he always had to be cautious of his work. His designs needed to be perfect. Any flaw could wind him up in the electric chair. So, even if he loved sharing his stories, Danny would often feel dread when he would have to lay low under the radar. After completing each design, Danny would have to stop his work for a while, and that often gave him an uncomfortable itch that would sometimes leave him wishing he could freely create his stories without feeling the burden of the consequences.

It was simply just wishful thinking during those impatient times, but unknown to Danny, his wishes would be heard.

So, one could only imagine the delight he felt the moment he was wrapped around in a fog, a darkness consuming him until his eyes met the flickering red and orange flame of a campfire where an other-worldly being had suddenly emerged. Stepping in front of him from beyond a black fog, you had gazed down at Danny with empty, soulless [eye color] eyes as you introduced him to a realm of nightmares.

And Danny was absolutely ecstatic to be there.

Like an artist given his own studio with an endless supply of paints and canvas, Danny was given the opportunity to perfect as many designs as he desired. And so, he would carry on like that in the realm. Danny would create different horror stories for all the survivors on every single map. He even learned to adapt his designs so they would come out flawless!

It was fun for a while, but then…Danny got bored.

Don’t get him mistaken though. He still loved creating his designs, but he craved for something more. He needed a bigger project. Something that would give him a challenge. Something that would be his Mona Lisa.

And then, there was you.

The very first being that Danny had met in the realm. The very first being that Danny knew was on a completely different scale from him. You were something that looked human, but you weren’t. You were something extraordinary. And you were the first being that would become Danny’s new passion project— his muse, if you will.

Thus, leaving Danny to where he is now.

One of his arms wrapped around your torso, fingers clenched around the fabric of your blazer as he dug into your waist. His other hand was wrapped around your arm and chest, leveling his blade up to your eyes. A smile curved on his lips from behind his mask as he gazed at your reflection in the knife. You were completely unfazed, just as he expected.

“Did I get you this time?” He asked in a hush, observing every feature of your face.

You stared into your own reflection, your eyes moving from your own empty stare before flickering over to the killer behind you. Although you couldn’t see him, Danny could practically feel your eyes bore into him as if he weren’t even wearing a mask to begin with.

“No. I knew you were approaching three minutes ago.” You responded, monotone as ever as you kept your expression stoic.

Danny wasn’t surprised by this, but your response did intrigue him. He had been stalking you earlier, and his interest was piqued when he saw you very subtly reaching out for the flames, so he knew that something was going on in your mind. Just what exactly was it?

Raising a brow, the male tilted his head, “That’s two minutes off from usual.” His voice rasped out. Gripping your torso tighter, Danny brought the blade to your neck and traced the sharp edge over your skin. His eyes focused on your reaction. “What’s on your mind?”

“Is this your question for our game?” You instead inquired, causing Danny to pause in thought.

Right.

Ever since Danny has made you his muse, he took it upon himself to learn everything about you so he could create the perfect design. After all, his first attempt didn’t go exactly as planned… so, he tried a new method— he made it a game between the two of you. He will be merciless in trials, and in exchange, he gets to ask you questions about yourself.

Obviously, you accepted those terms. And so, he began with the obvious.

“What is your name?”

“I don’t have one.”

“Where did you come from?”

“My creator.”

“Who is your creator?”

“The entity.”

“Why did she create you?”

“To serve.”

You were honest, but dry. He wasn’t sure if you were just clever to be wary of him, or if you truly couldn’t comprehend anything other than to follow orders. Regardless, Danny didn’t like that you gave him the obvious answers. You weren’t playing fair. Why should he be merciless in trials for you if you were just going to give him the copy and paste answers that you gave to every other killer and survivor?

So, he had to try something else.

He needed to dig deeper. More personal. He needed just a sliver of space that he could crawl his way into so he could witness just a glimpse into your mind. So far he had been asking all of the practical stuff, and up till now that’s gotten him nowhere since the start of his passion project. Not as if he was in any rush to start his design, of course. Danny is quite a patient man by nature, but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t getting annoyed by how bland you were being with him.

Looking over your empty stare, Danny took a moment to study you.

