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delphi-shield · 2 months ago

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di!leon x reader - long-distance relationship - part 2

previous part

you weren't bluffing.

you'd made the sign. wrote his name in big block letters, too confident in how you wrote the first half of his name. the 'EDY' crowds together at the end. 'E' shoves 'D' close to the end, 'Y' drawn paper thin and cocked to the side, threatening to topple off the edge of the paper. leon finds he's not too tired to laugh.

he had the whole goddamn flight to figure out what to say to you, but when he sees you standing there with that sign in your hand, scanning the crowd for a man you expect to be two inches taller, it all flushes out of him to make room for the queasy feeling in his gut. when you finally spot him (thank god; the words had gotten lodged in his throat, your name running around his mind again, again, again, lodged so deep in the crevices that he couldn't pry it free and force it out his mouth) your smile nearly blinds him. he shields his eyes with a hand, watches you bounce on the balls of your feet.

he flicks your sign with a finger. the only words that make it past the lump in his throat are, "messed up the kerning, huh?"

you tip your head, puppy-dog cute. more adorable in person. "the what?"

"kerning." silence. you shake your head a little, blank look in your eye. leon tries to swallow, feels barbs jab into his throat. ten minutes on the ground and he's fucking up already. his gut turns. he tries to blame it on airplane peanuts. "the space between the letters."

he should get back on the plane. if he flashes his badge and declares it official business they have to let him on, right? brass wouldn't be happy with him, but what are they going to do? he's leon fucking kenn--

you laugh and his thoughts screech to a halt, plane crash on the concourse. footsteps pound past him - or maybe that's his heartbeat in his ears. your laugh is prettier in person, too.

"okay, all right." your face lights up, eyes squished to make room for your smile. "why do you know that?"

mentally, he flips through a rolodex of excuses. he moonlighted as a graphic designer (false), he was really into fonts (no strong opinions, really), it's classified (outright lie). he settles for the truth, shrugging.

"late night wikipedia dive."

you laugh again. his heart is a bird, fluttering in his chest, battering itself against his ribs to get to you. what the hell is wrong with him? he hadn't felt like this in years, thought he wasn't supposed to feel like this anymore. when you were an adult you grew out of this sort of giddiness. he'd choked it down every time he'd checked his phone under the table at an intelligence meeting, dismissed it as heartburn. he's supposed to want. it's supposed to be a blaze that swallows him up. confident and bold and all-consuming. not fidgety and desperate.

he's not anxious. he's a grown man. he's met presidents, plural. he doesn't get nervous meeting people, even if they're stunning, even if his hands twitch to hold theirs.

does he hug you? kiss you? slip his hand into your back pocket and guide you out of the terminal, lead you blindly to a car that isn't his, take you to an apartment he's only ever seen portions of on a 15 inch screen, ask what he can make you for dinner in your own home? that's what he wants. skip over all of this and slide right into familiarity, fly right past all the work it takes to get there. you've done the leg work, right? you know how you feel about each other. he's here. that says enough, doesn't it?

he's eternally grateful that you reach through his thoughts and pull him into a hug. your face stuffs into his shoulder, words muffled. "i'm so glad you're here."

you inhale deeply and he swears his heart does a backflip. jesus, he needs to get a physical. this can't be normal.

it's you who loops your arm with his, you who tugs him into motion. you rattle off questions that he answers as best he can. it feels like drowning, like he can barely keep his head above water. his flight was fine, thanks for asking. no, he didn't get any sleep. he never sleeps on planes. it's a long story. he didn't need a nap, but yeah, he could go for a coffee.

you know this great place, you reassure him. really low-key. he treads water in the parking garage while you dig for your keys. you drop them - twice - and he wonders if you're struggling to stay at the surface, too.

as a last act before sinking into the passenger seat, he rescues your sign from the trash, folding it neatly and tucking it into his pocket.

he looks up from buckling his seat belt, beckoned by the way you call his name. he's still smiling when you cup his cheeks and kiss him.

by day two, he's decided you need a new apartment. he hasn't told you that yet, figures it comes off too pushy, but he would fly back down to help you move if you wanted. (if he thinks it hard enough, won't you ask him to?)

don't misunderstand - he likes what you've done with the place. honest to god, you're a miracle worker with decor. you could really shape his place up.

it's just that your front door is less than secure. your locks are ran through. it would take him less than a minute to break in. he doesn't even want to think about your windows. other than being drafty, they're just another completely unsecured access point.

you'd invited him to sleep in your bed the first night, and he had every intention of doing so. he'd just passed out on the couch before he had the chance. leon had woken with a pillow stuffed under his head, thick, handmade blanket tucked over him. it was sweet. really.

but it wasn't the same as sleeping next to you.

leon has every intention of sleeping in your bed that night. you'd filled the day with a tour of your city, pointing out your favorite and least favorite spots, telling stories that let him imagine the streets as a stage, you as the star, top billing as far as he's concerned. everything had been optional, as you'd feverishly reassured him after every stop. he could change the itinerary with one word. the only mandatory stop had been lunch with your friends. a good sign, he thinks. if you're confident enough to introduce him to the people in your life, then you see this going somewhere, right?

by the time you hit your last stop, it feels like he's emerged from a war zone. leon would know. he's been run ragged on back to back operations before, but this - the pressure of trying to be right for you, to show you who he is, waiting on pins and needles for you to sour on him and push back from the closeness he craves - this is truly exhausting.

you must feel it too, offering to pick up dinner on your way home in lieu of cooking. he waves away apologies, reaches past you to hand the cashier at taco bell his card when you try to pay. the food is gone by the time you pull your car into the parking lot.

both of you have the same idea. you're just as worn out as he is (makes him wonder if you're doing the same thing, all anxious energy, making sure to put your best foot forward, always stumbling and falling into a better impression than the one you set out to make) and bed comes naturally to mind. he slips into the side closest to the door and you stop him immediately, voice teasing.

"uh, that's my side." you poke at his ribs. the awkwardness had melted over the course of the day together. you were playful, eyes bright and laugh loud. touch came easy between you now, both playful and lingering. the comfort that had been stirred up and tossed into disarray by physical proximity had settled back in.

leon's eyes flit to the door over your shoulder. it's not a big deal, he tells himself. the odds of something happening were astronomically low.

but he knows his luck with astronomically low odds. one in a million is too risky. he's got to be closer to the door, won't be able to sleep if he's not. his hands wrap around your waist, urging you on top of him. he doesn't miss the way you stiffen, the momentary hitch of your breath, but you let yourself get swept along all the same, drape yourself over him as he guides you to.

"just sleep like this." leon shifts lower to make more space for you. he presses a kiss to your head.

it takes longer than he expected for you to relax. slowly, when his hands still at your back and his breathing evens out, your limbs loosen. your weight thickens atop him, pressing him further into the mattress. it's all he can do to remind himself that he's tired, that starting something now would lead nowhere fast.

leon stays awake until he's certain you're out cold. the door remains unbreached, your home still safe. he can't bring himself to regret his caution.

when he's finally able to sleep, he sleeps hard. he wakes to your fingers carding through his hair, his cheek cushioned against your chest, completely flipped around during the night. it's the best night he's had in years.

on day three, leon wonders if he should be more obvious.

he's been putting out all the signs, carefully curated his touch to be lingering, to make you burn for more, but each time you settle against him and offer up a contented "this is nice."

does there need to be a neon sign draped around his neck that says "take me for a spin", arrow blinking down toward his crotch? you'd let him press against your back during an afternoon nap, knee wedged between your legs, arm curled around your stomach to keep you next to him. he woke from dreams where he was bolder, where he wasn't afraid of losing you with that lingering confidence, pressed kisses to the back of your neck until that gauzy empowerment lifted.

hell, he'd woken up that morning laying half on top of you, his head nestled in the valley of your chest. you'd pet his hair til he woke from nuzzling your tits in his sleep.

he abandons subtlety during the credit crawl of eight-legged freaks, a 'classic' you had insisted on making him watch. (you'd laughed when he had commented he could keep you safe in the event of giant spiders. he hadn't been joking, but he still hasn't grown tired of hearing you laugh.)

"hey," he asks, hand curling around your thigh. his thumb smooths an arc across your skin, traces the path again and again. "do you wanna..?"

smooth, kennedy.

you look over at him with that same puppy-dog confusion that he's growing familiar with. instead of moving his hand, you draw your legs up and lay them over his lap. how the fuck is he supposed to interpret that?

"do i wanna..?" you parrot back, drawing the words out into the form of a question.

leon hates himself. he wishes he could back out of this. he clears his throat. how the hell do people broach this topic smoothly? he searches for the words, the silence stretching a little too long for comfort. finally, he says the first thing he can.

"like, sex."

real mature, kennedy, he thinks. he wishes he could backpedal, take it all back. he's certain your face warms. before he can issue a take down for his words, (maybe cut out his stupid goddamn vocal cords, if he has the time) you fumble out, "oh. like- right now? uh, i mean, do you want to?"

continuing with the maturity, he turns it back on you.

"i asked you first."

"i don't not want to."

leon shakes his head. his hand cups your ankle. "i really only take 'yeah' or 'hell yeah'."

"i just didn't think giant spiders got you in the mood."

"hey, the more legs the better."

leon knows deflection when he hears it. he's the reigning champ, after all, could play this game with you all day. but he has mercy; he chuckles, lets you get away with it and grabs the remote, declaring it's his turn to pick another movie since your choice was a mood killer.

later that night, curled up in bed with a video playing mindlessly from your tablet, you turn around to face him. he widens his arms to accommodate the movement, circles them tighter once you settle in.

"you're not mad?" you ask, pressing your face into his chest, already hiding from the answer.

"about what?"

"y'know."

"spell it out for me, sweetheart."

he can feel your breath puff against his chest, an exasperated huff. people have done this same thing to him time and time again. he always hated it, being forced to be forthcoming and earnest. (vulnerable, some people call it, but that always made him feel like a wounded bird.) now that he's on the other side, he sort of sees the appeal.

"'cause i don't wanna have sex yet."

there's a 'yet'. that's promising. he saves that little victory for later. his hand rubs slowly, reverently across the planes of your back.

he knows what he's got to say. he knows that he means it. putting the words to it is different. he needs you to understand, has to do this right.

"i didn't come all this way just to hook up."

you hum. "but you still want to."

christ, he's got to man up and say it.

"of course i do." you burrow closer to him, hands fisting against his side. he taps your back firmly. "hey. i'm not finished. i'm attracted to you, okay? like, really attracted to you. it's not- it's not just physical. i want to see if we can make this work. if what we had on the phone was real."

"is it?"

"yeah. i think so."

"sex isn't important to you?"

"it is. it's just not more important to me than you."

you pull your face from his chest, look up at him with big wet eyes. he brushes the backs of his fingers against your cheek tenderly, afraid you'll splinter and those tears will cascade down if he's anything but gentle.

"i think so, too."

you curl back into him, your touch melting from desperate to serene. leon can't help but feel accomplished - as though he's threaded the needle perfectly, cut the right wire just before the clock hit zero. gradually, his breathing falls into step with yours.

"besides," he murmurs, half-asleep. he drops a kiss against the top of your head. "your walls are thin. i don't want you catching a noise complaint."

day four is a glimpse of the life he could have, but it makes him realize what he needs to do to obtain it. the sickly feeling pools in his stomach, leaves him picking at the dinner you made. it's good, he swears. then the lie - just all the travel catching up to him.

he knows by day five that he's got to tell you everything. it's no longer a want - he needs you in his life. he's resolved to come clean.

he nearly does it over breakfast. you set his coffee in front of him, muss his hair before you take your own seat, and it almost comes spilling out onto the table.

i work in national security. i'm a federal agent. there's so much i can't tell you, but it's dangerous. god, it's dangerous. there's so much blood on my hands. it doesn't scrub off but i'm worried it will stain your skin. i think i could love you, if you'll let me. please don't say it back.

"plans today?" he says instead, sipping his coffee.

maybe tomorrow.

day six leaves him melancholy.

you'd insisted that today was for him. whatever he wanted, you would accommodate.

leon worries that his answer is boring. he wants a day in with you. an imitation of what it could be like to come home to this. the idle sounds of you milling about the house could lull him to sleep if it weren't for the words lodged in his throat.

you were doing the laundry. not yours, not his, but the, the definite article that's never felt intimate until that very moment. it silenced him to hear you refer to it that way. he's so tired of reading into every word you say, clinging onto every nuance. he'd forgotten how exhausting this stage of a relationship is. you couldn't send him home with dirty clothes, you explained, and he had no argument against that. his eyes traced after you as you puttered around, busying yourself with tidying. you're so at home. of course you are. it's your apartment. but he wants that. he wants to lift you from this place and into his own home, to watch you make yourself at home and busy yourself with the mundane.

he's got to tell you today. he can't do it over text. it's wrong.

when you finally settle down next to him on the couch, drawing a blanket into your lap, you breach the topic gently, give him a chance to do it himself. leon doesn't realize how obvious he is when he gets that look on his face, all forlorn as if he'd collapsed onto a fainting couch, hand over the back of his forehead. drama queen.

