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godmadeaterribleerror · 4 months ago

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Chapter 2 - A New Kind of Tension

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: Chapter title from American Idiot by Green Day.

Word Count: 5.8k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Soldier Boy is woken up, and you have to deal with the pitfalls of your idea. Contains usual warnings.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn.

Read on A03!

Chapter 1 - Chapter 3

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When he was forced into this type of sleep, Ben didn’t dream. This type of sleep was more like death, with no part of him alive in any way that mattered. But in the few seconds before he woke, with chemicals leaving his system and consciousness returning, he felt pain.

Borderline unbearable, exhaustive and consuming pain. The last few times he had been woken up, the pain had made the bomb in his chest start to tick, tick, tick, building up and up, off the beat from his heart until they found a rhythm, and he would explode.

It never relieved all that pain, but fuck him if it wasn’t cathartic.

Every time he had woken up in Russia, he’d fought the scientists like a fucking animal. When that assfuck, traitorous Brit and his cum guzzling team had found him, Ben hadn’t hesitated to use teeth and fire, hellbent on getting out, on getting home. This time wasn’t any different, the beat in his chest was already banging against his ribs, save for the stark exception of his surroundings.

He wasn’t in a clean lab or disgusting tube. He was in a suburban living room, complete with potted plants, one of those new and weirdly flat TVs, and some of the most boring paintings of roses he had ever fucking seen. Not a single person was in sight, no tubes were hooked to his body, and no cannon barrels or gas-filled vents sat in his vision. A small part of him hesitated, wondering if he was suddenly dreaming, his body having adapted to fight back and allow him some hazy peace. But the fever in his chest was growing, and there was no goddamn world where he would ever find suburbia and floral-patterned carpets peaceful. No, this was someone’s attempt to trick him, to make him compliant. Maybe Vought, maybe the Reds, maybe the CIA, didn’t matter. They all died the same.

The nuclear explosion from his chest lit the room, tearing out of him with a rush. Ben braced himself for bullets and grenades as his captors realized their little plan had failed, but none came. And as the dust cleared, he realized that not only were there no soldiers dropping from the sky or weapons hurling at his body, but everything was… exactly the same. Well, the plants had been burnt to a crisp, but that was the only evidence of his power having ripped through the room. The TV was still smooth and clean, the sofa hadn’t moved an inch, and the paintings hung evenly on the walls.

What the fuck.

He paused, the drum in his chest having stilled, and listened. Bird song, running water below the floor, electrical hums through the walls, and…

There it was.

Heartbeats.

Five heartbeats. All sped up, all bouncing around in the chests of their owners. Three moved heavily and quickly, one rapid and staggered—that one reeked of terror—and one beat only a single mark off from steady, almost as if it were devoid of any fear. Interesting.

Ben searched the room for a camera, but settled on looking in the direction of the heartbeats.

“I know you’re there,” he drawled. “I can fuckin hear you. Come out, you pussies.”

There was a pause, all five heartbeats having stuttered at his words, before a door creaked down the dark, sconce lined halls, and footsteps sounded towards him.

The people who stepped from the shadows into the living room should thank the Lord that Ben didn’t kill them the moment they were in the light. Grace Mallory, the thin-lipped bitch, watched him wearily, with the backstabbing Billy Butcher to her left. Only a step behind them was the blonde broad that had blasted him in the face at Vought Tower, accompanied by her and Butcher’s gangly cocksucker. The only one he didn’t recognize stood at the very front, a woman who was looking at him with sharp eyes, arms crossed in front of her body and legs planted apart. This was the holder of the steady heart, unsurprisingly given her collected stance and cold gaze. It was almost amusing, the way she was looking at him, like she was a lion and he was a gazelle, like if she glared her lovely eyes at Ben enough, he might drop dead. But he turned his eyes from her tiny fury to Butcher and Mallory, giving them a smirk that made his murderous intentions clear.

“What the fuck is this?”

It was Butcher who answered, returning the false smile. “This is an intervention, mate. You have a problem, and we’re here to help.”

“The only problem I have is you. If you had half a brain, you’d start running.”

“Really? Because to me,” Butcher’s smile didn’t falter as he gestured around the room. “It seems like you’re having some performance issues.”

“Don’t make him angry,” the cocksucker mumbled from the back. Butcher only rolled his eyes in response.

“This, Soldier Boy, is an opportunity. We’re giving you a second chance to help us with Homelander.” Mallory said, watching Ben carefully.

“A second chance?” It was Ben’s turn to roll his eyes. “You should be grateful that I might not kill you all when I leave.”

“I’d start playing nice, Soldier Boy.” The blonde stepped forward with a scowl. “You don’t have the upper hand here."

"Oh, please, you blast me down once and think you’re some sort of god? You caught me off guard that time, doll. This time, you won’t be so lucky.”

Blondie opened her mouth to retaliate, but Butcher snorted first, a newer, more twisted grin on his face.

“Starlight’s no god, but she is,” Butcher nudged the steady-hearted newcomer forward. “Meet your new babysitter. Go on, Love, say hello.”

The woman stumbled slightly at the push, her already strong frown deepening, and had barely turned her anger to Butcher when Ben started to laugh. All eyes fell to him as he gave a loud snort of amusement, a broad grin on his face.

“Jesus,” he wheezed. “Didn’t think you were funny, Butcher, but that’s a fucking riot.”

“We’re being serious,” Starlight snapped. “You answer to her now.”

“Yeah,” Ben rolled his eyes, giving his alleged keeper a once over. “Sure. Sunshine over here is going to stop me from ripping all your heads off your bodies. Fuck, she won’t even stop me leaving this room.”

“Wanna bet?”

Ben paused as the woman spoke for the first time. It wasn’t just her heartbeat that was level and even. Her voice was smooth, unbreaking and calm with not a trace of anxiety. Her eyes were still watching him coldly, her pretty face set like a mask.

“Excuse me?”

“Would you like to bet that I can’t stop you?” She repeated slowly, as if he were a child. “I’d advise you not to, but I don’t think you’d care for my opinion.”

“You think you can stop me, Sunshine? Are you fucking stupid?”

“No, but I don’t think my intelligence matters here. You’re not walking out that door.”

Part of Ben wanted to start laughing again. At her blatant lack of self-preservation to go up against him and not flinch. At her smooth claim of intelligence but painfully clear lack of understanding about the situation she was in. At her companions, who had all stepped back, undoubtedly realizing that their gambit had failed and leaving her in his line of fire.

Part of him wanted to be quick and brutal, make her an example before he left. But it wasn’t worth it, and her face was too nice to ruin, so he settled to just walk past her. He’d kill Butcher on his way out and figure out what he wanted to do from there.

He only had to take three long strides to reach the hall, making to just move past the woman, but she side-stepped, blocking his path. Ben looked down at her, finding his amusement at her misguided boldness fading into annoyance.

“Move, Sunshine. I’ll only ask once.”

She met his glare, no break in her resolve. “I’d say the same to you, Grampa.”

“I’m warning you. I’m not above hitting a lady.”

“I thought you were only going to ask once.”

That was it. Ben moved to grab her, to shove her aside and end her pointless little charade. He didn’t have time for her frivolous, self-indulgent bullshit, he had tried to warn her, and at this point her blood was really just on her own hands.

It happened fast. He reached to push her, she didn’t flinch, her face looking almost bored as Ben lunged, and his hand had barely landed on her arm before he let go, recoiling from her with a roar.

“What the fuck!” He looked at his hand, now raw and red, with blisters fading as soon as they had formed. His gaze shot to the woman’s unbothered face, she herself having neither flinched nor wavered. “Did you just fucking burn me?”

“I warned you,” she said. “I don’t play games I can’t win.”

Ben looked past her, where the small group remained, having retreated down the hall. Butcher’s face was painted with deep amusement as Starlight and Mallory held twin looks of satisfaction. Only the cocksucker still looked afraid, but his nervous eyes were trained on the woman, as though she might blow to pieces at any second.

“Somebody better start talking,” Ben growled.

“We tried to tell you, Governor,” Butcher said with an overly dramatic sigh. “She’s in charge here.”

“You think this will hold me? I-“

“You were unprepared, we got lucky, it won’t happen again. We all heard the speech you gave Annie.” The woman cut him off with a snort. “You need to start getting it into your head. You do not have the upper hand. The sooner you do, the sooner we can actually do something productive instead of peacocking like idiots.”

Ben stared at her, the drum in his chest growing loud once more, his anger serving as fuel. He didn’t bother to try and control it, simply letting it set to his heart and build and build. Just before the sound could drown out all his other senses, he heard the woman yell.

“Everyone out!” Her voice was slightly alarmed, but laced with no panic. And as the door slammed down the hall, Ben realized her heartbeat hadn’t retreated. She was still right in front of him. He hoped this hurt.

As the smoke cleared, Ben opened his eyes to, tragically and annoyingly, see the woman completely intact, unbothered, and in one piece. Most he could tell, she had only taken a step back.

“Are you done?” She raised her eyebrows.

“Bitch,” he said. “I’m gonna fucking kill you.”

“Lovely,” she sighed. “You just tried that. Didn’t work. Won’t work. Not on me. Like I said before you started acting like a toddler, the sooner you accept that, the sooner we can help each other.”

“How could you possibly help me?”

She grinned. “I’m so glad you asked. Hughie! You’re up!”

The skinny little coward appeared over her shoulder, anxiety painted over his face. “Can’t Mallory or Butcher do this?”