Danny is a people person. So he knew how to read people no matter the poker face, and you were no exception. Memorizing every detail of your features, the man could say with confidence that he could probably draw your face from memory. From the patterns in your irises, to any subtle wrinkle on your face. Danny had learned how to read your face. It was just getting you to change just the smallest detail that was the issue.

He needed you to open up. But how?

With his knife held tightly in his hand, Danny let out low, quiet breaths until finally he made a decision.

“Yeah,” he finally chuckled out, “This is my question for our game. What is on your mind right now?”

You still hadn’t moved, but your eyes did briefly glance over the masked killer once more before setting your stare to the fire in front of you where the flames highlighted your [skin tone] skin in a golden hue.

“I’ve come to realize that I’ve long forgotten what ‘warmth’ feels like.” You spoke, a sort of interest lined within your words.

This caught Danny’s attention.

For as long as he’s studied you, he has not once heard or seen you show any kind of interest other than your assigned tasks. So having witnessed your fingers brushing over the campfire, and hearing the very subtle change in your tone, it hooked him in.

“I didn’t even realize you knew what that felt like.” He spoke, keeping a steady grip on his knife. “I thought you said you couldn’t feel anything.”

You took note of his slight change of demeanor, but you remained impassive as you hummed in response.

“Yes, well, I have felt cold before and I have felt warmth before, but it was a long while back.” You paused for a moment, “perhaps a few eons ago.”

“Oh?” Danny perked up, his blade ever so slightly pressing against your skin. His heart was beating quickly with excitement now that he seemed to finally be getting somewhere with you.

“And what might’ve made you lose your senses?” He asked, and for once in a very long time, Danny’s pupils dilated the moment he saw the faintest flicker of emotion appear in your eyes.

Those usually vacant pools of [eye color]— they widened a bit. The colors brightened and he could see the crinkle at the very corner of your eyes shift from a misty void to a clear display of loss.

“I’m..unsure.”

Your voice, usually crisp and clear, seemed to have wavered a bit, leaving Danny with his heart pounding against his chest.

There. There it was.

He wasn’t sure if he was imagining the whole thing, but he swore for the first time that he saw a moment of weakness.

Danny hadn’t meant to do it. But he couldn’t help it. He pressed his knife hard against your skin. He felt a rush of adrenaline as he pressed the blade into your neck and pierce into your flesh.

He could see the blood trickle down your skin. That deep maroon color dribbling down your clear [skin tone] collarbone and staining your white dress shirt. He could practically smell the iron that stained his blade as he continued to press his knife deeper and deeper before twisting the handle and tearing it across your neck, practically decapitating your head from the rest of your body.

Holding onto your torso tighter, Danny closed his eyes and savored the sounds of the quiet forest air that was filled with music from your choked gurgles.

Except… that wasn’t what happened.

For the moment his knife pressed into your neck, the blade instantly shattered.

Just like his first attempt on your life, any weapon that would try and penetrate your skin would instantly break like glass.

Danny watched in stupor as shards of his blade fell into little bits and pieces onto the foggy ground. He was still in a daze, but much like his fallen knife, his illusion was shattered and left him standing behind you with his heart racing and mind numb from exhilaration.

A long and heavy pause would ring in the forest air. Nothing but the sound of fire crackling would be heard as the two of you stood in silence.

While the killer was coming down from his high, you, on the other hand, stood there unconcerned. If anything, you had foreseen this coming from the moment The Ghostface tried to kill you the first time he brought a blade to your chest. You just figured he would try a different strategy since he wasn’t as bloodthirsty and adamant as The Shape.

With your vision still fixated on the fire, you briefly moved your attention to the shattered blade on the ground before quickly looking back at the fire. Your body was still in the hands of Ghostface, granted his hold on you had loosened up, but you still kept yourself still as you looked over your shoulder to meet the masked killer’s eyes.

“It seems that you’ve accidentally shattered your knife again.” You commented, finally snapping Danny back to reality.

Letting his arms fall to his side, Danny took a step back. He was pissed. He was so fucking angry that he didn’t get to actually tear into your throat. He didn’t actually get to experience seeing you bleed and die in his arms.