"what's up?" you ask, sitting close - but infuriatingly distant, not quite touching him yet.

"nothing. just looking at you."

bless you for trying to make it easy on him. it's always been like pulling teeth to get him to talk. he's trained to resist torture and coercion, should know better than to melt under a gentle hand or the way your body fits against his side.

you hum softly, disbelieving. so that's it, then. the silence, the 'i'm respecting your distance until you break' tactics. damn, you're good. leon takes a deep breath, chest aching with the weight of what he has to say. now or never.

"look- i'm not who you think i am."

you don't miss a beat. "in what way?"

he has to force the words out. he's acutely aware that this could ruin everything. you could kick him out. block his number, never speak to him again. good. it was safer that way. you deserved a normal life.

"i lied to you. about my work."

"yeah, i know."

"i work in security. national security."

"leon. i know."

his brain reels back a few steps, trying to process your words.

"you know?" he repeats, almost offended. how could you know? was this a set up?

you pull your phone from your pocket, tapping a quick query in. you turn the phone to him. article after article, a few interviews pinned to the top. every link is purple, clicked on and read through. the one that draws his eye is tucked at the bottom of the screen, makes his skin crawl to remember.

KENNEDY, HARPER CLEARED OF CHARGES

"i googled you." you set your phone down on the coffee table.

"and you still let me into your house?" he was serious, but you laugh. leon's brow pinches. "how long?"

you shrug, as if this conversation is about the laundry. "a couple months. ever since you told me your last name."

"months? why didn't you say anything?"

"i was hoping you'd tell me yourself. and you did, sort of."

his mind is still reeling. the drama of it all had his wound up tight. where does he put that energy?

he must look as thrown-off as he feels, because you chuckle, sweep the hair from his eyes and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

"i get why you don't tell people upfront. just don't hide stuff like that from me again, okay? seriously. i'll be mad."

it's more grace than he deserves. your acceptance churns his stomach. is there another meaning behind your words, a resentment coiling in the pit of your stomach?

you crack open your book and lean against his side. he settles his arm around you, moving slow, scared to frighten you away. only one chapter in, you pass him your phone, a take-out app order, asking what he wants. if you're mad, you hide it well.

day seven is a funerary procession. you help him scour your apartment for things he may have left behind, packing them neatly in his suitcase-shaped coffin. it's amazing how his things had flooded into your apartment during the short course of his visit. he had spread out, made himself comfortable. part of it had been testing how his belongings felt next to yours, how it all fit - the final test he had constructed in his mind. you'd passed that with flying colors, clearly. he's lost track of a shirt somewhere along the way, but he isn't concerned about it. he'll be back. he can look for it another time.

both of you linger at your front door. excuses are myriad, flowing from both sides. reasons to double back, reasons to keep his hand on your waist, your fingers in his hair, your lips on his.

but eventually the time becomes too urgent, the threat of missing his flight too real. he'd joked in the car that if he didn't turn up for work they might just send a helicopter to pick him up instead, expecting a laugh. you only smile, a wry twist of your lips that fades too quickly. you reach for your sunglasses and shove them on. the air is tense by the time you pull into the parking garage, cherry scented car freshener cloying.

“you gonna cry?” he teases.

you sniffle.

“oh my god.” he is such a jackass. “don't cry. i'm sorry, sweetheart. it's okay. jesus.”

“i just don't want you to go,” you squeak. your hands fist the steering wheel tight, knuckles turning white.

leon leans over the center console, wrapping his arm around your shoulder. he shrugs you closer to him, hushing you gently.

"let's plan another trip, okay?" he murmurs against your head, placing apologetic kisses there over and over. "c'mon. it's not forever. it's okay. i'm gonna call you when i land. we'll text, like we always do. it's my turn to pick the movie, so-"

fuck. his voice cracks. he clears his throat, blinks quickly to keep his composure.

"so, i'll pick a good one. wednesday night, okay? you, me, and a really good movie."

steadily, his promises slow your tears. the pressure of time detaches you from his hold. you're with him as far as you can go, waving him off to his gate. his heart sinks like a stone. he hates flights, never gets comfortable on them, but the way home feels longer than usual.

made it home he texts the second he's through the door. you're probably asleep. he hopes you are, at least. it's late for you, and--

yay

before he can bother telling you to go to bed, another message pushes through. his house felt empty before, but your message only deepens the feeling, hollows out the hallways and leaves his bed feeling too big, too cold.

i miss you already. call me tomorrow if you can.

leon squints at the screen.

"is that my shirt?"

you stop mid-sentence. caught red-handed - or, rather, grey-shirted.

it's your movie night since he made it back home. you're curled up in bed, your popcorn off to the side. he can fill in the gaps of your room now, knows what extends beyond the screen - and he knows that shirt. an old work tee of his that had mysteriously gone missing after you did the laundry. well-worn and soft. his name stamped on the back in big, block letters. possessive pride stirs in his chest to imagine you wearing his name.

sheepish, you promise, "i'll bring it back to you. how about next month?"

leon shakes his head. he pulls open his calendar, skimming through the busy weeks to clear the time for you.

"keep it. wear it to the airport for me so i know who to look for."

"you're not gonna make me a sign?"

"the shirt is the sign, sweetheart."

"are you gonna wear a matching one with my name on it?"

"i might." he opens another tab, googling how to make custom t-shirts. "you'll have to get here and find out."

connection restored -`♡´-

dividers from @/adornedwithlight

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy x you #resident evil fluff #leon s kennedy x reader #resident evil fanfic #resident evil x reader #sorry for doubling the word count of part 1 i daydreamed a little too hard.

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bnpd · 5 months ago

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Golden Boy ! ᡣ𐭩

"so this is gojo satoru."

you first heard of gojo when you were a freshman in high school, you first saw gojo when you were a junior, you first talked to him when you were a senior, and then you disliked him. but he first loved you when he first met you.

basketball player!gojo x photography/journalist!reader DRABBLE WORD COUNT: 3K

SPOTIFY PLAYLIST : ᡣ𐭩 NAVIGATION : ꩜

NOTE: basketball gojo is rotting my brain btw! so here’s another AU of them, enjoy. not a fic, more of a really really long drabble. posting this while you guys wait for long shot part 3! okay sorry too much yap! not proof read sorry chat

high school: 2007

you grew up with a fascination for cameras–photography as a whole–, and the idea of perfectly capturing the moment.

when you first started high school you would bring your camera and a journal everywhere. it was a small camera your parents bought to allow you to explore your life-long interest.

you were very much kept to yourself. if you didn’t have to talk to anyone, you didn’t choose to. you liked being alone, and there’s nothing depressing about that. you only had one friend, and her name was utahime.

you were a geek! not in a bad way, but in a way where you had a passion for books, writing, games, photography, you name it.

if anyone asked about you, no one would know how to answer. no one really knew much about you. with that in mind, you were still approachable, and kind.

if anyone engaged in conversation with you, you didn’t shy away—you politely engaged back.

now, things stayed like that for the entirety of freshman to spring semester of sophomore year because one day your graphics and design teacher, mr. mendez, caught you taking pictures of inanimate objects, offering you a position on the yearbook team.

your high school was huge, and names weren’t frequently known, especially not yours. but those rules didn’t apply to athletes. especially the golden boy—gojo satoru.

gojo satoru was a well-known name—gojo, itself, was a well-known name—his family came from money and they funded the entire school. you never actually met, or saw him, considering your schedules were completely different. but, in your junior year that changed. when your teacher asks you to go to a basketball game to cover the athlete section since the boy who was initially covering it got sick.

you’re frowning to yourself the entire day just thinking about having to stay after school to watch the game.

the time comes and you’re sitting at the back of the stands, holding onto your camera, waiting for the game to start. it’s a packed game. that doesn’t surprise you. what does surprise you, is how crazy everyone is going over a mere game of basketball before it even starts.

you almost jolt out of your seat when you feel someone tap your shoulder, and turn to see someone sweetly smiling at you. a boy. “I think mr. mendez is trying to get your attention,” he extends his finger, pointing, and you follow the direction of it. and, indeed, your teacher was trying to get your attention.

you sweetly mutter a quick ‘thank you’, to the boy before collecting your things, and walking towards mr. mendez.

“so, i figured you’re new to this, but when you take pictures during sports events, you’re usually pretty close to the court, standing,” he motions to the court with his hands, and you give him a confused look even though you understood exactly what he was saying, in hopes of a different alternative. unfortunately he does not give you one.

so, now you’re standing next to the court. camera, in hand, when the lights dim down just a tiny bit and cheerleaders emerge from the sides to begin their routine.

you take this as your opportunity to snap a few pictures. you capture a picture of the captain smiling, a few others of flyers mid-air, and some of the perfect routine moments.

after they finish, you find an empty seat at the very front. you think of all the things that you could’ve been doing at the moment. like reading on your porch swing, watching the sun set.

then the coach blows the whistle and finally the game is about to begin. the faster this goes, the faster you’ll be home, snuggled up in bed with your dog keeping your feet warm.

you stand to take pictures, and watch as the players emerge from the locker room, one after the other, jogging down to their designated seating area. but you don’t have a particular reaction, until you see another figure emerge, and you’re a bit struck at how handsome he is. gorgeous, even.

‘so, this is gojo satoru.’

he’s smiling, and you just know he thinks he’s hot shit with the way he jogs over to the rest of his teammates. ‘we’ll see about that’ you thought to yourself.

and see you did.

he was incredible on the court—professional level good—.

you took a great number of pictures, ones where he’s doing some kind of handshake with another star player, geto suguru, another set of pictures of other players, some of gojo by himself, but your favorite one, by far, had to be the one after he shoots the final shot, and almost as if he sensed the camera, looked your way, and smiled. a cute boyish smile. you looked at your camera in shock and disbelief.

you felt your face heat up by a billion degrees.

it was the most perfect picture you ever captured. and you don’t even think he noticed because he runs back to his teammates, as if nothing had happened.

you went home that night in a bit of a daze. a new crush had developed. a very tiny, atom sized crush, but a crush nonetheless.

the next day mr. mendez asked for the pictures you took at the basketball game, yet you found yourself not uploading the picture of gojo smiling directly at the camera to the USB drive. it felt wrong.

so you kept it to yourself.

you still didn’t see him much after that. he was like an enigma to you. everyone knew so much of him.

senior year rolls around and you’re now the head of the yearbook team. you’re applying to colleges/unis, and you’re really shooting high for this specific ivy league university because of the amazing combined photography–journalism program they offered, praying that they give you the full-ride you applied for.

you’re sitting in the graphic and design room one day, editing some final touches of the yearbook, when mr. mendez calls your name, “we have a yearbook interview for the time capsule and photoshoot for the basketball team today, and i need you to be there to direct both, is that okay?”

you nod and reply with a simple, “sure”.

in reality your heart is pounding because you know you’ll have to see gojo again, and actually talk to him.

it’s finally after school, and you’re setting up the equipment for, not only, the photos, but the interviews as well.

you hear the ruffling of the setup behind you while you try to position the camera for the interviews at the right angle, you let out a small frustrated groan “mahito stop fucking around and help me–”

“mahito?” the voice asks you and you feel yourself still because that voice is not mahitos’s. you get up from your position, and you almost die in your spot when you see gojo standing there with an unreadable look on his face.

an unreadable look that studies you.

“oh, im sorry i thought-”, he cuts you off before you can finish.

“hm,” he lets out in a rude manner and you almost reel back at how condescending he looked. (canon high school gojo i fear).

‘this can’t be the same guy that I had a crush on last year’

but it was.

the worst part is, the entire time you took the team’s photos, he wasn’t outwardly mean. but he had an energy to him that put you off. one that told you he thought he was better than you. his mannerisms screamed arrogance, and carelessness.

you kept to yourself for the majority of the photoshoot, muttering occasional instructions.

the rest of the team were really nice. they’d strike up a conversation, here and there. you, of course, responded politely and engaged in conversation, returning their enthusiasm. but the entire time you felt piercing blue eyes.

you’d catch him whispering to geto, and even though you knew they weren’t talking about you, it left you paranoid.

for the interviews, you kept it polite. until you got to gojo. you hit the record button on the camera, asked him the question, and listened to him as he talked about how great and amazing he was. you found yourself drifting off.