“Nah, Mallory has a powerful resting-hater-face, and Butcher would get himself killed all over me, which would be gross. I don’t need that right now.”

The cocksucker pouted. “Annie?”

“No, I don’t think he’s her biggest fan, especially after the whole tower thing-“

“Stop talking about me like I’m not right fucking here,” Ben cut in.

“Fine, you baby. Hughie,” the woman nudged Cocksucker forward. “Give him the pitch.”

Ben didn’t listen to Cocksucker as he rambled, catching only the beginning and electing to ignore him once the words “article B-55XP2 allows” were said. Instead, he focused on the woman, whose brow was furrowed as she listened to her companion talk. Small tendrils of smoke were rising from her body, and Ben noted the way Cocksucker stood off to the side, attempting to somehow paradoxically hold and elude both Ben’s and the woman’s attention. Her lips were in a tight line now, and she was hugging herself slightly, curving into her own body. The smoke from her had begun to choke the room, and though Ben could hear her level heartbeat, he could also hear her gnaw on her lower lip and the tap of her foot on the floor. When her gaze abruptly slid to his, Ben held it unblinkingly, and the crease in her brow only deepened.

Before Ben could figure out what sat behind her sharp eyes, Cocksucker let out a cough and said a name that made the woman turn.

“Can you turn it down, please?”

“Oh, shit. Sorry, Hughie,” she mumbled, taking another step back as Cocksucker gave a nod of thanks.

“So the big thing to know…” Once again, Ben didn’t hear whatever it was being said. No, he was now fully staring at the woman, her name playing in his head. It wasn’t a supe name, like how Butcher had referred to Blondie. Almost every supe Ben had known preferred being called by their fancy little brand name, but he hadn’t even learned if this bitch had one. Fuck, he hadn’t even heard of her. Last time he had been introduced to a large number of new players, most of them weak, whining pussies with pathetic powers, but this woman was far from pathetic. He hadn’t heard anything about a fire-supe, let alone a doll faced, angry, bitchy one who had to have the resting heart rate of a whale. He bet he could pick it up to match the Cocksuckers, if he really tried. He bet he could make her scream, maybe from being ripped limb from limb, maybe from cumming her brains out all over him. A smirk started to grow on his face as he imagined it, her ice-queen demeanor crumbling from his irresistible charm-

“Are you fucking listening?” The woman herself broke him from his thoughts, her fingers snapping in his face.

“No,” Ben sneered. “Why should I?”

“Well, if you’d pay Hughie half the attention you seem to be paying to my tits, you’d be able to answer your own dumb question.”

“Don’t fucking flatter yourself-“

“Please, I’ve been told you stick your dick in anything with a hole.” She cut him off again, an action that, if she kept it up, would result in her being punched. “Tell you what, I’ll get you a real nice watermelon to play with if you just fucking listen.”

“Fine.”

She paused, but was thrown for only a second. “Ok, great, Hughie-“

“But you do the talking.”

She almost snorted. “Are you that fucking crow-brained that you can’t listen unless it’s something shiny?” She paused. “Sorry Hughie. No offense, you’re plenty shiny.”

The Cocksucker, Ben knew his name was Hughie at this point but couldn’t find himself fucked to use it, just shrugged. “No offense taken.” His attention shifted back to Ben. “Will you really listen if she talks?”

“She talks like a person. You talk like a boring army manual.”

“Could’ve just said book,” Cocksucker said with a frown, but stepped back nonetheless.

“This is fucking stupid,” the woman said with a glare that was somehow stronger than before.

“You wanted me to listen to your stupid little sales pitch, Sunshine. This is what will make me listen.”

She rolled her eyes further back than Ben had ever seen before, but started to speak, her voice dripping with contempt.

“Here’s the deal. You help us with our Homelander problem, we give you immunity for all the definite war crimes you’ve committed and keep you from being Sleeping Beauty for a third time. You’ll stay here, with me, until we have a clear and safe shot at Homelander. You’ll do your little Oppenheimer magic trick, and we’ll take care of the rest. After Homelander's dead, you’ll be free to leave America for good, and live out your shitty immortal life on some stupid island where no one knows who you are.” As she came to the end of her speech, Ben grinned at her.

“See? Wasn’t so hard.”

She didn’t even blink. “Any questions?”

“Questions? Nah. But you should know, this is fucking stupid, and I’m not participating in it. All I’ll get is a vacation, and I could have that right fucking now.”

“Really? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you can’t leave this room, let alone go on vacation. And I’d say what you’d ‘get’,” she used air quotes, and Ben wondered if he could throw her out a window. “Is us not knocking you out right now.”

“Also immunity,” Cocksucker piped up.

She nodded. “Also immunity. We’re offering you this once.” She gave him a sickly-sweet smile. “Act now and we’ll throw in a second watermelon.”

“I’ll fucking break out.” Ben snarled.

“Take your best shot. This safe house is more durable than a cold-war bunker, inside and out.”

“I’ll kill your team.”

“Try it. I’ll burn off your money maker.”

“I’ll heal.”

“Doesn’t mean it won’t hurt.”

“I’ll go back to Vought.”

“Please, you hate them almost as much as me.”

“I doubt that.”

Her voice was coated in visceral, hot rage when she answered. “Don’t.”

Ben paused at that, squinting at her. “Why do you hate them?”

She shrugged. “Not your concern. But for the record, if you did try something that ass-brained, I wouldn’t just burn your face.”

Ben almost flinched when he saw her eyes flick down.

“What if I fail?”

“You won’t.” Her tone made it clear that there wasn’t room for debate.

“What if I want to stay here after, then?” Ben snapped. “I just spent forty years away. I’m not going again.”

“Fucking earn it.”

Ben let out a slow breath. He wasn’t an idiot. He knew when he was backed into a corner. But he had been against walls that were far more dangerous, and far more painful. He would play this little game until he figured out how to take her, the only player aside from him that mattered, out. But he wasn’t going to make any of this pleasant. If they wanted pleasant, they shouldn’t have crossed him in the first place.

“I want my fucking shield and suit back.”

She smiled with teeth for the first time. “I’ll see what I can do.”

——-

This had been a mistake. Now that everyone had left, you could admit—to yourself and no one else—that this was a stupid, arrogant mistake.

The first day had been… rough. There were three bedrooms, all with identical queen beds and equally generic decor. Solider Boy had insisted on laying on all of them to “test their durability." When you had told him they were all the exact same, he had called you an “uncultured hick." You had explained that you were from Boston and currently lived in New York, two urban areas that rendered “hick” an unsuitable title for you, offering “street trash” as a replacement. He told you he’d call you whatever he wanted, utilizing his nickname of “Sunshine” once again. You reminded him of your threat to burn off his favorite part of himself, he said that you would be only depriving yourself of it, and you left the conversation before you could make good on the promise.

Eventually he came down the stairs and gruffly told you that the bedroom with the attached bathroom was his, before stomping back into the said room to do something undoubtedly disgraceful .

Day two was only worse. You had collapsed in the bedroom with the five horse paintings, as it had been closest to the stairs, and you were exhausted from a day of verbal sparring and worrying if you’d have to go back to MM, tail between your legs, and admit you’d been wrong. Now, having gotten a whopping 4 hours of restless sleep, you just wanted coffee. Mallory told you she would send someone to drop groceries overnight, the safe house door having a bank-like slot for packages, and she had made good on her word. You had been able to tell this because when you walked into the kitchen, it looked like a food bomb had detonated.

“What the shit is this?” You said, your voice more tired than angry.

Soldier Boy, sitting at the counter, glared at you. “You’re up late.”

“It’s 7am. In nobody’s world is that ‘late’.”

“I’ve been up for 2 hours.”

You shrugged. “That sounds like a you problem.”

“I had to eat a sandwich.”

“Yeah, that happens.” You survey the mess for anything that you can use, hoping to see a box of cereal buried somewhere. You find what you’re looking for, along with some coffee that you put into the filter and stare at with blank exhaustion. In your sleepy haze, you block out Soldier Boy’s ramblings of hunger and shitty, crunchy peanut butter, hoping he tires himself out and leaves you alone.

You were startled out of your head by the sound of your name.

"Huh?"

“Whatever you’re making, I want some too.” That gets through to you, and your head snaps up.

“How do you know my name?”

"Cocksucker said it."

"Cocksucker?"

"The little puppy that follows Butcher and Starlight around."

"Hughie?"

"Sure." He rolled his eyes. “So, what are we eating?"

"We?"

"I asked you, very nicely, to cook me some of whatever you're making too. Or are you fucking deaf?"

“I’m not cooking anything.”

His brow knit in confusion. “You’re not going to eat? I thought all the feminist shit stopped that.”

“I’m going to eat, Jackass. But I’m not going to cook anything, I’m just going to throw cereal and milk into a bowl. You can do that yourself.” You decided not to touch the feminist comment, focusing on pouring your coffee instead.

“Well, what are you going to cook for lunch.”

“Well, if Mallory followed my list, I’ll heat up chicken tenders.”

“Dinner?”

You tilt your head. “Not sure. That’s like, twelve hours away.”

“But you’ll. You’ll cook something.”

“No.”

“Why?”

You sighed. “I don’t know how to cook.”

“What?!” He looked horrified now. It would almost be funny, if it were any other circumstances. “How?”

“I never learned.”

“But you’re a woman!”