However, as Danny stood silently behind you, from behind his mask, the man was practically glowing with joy. A smile was on his face as a breathless chuckle left his lips.

He was also very relieved.

This is why you were his Mona Lisa. This is why he picked you to begin with. He was so glad you were going to be a challenge. If he had actually killed you, Danny was sure he’d make sure your body would rot from where you stood. But no. Danny was smart. There was a reason he chose you instead of one of the other survivors or killers in the realm.

Letting out an airy laugh, Danny brought a hand to his head and ruffled his black hair from under his hood.

He knew he made the right decision in choosing you.

While Danny laughed to himself, you simply stood there and observed.

Humans, they were so odd.

You know the sound he was making was that of laughter. You may not understand human nature, but you knew enough to realize that he was showing signs of amusement. You just couldn’t understand from what.

Once Danny settled down, the male finally looked over at you with a tilt of his head.

“This is why you’re my muse.” He commented with a sigh, and walked over to your side.

You couldn’t quite wrap your head around his interesting choice of words, but you didn’t get to dwell on it when he brought a hand to your shoulder. With his attention on his knife, Danny tilted his head in your direction.

“Do you mind?”

You blinked, “Mind?”

He smiled, “Fixing my knife. Can you work your magic again, sweetheart?”

“Oh.” Your eyes then flickered back to the blade broken into pieces on the ground at your feet. “Of course.”

Crouching down, you grabbed the handle of the knife and the biggest part of the blade. With your eyes glowing a [eye color] hue, a fog of black with golden particles floated into your hands and covered the broken pieces.

Danny watched in awe as his once shattered blade came back brand new.

Again, he was practically grinning from ear to ear as he found that he was going to create the perfect design all for you. He was already buzzing with excitement just to see more of you. Whether you had or hadn’t actually expressed something earlier, Danny knew that either way you were already destined to be killed by his hands, and he was going to make sure that your death was going to be flawless.

Standing back up, you presented the knife to the killer, “Here you go.”

Carefully, Danny took the knife and twirled it in his hand.

“Good as new,” he breathed out while practicing his jabs into the open air. With a smile, Danny pocketed the knife before turning his attention to you. “Thank you. Hope that didn’t take a lot out of you.”

You shook your head, “Not at all. If you need any more repairs to any of your weapons, I am here to assist.”

“Right, right. I’ll remember that,” Danny expressed lamely, before bringing a hand to his pocket. Still having his blood pumping vigorously through his veins, the male was nearly itching to start his trial. So digging into his pocket, Danny brought out three items: a chewed up pen, his old driver’s license, and originally he planned on taking out a shiny broken coin, but after the illusion of killing you, the killer was just driven by his murderous instincts to kill by his own hands.

So instead, the male brought out a bag. Opening up the small coin bag, Danny took a quick peek at the glowing red triangles and brought it over to you.

“Do you think I can buy an offering?”

Your eyes not once wavered from his mask as you took his bag. With your eyes briefly flickering down to scan the bag, you kept your voice firm upon returning your attention to him, “What would you like?”

Danny’s eyes were feral and bloodshot. His smile was hurting his cheeks as he already began plotting his next few designs. He may not have been able to kill you today, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be able to create a horror story at all.

So with his head tilting playfully, Danny let out a raspy, shuddered breath.

“I want a memento mori.”

You nodded. And again, the crawling mist all around the two of you swirled with life. It was comical to Danny. Because while a human skull was formed within your hands, the air around reeked of rotting death.

Breathing in the fog, Danny closed his eyes and relished in the silence of the blowing wind that moved the black mist. If he listened closely, Danny swore that he could hear ghastly whispers move with the rustling forest leaves.

Then, it was silent once more.

Opening his eyes, Danny turned his attention to you. He watched as you stared back into the campfire. With the glow of the fire highlighting your features, Danny took note of your expression.

He couldn’t read you again. You were as emotionless as a doll. Simply standing there with a pretty, flawless mask.

Flickering his attention from your side profile and back down to the skull in your open palms, Danny silently took the skull from your hands and tossed his pen, license, and skull into the campfire where the flames burst with life and shrilled a loud shrieks before returning to crackles.