‘there’s no way this guy is that full of himself.’

he was.

you wrap up the interviews and go home. a bit caught off guard by his behavior. it wasn't that he was mean, but why would you willingly be in the presence of someone like this? and from that point on, you disliked gojo satoru.

college: 2013

in the end, you got accepted into the ivy league you had hoped for, got a full ride, and were accepted into the photography and journalist program. you looked completely different than how you did in college (you were grateful for this). things couldn’t get any better, but they could get worse.

you found out you actually went to the same university as gojo. you didn’t realize it until you saw his huge basketball banner in the gymnasium one day. you’re not paranoid of bumping into him here. if you didn’t bump into him in high school, you definitely won’t here.

but perhaps a party.

let’s say, one of your friends invited you, and gojo definitely notices you because he finds you somehow familiar and attractive. still, he hasn’t recognized you because you’re not angled in a manner that he can see you.

so he goes to talk to you, and let’s say you don’t take it lightly. you're not rude or anything, but you reject him, and he’s shocked.

you stare at him before walking away, leaving him standing there in bewilderment.

he watches you leave, and it takes him a while as he’s standing there but it clicks. he can’t be upset that you just rejected him in front of people, nor can he be upset that you walked away from him. he’s just honestly elated to find you here.

the only thought in his head is that you’re here and he finally has a chance again after realizing his attempt in high school was not it. he didn’t know you in high school, nor did he know you now, but he thought you were the most interesting person back then. and it looks to him that you still are.

now’s his chance, and he’d be damned if he passed it up.

so he kind of finds out where you work part-time, and goes to the campus diner around the corner (where you work). it’s a late evening, and the only customers around were the old couple who visited every friday, the frequent patrons (who were college students), were all at a party that’d been advertised all week.

it was only you, the couple, and now gojo.

you don’t look up when you hear the door bells jingle, only gently shouting a “welcome!”, while you’re too busy wiping down the milkshake bottle.

gojo is a bit nervous, but he pushed forward.

he sits on the barstool by the counter you're now wiping down, sensing a presence you look up are surprised to find gojo, “hi,” gojo starts, you narrow your eyes at him a little.

“hello,” you reply back, “what can i get for you?” you ask him before reaching under the counter to grab a menu, placing it in front of him. he doesn’t touch the menu, nor look at it, he stares into you as he says, “i’d like to start off with the sweetest milkshake you have.”

since that night at the diner he would often show up on fridays, sit on the same stool, and order the same thing. if he didn’t order the same thing, he’d ask you for any recommendations. whatever you told him to get, he’d get it and completely finish it.

gradually you began to warm up to him. it blossomed into a sweet genuine friendship. after that checkpoint, he would wait for you to finish your shift, and walk you out.

when your friendship developed into something deeper—something more—he knew he had it good. he was so smitten, anyone who saw you two could tell.

your first date happened after he came to the diner one night.

“what can i get for you?” you asked him with a cheeky smile, leaning over the counter with your elbows on the table. he takes it as his sign to also lean his elbows over the counter, mirroring your stance.

satoru’s head slightly tilts playfully, eyes briefly landing on your lips before landing on your eyes again.

a pause.

“a date.”

it took him only a single date to ask you out because he knew before the first one that you were the one.

now

“daddy was mean to mommy?” your son asked, an extremely worried and shocked look on his face.

you gently laugh before settling into a smile but satoru has a big frown on his face.

satoru puts his hand on top of your son's head, “well, daddy was an idiot, i was just trying to impress your mommy,” he explains.

“daddy is a jerk!” your daughter then speaks, and satoru’s jaw drops. you’re trying to contain your laughter as satoru stands up and grabs both of your kids off the couch, throwing them over his shoulders as they squeal. your daughter lets go of the scrapbook you made, but you catch it just before it hits the ground.

you gently place it over the coffee table as you follow your husband up the stairs to the kids rooms.

they’re both squealing when satoru puts them both in their respective beds.

you watch silently from the door as he kneels between both beds to whisper something to the kids and your heart leaps as you watch their eyes light up. just like their father. he kisses them each on the forehead as he tucks them into their beds.

“mommy! we want your kiss too,” your son says. you walk over and give them both loud forehead pecks.

you’re so incredibly happy with your little family.

satoru stands up from his kneeling position to stand behind you, wrapping an arm around you.

“goodnight my little angels. sleep well, you’ll need energy tomorrow for the aquarium,” he tells them sweetly.

you turn on their night light before turning off the room light, “and don’t forget, mommy and daddy are here if you need anything,” you remind them.

“okay mommy,” you hear your babies say.

you shut the door and head to your room.

satoru is on you in seconds.

his hands move from your waist to your rear as he peppers kisses all over your face, and neck. you sigh happily into him as you wrap your arms around him.

he gives you a squeeze, and he swallows the moan that releases out of you in a passionate, and longing kiss.

“missed you so much,” he admits in between kisses. satoru had been away for two weeks for some out-of-state games, but he would call, text, and facetime you every chance he got. he’d call first thing in the morning as soon as he would wake up, while he was getting ready, during breaks at practice, before a game (always before a game), after a game (you watched every single game), on his way back to his hotel, right before bed, and even in his sleep he’d ask to stay on the phone.

you’re a bit embarrassed to admit to how many times you two had phone sex during the away games that you couldn’t go to.

before you had kids, he would take you everywhere with him, and while that is still somewhat the case. the children have school so it's a bit harder to manage to travel with him.

“me too ‘toru,” you moaned, your tone earning a tiny whine from him.

“don’t do that," he starts "you know what calling me that does to me.”

he leans in to capture your lips again, but you’re leaning away. satoru pulls you closer in an attempt to kiss you again, but you refuse again.

you settle with a quick peck on the lips.

“we need to go to bed too because we have to be up earlier.” you remind him, and he’s smiling at you, “i know what’ll put you to sleep.”

you playfully push him off, “that's what you said right before i got pregnant with our second child,” you joke.

he’s trailing after you like a puppy into the restroom as you ready yourself for bed, “maybe i want a third child,” he challenges and you look at him through the reflection in the mirror.

you take in the serious look on his face, and you stand straighter at his admission.

“'toru–” you start before he cuts in, “i’m retiring,” he starts, “i want to focus on our family. basketball is great, but it’s not my life. you are. after we win finals, im retiring.”

you turn to him completely, and pull him into a strong hug. “I love you,” you gently admit. “I love you so much more, you have no idea,” he tells you, wrapping you in his arms. he engulfed you in his safety.

you share a moment of silence, before satoru ruins the moment.

“I’m telling the kids you stalked me and secretly took pictures of me,” you pinch him.

“Ow!”

BONUS ୭ ˚

your parents had convinced you to try out for the cheerleading team in high school. and you did.

it was on a sunny afternoon, every school sports team imaginable was outside in the field. even the basketball team. they were doing their laps around the track field, which circled the current patch of grass that was hosting the cheerleader tryouts.

“alright everyone, let's get ready for toe touches,” the captain announced enthusiastically. you’re a little distracted when you briefly make eye contact with a certain white-haired boy from across the field then you remember where you are and what was just said. you felt a little out of place, “i’m sorry,” you started, “what are toe tou–”

“ready? okay!” she shouted.

you stand dumbfounded in the middle. however, you soon find out what a toe touch is as the girl beside you launches her foot into your face, knocking your head back from the force and collision. the impact is unexpected and the girls gasp.

you’re too busy on the ground to realize a certain boy also created his own commotion on the track field when he collided with his best friend, sending them both to the ground because of his momentary distraction.

feel more than welcome to submit a request <3 ᥫ᭡ join my tag list :

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gojo and reader loser agenda

#bnpd tumblr #gojo satoru bnpd #gojo x reader #jjk fanfic #gojo fluff #gojo satoru x reader #basketball gojo x reader #jjk x reader #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #gojo jjk

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wickworks · 2 months ago

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Lancer Tactics dialogue layout crisis of faith

(from this month's backer update)

Every so often, I'll run into something in development that eats away at me until it pushes me to a crisis of faith and I have a breakdown, burn down a bunch of work, and build something better from the ashes. These are moments of transformation and we're almost always able to come out the other side with something much better than what we started with.

This all sounds very dramatic until you take a step back and see the issue in question is just, like, the layout of a menu. But if medieval priests were able to have schisms over angels on pins I can have strong feelings about graphic design, dammit!

This month's episode revolved around how we're doing character dialogue. For reference the plan was to do a standard 4-slot visual-novel talking heads layout. I call it a 4-slot because there's usually four positions that characters can stand; two on the left, two on the right:

I had it ingame, and it was working. But... something felt off. Do you see the difference between every one of the above examples and this?

It's all about perspective, baby.

Answer: all the character art in those examples are drawn at a slight angle so they can be flipped back and forth to be made like they're looking at each other.

Trying to do this with the perspective we chose early — straight on — makes for a chorus line of weirdos who are looking directly into your soul as they ostensibly chat with each other. Credulity is strained; the illusion of these puppets interacting in the same space is paper-thin.

(I was skeptical of choosing this perspective for this reason, but we ultimately went with it to make the customizable assets in the portrait maker easier to fit together)

We tried a bunch of different layouts, but they all at least one of these problems:

they'd stare into your soul while ostensibly directing comments elsewhere.

they felt like text messages; this would be fine if that's what we were going for, but we wanted something that could represent face-to-face conversations. (Tactical Breach Wizards was able to pull this style off because they had little 3D dioramas to go along with it)

or, most damning of all, they felt like zoom calls.

So, my heart aflutter and spirit in want, I spent a day doing a research dive into various dialogue layouts (bless the Game UI Database!) to see if any other games had managed to pull this character art perspective off. I ended up with this massive non-chronological taxonomic tree:

(fullsize here)

The type of layout that particularly caught my eye was this style where each character had their own little box. These layouts borrow a concept from comic books called "closure" where the space and time between characters are left blank. Freed from the constraints of trying to simulate a single space, these layouts allow the reader to fill in the blanks with something that feels more true-to-life than anything we'd be able to render ourselves.

I was especially impressed with the dynamism of Tales of Symphonia and The World Ends With You; rather than sticking to single slots they would animate the entire panels moving around to indicate motion an relative position of characters.

So we threw out the old code and copied them. Here's what we've come up with:

We'll be able to have portraits interact, like smacking each other (I felt like a kid hitting two action figures together, lol)

We can also apply effects like princess-leia-holograms and full-screen "lighting" effects like warning banners:

Carpenter and I came up with a number of arrangements that the portraits can smoothly transition between:

I've also implemented support for choices during a dialogue, potentially leading to branching paths.

Overall, I feel SO much better about this system than our initial designs. It might feel a little more cartoony, but I think we're making a cartoony game so that's not a problem.

Whew. We bit a lot off to chew with this project. I feel like I just made a second visual novel game engine inside of the first. Fingers crossed that it all ends up worth it.

#lancer tactics #made with godot #godot 4 #game design #indie dev

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pricegouge · 4 months ago

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Haul

Part Two MDNI

Master list | on ao3

slasher!trucker!141 x reader

series cw: dark fic. major character deaths, rape/noncon

chapter cw: stalking, car crash, graphic depictions of violence, character death/murder, vomiting

The shop's dismal - likely hasn't been remodeled since the eighties. You doubt they've rotated stock since that time either, judging by the designs on some of the packaging. You make a mental note to check expiries and idle on, the carpet of dust tracked in by generations of long haulers puffing up around your footsteps as you wait for your friend. When she's done, you hand the keys off to Ash as she shuffles past with a sleepy request to get her a Red Bull and a danish for her breakfast. You tell her no problem, waving her own card at her because you know she won't notice. From the grimy gas station window, you watch dutifully as she approaches the car and struggles with the manual lock a few times, but ultimately climbs in. You hope against hope that she's re-engaged it behind herself, though you doubt she's remembered.

You pull off for gas at a truck stop just before you get on the highway, stealing Ash's card because she never did buy you - or anyone else - a drink. She sleeps on, unaware as you fill her car up. That's what she gets for not topping it off at the last stop anyway. The relative chill of night brings out all sorts of wildlife and you swat at the bugs swarming under the station lights as you keep half an eye on the trucks assembled around you despite knowing you won't spot Simon's familiar grill. Your rearview had faithfully returned just the one truck behind you for a long time, though it had eventually turned north some miles back.

Reassured, you shake Ash awake to ask if she needs to use the restroom and follow her grouchy, tipsy ass inside. The bell above the door echoes loudly when you step through, turning the heads of the assembled mass of sleepy truckers your way. Ash doesn't seem to notice, barrelling through toward the restroom like only someone who's broken the seal already tonight could. You kinda envy her single mindedness, the obliviousness it brings. You, on the other hand, can feel every set of eyeballs on you with glaring clarity. Reasoning it's the lingering paranoia, you force indifference and peruse the coffee options while you wait for Ash to be done with the bathroom, tactfully avoiding eye contact with the man next to you by trying to appear engrossed in your phone.

The bathroom is a dingy, single person affair. The water runs too hot, creating a germophobia-inducing level of humidity that has you rushing through the motions, barely able to stand the sight of the nearly damp (seriously, why is it nearly damp?) toilet paper roll. Outside, you shudder in relief and then laugh at yourself when you see a tall man waiting in line, arching his dark, perfectly sculpted eyebrow at your antics.

"Sorry," you giggle. "It's uh -." Glancing between the bathroom and him, you affect a sympathetic grimace and wish him luck in there.

He curls his lip at you. "Did you blow it up?"