“Yeah, no. We’re not having this conversation.” You turned on your heels to leave the room, coffee in hand, trying to ignore the hot feeling bubbling under your skin. You paused only to call back over your shoulder. “And clean up your fucking mess!”

Thankfully, after that, the morning was uneventful. You avoided Soldier Boy, he avoided you. All the way into lunch, you were almost able to forget your situation.

Almost.

“Fuck!” You tripped over a bag of apples on the floor, your eyes having been glued to your phone as you entered the kitchen. You looked around, seeing the mess from this morning sitting just as you’d left it.

“Keep it down!” Soldier Boy’s voice carried down the stairs. You ignored his request, raising your voice to a shriek.

“Get your manwhore ass down here right now, before I make you!”

You stepped further into the room, the bubbling feeling returning, and surveyed the area that somehow looked worse than before. Picking through the melted frozens, scattered produce, and loose cans and boxes, a dirty knife and plate on the counter.

“What the fuck is a manwhore,” he grumbled as he walked through the door.

“What the hell is this?” You ignored his question, gesturing around you.

He frowned. “The kitchen.”

“No, you ass. Why is all the food still out.”

He glared at you. “Because I’m already doing enough for your sorry ass, I’m not cleaning too.”

“You didn’t even put away your dishes!”

Soldier Boy just gave you an annoyed look, turning to walk away. Your vision went red.

“Shit!” He howled, running backwards into the room before turning with a glare. “You bitch!”

It took you a second to understand what he was talking about. You only managed to clue in from the fading scars on his face, and the realization that the feeling in you had boiled over.

If you were a better, less tired and angry person, you might have apologized. Thank god you weren’t.

“I am not going to spend the next who-knows-how-many months cleaning up after you. If you want to make this as difficult as possible, turn this house into a shithole, feel fucking free. I won’t stop you.”

“You don’t know how many months we’ll be here?”

“There’s a lot of moving parts to this operation that don’t concern you, and-“ You held up your hand as he started to interject. “That’s not the point. Clean up.”

“You should be thankful I’m even still here, you bitch. If it matters so much to you, do it yourself.” He growled back.

“Are you really that fucking stupid, or did you not just hear me say that this is not my mess to clean?! Either you do it, or it doesn’t get done.”

“You couldn’t make me with a million dollars and a blowjob.”

“Good thing I’m not offering either.”

A cold silence settled in the room, your arms crossed over your chest, trying to keep yourself from exploding once more. His glare had developed a murderous glint in his eyes, his fists clenched at his side.

“Bitch.”

You raised your chin. “Cunt.”

“You know, if I didn’t think it’d be a shame to ruin such a nice face, I’d slam you into the oven and burn yours off.”

“Oh, so you are that stupid.”

“Watch yourself.” He said your name in a low voice, taking a rough step forward.

“Sorry, for a second there I thought you said you believed you could burn a supe with fire powers. I must’ve misheard you.”

“I could make this very painful for you.”

“As opposed to your cheery compliance so far?”

“Do you think I’m just going to roll over?” He hissed, taking another step forward. “Be you and Butcher’s little lap dog?”

Something grew taut in your gut, but you held his gaze. “I think that if you don’t back the fuck up, I won’t make you roll over so much as physically harm you until you’re crying on the floor.”

"You're fighting a war you can’t win, Sunshine. I’ll kick your ass.” He sneered. “I’ll make you sob back home to Daddy Butcher.”

Your blood felt cold, your jaw almost cracking from the pressure in your chest. “So do it. Or move.”

Soldier Boy’s face was a portrait of rage, and you felt like he was dissecting with his cold green eyes. Looking for any weakness, any exploitable fallacy on your mask, any crack in your head that he could pry open and fill with poison. Make your lungs collapse into your ribs, make you claw and claw in desperation-

“Hm,” he grunted. He pulled himself to his full height before turning and leaving, leaving your anger sizzling at nothing. You watched as Soldier Boy, with controlled and rigid movements, stepped away from you, leaving the room without another word. Leaving you in the slop of the kitchen. He was getting further and further away from you, too far you to do anything about it, except maybe-

Before you could stop yourself, your hands were wrapped around the knife on the counter and the knife was flying across the room. It bounced off of Soldier Boy's back with a pitiful sound, but he stopped in his path, turning slowly. He glanced down, eyes finding the abandoned utensil on the floor before he dragged his gaze back to you.

“Did you just throw a fucking knife at me?”

“Clean up.”

He stared at you with the same eyes as before, the only betrayer of his emotions the twitch of a muscle in his jaw.

“It’ll take more than a bad throw to make me pussy enough to be your maid, Sunshine.” With that, he was gone.

———-

Ideally, the woman Ben would be forced into a lockdown with would be fun. She would give him sweet smiles and syrupy words, laugh at his jokes, and sprout similar ones. She wouldn’t be a sulking, useless, bitter prude whose greatest talent seemed to be finding issue with every word out of his mouth. Every time they had spoken, he had felt that beat in his ribs grow and grow, and it was nothing short of a fucking miracle it hadn’t gone off.

He hadn’t cleaned the kitchen, and he wouldn’t. It was beneath him, and she was the one who had chosen to be here, not him. In a brief moment of weakness, the stench from the rotten produce almost breaking his resolve, Ben had eyed a vacuum cleaner, only to realize he couldn’t use it if he wanted to. There were far too many buttons, weird twisty things lining the handle and bag, and he would take the first flight to Russia before he asked her for help.

They skirted around each other with success for two days after the knife incident, sneaking into the kitchen at odd hours to look for somehow edible food and leaving every possible door in the house locked behind them. A beautiful and well executed arrangement, broken only by her sudden appearance in the living room a few days later, standing behind him as he watched TV.

“We need to talk.” When Ben didn’t answer, she walked around the sofa, and grabbed the remote, turning off the screen. “Now.”

Ben scowled. “I was busy.”

“Watch a re-run of Jeopardy? With categories you don’t even understand?” She crossed her arms in front of him.

“I understood enough.”

She snorted. “One of the categories was ‘Celebrity-Inspired Products’. Name one modern, non-supe celebrity.”

Ben paused. “Marlon Brando.”

“Marlon Brando died in 2004.”

“Gene Wilder.”

“2016.”

“That one funny guy who was on the rise. In that stupid book movie.” Ben frowned. “William Robinson.”

She titled her head. “William Robinson… Do you mean fucking Robin Williams.”

“I was close,” Ben said with a shrug.

“Yeah, well, not really, cause he died in 2014. Now can we please talk.”

“Are you here to apologize?”

“Yes, actually.”

That got Ben’s attention. “Well then. Go on."

She had started to chew her lip again, her nose wrinkling like she smelled something bad. Though, to be fair, she probably did. The milk in the kitchen had become a problem. “I am sorry.” She took a needlessly labored breath through her nose. “I shouldn’t have thrown the knife at you. It was childish.”

Ben waited for her to continue, and when she didn't, he leaned forward. “That’s it?”

“Yep.”

“So you’re going to clean the kitchen?”

She let out a dry laugh. “Nope.”

Ben lounged back. “Then your apology is worthless.”

The now-familiar look of anger had returned to her face. “I am not your maid.”

“And I’m not yours.”

“I didn’t make the mess. And I’m not going to clean it just because you think you’re better than me.”

“I don’t think I’m better than you,” He retorted. “I am better than you.”

“Because you’re a man?” She jeered. “A big whiny baby with muscles?”

“Because I built up the company that gave you your little sparkle show. I am Vought. Those ungrateful backstabbing assholes wouldn’t be anywhere without me.”

She fell silent at that, the victory pumping its fists inside Ben’s head slowing the drum in his chest. If he had observed one thing about her, it was that there was almost never a time she lacked in words. Also, she listened to her stupid music deafeningly loud and had an impressive arm. He had felt that knife hit him, sharp end first, right on his spine, still burning from the heat of her touch. Another deep breath escaped her, a fog that had formed on her face clearing.

“Power and greatness have nothing to do with cleaning. Vought won’t hear about your refusal to run a dish washer and grovel on their knees for your forgiveness.”

“Because when I’m through with them, they won’t have knees.” Ben smiled at the fanstasy on a wheel-chair bound Stan Edgar.

“No, because they couldn’t give a shit about it. I don’t love being here any more than you, but I have to be. This is a marriage of convenience, so we-“

He snorted. “I'm not marrying you, Sunshine. You’re pretty, but too much of a bitch for my taste.”

“It’s an expression, you fucking idiot. It means a weary alliance hinging on a favor. We don’t need to like each other, but we can’t kill each other, or this will be a net loss.“

“Sure.” Ben gave her his cockiest grin. “Whatever you need to tell yourself.”

“You couldn’t handle me, Grampa.” Despite her mocking voice, her small step back didn’t escape Ben’s notice. Though her heart was steady, he dismissed it as anxiety. Obviously, nobody had helped her relieve any of that clear, needless stress plaguing her in a while. He would. Make this whole situation a little more bearable. Maybe, once she had a good fuck, she’d turn out to be just half as pleasant as his fantasy.

“I fucked Marilyn Monroe. I almost made her leave that pussy, Kennedy. You’d be lucky if I looked at you.”

“I’d say I’m lucky right now. You’re too busy trying to fuck your own reflection to look anywhere else.”

“And my reflection thanks me every fucking night.”

“Whatever you need to tell yourself,” she gave him a toothy, arrogant smile. Ben knew she thought she’d won.

“If you ever want someone to pull that stick out of your ass, I’d be happy to help.”