As Danny stood next to you at the campfire, the male kept his attention straight at the dancing fire. He wanted to get the trial started as soon as possible, while he was still in a pleasant mood.

#danny johnson x reader #jed olsen x reader #yandere dead by daylight x reader #yandere dead by daylight #yandere dbd #dbd x reader #yandere dbd x reader #dead by daylight x reader #ghostface x reader #yandere ghostface x reader #Yandere Danny Johnson x reader #Danny ‘Jed Olsen’ Johnson

181 notes · View notes

it-was-summer · 4 months ago

Text

Video Killed the Radio Star - Tape #3 (Spencer Reid x Fem!reader)

A/N: I am exhausted this weekend so if at some point you feel like the writing shows that DON'T BE ALARMED. It is simply just me fighting back the urge to go to bed. The chapter does contain a good amount of sexual assault and violence so please, please, please be mindful of that while reading. I love all the comments here and Ao3, they make my day! I have also been noticing a lot of love towards the original of this series and I appreciate everyone for taking their time to read the remake! Please know that as of right now this thing IS NOT PROOFREAD I JUST NEED TO GET IT OUT! Stay safe, healthy, and happy! -Love, Em.

Video Killed the Radio Star Remake Masterlist

Link to the Ao3: Video Killed the Radio Star

Previous Chapter: Tape #2 > Next Chapter: Tape #4

WARNING: Cancer mentioned, sexual assault, blood, knife, cutting, mentions of death, death threats. Remember that you are not alone.

Tape Contents: Spencer and Derek are sent to discuss your abduction with Adeline. You fight back a sexual and physical attack from Heather. Heather reveals her plans for what will happen if anyone finds you.

Word Count: 4,029

March 5, 20XX

Spencer wasn’t too fond of hospitals, but he was fond of children. He interacted with them, loving that he could see how they processed information–new and old—every day. He loved Henry to bits, the way the kid was so willing to listen to Spencer’s ramblings or the way he was so amazed at a magic trick Spencer was doing.

Sick kids were a tragically different story, not that he didn’t like them. He always felt like… well, he was having a hard time conceptualizing it as he weaved through the crowded lobby. The pediatrics oncology unit was too packed for his liking. Statistically, he knew that one in two hundred eighty-five children could be diagnosed with some form of cancer before they hit twenty. That didn’t mean he had to like weaving through a small crowd of parents, doctors, and nurses on the way to room two hundred thirty with Morgan. There it was –the words for that feeling– watching someone younger than himself not being able to experience life at thirty.

After finding the friendship keychain, Hotch decided that Reid and Morgan should find your alleged ride-or-die, Adeline Smith. Meanwhile, Hotch and Prentiss would drive to Norfolk to talk to your mother. Rossi and JJ were handling some information with the police, so they were all paired away.

Derek and he slipped into the hospital room that housed Adeline and her daughter, Nicole. His chest tightened involuntarily at the sight of a mother stroking her daughter’s head, a smile on both of their faces. Derek was quick to speak, “Excuse me,” The mother and daughter jumped at the noise, and their eyes snapped to the hospital room door. “I’m Special Agent Derek Morgan, and this is Doctor Spencer Reid. We just have some questions.” His hands dug into his jacket pocket to pull out the badge, muscle memory for both.

Adeline’s hand fell from her daughter's hairless head to her shoulder, her fingers giving it a light squeeze. “Questions regarding?” She asked with a curious expression as she stood up, a skeptical look in her eyes.

Spencer’s eyes met Nicole’s for a second, a small smile rising to his lips, and she gave him a nervous smile right back. He moved his gaze over to Adeline, who was now standing with her arms folded across her chest as she waited for the two men to answer her question. Derek looked over his shoulder at Spencer, then back at Adeline. He gently motioned for her to follow him to a slightly more private area to talk to her, the two moving to a corner of the room near the bathroom.

“Were you aware that Y/N L/N was being stalked?” Derek’s voice was calm as Spencer approached Nicole’s bedside chair and sat in it awkwardly.

Spencer motioned towards the girl’s stuffed animal, a bright orange cat that sat in between her legs. “I love cats,” he said in a soft voice.