"What -? No. God, no. Sorry, it's just uh -." You try to laugh it off, stop dead as he continues to look unamused. "You know what? Nevermind. Have a good one." Breezing past him, you smirk viciously when you hear him enter the bathroom with a small, distressed-sounding cry.

You're just putting the cap on your coffee when he finds you again, announcing his presence by standing much too close and waiting for you to look up at him. "Sorry about… that," he starts and you shrug noncommittally. "I did not, in fact, have good luck in there."

Despite your better judgment, he earns himself a laugh with that one. He's handsome, the charm that comes with it enough to earn you over when he's not actively being an asshole. "Tried to warn you."

"You did," he agrees, big brown eyes gleaming with mischief. "And I was a right dick. I'd blame it on all these odd hours I've been keeping, but that's no excuse."

You nod thoughtfully, hoping if you don't take the conversational bait soon enough, he'll let it drop. A beat passes, another. Tall and handsome doesn't pardon himself and you sigh. "So, are you a trucker?"

"Who else would be haunting a truck stop at such an ungodly hour?" He laughs, but the humor doesn't reach his eyes. Instead they're hard, questioning.

You offer no answer. "Right, well. Hopefully your hours get a little better soon." You tip your coffee to him as if in cheers, turning back toward the pastry aisle.

He doesn't let you get far. "Did I see you back at that roadhouse?" he asks abruptly, and you spin on the spot, incensed suddenly.

"Excuse me?"

Doe eyes offers no explanation, instead looking you over openly as you do in kind. Tall, lean, he's the kind of handsome that would stand out anywhere, let alone in some ratty old bar in the middle of nowhere Arizona, where a man wearing a gaiter to cover his cleft lip and shredded nose had been the only one attractive enough to grab your attention all night. "You weren't -?"

"Where's your friend?"

There's no helping the way your eyes automatically dart to the window. Outside, Ash looks for all the world to have fallen peacefully asleep, but here, in this dirty little truckstop with your arms full of shitty, cheap snacks, it's dawning on you that you've now met two truckers with English accents in one night, and that's probably not normal.

"Not her," this new one says now, eyes unblinking as they bore into you. "Big guy. Simon."

It's unclear, in the panic that follows, if you bother telling him to go fuck himself before dropping your loot to the floor and scurrying off, hot coffee splashing across your ankles. He laughs as he calls after you, hollering about keeping your shirt on. You feel bile begin its ascent up your esophagus and swallow it back hard.

A truck blocks your path as you emerge from the store, air brakes firing loud enough to drown out the bell over the door. You dart around the back of it, and then instantly regret it when the driver hangs his head out the window to yell at you about situational awareness and general truck safety in an accent that has you fumbling with the driver's side handle.

"Yae listening to me?" he demands, and you spare him a glance just long enough to memorize intense, icy blue eyes and a fucking mohawk. You console yourself to know if you're going to be stalked across state by three Europeans, at least they're none too inconspicuous.

Ignoring the Scot, you eye the storefront through the gap between his trailer and cab. You don't spot the other one, which only makes your anxious yanking on the handle worse. "C'mon," you hiss, banging on the glass when you realize your worry that Ash would forget to lock the door had been unfounded, as she had indeed locked you out.

You start yelling and pounding on it when mohawk climbs down from his cab, hollering about wanting to talk to you. "Ash!" You're not even watching for a reaction, eyes darting between the known threats in your peripheral. The Scot is nearing, rounding the end of the car while on the other side of his trailer, you spy the clerk watching apathetically from the relative safety of the cash wrap. Your eyes dart back to the approaching driver as you bang on the window more, but then rip back toward the store when you realize the scope of your gaze takes in much more than you should be able to see, considering you've been left to look through the gap between cab and trailer.

It takes you a moment to realize what you're looking at, the small trailer not something you ever would have noticed before tonight. Now, however, you recognize the odd silhouette of the short container on the full size rig the moment you focus on it, remembering how it followed you out of the bar.

"Stay away," you warn as mohawk rounds the corner. He does not look at all swayed by your words. You're debating trying your luck with running when the door moves beneath your hands, cracking you in the hip.

"Get in!" Ash yells, but you're already on it, slamming the door shut before the Scot can even take another step. He's in your window soon enough though, banging on it and testing the lock much like you had. He mocks you, mimicking your cries to let him in. You try to ignore it in favor of fumbling with the keys while Ash jitters in the seat next to you, far too confused to be much help.

"Who is that?" she asks, just as the engine roars to life. You peel out, pushing the old beater for all it's worth while Ash keeps muttering questions you don't have the answers to. She watches the rearview so you can focus on driving, letting you know when mohawk's truck exits the station in hot pursuit.

You curse, daring to press ever harder on the accelerator, hoping against hope that even this old piece of shit has better pick up than a semi. It goes well until it doesn't: your headlights shining on the tail of yet another truck which rushes up to meet you at an alarming speed. Easing into the oncoming lane, you try to pass it, only to veer right back in when the cab of the truck comes swerving out in front of you.

"What is this guy's problem?" you seethe, blaring on your horn. Ash whines warningly, but you don't need to check the rearview to know the Scot is coming in hot; his headlights reflected in the chrome trailer in front of you above your own. The truck up ahead seems unsympathetic, returning fire with his air horn as he continues to weave into your path.

"Look, the ramp!" Ash calls, pointing to the sign for the upcoming interstate. You nod, already planning a daringly illegal U-turn using one of the highway's emergency turnabouts if it comes to it because you know if nothing else, Ash's shitty car can bang a quicker turn than the asshole behind you can.

Too bad the trucker in front seems to recognize this possibility, too. When he puts his blinker on for the ramp, you don't think much of it beyond a general frustration that you'll be stuck behind him a while longer; but when he eases his truck onto the exit and just… doesn't move, you know you've miscalculated.

"There's room," Ash asserts, pointing to the scrap of space left in front of the nose of the truck. You hesitate, knowing full well that it was a move Ash herself would've been able to pull off, but doubting your ability to make the turn at the speed you were currently going.

"Fuckin', go!" You lock up when Ash leans over and yanks the wheel, doing your best to simply maintain speed. There's a moment of relief as you count each wheel slipping past the passenger window, and then the chrome truck releases its brakes, tapping your front bumper just hard enough to send you tail spinning back out into the road.

Returning to yourself, you curse as you yank on the wheel, slamming on your brakes when the chrome truck follows you back out onto the lane so as not to get can opened by the bottom of his trailer. You evade the truck in front, blessedly, but in all the commotion you'd missed the twenty footer coming in hot behind you, and you nearly bite your tongue off when he rear ends you with just enough force to lock your seatbelts, knocking the wind from you.

"What the fuck is going on!?" Ash demands. "Did you piss them off?"

You want to tell her to shut her mouth; want to cry even more. You only realize you already are when you go to respond and find your voice croaky and weak. "There was a man inside. He - he said he'd seen us at the bar and asked where Simon was. He freaked me out cause he had an English accent and I feel like I definitely would've noticed him at the bar, but I didn't see him there -."

"He cute?" Ash can't help but ask, glomming onto the way you'd said you would've noticed him.

"Can you focus!?"

"Right, sorry."

"So I came running outside, only that fucking guy," you motion behind you illustratively, "started yelling at me and he also has an accent, and then I realized he has a short trailer like the one that followed us out of the bar and -. And -."

"Shit," Ash hisses, following your train of thought. "Okay. Fuck. Okay."

"This was coordinated, right? That's the guy from the store in front of us. They had to have planned -!" You're cut off from continuing when another love tap to your back end gets the car jolting. "I don't wanna fucking die like this," you mutter, eyeing the rear bumper in front of you which you're damn near eye level with. If the Scot wanted to, he could ram you so hard you'd kiss that chrome and lose your head in the process.

"You're not gonna die here." Ash's voice is oddly assertive. Reassuring. You glance at her, surprised to see her unbuckling. You ask what she's doing but she ignores you, shoving at the sunroof window until you hear the wind whipping down into the cabin.

"Ash, what the fuck?" you repeat, too concentrated on keeping the car perfectly equidistant between the two trucks to figure out how to stop her.

"Just wanna talk," she nearly laughs as she hauls herself half out the sunroof, screaming threats and obscenities.

You go rigid with fear, sweating as you try to maintain perfect speed because you know if you get knocked from either end right now, your friend will likely end up with a broken spine. You try telling her as much, but between the wind and the yelling, your voice doesn't even carry far enough to reach your own ears. Unable to watch the rearview for the body currently blocking it, you keep your eyes glued to the chrome trailer in front of you, measuring mohawk's distance based on the size of his headlight glare. You're doing well, even feeling confident enough to attempt pulling Ash back into the car - when doe eyes taps his brakes and you panic, toe easing onto your own just hard enough to have the Scot barrelling into you.

A grunt and an oddly chunky splashing sound. You worry Ash was somehow JFK'd down the back of the car, but then she's collapsing back into her seat, clutching her belly and wiping sick from her face.

"Shit, are you okay?" You cry, hands shaking where they grip the wheel. Ash just nods, going wide eyed as her eyes shift past you out the back window.

In the reflection of the chrome trailer, you see mohawk's headlights drift off into the oncoming lane. For just a moment, you allow relief to wash over you, even tapping your brakes to let him merge ahead of you. Then his tail end clears your own and another set of headlights glare back at you, white hot and molten as they spill across the sheet metal of the trailer.

"God damnit," Ash groans, pushing back against the dashboard with shaky hands. "Simon."

Beside you, mohawk turns his cabin light on, leaning across his passenger seat to leer down at you with a wild grin. He waves like an old friend would, happy and bright, and you scream in frustration as the truck behind you creeps up too close.

The first side swipe is a test, you know it the moment he makes impact. The car jolts as if of its own accord, but comes back to heel easy enough: a spooked horse under a well-trained hand. You don't fight the sob that builds up within you despite the relative ease with which you handle it, however, knowing full well the Scot would run you off the road whenever he goddamn felt like it.

Ash knows it, too. "You're gonna have to pull off." She nods out her passenger window toward the vast expanse of flattened dirt and shaggy shrubs. Through your tears, it may as well be a field of pitch, or black ice.

"I'll spin out."

"You'll get pancaked if you stay," she counters and you nod, steeling yourself.

Only for the Scot on your left to pull the trigger for you and come slamming into the driver's side with enough force to send the car rolling off the road -.

A sharp jerk, a sudden thud. Your shoulder grates further into your body than you're certain your collar bone should allow. There is the all consuming shrieking of metal, but you hear it as if from below water. Next to you, Ash ragdolls in her seat, arm flying across and eclipsing your field of vision. There is a void, and then it is filled; a diaphragm contracting as everything rushes inward. Ash's arm is caught in the rush and with a sickening crack it is pulled backward into the orbit of your nose, pushed along by the swelling of a crisp white tide that grows to encase you from all sides. It crackles and whips, attempts to push Ash's arm clean through the back of your skull. There is a sound like percussive wood; a sharp, hollow tone but deep like mahogany and violent as a mallet. You're already screaming when you register that it is the sound of your cheek bone breaking.

With the pain comes clarity, and the world spins back into its proper speed. The beater comes to a stop teetering on its side, the combined weight of you and Ash, who had still been unbuckled, resting almost exclusively on the seat belt which cuts violently into your busted clavicle. Airbags deflate slowly, leave you panicking for breath before they collapse in pathetic limp forms which hang like ghosts from the passenger side of the car.

It takes you a moment to realize the reason you can't hear the creaking noise of the car still settling, or Ash's responses to your mumbled requests to know she's alive is because of the ringing in your ears. You panic at first - dully, as if in sympathy with a character from a movie -, thinking she'd surely been jostled around too much without her belt on, but to your immense relief, she wriggles above you just a moment later, trying to pry herself off of you by bracing her good arm on the wheel. Her voice sounds gurgly when she speaks, a low curse you can barely hear for the way your own ear seems to be screaming.

"Are you okay?" she mouths, tears and snot and blood dripping down her face. You feel the heat of bodily fluids on your neck and exposed arm, but don't know who they belong to.

"I think so," you grumble, despite knowing full well you are not. You pray your adrenaline doesn't crash any time soon, as you know the second it does you will be fully incapacitated. "My face," you croak, flinching away from your own fingers when you go to touch it.

Ash nods. You think she tells you not to touch it. She's blurry, out of focus. Your cheek throbs as if in explanation. "Arm's fucked."

"Can you move it?"

She shakes her head once, fully aborts it when she falls still, eyes staring out the sunroof. "We have to go."

"Go?" Even as you say it, you know she's right. That doesn't stop your whole body from shuddering at the thought. Still, you crane your head enough to peer out the window, breath coming short when you see Simon's truck stopped on the side of the road not thirty yards away. Further up, doe eyes and mohawk are climbing out of their own cabs, dome lights illuminating the dark fabric that covers their faces. "Are they -?"

"Where's your phone?"