Her smile faltered quickly, but was plastered back onto her face just as fast. “I’m sure it’ll fall out on its own.”

“In case it doesn’t, my door is open.”

“Thought I was a bitch?”

“You said we didn’t need to like each other to get hitched-”

“Never said hitched.”

“So if you ever want to ‘not like each other,’” he winked at her. “As hard as possible, my door is open. I’m a gentleman, you’d have fun.” He reached to take her, and he had hardly brushed their fingers when she jumped back, recoiling like he was covered in warts.

For the first time, Ben thought that the look on her face might be fear. She rubbed her hand like it had been burned, a part of him thought she might bite through her lips, and her heart had become erratic. But when she spoke, her voice was just as level as always.

“Clean your dishes, and keep your door fucking closed. Or next time I throw a knife, I’ll aim for your eye, and I won’t miss.”

She stomped up the stairs, the room lingering with smoke long after she left.

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boxofbonesfic · 6 months ago

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Title: Brave [8 of ?]

Pairing: Orc!Steve x Reader

Summary: Steve struggles to lead the pack after their losses.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Genre typical violence, Warlord Nomad AU, Dark Fantasy AU, Enemies to lovers, Eventual smut, References to past abuse, Fighting, Monsters, Animal Death, Violence, Mildly described gore

A/N: whew, two updates so quickly? maybe i’m getting back to my old ways (hopefully). i really hope you all enjoy, and as always, reblogs and feedback of all kinds are appreciated and always welcome! thank you! mind the warnings ❤️

It is another four days ride before you see the sun again, briefly, the shimmering circle appearing for an instant between the black, roiling clouds. It is a pale shadow of its former self—much like the pack. You number so few now that even you are aware of the stark, bare place that has been left behind by the fallen. The thick cord of riders had once stretched back into the grass sea like a formidable chain, and now it is only frayed and fragile thread.

In the distance, the storm rumbles as if in reminder of what lies behind.

You can still pick out the outermost bands of it; dark spiraling arms set against an even darker sky, stretching back the way you had come for uncountable leagues until it fades into the horizon. The earth is still pitted with its fury.

Steve rides at the front. He presses forward with a persistence that leaves even the pack struggling to keep his pace. He has spoken little since the pass, regarding all but the most important of tasks with grim disinterest. You have not stopped riding since the first night, since the fire, and you wonder if he intends to allow the pack even a moment’s respite. A single rider breaks away from the loose formation, and you recognize Carol’s choppy braid from the back as she steers her horse away and forward, falling in line with Steve.

You do not quite know what possesses you to follow suit—you bear no rank, no true role in this pack—unless you count being the spoils of war, and you do not. But you follow suit, steering the horse with your knees until you’re close enough to catch snatches of their conversation over the wind.

“We’re off course. You know that. We haven’t seen the stars in days, brother.”

You watch the muscles in Steve’s back go rigid, and you imagine his hands tightening on the reins. This is the first time you have ever seen anyone come even mildly close to reproaching his decisions, and you can tell that Steve takes the incursion with as little kindness as he can manage.

“Kez fin tor tuzor ugani.” You don’t understand the harshly uttered, guttural syllables, but you do understand the way his lips curl back from his tusks, and the sharp points gleam white in the midday-gloom. Carol doesn’t back down, nor does she shrink away, regarding him as calmly as ever. Steve scoffs at her.

“We will find our way.”

“But will we find it before water runs out? Or food?” She gestures behind her at the pack, dutifully marching along behind them. “They need time to rest. Time to grieve.” She seems to hesitate. “You need time to grieve.” At this, Steve whips around to face her, his teeth bared.

“Tread carefully.”

“As should you.” Carol grimaces. Dry grass rustles and snaps beneath the hooves of your horse. You wince, staring down at the reins as you will the earth to open beneath you to save you the embarrassment of your eavesdropping. It does not, and your face warms as you shoulder the weight of their respective gazes.

“How kind of you to bend your ear, Sweetmeat.” Steve says dryly, his lips pressed into a thin, unamused line. His icy eyes fall to Carol, who looks no happier than he. “I suppose you, too, have words for me?” Suddenly, you are aware of how exhausted he looks, the way it lines his features, pressing down on him with almost physical weight. Carol is right, you cannot help but think it. He does need time to grieve. You flounder, your mouth opening and closing as your face heats.

“O-only that w-we—the pack, I mean. They’re tired, like Carol said—”

Steve looses an irritated growl, raking a hand through his sandy hair.

“Let me speak plainly, little human. There is law, here.” His blue eyes are dark, angry. He looms over you, even on horseback, and your skin prickles. In the weeks since you had been taken, you’d almost forgotten what it was to fear him, to see the predator wearing man’s clothes, speaking man’s language—almost.

“Should you choose to challenge my law again, Sweetmeat, you will know the price for doing so—and you will learn that it is dear.” He inhales deeply, licking his lips like he can taste the scent of your in the air, before digging his heels in below the saddle, and turning the horse sharply away.

“We ride until nightfall.” The command is so loud it carries out over the grass sea, vibrating in your bones like thunder. Steve narrows his eyes at Carol, and then you. “Then we wait for star-sign.”

—

The persistent ache in your legs and back from the days and nights spent in the saddle are enough to make you wince as you swing down from it and plant your feet firmly into the dirt. Your face still stings with heat from Steve’s admonishment, and as the rest of the pack begins unsaddling and setting up camp, you avoid him as best you can, setting up your bedroll on the far side of the fire. As you’re laying it down, Carol clears her throat behind you.

“I should thank you,” she says, sighing. “He mightn’t have stopped if I’d been the only one.”

You grimace, your expression souring. “You heard what he said. He sounded like—” You pause, biting your tongue.

“Bucky.” Carol finishes it for you, and you wonder if all orcs have such an innate sense of brazen impropriety or if you have been simply blessed to meet them all in this particular raiding party. “He… Steve was chosen. Dethak. To lead us, to lead this pack. He feels responsible.”

You scoff. “He couldn’t have known! The storm, the, the…Zhat?”

“Zhut.” Carol reaches out to press her fingers around your mouth as you attempt to imitate her, unyielding even when you flinch. “Yes.” She nods when you have repeated it satisfactorily, but then her face falls as she is reminded of the pass.

“And… yes.” Carol sighs. “He could not. But would you not feel responsible? Burying only the idea of your kin?” She pats your shoulder, and then tugs aside what remains of your sleeve to look at the wounds bandaged beneath. “Let’s get these cleaned, shall we?”

—

It’s past dark by the time you shoo Carol away, gritting your teeth as you reassure her that you know how to change the dressings on your own. She’s worse than mother. You shrug back into your dress’ single remaining tattered sleeve, regarding it with only a moment’s worth of regret. It is the last thing that remains of your home. It’s fallen into ragged disrepair, now, The bodice shredded down to the under-layers, your legs visible between the surviving strips of cloth that now form your skirt. Once, you would have been terrified to feel the grass trail against the skin of your calves for fear of being stoned for your wanton sin—but no one remains in the village to cast stones at you now.

You’re sitting down on your bedroll when you feel him, your skin prickling as Steve approaches you. You have never been quite so aware of anyone before, but Steve’s gaze always makes the hair at the back of your neck prick up. He clears his throat.

“I would speak with you, Little One.” You clamor back up to your feet, your cheeks stinging. You prepare yourself for more harsh words, staring hard down at your tightly clasped hands. “I would… apologize. For my words.” You can tell he does not enjoy humility. “You spoke against me out of desire to protect the pack, and for that I cannot fault you.” You peek up at him from between your lashes.

“I admit did not look forward to your punishment.” You reply, and he snorts.

“Ah, we come to the truth of it. Stubborn, aren’t you?” Steve chuckles deeply. “With an attitude like yours, Sweetmeat, I expect you knew the village stockade quite well.” Your cheeks flush with heat, but it doesn’t stop your lips from pressing into an irritated line as you glare at him.

“This is a rather poor apology,” you grumble, crossing your arms as you glare back toward the camp. A fire rages at the center, and the scent of cooking meat is carried over by the cool breeze. You turn back to him, and something akin to lightning zips up your spine as you find him staring at you.

“Then I am sorry for that, too.” Commotion draws both your attention.

“Look, sky!”

“I see sky!”

You look up. The air above still swirls with misty clouds, but it clears with each passing moment, starlight pricking through the black. In the village church they told you that those were Halith’s eyes—thousands and thousands of them, gleaming like diamonds in pitch. The eyes through which she looked down upon the world, through which she would cover it in her light. But you did not feel Halith’s presence in the church, and you do not feel it here in the grass sea.

Your mother had told you they were something else—other places, other worlds. Other lives, and when you died, you got to go up into the sky and see them, one by one forever if you wanted.

Your father called it heresy.

“What are they to you?” You ask, and he hums. “The stars.”

“The ones who came before.” It is the first time you’ve seen the sky clear in days, since before the pass.

“Like heroes?” You ask, and Steve shakes his head.

“Not quite. Those who have done right by the people, by the clan—they rest there.” He points. “That, there? It is the handle of an axe, is it not?” He asks, and you tilt your head, squinting.

“I suppose?”

“It is Molroch’s axe, the blade that split the sea so that the grass could grow.” It is as though the hard years melt from his face to reveal the boy beneath. “He led the people well.” There is a sour note you can taste in his praise.