Nicole beamed at him, grabbed the stuffed cat, and happily petted the top of its head: “Me too! This is Bee.”

“Bee? Do you like Bees?”

Adeline’s eyes strayed to Spencer's conversation with her daughter, and she nodded a little at Derek’s question: “We talked about it. She went to the police.” She said, a little numbly, before her head suddenly snapped towards him. “Why?”

“She was taken from her apartment on March third. She recorded videos for the police to send to us, the Behavioral Analysis Unit, to help find her.” Derek explained gently as he watched Adeline’s face go pale.

Adeline grabbed her clothed chest and searched for a breath, her eyes wild as she looked at Derek’s face. Her eyes began searching for some hint in his face that he was lying, but she found none. She couldn’t stop the tears that were filling her waterline, and she turned her body away from her daughter and Spencer in a desperate attempt to hide her tears from her daughter. Her knees felt weak as she tried to breathe.

Spencer glanced back at Adeline and Derek, scooting a little to obstruct Nicole’s field of vision. He didn’t want the young girl to see her mother cry. Nicole shook her head slightly at his question, “No, not really. Auntie Y/N got her for me, and she loves bees.” She laughed softly, her words making Spencer’s heart melt a little.

“Is Bee your favorite?”

The girl covered the cat’s plush ears and smiled like she had a secret. “No, but she is my second favorite.” Her fingers scratched the stuffed animal’s ears gently. “Mr. Business is my first,” she whispered to him.

“Ah, and where is Mr. Business?” His eyes searched her hospital bed, and then he spotted a stuffed cat, a tuxedo cat. He grinned a little, and he motioned to the stuffed animal with his eyes, “Mr. Business is a very fitting name, I think,”

Adeline held out a hand for some space from Derek, and the hand clutching her chest came up to her mouth as she tried to keep from vomiting all over him. She had been stuck in this hospital when you had called her that first night. Having always loved talking to you, she answered enthusiastically. Still, the more she listened to the situation, the more she realized she didn’t have the emotional strength to comfort you the way you needed. And she said that to you. She said that to you. She couldn’t help you then, and she couldn’t help you now. She couldn’t even help her own daughter.

A sob rose in her throat, and she shook her head rapidly. “No, no, no, we talked on that day. Th-That night,” She recounted softly to Derek through her tears.

“What did you talk about?” Derek whispered the question softly as his eyes searched the room for some tissues, but his search was futile. He places a gentle hand on Adeline’s shoulder instead.

“We talked about college; she wanted her mind off of things, so we talked about our apartment when we were in grad school. It’s been two days! What have you been doing for two days while my best friend went missing?” Her cheeks were red, her fingers pointing accusingly at him before she sobbed softly, and her hand was moving back up to wrap around her mouth to muffle the sound.

“She didn’t show up to work on March fifth. That's when she was reported missing. We’re doing everything we can. What time did the two of you talk?”

“W-we talked around nine, maybe nine-thirty?” She whispered back softly before she started to breathe heavily again. “Why didn’t I call? I should have called again. It was getting so late, and she had locked all the doors, and I thought she was just being anxious. I should have called her again. I should have left the hospital to visit her.” Her mind was spiraling, the neverending rabbit hole that showed her all the ways she could have saved her best friend, unhinged its proverbial jaw and swallowed her whole, ready to digest.

Morgan wasn’t necessarily new to the information, as Penelope had already told him about your call logs from that evening, but he always liked to hear it be confirmed. It also helped him place an estimate of the time of your abduction. “Could you tell me about anyone, anyone at all, that might have been a little too into Y/N? Any ex-boyfriends that refused to leave her alone? Did she break up with anyone around Christmas?”

“No, she hasn’t dated anyone for almost a year.” Adeline sighed thickly and shook her head as she tried to calm down. “No, all her ex-boyfriends, they were always so mousy. ” She sighed, “And they always look alike,” she paused and gave a soft, sad chuckle, motioning over to where Spencer was as he continued to entertain her daughter. “Well, they all look like your Doctor friend, if I’m being honest. She’s always been too nice for her own good, even in college.”