You could slap yourself for being so stupid, if not for the fear of hurting yourself further. With Ash's weight off of you, you fumble around for the back pocket where you usually keep the device, only to draw cold when you don't feel it there. "I don't… have it. Where's yours?" Ash looks around herself dramatically as if inviting you to take a guess. "Well, it's gotta be around here somewhere."

Ash, who never keeps her phone in her pocket while in the car despite it being the safest option for reasons exactly like this, just scoffs as she nods toward the center console where it had been stashed. "Could've been thrown from the window for all I fucking know. Seriously, where's yours?"

"I told you, I don't -."

"Well where's the last place you -?"

Three blasts from a nearby air horn shut you both up immediately. It's loud as hell, cutting across the barren landscape with enough force you're surprised it doesn't knock the car back right side up. Scrambling, the two of you peer out the sunroof and watch as Simon's dome light extinguishes - no man within. Three silhouettes cut the shaft of headlights between Simon's truck and mohawk's. In the harsh light, the white designs of their masks glow ominously, seem to absorb the light and take it with them as they step out of the direct beam, pale expressions still contrasting the large dark forms of them as they pick their way across dirt and shrubs.

Above you, you feel Ash shift some more and nod along approvingly when she cranks her window down. It fights her, knocked from its track most like, but with a moment and a well-timed grunt of exertion, it gives and lowers. You fumble with your own seatbelt for a minute, groaning in pain and frustration when the belt looses and you fall against the driver's door with a rough thud, shoulder protesting violently enough to steal your breath.

"Can you move?" Ash asks, one foot on the side of your seat while the other balances precariously on the steering wheel. She's crouched enough so as not to stick her head out the window and you can't help but spare a thought for how smart that is, as you're certain these freaks have guns. You tell her through grit teeth that you think you're good, but when you try to straighten yourself up between her thighs, you yelp in pain and she grimaces sympathetically.

But not sympathetic enough, it seems.

"Where are you going?" you snap, watching in shock as she hoists herself out her window with her good arm. She takes a moment to stare down at you from where she perches precariously on the door, mumbling through tears about how very sorry she is, and how she only needs to outrun you. No sooner does she say this, however, than does the beam of a flashlight reveal her form to you in all its battered and bloody glory.

"Pup," Simon orders succinctly. When you look, you see mohawk take off sprinting in your direction, one mean-looking rod gripped tight in his fist.

Ash's curse covers your own. She's gone by the time you glance back to her, a quick thud from the bottom of the car and the shuffling of feet on dry dirt telling you she's jumped off. You scream for her to wait, to help you, to watch out, but she doesn't respond to any of it.

Meanwhile, mohawk closes in, course unchanged. You wriggle violently as he draws near, but he doesn't slow as he approaches, and you gasp in shock when he leaps up onto the passenger's door with no issue, solid body causing the car to rock and groan under him. You worry about the car flipping again, but mohawk doesn't give it a chance. With a cruel laugh, he follows Ash back over the other side and you hear her shriek in horror before a low thud and a wet sound leaves her sobbing breathlessly.

"Don't be greedy," doe eyes calls. You think maybe mohawk yells something back, but you're too busy scrambling out the sunroof to pay it much mind, Ash's horrible screams and sobs echoing around your skull.

"Ash?" you croak, pulling yourself one-armed out of the wreckage. Twisted metal and bent casing scrape your belly, dirt clinging to your tender skin. Your head throbs with every movement but you keep hauling yourself on, even when the flashlight cuts down to you, casting long, odd shadows across the dirt as it refracts through pebbles of shatter-proof glass. Frantically, you search your pockets for your phone again, but you're stopped with a scream when a boot presses down on your injured shoulder.

"Looking for this?" a familiar voice asks, dangling your own phone in front of you like a bit of bait. It's hard to think clearly, given your current predicament, but even still you cast back through the events of the night, trying to remember the last place you'd had it, how any of them could have ended up with it. You recall playing on it back at the store as you'd waited for the restroom, placing it on the sink as you'd rushed through your routine, and then -.

You remember how friendly doe eyes had been after he'd emerged from the restroom. Unbidden, your brain replays the cry he'd loosed when he'd entered, though it sounds distinctly more excited this time.

You try to reach for it, curse your own sluggishness when he yanks it away with a cruel laugh. Strong hands wrap around your upper arms, pulling you to your feet despite the yelp of pain you emit when your shoulder collapses too far inward.

"Not that one, Gaz," Simon rumbles, and the flashlight slips past you long enough you can focus on the face in front of you: wide, deep eyes framed in pretty, long lashes; set within the hollow of a skull balaclava.

Doe eyes - Gaz - frowns between you and the other man. "For cap?" When Simon doesn't respond, Gaz continues, "Or for you?"

"For us, provided you don't fuck it up." The thought sends a shiver through you, even if you don't quite fully understand the implication. You try to spit at him in protest, cringe at the taste of blood. Simon just stares back at you with those big dark eyes, black as pitch in the wan moonlight. With Ash's hellish screams still underscoring the scene, it's not hard to imagine you'd actually died in the crash - that this is your personal tartarus, these men your personal demons.

As if none the wiser to your internal struggle, Simon reaches out a gloved hand to stroke your swollen, achy cheek. The nylon may as well be fiberglass against your tender skin, and he tuts almost sympathetically when you flinch away. "Shouldn't have run, pet. Your friend would still be alive if you'd just come with me."

Guilt comes crashing over you when you realize you haven't been focusing on the sounds of Ash's struggles. She's still sobbing, the occasional dull thuds that rain on her evidently not quite enough to shut her up. You whimper and Simon zeros in on it, eyes predator-sharp, intense as his headlights in your rearview.

"How's it going over there, Johnny?" he calls, never once looking away from you.

One last sickening crunch stops Ash's shrieking, and you nearly throw up at the implication. "Nearly there, LT," Johnny calls back. His voice is unbearably cheery.

"What do you think, Betty," he rumbles at you, too low for the others to hear. "Not too boring for her now, is it?" When you don't respond beyond a loud gulp, he carries on unbothered, calling to Johnny, "Well, finish it up. We got company."

You make yourself woozy, the speed at which you whip your head around to see the new headlights reflecting in his dark eyes. Behind his truck, a small passenger van rolls to a stop and idles, the driver hanging his head out the window to ask if everything's alright.

Gaz's reflexes are faster than yours, his hand clamping over your mouth before you can try screaming for help. The resulting muffled gurgle isn't even enough to cover the last wet crunch of Johnny's kill, and you sob into the hand that covers your mouth, though that does you no good either.

"I'll deal with him," Simon murmurs, slipping off with far too much grace for a man his size. His heavy boots barely make a sound on the dry, caked dirt as he prowls back up toward the road, heavy mag light in his hand the only reliable indication of his whereabouts.

With the ring of light gone, Johnny feels emboldened enough to creep out from around the back of the car. A heavy scrape follows him, and it takes you a moment to realize it's Ash's slumped body being dragged along by the crow bar he's got lodged under her ribs but when you do, there's no stopping the sick that floods your mouth. Gaz pulls away with a disgusted snarl. You heave for breath, trying to find enough air within your lungs to call for help again. The notion is put to an end when Gaz kicks you in the belly and you retch up what's remained in your stomach.

"You scream for help, and I won't hesitate to slit your fucking throat," he hisses, thin slice of metal digging into your neck demonstratively. "Trust, it's not me who wants to keep you."

The reminder has you casting about for Simon again, spotting him coming around the driver's side of the van now. Some words are exchanged, the dome light of the van turning on when the driver begins to search his glove box. Simon waits patiently for him to sit back up in his seat before reaching through the open window and strangling him one-handed in a move so predictable it's almost comical. Or would be, if it all wasn't so very real.

Hot tears streak your face, nearly molten where they fall over your pained, swollen cheek. On either side of you, Gaz and Johnny laugh, mimicking the driver's pathetic attempts to dislodge the much larger man. You let their laughter wash over you for a moment, brain trudging through options while they're distracted. Running is almost certainly out of the option in your state, but fighting them off might be possible if you were properly armed.

It's difficult to not see Ash as you reach toward her, eyes taking in all the damage done. Your hand finds her mangled arm first, skin nearly squishy under your fingers with the bruises she'd no doubt incurred while trying to protect herself. You crawl closer, yank on the crow bar the second you feel it in your grasp. Her whole body rolls with it, but the weapon doesn't budge. Slipping your grasp down closer to where it penetrates her, you readjust your grip and ease it straight out, relieved when it slides from her with little more than a wet squelch. You peek back up at your attackers as you adjust your grip again, knowing full well you'll only get one good shot at this. It's hard to decide which of the two of them would make for the better target. Clearly, Johnny has proven himself as a vicious killer, but you doubt Gaz would be here if he weren't also capable. And something about the way he looks at you makes you think he's just waiting for a chance.

In the end, you don't think about it too much. Simply swing and hope for the best. A loud, definitively Scottish 'Och!' lets you know that you got Johnny, but you don't stay to see the outcome. Ignoring the protesting of your entire body, you heave yourself to your feet and take off running further into the open landscape. There's nowhere to hide, no hope on any horizon. It doesn't stop you from giving it your best shot.

You hear Gaz swear, the scuffle of his feet as he takes off after you. You don't register much else, your own heavy breaths covering all other sounds. A cluster of pain blooms behind your bad eye, vision whiting out on that side. You don't stop, winging the crowbar blindly behind yourself in hopes it cracks your pursuer on the temple. You only realize it didn't when he tackles you to the ground, long, firm limbs wrapped tight around your body as he rolls you into the dirt. You struggle, kick, bite, and spit. Gaz bodies it all with little more than a few huffy grunts. He punches you heavily on your bad shoulder, but only earns himself a renewed vigor to the bucks you use to try dislodging him. He's heavier than he looks, though - all wiry muscle. He doesn't budge, instead grabbing you by either side of your head and slamming his own down hard onto the bridge of your nose.

There's more commotion after that, though you don't really register it. For the second time that night, the voices around you grow dull and undefined through the ringing of your ears. Light cuts through your head like a knife a few times, but everytime you flinch away, it follows you cruelly until you whimper in pain. Eventually, the ground lurches away from you, and then you're floating, head lolling woozily. Your brain trips in and out of urgency, misfiring like a bad engine. You note the strong, dangerous arms that keep you trapped against a sturdy chest with alarm, but the next second your panic leaves you tired and worn out as your eye focuses on the packed earth beneath heavy boots. A small, scuttling scorpion rushes past and you shudder closer to the warmth that's ensnared you, unthinking.

"That's right, pet. Just relax and it'll all go much better for you."

It's Simon, you're sure of it. Alarm works through your system like old, clotted oil: sticky, dangerous. Despite everything, he scares you the least at the moment, and you let yourself sink into his hold for a moment.

And then the squeal of a metal hinge has you jolting back to reality, clinging to Simon's shirt even as he tosses you unceremoniously up onto the cold, worn floor of a shipping container. You scramble, but Johnny follows you up, crowding you past wrapped pallets of bulk items until you reach the corrugated back end. He coos at you all the while despite the limp you've left him with, lilted nonsense that rings in your ears as it bounces off the metal siding. Desperate, you move to lunge past him, but he slams you back with a thick hand on your chest.

"Easy, hen," he soothes, "not gonnae hurt yae." You know better, fears proven when he leans past you to push at a panel in the siding, seam so flush it's barely visible even in the harsh light of the torch. Behind it, the threat of a small barren crawlspace keeps you distracted while Gaz approaches wielding zip ties. Soap collects both your hands in his own, your attempts to dislodge him almost laughable. The ties bite into the skin of your wrists and ankles, Gaz looking particularly proud of himself. You lunge, trying to bite him, but he just pushes you back against the siding with a firm palm to your forehead and a dark laugh. He holds you in place there, makes you look as he dangles a bloody scrap of fabric in front of you. He waits until you recognize it as Ash's shirt before shoving it into your mouth, holding his palm there while you struggle not to be sick again. He looks almost disappointed when you succeed. Duct tape holds the gag in place, pulled tight enough to cut into the swelling of your cheek. It hurts, and there's no stopping the tears that flow freely down your face, blending and soaking into Ash's tank. Breathing comes hard, nose so swollen you can't rely on it. Instead, you work hard to pull each inhale through tape and wet fabric, every breath tainted with metal and salt.

They don't give you a moment to recover, manhandling you through the port until you're sprawled, face up, in the tiny space behind the false back of the trailer. You try screaming, nearly pass out when you can't get enough air in your lungs. The grating of the metal as the push the panel back into place feels sharp enough to puncture your eardrums, but the stillness that follows when they're done and retreated is even worse. It's hard to hear over your own panting breaths, but then a moment lapses, another. You imagine they're talking, planning. You think this is the most frightened you've ever been in your life, even with everything else that's happened tonight - and then the mag light cuts out, the illuminated seam of the panel door blinking out with it, and the squeal of metal hinges tells you they've locked you in and you know it gets much worse than this.

next>>

#dark fic #dead dove fic #141 x you #141 x reader #haul #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #kyle garrick x reader #Kyle garrick x you #john mactavish x reader #john mactavish x you #john price x reader #john price x you #💷🔪

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liveblack · 5 months ago

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What is Motion Graphics | Liveblack

The simple definition of motion graphics, graphics in motion is called motion graphics, but we wish the definition was as simple as how we wrote it. However, in other words, it is called motion design as it gives movement or animation to the static design. Motion graphics create a unique experience of telling a story. In this complete guide, you can learn more about what motion graphics design is, the job of a motion graphic designer, and What motion graphics learning includes. graphic design motion and Motion graphics example.