“It’s not your fault. What happened in the pass—you must know that. It isn’t.” You do not realize you’re touching him until you are, your hand brushing the skin of his arm before you snap it back.

For uncountable seconds, the only sound is the shifting of the grass around you. Steve turns back toward the camp, his large hand warm on your shoulder.

“You should rest.”

“You should too.” He does not answer you, squaring his shoulders in a way that tells you that the conversation is finished, at least for now.

to be continued…

next chapter

#chris evans fic #chris evans fanfiction #cevans #chris evans #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers fic #steve rogers au #steve rogers smut #orc!steve rogers #marvel fic #dark fantasy #marvel au #boxofbonesfic #brave fic

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kana-daydreams · 2 months ago

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hide 'n seek || sanemi | fluff | 1.1k

°*:･ᰔafter a few days of meticulous planning, you and zenitsu finally grasp the opportunity to execute your long-awaited plan—to escape the clutches of sanemi’s rigorous, soul-sucking training—or so you thought.

tags: demon slayer!f!reader. 18+ reader . established relationship. minor spoilers (hashira training arc—anime)

kny masterlist

In the hush of the serene midday that envelops the Wind Hashira's estate, a sudden sharp shriek pierces through. And the few birds perch on a nearby wall that had been basking in the accompanied comforting respite, scatter away at its ear-shattering volume.

“For the second time, where is she?” demands a male voice, deep and menacing like its owner’s fear-inducing wide eyes.

Then, as if on cue, crouched low and barely concealed behind that very wall, you sneak a cautious glance at the three familiar figures gathered a few paces ahead of you.

One of those figures being Sanemi’s whose purple eyes glower down at the quivering frame of Zenitsu huddled close to Tanjiro, seeking the boy’s protection from his impending doom. And who seems about ready to pass out from the stifling aura the Wind Hashira exudes.

A sheepish expression colours your features as you observe the scene. One in which you could have easily been like Zenitsu on the receiving end of Sanemi’s nearly incurable anger.

“Forgive me, Zen. I had no choice,” you whisper an unheard apology as you recall the prior moment of your treacherous act.

An act you were sure Zenitsu may never forgive—unless you promised him your hand in marriage—and would forever taunt you with. The time when you’d hightailed it leaving him, your partner-in-crime, for dead in an exchange to save your own skin when you both caught wind of Sanemi’s thundering stomps growing eerily close towards the hiding place you two had sought refuge away from him—and his gruelling, barbaric training.

You clench your eyes, murmuring another apology, interrupted when your entire body suddenly jolts.

An involuntary reaction stirred by Zenitsu’s deafening shriek that escapes through his chattering teeth and past his quivering lips for the umpteenth time.

“Tell me where she is?!”

“I don’t know where she is!” Zenitsu snivels, feeling his soul slipping away from his worn body, inch by inch, at Sanemi’s threatening glare.

Sanemi narrows his eyes at his words, his annoyance surfacing in the form of a protruding vein etched into his face.

The frown he adorns curves lower.

Was this kid tryna provoke him?

First he had the balls to sneak away with you, his woman, from training like a pair of eloping lovers. And now, he had the audacity to play him for a block-headed mule?!

More veins decorate Sanemi’s face and his fingers curl into a fist. He snatches Zenitsu by the collar of his uniform in a vice-like grip, tearing him away from a hesitant Tanjiro, and hoisting him up to his level.

“Oi,” Sanemi starts with a growl. “Spit another lie at me again, and training will be your least worst nightmare.” Zenitsu's breath hitches, shrinking back at the promised threat.

Immediately, his honey-brown eyes riddled with absolute fear flickers hesitantly around him.

They search for you.

You, who thought it would be best to remain a spectator of the scene in lieu of fleeing from the impending danger.

Zenitsu's inspection spans no longer than a minute, when his honey-brown eyes lock on to you. And you curse at your delayed inaction of not making a run for it.

Instead, you motion with a finger pressed against your lips and plead with doe-like eyes for him to keep his trap zipped.

Eyes wide, Zenitsu continues to look at you.

He blinks once. Then twice.

And lifts a weak finger, pointing at you.

Mother-fuc—

Sanemi’s petrifying gaze snaps in your direction. And you practically teleport, vanishing like a magician’s final act.

Beads of sweat dot your face as your already tired legs, exhausted from training sprint away from the scene as if one hundred man-eating demons were tailing you, their premium main course.

You weave through a series of corners of the large estate, all while you murmur prayer after prayer for a successful escape.

Prayers, unfortunately for you, that go unanswered when you swerve around a corner, colliding face-first into a solid chest.

The whiplash of the impact sends you stumbling back. Though, before you can form a union with the ground, a hand shoots out, grabbing a hold of your wrist.

“Where do you think you’re running off to, you brat?!”

Your eyes that had instinctively clamp shut, shoots open to peer up at Sanemi looking down at you with his usual grim expression.

You glance down at his hand wrapped around your wrist, keeping you secured in place, then back up at him.

“I-I...” you fumble in an attempt to find the right words to aid you in your defence. “I just needed to uh…um, stretch my legs a bit,” you lie through a toothy-smile. “I was planning to return to the dojo right after, I swear.”

Sanemi huffs at your weak attempt of a fib.

“Yeah, right. I’m taking you back to the dojo, and this time—” he leans down to your height, his lips stretching into an almost sinister smile “—if you try to ditch again, you’ll be having another playdate with Obanai's pet snakes.”

You flinch, shrinking back with a shudder as you recall the terrifying and slithering serpentine hardships you’d had to endure before given the okay to proceed to Sanemi’s training.

You slump your shoulders in defeat. “I promise I won’t run away from training again," you whimper, fighting the urge to break down in tears like a petulant child who didn't get their way, right there and then.

“Good,” Sanemi says, releasing your wrist before he turns around and starts heading in the direction of his dojo.

A prolonged silence settles between you two during your trek, your trudging footsteps trailing behind Sanemi's.

It bothers him: your unusual silence, and the cause of it.

He was more than aware that his approach to training was extreme. But it had to be, for your sake, and the others.

To grow strong enough to defeat Muzan and his army of demons, and most importantly—to protect yourselves.

He didn't want to witness any more lives perishing in this demon-infested land, especially yours.

You, someone who he never thought would become his beacon of light amidst the darkness that plagued this god-forsaken world.

Sanemi spares a glance behind him to see your gaze downcast, your face bearing a sad pout.

The sight makes his rigid expression soften. And you’re not aware when his footsteps slow to a stop until you lightly bump into his back.

You raise your gaze, confused on why he’d suddenly stopped.

“Sanemi?...Are you okay?”

Sanemi doesn’t respond for a good minute, his silence brewing worry inside you.

You slide out from behind him, attempting to catch a read of his expression from the front, but he turns to avoid your gaze.

“Do...you want to have some tea?” he eventually speaks. "Us, together, I mean?"

You blink in surprise at the question. “Tea?”

Sanemi nods before turning to meet your eyes and you notice the faint hue of red painting his cheeks. “Yeah. And that dessert you wanted to try last time?”

“What about training?”

“We can take a break. For now."

Your lips pull into a beaming smile as you reach a hand towards his own, twining your fingers with his. And Sanemi welcomes the pleasing comfort of your hand embraced in his with a gentle squeeze.

“Sure, l'd like that.” Sanemi nods, a small smile adorning his face at your content expression as the two of you make your way back to his dojo.

#𓇻kana's kny ddrms #sanemi x reader #sanemi x you #kny reader insert #sanemi shinazugawa #sanemi fluff #sanemi fanfic

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redtsundere-writes · 11 months ago

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Ride or Die | Sukuna Ryomen

big brother!sukuna ryomen x f!reader Sypnosis: Your troublemaker bestie, Yuuji, gets into a fight, so you had to call his big brother, Sukuna, to rescue both. Contents: Yuuji and you are 18. Sukuna is 19. High school/Modern AU. Friends to lovers. “Who did this to you?” vibes. SMUT. MDNI. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Warnings: Depictions of violence and animal abuse. Word Count: Author's Note: Thanks for helping me pick which fic to write first on my last poll! I hope you guys like it! :3

Sukuna likes you. Yeah, yeah… His ego is so up his ass that he can’t confess his feelings towards you, we all know that. I mean, you are gorgeous, smart, and kind, how could Sukuna not fall in love with you? There’s a problem, though. A pink-haired, stubborn and over-friendly problem. You were Yuuji’s best friend. His little brother’s best friend.

Sukuna knew that Itadori had a big crush on you because you two were inseparable. If he fell for you when you first met, Itadori definitely fell harder. Sukuna knew it by the way his lil bro smiled, giggled and focused on you every time you hang around. Sukuna could be a player, but he wasn’t Mr. Steal-Your-Girl.

One day, Sukuna was taking a nap after work. He was well off until he heard his phone ringing. He picked it and the sleepiness went away once he saw your name lighting on the screen. This was unusual. You sometimes text each other, but the conversation always revolves in Yuuji’s location or well-being. You never called him because you knew how snarky he can be, so you always decided to text him. Naturally, he picked up quickly.

“Yuuji is getting his ass beat! Please, come!” You begged through the phone. That was enough for Sukuna to jump out of the couch and pick his car keys.

Yuuji was always in some kind of trouble. He wasn’t a bad boy, he was more of an avenger. He didn’t want to understand that bad guys just exist in our society without consequences. Yuuji always felt the need to do something about it. He was damn good at fighting, so he used that to give out justice. He usually never needs help kicking ass, but this time it was different.