Spencer tried to talk over the sobs that could be heard from the corner of the hospital room, clearing his throat or laughing as Nicole stumbled through a story. “She’s a loud crier,” Nicole whispered with a gentle pat on Bee’s head.

Spencer frowned as his efforts failed him, and he looked over his shoulder at Morgan, who was looking at him with a similarly sympathetic look on his face. He was about to say something when Nicole shoved Bee toward him, “You should give this to Auntie Y/N. Mommy said she was sad the other day. Bee always helps.”

Spencer turned the stuffed animal over in his hands, and he debated telling her the truth, but thankfully, his better judgment decided against it. “It’ll be the first thing I do when I see her,” Spencer promised softly as Nicole smiled wide at him.

As Derek and he walked out of the hospital, Derek’s eyes stayed on the stuffed orange cat in Spencer’s hands. As they pushed past a small group of people, Spencer found himself almost slamming into a pretty nurse, a gorgeous nurse. Her blue eyes blinked as she shuffled to one side, only to be unintentionally blocked by Spencer once more. She sighed a little and gave him a once over with a frown. Her eyes lingered on the gun holstered against his hip before she gave him a polite smile and said, “Excuse me,” and slipped past the two men with a determined look in her eyes.

Derek only said something when they got into the parking lot, the two of them walking to the black SUV, “Did you pick one up at the gift shop?”

Spencer groaned softly, making Derek chuckle as he walked around the car’s front to the passenger seat. “Open the door,” He said bluntly. When they were both inside the car, Spencer carefully placed the stuffed animal in his bag, and Derek chuckled again at the sight, turning the key.

“You didn’t even buy me one,”

March 5, 20XX

You were assuming Heather was angry with you. The assumption wasn’t baseless as the hunger in your stomach growled. You were quick to find that the harmony between a full stomach and morphine did matter and that harmony had left you many hours prior. You also were basing the assumption as you had spent what must have been a whole day fighting off tears and nausea.

The sick part was that you were beginning to get used to how your body got swarmed with heavy, hot, and benevolent warmth. The dull pain in your ankle was silenced under the warmth’s blanket of kindness. It reminded you of a heated blanket in a strange way.

You had finished the sips of your water before falling asleep and regretting it. You had learned that the bucket off to the side of the dresser was the perfect distance from the bed. Your broken ankle was dragging against the carpet with every movement. The chain around your good ankle didn’t snag as you sluggishly managed to hold your body up against the wall to pee into the bucket.

Once you were done, you hopped on your good leg and managed to pull your clothes back on. Your body fell face-first onto the bed, eliciting a soft groan from your lips as you found your body reluctant to move from its new home.

You closed your eyes and fell into the position, letting the bed sink in deeper. Your eyes snapped open with a sense of alertness that you hadn’t felt in hours as you heard the first click of a lock. Your arms weakly managed to push yourself up into a sitting position, pushing yourself back to your former position against the headboard. Your head throbbed at the fast movement, and your vision blurred as you tried to focus on the door.

When it slowly opened, you sucked in a small breath of air, watching as Heather slid into the room with a tray of food. “Hello, my Catherine.” She sighed as she shoved the keys into her scrub pocket with one balanced hand. “My, my, someone is looking pale today.” She asked as she sat down in the chair off the side of the bed with a gentle, pretty smile.

You nodded a little. Your lips were numb as you licked them. “What day is it?” Your voice came out quiet and strangled.

“Monday,” She stated simply as she twisted the top off a bottle of apple juice. She handed it over to your already waiting hands before she carefully lowered the morphine drip’s intake level. You greedily drank the juice without thinking twice, desperate to get something in your stomach.

You panted lightly as you pulled the half-empty bottle away from your lips, “Th-the date, I mean,”

“March fifth,” She rolled her eyes as she carefully rearranged a neatly made turkey sandwich on a paper plate, slowly placing the plate on the edge of the bed for you to take. “You moved in here early Saturday morning, don’t you remember?” she laughed out like it was the silliest thing she had ever heard.

You felt your mouth start to move to correct her, to tell her that you didn’t move in; she had kidnapped you. But as you stared at the turkey sandwich on the edge of the bed, you realized that playing along would be better. Playing along meant more food and less nausea. Playing along meant living longer. “Right,” You said breathlessly as you pulled the paper plate to your lap. “How could I forget?”