#Motion graphics #What is motion graphics? motion design #Graphics with motion #graphic design motion #motion animation graphics #animation graphic design #the job of a motion graphic designer #Motion graphics example #Liveblack #what is motion graphics design

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dovesdreaming · 3 months ago

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Ink and needles

You and Eddie become close when you keep coming back to him for your piercings. One day you ask for a piercing that leaves Eddie flustered though and romance follows.

I want to write a steamier version one day!

Warnings: anatomy (not gendered), piercing tools

The bell above the door chimed as you stepped into the dimly lit tattoo parlor. The walls were adorned with flash sheets and framed photos of satisfied clients showing off their ink. The air was thick with the smell of antiseptic and the faint hum of a tattoo machine coming from the back room. You glanced around, taking it all in, until your eyes landed on the front desk where a man was leaning casually against the counter. He was flipping through a magazine, his wild curls spilling over his shoulders, and his black band tee showcasing worn graphics. Rings adorned his fingers, and his arms were covered in intricate tattoos that snaked up beneath his sleeves. Eddie Munson. You’d heard of him before, people in town talked about the guy who made the darkest, most intricate designs come to life. He had a reputation for being a bit of a wildcard, but everyone who came to him always left with a story.

You cleared your throat, nerves buzzing in your stomach as you approached the desk. He glanced up, his deep brown eyes locking onto yours. The corner of his mouth quirked up in a crooked grin. “Hey there” he greeted, his voice low and rough. "What can I do for you today?". You hesitated for a moment before speaking. "Hi, um, I was thinking about getting a piercing”. His grin widened, and he set the magazine down. "You've come to the right place. What are you thinking? Something simple, or are you looking to get a little wild?". You laughed softly, feeling the tension in your shoulders ease just a bit. There was something disarming about him, the way he looked at you like you were the most interesting person in the room. "Maybe somewhere in between”. He nodded, motioning for you to follow him to a side room with a high leather chair and a table lined with neatly arranged piercing tools. You sat down, your nerves creeping back as you explained what you wanted.

Eddie listened intently, his gaze focused on you the entire time. He asked a few questions, making sure you were comfortable and confident in your choice. His easygoing demeanor helped you relax, and before long, the piercing was done with minimal pain and a surprising amount of laughter. “There you go” he said, stepping back to admire his handiwork. "You handled that like a champ”. You smiled, genuinely pleased with the result. "Thanks. I was more nervous than I thought I’d be, but you made it easy”. Eddie chuckled, running a hand through his curls. "Well, you’re a natural. Maybe you should come back, keep me company in this lonely old shop." You laughed, not entirely sure if he was joking or serious, but something about the way he said it made you want to take him up on the offer.

And you did. You found yourself coming back to the shop more often than you’d ever planned, sometimes for a new piercing, sometimes just to say hi. Each visit brought you and Eddie closer, your conversations becoming longer, more personal. You’d talk about everything from music to movies to the strange quirks of living in Hawkins. There was an easy chemistry between you two, something that neither of you acknowledged outright, but it was there, simmering just below the surface. Eddie’s teasing became more playful, his smiles lingering a bit longer, and you found yourself looking forward to every visit just to see him.

Then came the day you walked in with a request that neither of you were quite prepared for. Eddie was at the counter, sorting through paperwork when you strolled in. He looked up, his grin spreading across his face as soon as he saw you. "Well, if it isn’t my favorite client. What’s the plan for today? New piercing? Or are we finally gonna get you started on that tattoo?". You took a deep breath, feeling the familiar flutter in your stomach that always came when you were around him. "Actually, I was thinking about getting a piercing. But… it’s a little different this time." Eddie’s curiosity was piqued. He motioned for you to follow him into the piercing room, where he prepped his tools as usual. "Alright, hit me with it. What are we doing today?". You hesitated, your cheeks heating up as you fidgeted with the hem of your shirt. "I was thinking… nipple piercings."

Eddie froze for a split second, his hands pausing over the equipment. He cleared his throat, glancing up at you with a look that was both surprised and something else you couldn’t quite place. “You sure about that?" he asked, his voice a little rougher than usual. You nodded, trying to keep your voice steady. "Yeah, I’ve thought about it for a while now." He nodded slowly, his usual confidence faltering as he tried to process the request. "Alright. We can do that. Uh, just… make yourself comfortable, and we’ll get started." You could feel the shift in the air as you took off your top, leaving you in just your bra. Eddie was suddenly more careful with his movements, more focused on the task at hand, but you didn’t miss the way his eyes flickered over your skin, lingering a bit longer than necessary.

He guided you through the process, explaining everything as he went, his voice steady but lacking its usual playfulness. When it came time for the piercing, his fingers brushed against your skin, and you noticed how his touch was gentler than ever before. It wasn’t long before the piercings were done, but the atmosphere in the room had changed entirely. Eddie seemed a little more flustered, his usual bravado replaced by something softer, almost hesitant.

“All done” he said, his voice quieter as he stepped back, avoiding your gaze.

You smiled, feeling a strange mix of emotions swirling inside you. "Thanks, Eddie. They look… really good”. He finally looked at you, his eyes softer than you’d ever seen them. "Yeah, well, you make it easy”. You both stood there for a moment, the weight of what had just happened hanging in the air. There was something unspoken between you, something that had been building for weeks, maybe even months. Before you could second-guess yourself, you closed the distance between you and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. His skin was warm under your lips, and you felt him tense for just a second before relaxing.

“Eddie” you began, your voice trembling slightly as you pulled back, meeting his gaze. "I… I really like spending time with you”.

He blinked, clearly taken aback by your sudden admission, but then a slow smile spread across his face, more genuine and tender than you’d ever seen. "Yeah? Well, I really like having you around”. His hand reached up, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering just a moment too long. "You know… you don’t have to come in just for piercings, right? You can, uh, come in anytime. For anything”. Your heart raced at his words, the meaning behind them clear as day. "I’d like that" you whispered, your eyes locking onto his. Eddie’s smile widened, his usual confidence returning as he leaned in, his forehead resting against yours. "Good. Because I’ve been wanting to ask you out for a while now. Just didn’t want to scare you off."

You laughed softly, the tension in the room melting away. "I think I can handle it”. “Yeah?" He grinned, his thumb brushing gently across your cheek. "Well, in that case, how about we start with dinner tonight?". You nodded, your shyness momentarily forgotten in the warmth of the moment. "I’d love that”. Eddie’s smile was contagious as he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, his breath warm against your skin. "Me too. Now, let’s get you cleaned up, and we’ll make those dinner plans official."

And as you sat there, the cool antiseptic stinging slightly against your fresh piercings, you couldn’t help but feel that maybe, just maybe, this was the beginning of something much bigger than either of you had expected.

#blog #fanfiction #fandom #x reader #x you #x y/n #stranger things eddie #stranger things blurb #stranger things 4 #stranger things x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson

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socpens · 8 months ago

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Do you like the youhitmetal17times_everyday analogue horror?

I dont watch any analog horror. I dont really like any "devised" analog horror, none of them feel authentic enough both from a tech standpoint but also from a content matter standpoint. They are trying to be scary and I feel like once youre going down that road your shit will never be scary. The only stuff Ive seen that manages to interest me in that genre is stuff that makes earnest and genuine attempts at mirroring feelings we've all had, through analog mediums, instead of conjuring up a scary face for 2 seconds or writing some scary text.

Ive had some of my work be called analog horror and Ive never set out to make it horror. I think people are just unsettled by genuine and authentic portrayals of analog mediums because of their inherent imperfections. And I also think that making things as accurate as possible - from graphic/motion design, sound, editing, every part of it - will either transport the viewer back to when they saw that kind of stuff on TV, or make a viewer who never had that experience feel like they did.

A lot of people shit on the use of nostalgia as lazy or low-effort, but I think it's more about what you do with it, it's a tool. Most analog horror makes no attempts at using nostalgia. Nothing about them is accurate or genuine, it's just a flavor slapped on the work. If you use nostalgia in a way that's real and genuine then you've come pretty close to being able to communicate one to one with the viewer. It's a way of disarming people so you can express what it is you want to express clearly. And thats really hard to do in art, but it's the goal (at least for me)

Feel free to recommend me any analog horror you think fits the bill. No local58 or mandela catalogue or whatever. Only real stuff.

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mahasenelkhatib · 5 months ago

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Help Mahasen, a Digital Artist from Gaza and Her Family!

Hello, I am Mahasen,a Digital Artist from North Gaza, where creativity thrives despite challenges. Verified by @90-ghost here

PLEASE DONATE HERE

In this tough situation, I am a digital artist finding solace and resilience through my art .. pixels and colors.

For over a decade, I've navigated the freelance world, weaving intricate digital tapestries that reflect the beauty and strength of my surroundings.

My father died, and I am the main provider for my family.

Before the war, I worked with international companies in motion graphics,

specializing in character design and storyboarding.

The conflict forced us into repeated evacuations, and our home suffered damage, including the theft and destruction of my essential art equipment and tablet. Each stolen piece held not just monetary value but years of dedication and creativity and hard work. We are left HOMELESS, UNSAFE, SICK with VERY LITTLE FINANCIAL SECURITY!

Our family consists of:

• My mother, 62 years old.

• My sister Mai, 35 years old, who is also visually impaired.

• Myself,Mahasen, 31 years old.

• My brother Mohammed, 28 years old, who is visually impaired.

• My brother's wife Iman, 28 years old.

• My youngest brother Amin, 21 years old.

Your support is crucial as I rebuild what was lost. Your contribution will help replace my tools and restore hope and creativity. And mainly for my family's safety, ability to survive the current situation and community.

Together, we can affirm that art is more than expression,

it is a lifeline that connects us and enlighten even the darkest moments.

Expenses Needed:

• Travel arrangements to Egypt ( $5000 per person ) for 6 family members.

• Living expenses to survive the current situation in Gaza.

• Buying art equipment and tablet to recover what I've lost and be able to work again.

• Living and transportation expenses during the initial period of travel.

• Food and medical expenses.

Every donation counts! Your support makes a real difference for my family and me.

Please consider contributing and sharing to help us.

Please Help Share AND Donate

My Socials: @MahasenAlkhatib Instagram here X here Facebook here

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evielmostdefinitely · 11 months ago

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pls i NEED a fic of corio and readers first time together im on my knees 🧎🏻‍♀️🧎🏻‍♀️🧎🏻‍♀️

first fall of snow |young!coriolanus snow x capitol!reader|

prompt: capitol!reader and coriolanus' first time.

contains: smut, nothing graphic bc i wanted it to be fluffy. dark-ish coriolanus. consensual. 18+.

“And as for the Academy,” You fell into step with Coriolanus, his arm out for you to politely clutch, the fallen snow crunching beneath your heels. “What do you wish to do after?”

Coriolanus tilted his head back, brows creasing in thought. “I’d like to continue my work with Dr. Gaul.” He hummed, a firm grip on your arm that had you swooning. “Longterm, I’d like to be President.”

“Ooh,” You grinned, eyes sparkling under the lights of the city. Coriolanus swallowed down the heat he felt rising in his throat. “President Snow, that certainly has a nice ring to it.”

“I’m glad you think so.” Coryo smiled softly.

“I think that’s wonderful, Coriolanus.” You matched his smile, a dreamy look in your eye that Coryo was growing very fond of each time he saw it. “Very ambitious. I like that in a man.”

“Do you?” Coriolanus laughed, head tilting down towards you. The proper dating had gone to flirtatious banter quickly. It felt perfect, far too perfect, beyond what his own planning and careful meddling could even design.

“I love it.” You grinned, pausing for a beat as he opened the door to your building, holding the door for you to slip in before his hand found the small of your back. It was polite, really, so innocent and respectable, the placement of his hand. Still, it made your heart flutter, burst with excitement.

Your own finger reached for the button of the elevator, turning to meet Coriolanus’ dazzling eyes. “I love a man who knows what he wants.”

His throat bobbed, you grinned at the flustered blush creeping out from under his collar. He was the vision of perfection, prim and proper, so put together- you wanted to ravish him. Mess that perfect hair up, tug at it and feel it between your fingers.

The ding of your elevator trilled, pulling Coriolanus’ attention away from you. “Well, then,” Your heart skipped at his words. “I’m glad I can impress you, Miss Duke.” His hand reached for your cheek, pulling you in for a rather sloppy smooch. Still respectful, cautious of the potential onlookers.