Yuuji and you were hanging out in a park after classes as usual. Yuuji saw a group of evil guys kicking around a starving dog, so he had to do something about it. The pink fury rushed to punch every single one of them. The thing that Yuuji didn’t count on was that he was out numbered. It was a 5 vs. 1 fight, obviously he couldn’t take them all. You called Sukuna when you saw your friend struggling.

Sukuna drove to the location you sent him, and he saw red once he saw the scene. Yuuji and you were being kicked on the ground by the five guys. You were covering your head with your arms in fetal mode. Don’t worry, the poor dog escaped once he could. You tried to stop them a couple of times, but you were thrown back to the ground. Sukuna didn’t hesitate to jump in and starting knocking out high schoolers.

Sukuna spit on the pile of dipshits once he finished the job. “I hate dealing with kids” he groaned, even thought he is just a year older. Sukuna kneel by your side to help you stand up. You were covered in dirt, bruises, and shame. He kept asking you if everything move correctly as you stood up, holding you by under your elbows. Sukuna was still shaking in anger but tried to stay calm.

“What the fuck you were thinking?! You can’t just start fights for damn dogs like that!” Sukuna screamed at Yuuji once all of you got in the car.

“But they were kicking the poor doggy!” Yuuji screamed back. You were just staying still on the backseat.

“I don’t give a shit about the reason! Y/n’s safety is your priority every time you hang out! Fight whoever you want alone, but when she is around, no fighting! Do you hear me, little shit?” He asked, furious. Yuuji looked briefly at how hurt you ended up. He hates to admit it, but his big bro was right. He save a dog but put you in risk instead. Yuuji nodded in understanding and Sukuna started the engine.

Sukuna drove you to their house. After getting his bruises treated, Yuuji went straight to his room to sleep off the pain. You were left alone with Sukuna. This wasn’t the first time. When Sukuna was still a senior in high school, you used to hang out with both siblings often. Sometimes you ate at McDonald’s with both, other times you would just study with Yuuji alone, and a few times you would walk home with Sukuna.

Sukuna tapped the top of the kitchen counter so he could treat your bruises. You obeyed and let him do his thing. He asked you how you were doing in your senior year, and you asked him how he was doing at his job as a guard at a local club. It was a while since you two talked alone.

Maybe you were used to hanging out alone, but you weren’t used to feeling each other so close. Sukuna was in awe while rubbing your smooth and tender skin with the ointment. He never thought of feeling you in this way. It was a bummer that the first time touching you so tenderly was in a situation like this.

“Do you like Yuuji?” he asked boldly while rubbing ointment in your arm. You blushed upon the sudden question.

“Why would you ask that?” you asked, confused.

“I always wondered if you and Yuuji were just friends, you know, since you are always together” Sukuna asked without making eye contact with you. Not because he was focused on treating you, but because he was too afraid of your answer. You felt so good under his touch, he didn’t want to hear that your heart belong to his little brother.

“We are always together because he needs backup sometimes. We are just ride or die, like you and I” Sukuna paused for a second and looked up at you after hearing that statement.

“We are?” He smirked.

“Duh. I’m always there when you need me, and you are there for me” You explained. Sukuna grabbed some more ointment and rubbed a bruise on your thigh. He used the opportunity to knead your whole thigh with his big hand.

“For anything I need?” He asked in a seductive purr. Sukuna grabbed both of your thighs and slowly started to split them. You blushed after deducing what he wanted from you.

“Anything” You declared before taking a leap of faith. You took his face in your hands and kissed him. He felt like he was melting under your touch. He was a living fire, and you were the only one who could extinguish it.

We know Sukuna was crazy for you, but he didn’t want to admit it. He wasn't the only one, though. You were crazier for him. Yeah, you like to hang out with Yuuji, but you loved being alone with Sukuna. He was a player and a bad boy during high school, but you noticed he was nice only with you. He would buy you drinks out of nowhere, walk you home when Yuuji couldn’t and recommend you bands you might like. For the longest time, you thought that he only did those things because you were Yuuji’s best friend.

Now, that Sukuna was sticking his tongue inside your mouth while rubbing your pussy over your panties, you knew how liked you back. Maybe not for a serious relationship, but you didn’t give a damn right now. He made you feel so good, like no one has ever before.

Sukuna was drifting into madness every time your knee brushed past his pumping bulge. His dick just wanted to rip his pants so he could be felt by you. Sukuna pulled you closer by your thighs while devouring your lips desperately. You pushed yourself closer to him to wrap your arms around his neck and pushed your breast on his chest.

Sukuna pulled your underwear to the side to finger you good. You let out a moan but stopped once you remembered that Yuuji was on his room, and you were openly getting finger fucked in the kitchen by his older brother. Sukuna noticed that, and he challenged himself to make you moan his name out loud. You bit your lower lip to restrain yourself, but his long fingers reaching your deep end made it really difficult to do so.

“Fuck, you are so damn wet” he whispered on your ear while rubbing your wet clit in circles. You tried to close your thighs, but Sukuna made sure to keep them open for them.

“Sukuna, I want you in so bad” you moaned as low as you could. Sukuna didn’t need another queue to pull his cock out. It was big, a throbbing. Sukuna dreamed about this moment since Yuuji presented you. He couldn’t stop looking at your beautiful face, your plump thighs and adorable breasts.

He carefully put your panties to the side and stuck his dick inside of you. You both moan in a whisper once he slowly pushed all the way in. He started thrusting slowly to make sure to not hurt you more with all those bruises. He was moving slow but still passionate, making sure you could feel every inch of his thick cock.

Your toes curled every time Sukuna thrust in you. He felt better than you thought. You hide your face in the crook of his neck and bite his shoulder to stay quiet. “You are so fucking tight, bestie” he groaned under his breath.

His thrusts speed up once Sukuna made sure he wasn’t hurting you. He pulled your legs up so he could dig deeper in your insides. You covered your face with your arm and just take it like a big girl. “Oh Sukuna I can’t take it any longer” you whispered.

“I am about to cum too, baby” Sukuna grunted before orgasm at the same time. His thick milk swayed in your insides. You smacked his chest as a scold. “Sukuna, what the fuck!” you muffle.

“I’m sorry, it’s not my fault you felt so good” he smirked. After cleaning you and himself up, he drove to the closest pharmacy to buy Plan B.

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eternalera · 3 months ago

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im sorry but love IS the main theme in jjk, no not just in the movie but ALL of jjk.

dont believe me? fuck it, fine, i'll explain

lets start it out with the obvious, jjk 0. this is the prequel to the actual anime and manga series (although i guess actualy isnt the correct term... you get the point) and it starts all because of yuuta and rika who were both children when they fell in love.

rika gives yuuta a ring and tells him that its a promise ring and that its a promise that they'll be together forever.

yeah rika DIES

but dw, she gets turned into a curse... by yuuta, but it was on accident so... yeah fun-

then geto shows up and basically attacks the school and yuuta and rika save it using LITERALLY the power of love. then soon enough gojo ends up telling yuuta this 'love is the greatest curse of all'

yeah love is literally the main theme of that, yuuta's love is what cursed rika and caused her to become a curse but what of gojo? why is he saying 'love is the greatest curse of all'?

well soon after this he mentions his 'one and only' and its heavily implied (actually canon) that its suguru geto, YEP the mf who attacked the school. now lets take it back a few notches shall we <33

gojo and geto went to school together where they became extremely close friends (implies lovers as they do a TON of romantic stuff in japanese culture such as giving geto second button to gojo aka the one close to his heart and them riding on a bike together which is illegal in japan but its also considered romantic to break the rules with your lover so like??!?! yeah theyre gay)

soon after they have a mission to protect the star plasma vessel and imma spare you the details lets just say that it goes HORRIBLY wrong and it ends up causing a rift between gojo and geto. gojo ends up awakening becoming a better version of himself for it and is trying to show it to geto. yet he doesnt know that what happened with him and how he basically got a power up did NOT happen to geto.

geto was left to question who he was fighting for anymore and this caused him to... get a little silly and kill an entire village anyways the kfc breakup happens yada yada and remember that these two were really really REALLY close friends at least and most likely lovers (how i'll be referring to them from now on)

now what day did geto attack the school aka the night of 1000 demons parade? december 24, the same date which is the most romantic in japan (to my knowledge) and the same date which gojo killed him... YEAH THAT SHIT WAS PLANNED

but lets move onto something a little more... recent.

ITAFUSHI!!!

honestly my fav ship and why im all writing this in the first place. their love for each other was literally so great that they killed the king of curses. the whole reason that megumi locks in is because he realizes that yuuji is gonna be sad if he dies and that he doesnt want yuuji to be sad

these two care for each other so much and its basically shown at the start of the manga, how megumi sees yuuji and saves him without hesitation, he just doesnt want to see a good person die.

he then says 'what if someone you saves kills another in the future' and when yuuji asks him that megumi cant answer. and when he can yuuji literally flips back and kills himself in order to save megumi and mind you he was fearing death a few seconds ago, saying how he didnt want to die yet and how he had regretted eating that stupid finger

yet when it came to saving megumi all of the sudden that didnt matter anymore, in fact when sukuna offered to bring him back he said no because he didnt want sukuna hurting more people... speaking over that-

SHIBUYA!!! yeah sukuna takes over yuuji and kills a bunch of people- kinda ironic seeing how megumi asked yuuji 'what are you gonna do if someone you save kills those later?' even MORE ironic that before that its revealed that yuuji swallowing the finger caused a bunch of parts of sukuna to wake up and start killing people and both of them realized this and went 'imma not tell the other cause thatll make them sad'

anyways megumi gives his bf a pep talk and then BAM megkuna and yuuji goes batshit against sukuna <3

anyways before megumi separates from sukunas body he says that he's gonna try living for someone else just one more time and its pretty obvious that this person is yuuji.