Heather smiled a little as she watched you bite into the sandwich, happy to see you adjusting. You were eating so fast that she was a little worried about your empty stomach. She didn’t want to make feeding you so sporadically a habit. But yesterday, when she came up with a food tray, she thought about your rudeness and how cruel you had been to her. It made her stomach twist into angry knots. She decided that not feeding you for a day would be a lesson.

“I’m so happy our first fight is over. I hate to be angry with you, Catherine.” Heather’s sweet tone wasn’t lost on you as she touched your arm gently. Your chewing slowed for a second before you swallowed, your eyes glued to her hand on your arm.

“I picked out every gift just for you,” She sighed softly as she traced soft circles against your skin. You fought back the urge to pull your arm away. “You’re a hopeless romantic, you know? You remember in college when you and Adeline dressed up as Lizzie and Jane Bennet. No one got it but god,” She sighed, her eyes finding yours as you stayed frozen.

The hand on your arm slowly reached for the paper plate on your lap. Your fingers twitched a little as you fought back the urge to grab the food as she placed the plate on the nightstand beside your bed. Everything was happening so fast and yet incredibly slow at the same time.

Then she stood up and crawled onto the bed, swinging one leg over your lap before stranding you with a white smile. Her hands came to cup your face and tilt it up. A soft sigh fell from her lips. “You’ve always been brilliant,”

You shook your head in her hands lightly. The warmth of the morphine was slow to leave your body, but as your body filled with an intense feeling of dread, you could feel everything. Your ankle throbbed sharply, and you were starting to feel like you were about to be sick again. “I’m not,”

Heather threw her head back and laughed as if it was the funniest thing she had ever heard. When she lowered her head to meet your gaze again, she leaned closer, one of her thumbs reaching up to trace your bottom lip. You cringed a little at the feeling, a sight that she ignored. “You’ve always been so humble, too. How did I get so lucky?” She whispered as she leaned in to kiss your lips softly.

You felt your lips tighten and bile rise to your throat, and you swallowed it. You let her kiss you once, then twice, then a third time. Your lips stayed closed in a tight line as you tried to imagine yourself in a different position, but with every touch Heather placed on you, the more you stayed cemented in your reality.

Heather pulled back with a look in her eyes that you could recognize as crazed lust. You didn’t want to. You didn’t want to know what her hands felt like anymore. You bit your lip to silence a whimper. Her hands pulled roughly at your shirt as she grabbed the hem of it and pulled it over your head with a simple yank.

You shook your head quickly now, “No, Heather, I-I’m not ready. I don’t-”

She shushed you softly with a gentle smile as she traced the swell of your breast slowly, the touch eliciting your tears to pool over your waterline. “I know you’re worried, but I’m going to take care of you, I promise.” Her eyes lingered on the prominent bruise on the center of your chest. She frowned, leaning down carefully to kiss the blue and black patch of skin.

“No,” You cried softly, your voice soft before you decided that you couldn’t take it anymore. “No!” You yelled, causing her back to straighten and sit up.

“I’m sorry?” She asked with a soft scoff.

“I-I can’t do it, I’m not ready. I don’t want to, Heather. Please don’t make me.” You begged softly as tears rolled down your face. “I’ll try next time, I promise. I just, please, please don’t make me.”

Heather frowned a little before she let out a harsh laugh, her arms folding over her chest tightly. She looked down at you, “You know I saw your precious little Adeline today,”

You felt your back tense at Adeline's mention, “What? I thought you worked in pediatrics, not pediatric oncology. W-why did you see Adeline?”

Heather reached out a hand to press on your bruise roughly, the feeling making you wince. “I work in pediatric oncology. Sometimes, I help Nicole. I loved it when you visited her at the hospital. It was almost too easy to steal the copy of your apartment key from Adeline. She doesn’t love you as much as I love you, you know that, right?”

You shook your head, and you cried harder as you realized that you had never even noticed her at the hospital. Your focus has always been so zoned in on Nicole or Adeline that you didn’t even register Heather’s presence. Would Adeline remember Heather? You doubted it.