You were swooning when he pulled away, head spinning with excitement, his hand still pressed to your warm cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Your heart sunk at his words, spiraling down further and further. You blinked at him, face falling.

“Yes?” Coriolanus’ brows creased, head tilting softly to the side. “Tomorrow? Or do you have plans, darling?”

You swallowed, shaking your head. “N-No, I will see you tomorrow.” You forced a smile, stepping towards the elevator. Of course he would act this way, it was the proper thing to do. You were a fool for thinking otherwise.

“Coriolanus,” You called, heel stopping the elevator tracks from closing. Those icy blues met your gaze, melting you from the inside out. Your body covered in a blush, maybe from adrenaline, maybe from him.

“Would-Would you,” You swallowed your racing heart, hands fidgeting with your small bag. “Won’t you come up.” You motioned to the elevator. “Have a cup of tea. Stay for a while.”

Coriolanus grinned, a toothy smile that made your heart leap. “If you insist.” He muttered, stepping in behind you, his hand finding its place back on your spine when you pressed the button, trying to dull your fidgety excitement that raced through your veins.

The penthouse was everything Coriolanus thought it would be, and more. Extravagant, efficient, top of the line in every way. So modern yet so… comforting. Something so familiar, and it smelled of you.

The roses still in a vase from last night's date. Coriolanus always brought you a bouquet on your Thursday evening dinners, a part of him to take with you and remember him throughout the week.

He settled into a cushioned arm chair while you fixed the tea, chatting lightly, pretending not to watch him take in your small space. “How long have you lived here?” Coriolanus asked.

“Not long.” You shrugged, looking at him over your shoulder. “Less than a year. My father gave it to me when I started my job after the Academy, so I could have a place of my very own. Some independence.”

“Independence.” Coriolanus nodded. “That must be nice. To have… To have this place of your own, I mean.” His fists clenched, clammy and hesitant. “I still live with my family.”

“That must be nice.” You repeated, pulling the small tea cups out of the cupboard. “I miss my family. Miss my mother. It gets lonely up here all alone.” You turned, leaning against the counter, lashes batting towards him.

Coriolanus was sure his heart had stopped beating, the sultry pout you gave him, like you were trying to fluster him. He wasn’t entirely convinced that you weren’t.

“Does it?” Coriolanus swallowed around the growing lump in his throat, hands moving as nonchalantly as he could to lay them in his lap.

You nodded, slow steps, smooth and calculated across the marble, over the fur rug. “Very lonely. Especially at night.” You sighed, lolling your head to the side. “No one here to keep me company.”

Coriolanus tried to keep his composure, remain calm and cool, though his heart hammered in his ears with a thrill. “Well, I’m here now.” He said confidently, chin tilting to look up at you. “I’ll keep you company tonight. If you’ll have me.”

Your lips curled, a triumphant grin spreading across your features, eyes lighting with delight. Coriolanus was relieved, he’d answered correctly. You moved towards him, his hands finding your waist easily, nearly instinctively as you sunk into his lap straddling his wide thighs. Your fingers thread through the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him into a sloppy kiss.

Coryo’s hands found your hips, your ass, squeezing and rubbing over the flesh he’d been longing to touch for so long. Oh, how you’d tormented him. Your body consuming his thoughts at all hours of the night, his hand snaking under his pajama pants as he thought of you, fantasized about what you might look like under those pretty dresses- what you might taste like. He was about to find out.

When you dropped to your knees, a sly smile far too salacious than he was expecting, pumping his shaft in your soft hands. Coriolanus’ head tipped back, sweat beading at his hairline when you took him in your mouth, a little unsure, gagging at the intrusion of him- he was sure he’d be succumbing to you far too easily.

“Coriolanus, oh!” You mewled, back arching off the edge of the bed. You’d gotten your wish, hands tangled through his blonde curls, tugging them out of place and pulling him closer and closer to you.

Coryo’s tongue lapping at your cunt, swirling over your clit. You’d tasted even better than he could have imagined. He was surprised at how easily your mind numbed when he’d lick you between your legs. How pliant and sweet, totally dependent and reliant on him, eyes rounding at him for guidance and instruction- he’d remember that for the future.

He finally pushed into you, slowly, his hands under your knees, kissing your shin when you whined at the stretch, the pain of fitting him inside of you. He was gentle, the most gentle and delicate he’d ever be with you again. Cautious like you were a flower, one that could snap and break if he handled you the wrong way.

Soft grunts muffled into your skin, your hands cradling him closer to you, chest to chest, nose to nose, bodies moving in stuttered rhythm together for the first time.

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m00nlight-ramblings · 10 months ago

Text

Before the Happiness

After developing feelings for Astarion, it becomes clear to you that this is uncharted territory...and not just for you.

Pairings: Astarion x female Tav

Warnings: smut, fluff, angst, dual pov. MINORS DNI, 18+

Word Count: 4.4k

Requested: yes

A/N: Graphic made by me, I do not give permission to share it without asking.

The conversation and laughter around you had lulled to a dull roar as the night sky darkened. Sitting diagonal from Astarion at the campfire, you watched his lips move, almost in slow motion. You couldn’t focus on anything else – the rest of the party were conversing over bottles of wine that you all had found earlier in an abandoned village’s pub. Deciding to stay in the same campsite for two days as an extended rest, Karlach and Gale had the big idea of taking it easy and getting drunk – “to relax, and build morale!” Karlach had claimed.

Too bad you couldn’t take your eyes off of the fair-haired vampire across from you.

What started as an innocent crush – who could blame you, with Astarion being so cocky, and so charming, and so handsome? – quickly turned into something more. Now, you were unfortunately dealing with what you were sure was an unrequited love on one of Faerun’s biggest lady killers.

Figuratively, and literally.

“What say you, Tav?” Wyll asked, elbowing you gently. Snapping you back to reality, you immediately brought your goblet of wine up to your lips to buy yourself some time.

“Sorry, what?” You asked Wyll, keeping your gaze on your goblet. You felt a blush creeping to your lips…hopefully, no one had noticed your total focus on Astarion.

“Gale here was just saying that he could easily have taken on that hoard of goblins we came across this morning by himself!” Wyll chuckled, nodding towards Gale, “Him! Against 20 goblins himself! I say bullshit.”

“Now, now,” Gale interrupted, readying to defend himself, “I said if I had the proper time to prepare my spells correctly, I could easily fight against them-”

“Well, of course, if you had time to properly prepare for battle, you are more able to fight,” Shadowheart retorted, rolling her eyes, “But that’s not the point of battle.”

“Well…” You started as the party erupted into conversations about the designs of battle. As mini discussions started, you swept your eyes across the rest of the party, all who were animatedly debating whether they were for or against Gale’s point.

All, except for Astarion.

Once your eyes met his, you were locked on. He was absentmindedly swirling the wine in his goblet, his eyes unwavering against yours. Face completely unreadable, he caused heat to rise in you. You looked away quickly, only to check again to see if he was still looking at you.

He was.

You felt panic start in your fingertips as you gulped down the rest of your wine and immediately put your goblet down next to you. Standing, you wiped your hands on your pants.

“I’m going for a walk – I need some air.” You announced to no one (as they were still engulfed in their can-Gale-fight-20-goblins discussion). Without hesitation, you made your way to the creek a little bit beyond your campsite. Through the trees, the only noise was the fading of voices and the snapping of twigs beneath your camp boots. Finally reaching the creek, you were able to breathe out a sigh of relief, leaning against the nearest tree.

Your infatuation with Astarion was a point of panic for you – having never been in love (nor never had a partner before), you found yourself in undiscovered territory. You spent your whole life training as a fighter, not a girlfriend. So of course, the irony of it all would be that your first love would be a man who had so much experience, he would make the employees at Sharess’ Caress blush. He also happened to be a man that, though kind enough, wasn’t exactly a buddy. Astarion wouldn’t be the first person you’d reach out to in times of trouble at camp, no matter how much you wanted to. You and Astarion hadn’t had any talks where you were able to divulge your backstories – the only thing you knew about him was that he was a vampire, and his past with Cazador, really.

Oh, and that he was really, absurdly sexy.

You had only hoped that the others around you – especially Astarion – didn’t notice the extra time you spent staring at his face when you hoped no one was watching. Or the fact that your laugh was the loudest when he told funny stories around the campfire. Or that when travelling, you often found yourself walking near him.

“Are you alright?” A voice asked, forcing your eyes to pop open. You whipped around from the tree, finding Astarion step out from behind the forest. A friendly smile played on his lips, putting your thundering heart at ease slightly.

“Oh…yes, I’m fine. Thank you…I think I’ve had too much wine.” You said, quickly making up an excuse, “I guess my body has forgotten how to drink since we started this journey…since…we haven’t really had any wine…since…we started journeying.”

Smooth.

Astarion let out a chuckle, meeting you at the tree you were leaning against. “Ah yes, that makes…sense.” He paused the same way you had. You locked eyes and he broke out in a smile, and you realized he was teasing you. Your heart sped.

“You know what I mean…” You grumbled, kicking a rock in front of you and blushing.

“Yes, yes. I certainly do,” He paused for a moment, looking out at the creek. He didn’t speak, and you were suddenly aware of how loud the running of the water was. “I was worried about you when you ran off so suddenly. I was hoping you weren’t feeling ill.”

“Oh! Oh, no, I’m fine,” You felt flustered – Astarion? Worried about you? “Thank you, though…for checking on me.”

His eyes flickered down to your lips for a split second before returning to your eyes. For a moment, his eyes seemed to change…were they darker somehow? But he blinked, and they returned to his normal ruby red. He raised his eyebrows and he nodded, gracefully slipping his hands into his pants pockets. “You are welcome.”

“I’m feeling better, if you wanted to walk back to the campfire…with me?” You asked hesitantly. Gods, he was just a man! He wasn’t some sort of monstrous creature…so why did he make you so nervous?

Smiling, Astarion raised his arm as if to say, lead the way, “After you.”

You nodded and walked past him, ready to shake off your nerves. You committed to yourself to go back to the campfire and not look at Astarion once. You needed to be objective about your feelings towards him, no matter how strong they were. After all, you all had a mission to complete, and falling in love would simply get in the way. Leave your thoughts of Astarion when you were alone in your bed, drifting off to sleep – not when you were needed to be present.

Suddenly, Astarion gently grabbed your wrist. His fingers were ice cold as you expected, but it still sent a shiver down your spine. “I want to say something to you.” He started. You felt a lump in your throat, unable to speak. You simply nodded, your nerves making you unable to look at him.

“I have noticed that you and I haven’t been able to…get to know each other as much as the others,” His voice, barely above a whisper, was confident and sultry. “I would like that to change. I do enjoy your company very much. And after all, who knows how long we will be spending with each other until we can reclaim our minds from these wretched tadpoles, no?”

You swallowed and nodded, turning to look at him. His eyes glittered, mischievously. His signatured smirk was on his face as he slowly let go of your wrist. Somehow, his icy fingers left your skin burning.

“I would like that,” You eventually say, over the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears, “I also enjoy your…” Gulp. “Company.”

“Wonderful,” Astarion said. “Well, now that that’s settled, let’s get back to camp, shall we?” And even though he originally had you lead the way, he started off to camp first, leaving you a few steps behind.

Not that you minded…you obviously had to use this time to collect your thoughts.

Astarion wasn’t quite sure what had come over him at the party’s get-together the previous evening, but once he had seen you (very obviously) fixating on him from across the fire, something in him snapped.

Sure, he had noticed you immediately when he had joined the party – your kind eyes, and beautiful hair. Not to mention your lyrical laugh, and curvy body…the same one where, the mere thought of could keep him up all night…

It was safe to say he had developed strong feelings for you, so Astarion decided to do what he did best – keep a safe distance, and play it cool. There was no way romance and love and feelings would be a good idea in any sense.

Especially when he knew that your feelings were probably just lust.

Love was something so far from Astarion’s lexicon, he couldn’t even remember the last time he felt it. No one could ever love him – not after everything he had done, or even because of who he was. Worthless, disgusting, abysmal…there weren’t enough words to describe Astarion’s shortcomings.

Astarion was very aware of what many others thought of him – his only redeeming quality to the world was his looks, so the idea that people only wanted to fuck and leave was not a new concept. Though he couldn’t necessarily get himself into that particular situation all that much while under Cazador (though he somehow was able to sneak away for an hour or two while completing a mission), he saw how people looked at him on this journey.

It would’ve been flattering to him if he didn’t hate himself so much.

So the idea that your feelings – which were always written all over your face – could be any more than a fantasy of bedding him, was preposterous. Up until now, Astarion would be able to push that aside for a night or two in order to satiate his (and your) need to get off, but something inside him told him that his feelings would get in the way. His fantasies about you weren’t just sexual…sometimes, his mind wandered to holding you in his arms, or simply eating a meal with you by the campfire.