ALSO fun little thing.

love the greatest curse of all won against the king of curses, sukuna. sukuna who refused to feel or care for human emotions. aint that something?

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shyravenns · 1 year ago

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141 Barn Cats AU

Thinking about an AU where Laswell is an unwilling participant in the cat distribution system, and the rest of 141 are just stray cats that she can't get rid of.

There's Bear who's name was appropriately given by Laswell's darling wife (much to her silent aggravation). He was the first cat who appeared seemingly out of nowhere, and settled in as if he were the one paying mortgage. A great big, fluffy creature with faint scars littering his body and small nick in his ear that tells Laswell that he's as much as a soldier as she is. Amber eyes calmly staring back at her from his perch on their counter, as she startles at the sight of him in the morning, already a self made king in the home that she shares her with her wife. A small twitch to his whiskers, and she can tell (though she'd rather be tortured than say this out loud) that he's rather amused by her startled yelp. Her wife adores him given by the simple brown collar she managed to get around his neck, and Laswell knows it's rather embarrassing to be resentful of a cat when said cat strangely prefers Laswell's lap to sit on. Laswell's never been an animal lover, and cats are as much of an enigma to her as lions or tigers, but she's grown attached to the big brown cat with amber eyes that naps on her desk and purrs when she looks at him.

One cat is enough. One cat is supposed to be enough.

And then comes Ghost. A great big black cat that makes her hesitate and wonder if he's really a cat and not some sort of unknown species of feline given his size. A great big, black cat that watches her with a stillness that reminds her a little tiger. Seemingly even more scarred as Bear is, and she wonders just briefly how tough it must be to be a stray cat. A guest who Bear had seemingly brought to them. disappearing for a few days as he often does as they live in a great stretch of land that she inherited, and appearing almost out of the blue on their front porch with a cat that almost seems to fidget given the anxious twists of it's tail as Laswell stares and her wife coos at them. She sighs, rolls her eyes, and glares down at Bear as she widens her door just a bit and allows both cats to stalk inside and begins to wonder if they're even cats in the first place and not some cosmic punishment sent to fuck with her. Ghost doesn't interact much with them save for the occasional pat on the head, and allowing them to get close enough to slip a simple black collar on him. Laswell, knowing not to say anything, when he wife orders a collar with a skull design. Often spending his time prowling after Bear, or hesitantly allowing her wife to get near him while he sits on the window sill, and watches the world outside.

Two cats is more than enough, and she always gives a little sigh before adding kitty litter to her basket.

Bear and Ghost are enough. They're calm, quiet, and independent enough for Laswell to focus on other things.

Until it's 1am, and the yowling of a cat (that she knows isn't one of hers) drags her out of a sleep so blissful she'd cry if she weren't so annoyed. Soap is the name her wife gives him (and pouts when Laswell stares at her in disbelief), as they stumble downstairs to see their unwelcome visitor shaking off the excess bubbles off of his coat as he crawls out from the kitchen sink. Laswell isn't done mouthing "what the fuck" before her wife laughs, and grabs the spare towel on the counter in order to help him dry off. Ignoring the open window above the sink where they assumed he managed to sneak in. Soap is,,,everything a cat should not be in Laswell's rather unprofessional opinion, and reminds her of a dog more often than not. Energetic and noticeable as he makes their house his home within a matter of hours. Making fast friends with Bear, and oddly enough seeming to prefer the company of Ghost. It's not uncommon for her to catch them on the same window sill in the evening or grooming each other much to her own silent delight. He's a nuisance in her opinion, but a very welcome one (and her favorite, but she'd never say that out loud)

And just when she thinks that three is enough there is, of course, another expected unexpected guest.

She's not surprised in the slightest when she wakes up and spies the lean brown cat watching her as he sits beside Bear, Soap, and Ghost as if he's always been there (It's an interesting feeling to wonder if she's been gaslit by a cat) with a slight tilt to his head as if she's the one who shouldn't be here. She doesn't say much to her wife as they both give each other a tired yet amused glance towards one another and watch as he curls his tail around his paws and purrs when begin to take out another bowl. Gaz, they name his together, when gives a small chirp at the tv at the sound of the nickname. He's not as energetic as Soap (thank GOD), but he manages to worm himself into her wife's heart pretty quickly in a way that tells her that he won't be going anywhere anytime soon. He has a liking towards Bear, who often lets him nap beside him on the couch in her office. And appears to have made fast friends with Soap and Ghost as she catches all three of them curled up in the kitchen underneath a sunbeam.

They're good cats, all of them. She doesn't *quite* know where the hell they all came from, but it's hard to really want to know when she gets to fall asleep to the sound of purrs and her wife's gentle snores.

#call of duty #call of duty mwfii #john price #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #ghostsoap #implied ghostsoap #kyle gaz garrick #call of duty modern warfare #kate laswell #laswell's wife #aka ME #mywriting #im a work so you know it's time to get paid to slack off and write #laswell and all four of the little kitty squatters #i might draw this lmao #also implied gazprice

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epiphyllous · 11 months ago

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when morning comes (Astarion/Reader) [1]

With your bleeding heart and altruistic bravery, it is almost too easy for Astarion to come to the conclusion that his best plan of action is to seduce you. All he has to do is not fall for you-- a feat easier said than done.

-or-

(Where were you ten, fifty, hundreds of years ago when he needed you? How dare you come now, the knight in shining armor for the less fortunate, when he has been waiting centuries for someone like you to save him? How dare you come to him now when he is like this?)

Word Count: ~10k Notes: Astarion/Reader, Paladin!Reader, AFAB, gender-neutral "you", a study in Astarion's romance route + added features, [switches to your POV], annoyance to lovers, fall first/fall harder, slight Lae'zel/Shadowheart, Wyll/Lae'zel, Halsin/Reader; may have some descriptors of my Tav but generally no specifics (let me have my brown eyes), NSFW contains Virgin!Reader, trauma related to Astarion's past [Part 2]

[Act I: Druid Groves]

From the start, you and Astarion chafed at each other's presence. Granted, he had threatened you at knife point, quick to suspect you were of the illithid colony, and you had responded in kind with a painful headbutt. But surprisingly enough, that had nearly no consequence to the relationship compared to the vastly different way the two of you engaged with the world.

"Do you always just... do things for other people for no reward?" Astarion asks you disdainfully when you promise Zevlor you would speak to Kagha. It's the third favor you've picked up in the last hour. "Seems very... inefficient."

"Yes?" You reply, confused as though he were the strange one. (In his humblest opinion, you're the lunatic who decides to help everyone who asks despite the arguably more pressing issue of their hostile parasite.) "I mean, helping them is going to help us in the long-run. We need information and supplies, and they have both of that."

A half-truth at best. Astarion has seen you soothe stray animals and children on the beaten road, help wayward allies, and offer up your amenities without hesitation. Helping others happens to align with your goal rather than the other way around. He feels his mouth twist in annoyance.

Astarion sniffs at your answer, and you give him the massive eye roll you habitually do every time the two of you argue. "Would it kill you to help them out a little?" You say, "It's not like it's completely out of our way to do it."

You make it sound so simple, he thinks bitterly. He glances at the sword at your hip and the shield on your back and wonders if you could ever understand how it feels to be powerless. It would explain your naivety, the way you cling onto doing the 'right' thing, your paladin vow to protect the weak no matter how foolhardy it may be.

(Where were you, he thinks, ten, fifty, hundreds of years ago when he was still surviving on the scraps of whatever Cazador decided to provide for him that night? Where were you when his cruel master carved into his skin, a painter on a screaming canvas? When he was buried underground, no longer alive but still living, until he clawed his way up with bloody hands, only to find out his body and soul belonged to another? When he was compelled by vampiric thrall to lead his first victim of thousands to their death?

And how dare you come now, the knight in shining armor for the less fortunate, when he has been waiting centuries for someone like you to save him? How dare you come to him now when he is like this?)

"It's a matter of principle, darling." Astarion simpers, "I, for one, am not the type to play hero."

He expects a sneer, the silent treatment-- those he knows easily how to respond to. The gauging look you give him, though, and a thin veneer of frustration just underneath before it dissipates gives him pause. "Well," you say mildly, "we can agree to disagree. You're coming along anyways so let's just get going, yeah?"

Astarion follows you then with no comeback in mind, only a question as to how far your patience can go.

It is with great hesitation and no small amount of begrudgement that Astarion admits he has never been one for planning. After all, why hope for a future that will never occur? What future does he have when every move he makes is in accordance to someone else's will, every decision made never his own?

When Astarion decided to travel with the unfortunate duo (now group) with similar illithid fates, he did not anticipate how difficult it would be to hide his affliction of a vampire. For the brief moment in the sun, he thought perhaps that because he was immune to daylight, his thirst for blood would have also disappeared. Imagine his surprise, nights after, when he finds himself starving and with no inconspicuous way to feed himself.