“She talked to some agents or something and was inconsolable. Fucking useless friend of yours. Anyway, I ran into them in the hallway. Scrawny kid with some buff guy, I’m sure Adeline called them.”

You found your hands grabbing her hand on your chest and shook your head side-to-side. “No, Adeline doesn’t know. I didn’t tell her anything. I didn’t, I promise.”

Heather’s eyes met yours briefly before they trailed down to your bare chest and your hands holding onto her wrist. “Say you love me more than her then,”

“I-I, what?”

“Say it.”

You opened your mouth, but all that came out were gentle sobs as you tried to form the words, terrified that she was about to do something to Adeline. The thought of Heather hurting Adeline had you gasping softly for air.

Her eyes were on yours again as you panted softly, “You don’t love me?” Her spit hit your cheek as she hissed the words in rageful disbelief. She was off your lap in seconds as she moved to the dresser and quickly pulled out a small pairing knife.

“Wait,” You cried softly as you tried to hurry away from her, making a vain attempt to get up from the bed that was meant with a howl of pain from your ankle and your body slumping over the edge lamely.

Her hands grabbed your ankles, good and injured, and pulled you roughly to the edge of the bed. A scream left your throat at the contact. “You think I’m going to let them find you?” She questioned in a suspiciously calm voice as she grazed the smooth side of the knife against your collarbone.

You stayed frozen as she leaned in closer, her lips at the shell of your ear, “If they ever found you, Emma. I would kill you and then myself. I’ve already decided. We have to be together,” Her voice in your ear had you breathing harder as she slowly pressed the tip of the knife into the area above your heart.

The knife only stung at first before it felt like a ripping pain. Heather dragged the knife into your skin with a deliberate sense of control. Not too deep, not too superficial. Something she wouldn’t have to stitch up. She made a diagonal line before staring a few inches apart from the other cut. “We belong together, Jane.”

You cried out again as she started dragging the knife into your skin once more, “Please,”

“You just need to open your heart. If they ever found us, I need to mark where to shoot. Stay still.”

As Heather got close to completing the ‘X’ mark on your chest, marking you as a possible target. You felt your body thrash under her weakly. The edge of one of the lines skewed to the left, and Heather let out an annoyed groan before she pulled the knife away from your chest and to your lips. “Stop fucking crying,” She growled as she slashed at your bottom lip.

You hissed at the feeling as blood coated your chest and filled your mouth. You stared up at her as soft sobs kept leaving your mouth, “Fuck you.” You muttered before gathering as much spit as you could in your mouth and shooting it directly at her.

You laughed as it made contact with her cheek, and she wiped the bloody spit away with the back of her hand. She laughed harshly as she nodded a little, “Okay, so you want to be a brat.” She laughed.

She was sliding off the bed now, leaving you lying on your back, her chest rising and falling quickly as she gripped the pairing knife in her hand tighter. “Enjoy the rest of your meal. It’ll be your last one, Emma.” She snapped at you before stomping to the door and flying it open.

Once she was gone, you stayed there, staring up at the ceiling wordlessly. You licked at the cut on your lip gently as blood flowed freely into your mouth. You swallowed the copper-tasting liquid as you let the consequences sink in. She was going to kill you if they found you, and you had already called for a team of highly trained professionals to come to find you.

You almost laughed at the irony. You didn’t want them to find you. You did want them to find you. It was almost hilarious. You tried to smile with your cut lip but found the action too painful to manage.

You didn’t want to die at twenty-eight. You wanted to see your mom again, Adeline, Nicole, hell, you wanted to go to work one more time. You rolled onto your stomach and cringed the way the fluffy comforter grazed the bleeding “X” on your chest. You reached for the morphine drip and rolled it closer as you slowly turned a knob and upped the intake. Your shaking hands then moved to the sandwich on the nightstand with a sigh.

She could kill you when they found you, but if she thought you weren’t going to try and manipulate the situation, she was dead wrong. You weakly bit into the sandwich while trying to think of a plan.

You refused to die without leaving a mark.

TAG LIST: @babyspiderling @cocobean16 @kodzukenie333 @mmmunson

128 notes · View notes