Or even worse…a future with you. One that didn’t include tadpoles and battles, but of sleeping in a fluffy bed with you on a Sunday morning; of going to the town market together to complete your errands, and of owning a cat with you.

Which, truth be told, scared him more than anything.

So when he found himself following you to the creek after you had left the campfire that evening without even thinking about it, he knew he was in trouble. Gone was any sense in his brain; instead, he knew his heart was taking over, and for whatever reason, he decided to go along with it. Maybe it was because his feelings were too strong, or that he couldn’t help himself, but he knew he needed to finally be around you more.

Even if that meant you wanted nothing more than a dirty fuck.

A few days after the night at the campfire (and - surprise, surprise - another night of drinking the following evening), you found yourself once again headed towards Baldur's Gate, party and belongings in tow. Since then, you and Astarion had fallen into your familiar rhythm of what seemed like standoffishness, but now with more smiles and pleasantries peppered in. Which, was more than okay with you, since the very idea of Astarion becoming close seemed to scare you.

However, your heart couldn't help but flutter when the surprisingly flirty remark Astarion made was thrown your way. So much so that you didn't mind the curious glances from Lae'zel, or Gale.

"C'mon, you have to tell us!" Karlach pleaded while on the road, her voice a hoarse whisper as to not draw attention, "What is going on between you and Astarion?! Don't think I didn't notice, soldier...him running after you the other night? And now he's flirting with you...complimenting you?! The others may not be noticing all that much, but I certainly am!"

You laughed nervously and swatted your hand in the air as if to say, it's nothing! "Oh, you know Astarion. He flirts with everyone!"

"Yeah, but this is the first time he's flirting with you," Karlach retorted. "Which, took long enough since Gods, you're hot! But, don't think I haven't noticed the change in attitude between you two."

A blush crept to your face as you felt yourself unable to look away from the back of Astarion's head, who was walking a few paces ahead of you, discussing something with Halsin very intently. Your mind wandered to other things as your eyes scanned his body...his back, his behind...how both of them would look naked.

"Alright, I'm leaving you to whatever weird fantasy is currently going on in that brain of yours, okay?" Karlach finally said, pulling you out of your daydream. She playfully shoved your shoulder and walked faster, stepping in line with Shadowheart at the front of the pack. As she passed, Astarion slowly turned his head to look at you, Halsin still blabbering away in his ear. Your heart leapt to your throat as you locked eyes with him.

He had definitely heard.

The night had fallen silently, the only noise in camp being crickets chirping away. The oil lamp in your tent flickered as you pulled the blanket on your bed closer to your body. The book you were reading was propped up in your lap, and you reveled in the peace of the evening - retiring to your tent early, you heard exactly when everyone else had gone to sleep. Sure, you probably should have been sleeping already since Wyll insisted on an early morning start, but you wanted to enjoy your book for just a few more moments.

Suddenly, a rustling came from the front of your tent, the sound of someone announcing themselves.

"It's me," Astarion's voice called, "Are you decent?"

"Um-" You threw the book closed and swept the blanket off of you in a panic, though there was literally nothing to panic about. Rising from the bed quickly, you started to pace your tent, "Yes. Come in."

The flap to your tent was quickly undid and thrust open. Astarion strode in and redid the flap with ease. He looked down, and once he realized you had enchanted your tent with a wooden floor, slipped off his camp shoes. When he looked back up at you, he smiled.

"Good evening, darling."

"Good evening." You said, holding your hands behind your back. You plastered a smile on your face, trying to suppress the urge to smooth your hair. A moment of silence passed by before you snapped into action, "Would you like to sit?" You asked, motioning to your bed.

"Ah, yes. Thank you." Astarion said awkwardly, moving towards the bed. He sat at the far corner, causing you to sit at the opposite side.

How funny...with how badly you wanted to jump his bones, you'd think you wouldn't be on basically the other side of the world.

"Well, darling, I just came here tonight to...see how you were doing?" Astarion started, looking at you. You couldn't help but smile as he leaned back on the footpost of your bed.

"How I'm doing?" You clarified.

He nodded, "Yes, as friends do. That's what we're working towards," He paused, his eyes flickering down your body. Then, his eyes did the thing - darkened slightly, causing an indescribable look to cross his face.

Suddenly, you recognized that it wasn't an indescribable look.

It was lust.

"Friends, correct? That's what we're looking for." He finally finished, meeting your eyes again. This time, his eyes stayed dark, running his tongue quickly over his lips to moisten them.

You heart began to thud and you shifted in your nightclothes, arousal springing in your belly. Just Astarion's look alone and you were suddenly putty in his hands.

"Y-yes. Friends...that's what we are." You quietly confirmed. Feeling bold - you couldn't believe that Astarion was feeling lustful towards you! Could it be a mistake? - you scooted a bit closer and leaned in slightly, "Unless you had...other plans."

Astarion smirked and cocked and eyebrow, mirroring your body language by scooting closer. "Darling...are you coming on to me?" His voice was low, floating to your ears. You began to feel warm, a bit of sweat pooling on your brow. "If so...well, that changes everything."

"Does it now?" You murmured, staring at his lips. Your boldness surprised you - you were surprised that the first time you took a chance with Astarion was working in your favor.

Not that you were complaining.

As your heart started to beat faster, Astarion slid closer to you, closing the gap between your bodies. His hand slowly snaked up your side, his pointer finger lightly tracing your thigh. He moved in, his lips mere inches from yours.

"Say the word", He said, his voice ringing in your ears, "And tonight, I'm yours. But I will not continue unless you say it."

Your belly pooled with heat, and you couldn't contain yourself, no matter how nervous you were, "Then be mine tonight."

At once Astarion was on top of you, his lips pressed against yours. Spreading his legs so that yours were in between his, he pressed himself down on your body, his erection already prominent. You moaned into the kiss, causing him to deepen it.

"Astarion," You breathed as he pulled away slightly, starting to push your sleep shirt up from the bottom. He smiled as he quickly looked into your eyes, finally finding your lips with his again.

"If this is what friendship means for us, then I cannot wait to get closer." He spoke teasingly, his words sloppy, encased in your lips. You giggled through the kiss and suddenly gasped as you felt his cold hands on your sides, under your shirt.

You heart raced as your hands found their way to Astarion's shirt, pulling it above his head. You ran your fingers down his chest, taking in the sight before you. He paused, obviously loving the attention. A smirk played on his lips as he pushed your shirt above your head, eyes widening as your bare chest was finally on display.

"Gods, you're gorgeous." He purred, maintaining eye contact as he slowly lowered his head to latch his lips on to one of your erect nipples. You immediately moaned as his tongue swirled around your breast, leaving evidence of saliva around your nipple.

"Fuck, Astarion." You grumbled, your back arching into his mouth. He smiled but continued with his mouth, his hands finding their way to your soft pants. Without ties or buttons, Astarion was able to easily push them down, and you helped by kicking them off of your ankles.

"Darling, I can't wait to take you all in," He said, his mouth rising to yours again. One of his hands found its way to your neck, holding on to the side, while resting on his elbow. His other hand met your clit, immediately rubbing circles, "You're already so wet." He chuckled.

"You feel so good," You retorted as an explanation. Your thoughts were swimming overwhelmingly - you couldn't believe you were finally in bed with Astarion. You had fantasized about this moment basically since you had met him, and being here felt better than you could have ever imagined.

Say the word, and tonight, I'm yours. His words rang in your brain, causing your face to flush even more.

Tonight.

But what about after tonight?

You hadn't much experience with lovers, aside from the few and far between "relationships" as a teen, so you didn't know what was supposed to happen after this night. Were you supposed to go back to normal...as friends?

Suddenly, a pang of panic spread through you - the idea of going back to normal, as just friends, was painful to you. Here you were, with Astarion finally as a lover, someone you've come to care for deeply.

How deep it was going to hurt if you couldn't continue on with him. How deep it would hurt if you gave yourself to him like that, only to have him take you and discard you.

You snapped back to reality, realizing that many moments of silence from you had gone by. You hadn't even felt anything Astarion was doing, and he noticed, quizzically looking at you while continuing to work on your clit. You felt anxiety rise to the surface violently, and you suddenly sat up in the bed.

"Wait, wait, wait, wait, stop. Stop!" You said, immediately criss-crossing your legs. Astarion, shocked, sat back on his knees, his glistening chest heaving.

"I'm sorry! Did I do something wrong?" His lips were full and swollen, his eyes wide. You recognized the look of fear on his face, causing your heart to drop.

"I can't do this," You spoke frantically, sighing heavily. "I'm sorry I just...can't."

"Oh...kay," Astarion spoke slowly, seemingly afraid to startle you, "What's wrong?"

Your thoughts were still jumbled, the anxiety still at the surface, "I just...I just can't have you dismiss me after tonight!" Your voice was shrill, you knew it, but you couldn't stop.

Confused, Astarion slid closer. He was quiet for a moment, handing over your blanket. You took it, covering yourself, silently thanking him for the gesture.

"'Dismiss' you?" He asked, tilting his head to the side, "What do you mean, 'dismiss' you?"

"You know..." You said, almost panting from the panic, "Dismiss me! Like your...your other lovers!" You waved your hand in the air to accentuate the point, "Here I am, with true, deep feelings of love for you, and all I am to you will be another notch in your bedpost!" You sighed, finally catching your breath, "And I know I said yes to this, but truth be told I am not...experienced...with someone who is as experienced as you, and I know I said yes because I couldn't help myself due to my feelings for you. But I cannot go back to just friends after this, to party members after this. Like nothing had happened. I cannot be discarded..." Finally deciding to look at him, you felt tears spring to your eyes, "I think that will break my heart."

"Darling," Astarion whispered, taking your hand in his. "What makes you think I planned to discard you after this?"

"Isn't that what you want?" You asked, allowing the small tears to fall freely, "To just...fuck?"

"Gods, no!" Astarion cried, moving closer and smiling, "That's what I thought you wanted!"

"What?!" You asked, matching his smile, "What do you mean?"

"I thought you only wanted to bed me," He said, squeezing your hand, "That's why I came here tonight - because I thought it was what you wanted. My whole life, for as long as I can remember, my body has been used for others. I've never had someone bed me and want to stay...You know my history with Cazador...you know what I've been subjected to. I've never had anyone...care...for me before," He looked down, his voice softening, "...are you saying that you care for me?"

You nodded slowly. Bravely, you reached your hand to touch his cheek, causing him to look up to you again, "I care for you...deeply. I've fantasized about this moment since I've met you but..." You tried to find the proper words, "I'm not quite sure I'm ready for it. I have little experience and, I know that sounds young, but-"

"My darling, I would never ever push you to do something you don't want," Astarion interrupted, shaking his head, "If anyone knows about being forced to do things you don't want, it's me. Truth be told...it's quite a relief to hear you say that...I'm not...quite sure my body is ready to be touched in that way...right now," He smiled sadly, "Not by someone I care for deeply. Not in a relationship I want to grow more then just...sleeping with one another. I find that it is hard to think of myself sexually due to...my past. And I'd rather move past that before I..." His words trailed off, as if he didn't want to continue.

"Astarion," You whispered. "I won't hurt you like that. Just like you didn't want to hurt me."

He smiled finally, taking your hand closer to his mouth. Gently, he kissed your knuckles, a smile playing on his lips, "The last thing I will ever do is hurt you."

"So..." You gently nudged, "You're saying that you care deeply for me as well?"

Astarion looked at you seriously, continuing to hold your hand. He nodded, "I do. I'm terrified, but I do. I don't know what this is, and I don't know what it will become, but I've come to realize that whatever it is...I want to do it with you," He chuckled to himself, "A terrifying thought, my heart in your hands."

"And mine in yours." You spoke. Your heart was thundering with an overflow of joy - after all this time, this new revelation felt like a sunrise after a dark and stormy night. After a moment of silence, you tucked a piece of hair behind his ear, "Tonight, I think we just lay together. We don't need anything else. But I would like to spend time with you."

Astarion's eyes glittered as he nodded again, noticing your sleep clothes on the ground and picking them up. As he slipped his shirt back on, he laid beside you in bed, hesitantly putting his arms around you.

"I've never just...lay with someone before."

"There's a first for everything." You said mildly, turning to him in his arms. He smiled, gently kissing your forehead.

"I'm scared." He offered. You nodded, knowingly.

"I know. So am I."

"But before the happiness, there is always fear." He said. He looked at you, sincerity and kindness in his eyes. Gently, you met his lips with yours, trying to muster as much courage and support as you could through a kiss. When you pulled back, you smiled at him.

"And there will be a lot of happiness."

-----

What did you all think? I'm so sorry for the long break! I'm back! As always, reblogs, likes, and comments mean the WORLD for writers and are much appreciated!

My inbox is OPEN for requests!

#astarion x reader #astarion oneshot #bg3 astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion #astarion fan fiction #astarion fanfic #astarion imagine #bg3 #astarion smut #astarion fluff #baldurs gate 3

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