There is always someone on the lookout for goblins or other enemies alike. There have been few times he can sneak out without calling attention to himself, especially for such a long absence as hunting for prey would be. Astarion can feel himself grow weak over the course of a few days, and though he briefly thinks about telling you the truth about his identity, he is resistant.

Good heroes tend to hunt creatures of the night like him. Considering his blatant disregard for those you choose to protect, he isn't sure he will continue to be under your protection if he is outed. Astarion finds traveling as a pack to be too conveniently safe, but he is so, so hungry. In the midst of his hunger, anyone's blood will do, but it is yours that tempt him most: healthy, righteous, and pure-hearted. He has never been allowed to feed on a thinking creature, and at this point, he isn't sure if he should, considering the risks.

But Astarion is tempted by the smell of your blood shed during a particularly fierce battle, and as he feels his hands tremble, he concludes that he must find a way to feed tonight.

You always, without fail, set your tent up near the fire. It is where he finds himself creeping over your bedroll at the dead of night only to find that you have woken up to look up at him in shock. (He has never been one for planning.)

"...Shit," Astarion lets slip out, backing away. You stand at the ready, eyes boring into him as you come to the realization of what he is. "No, no- it's not what it looks like."

"...And what exactly is it supposed to look like then?" You ask tensely, and Astarion feels the situation quickly run away from him.

"I wasn't going to hurt you!” He puts his hands up and swallows. “I just needed, well, blood."

"You're the reason why that boar on the side of the road had no blood.” You realize, narrowing your eyes. "How many things have you hunted without us knowing?” You accuse, “People?"

"No!" Astarion exclaims, "No people. Never any people. I can sustain myself on animals, kobolds even-- but it is not enough. Not when we're fighting every day like this."

He sees a flicker of sympathy in your eyes and hope builds in his chest. "I feel so weak," he pleads. "If I just had a little bit of blood, I could think clearer. Fight better. Please."

You don't relax but you don't try to attack him either. Astarion considers that a winning chance. "Have you told anyone that you're a vampire?"

"They're more likely to ram a stake through my ribs than anything," Astarion mutters. "At best– even for you– you'd say no unless you trusted me." He looks up at you and sees the way your eyes look into him for the truth. "And you can trust me. I wouldn't want to harm anyone in this camp." And it is technically the truth, though Gale tests his patience sometimes. Even he cannot promise that he wouldn't betray everyone at the drop of the hat if the situation begs for it, but this is a completely different matter at the moment.

Your gaze is unfaltering, the silence palpable as the two of you look at each other. Astarion feels his palms sweat as he awaits your judgment and for the proverbial hammer to possibly fall on his head.

"Okay," you say instead. "Alright. I trust you. As long as you don't try biting me again without permission, it's fine. Can you promise me that at least?"

"Really?" Astarion knows this is what he could ever hope for, but a part of him is baffled that you would ever think to trust him. He supposes your foolhardy compassion has its benefits-- though he would be lying to himself if he didn't admit there was a part of him that was rather... flattered by your trust. "Yes- yes, of course. Thank you."

He presses his lips in thought. If you were so willing to put your faith in him, then perhaps it would not hurt to ask. "If I could ask you to trust me just a little further..." He says, "I just need a little blood. I won't take anything more than I need. Please."

Astarion can see the hesitation in your eyes when he asks. Are you weighing your trust in him, he wonders. Or are you worried about your safety, the benefits versus the risks? It would make sense-- you really shouldn't. But a moment before you respond, he somehow knows that you would.

[He looks so tired, you think, heart clenching with sympathy. You wonder how you've missed it for this long or if he's that good at pretending otherwise in the presence of others. It could be both-- Astarion has shown to be a great performer, and you are one of his best audiences. You find it difficult to argue against letting him bite you; the anticipated pain, the possible negative effect, the case that his hunger is too much for you to quench all pales in comparison to what good you would do for him.

You are halfway to being smitten already, and you cannot deny yourself this.

But you are not naive. You are not fearless. For whatever trust you give to Astarion, you are afraid of the fact that if he betrays you in this, you can never go back to how it was before.]

"Promise me you'll stop if I tell you to," you tell him quietly.

He acquiesces quickly. Of course, he will, he promises, only just enough. You lay back down at his suggestion, body tense in anticipation. He does not let that feeling linger too long, seizing his chance before you decide to change your mind. He buffets your body with his arms before he sinks his teeth into your outstretched neck.

You taste better than he could possibly have imagined.

To think he fed solely on mice before-- bog water in comparison to the sweet red of your blood, invigorating and undeniably delicious. Astarion gets another mouthful and groans, feeling strength return, warmth pooling into his belly. If bears and boars were the main course, then you are the mouth-salivating dessert– irresistibly delectable and leaving him wanting for more.

Your body trembles underneath him, your hand clenched into his shirt as a counterweight to the pain. Your pulse bounds underneath his tongue, the small gasps you cannot suppress resounds into his ears. This, too, puts feeding in a different plane than before, an extra level of appeal that can only be experienced with thinking creatures. Perhaps it is you in particular that adds another layer to the pleasure. Having you at his mercy, taking what you so graciously offered with ravenous hunger: power courses through him for more reasons than one.

[Your heart beats as fast as a rabbit's, fear and adrenaline powering you in the same manner. Or, if you were being honest, anticipation and a little bit of excitement fuels it as well as Astarion climbs on top of you, hunger in his eyes.

It is a more literal type of hunger, but it is an intense look either way that leaves you frozen like a deer in headlights.

The bite itself is more shocking than it is painful. You barely muffle your exclamation, unused to the feeling of someone so intimately close combined with the instinctive fear that accompanies the loss of blood. You hold onto Astarion without thought, and you squeeze your eyes and bite your lips as he takes your blood in with every suck.

As scared as you may be, you are undeniably aroused from the feeling of it all-- the numbness that gently overtakes your mind, the light, floaty feeling of pleasure of the bloodloss combined with the intimacy of someone you’ve always been attracted to. The knowledge that he is gorging himself on you, taking pleasure from you, makes your blood run hotter than it has any right to in this situation.

And then, you feel a switch flip, and the lightness becomes disorienting, and the numbness bleeds into coldness. Panic starts climbing up your throat. You let yourself think for the briefest moment if Astarion will let go on his own, but you know you will not last long enough to wait. Worry gnaws at you at this thought, and you can only hope that Astarion is true to his word when you tell him to stop.

And he does. Perhaps it is the feeling that you have placed your trust in the right person that has felt the best out of everything that has happened tonight.]

"Astarion-" he hears you grit out, "that's enough."

“Hm? Oh, yes, of course.” It takes but a moment for Astarion to register it before removing his fangs from your neck. He sees blood trickle from the punctures and he bemoans the waste as he pulls away. Next time– if there is a next time– he'll be neater, he thinks. He watches as you breathe just as hard as him, eyes slightly glazed over, and he barely resists the urge to lick his lips.

He stands from you to give you space, and you slowly sit up, looking at him with an emotion he can't quite place. It concerns him little at the moment with the strongest blood he's ever consumed in two millennia coursing through him.

“That was…” Astarion begins, breathless with adrenaline, “Amazing.” He delicately wipes the blood from the side of his mouth, an irrepressible smile on his face.

“Hope that helped,” you say, and he almost laughs at the understatement of two centuries.

“It very much did.” Astarion breathes in deeply. “My mind is finally clear. I feel… strong,” he nearly purrs. Happy.”

“Looking forward to seeing you fight then,” you say, hand at your neck as the punctures gradually close. You sigh, wiping your bloody hands onto the patch of grass. “Going out to hunt?” You ask like any other day.

“I am, darling.” He stands tall, head held high with a confidence he has not felt in ages. To think this is what he's been missing out on… “You're invigorating, but I'll need to get something more… filling,” he tells you, glancing back.

You give him a flippant wave of the hand, and he isn't sure if you are too tired to be wary of him or uncaring of the risk considering what you allowed him to do. “Good hunting,” you say genuinely before yawning.

“I will. And-” You turn to him then, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion but still alert. Astarion pauses for a moment. “This is a gift, you know,” he says. “I won't forget it.”

He walks off into the forest after and finds easy prey to feast on. It's a shame it does not taste as good as you did, but he will make do and ride out the feeling of power for as long as he can. It is when he returns to camp with you fast asleep by the fire that Astarion realizes the emotion on your face was relief: relief that he had stopped when you had asked, and that he kept to his word.

What a fragile thing trust is, to be put to the breaking point at a single moment in time. What if he had continued to consume and drink you dry? He suspects it would have rather dire consequences to your mortality and even worse effects to his relationship with you. It would be unsalvageable, he realizes, if he had not stopped when you had asked. For some things may be forgiven, but this would be reprehensible.

Astarion finds that he understands you too well for his liking. How many times has he not been able to give consent? Wanted to say 'no' but forced to say yes? (Not knowing now how to say 'no' at all?)

For the sake of his own livelihood (the camp would kill him for your death), his budding relations with you, and a part of him that yearns for what he should have had, Astarion is glad that he was not greedy tonight-- and, as the day comes, for the following nights to come.

The pitchforks and torches do not come the next morning. Maybe it is because everyone else has their equally dangerous secret to hide or because of your influence on the camp. You are more concerned at how you would help him feed than afraid that he will hurt anyone.

"Why, isn't it my favorite traveling companion," he says to you when you approach him.

"You mean tastiest,” you say back, and he knows you are truly well and beyond hard feelings if you can joke about it.

"Well, I suppose that as well.” He tells you, “Though you have been the only one I've bitten so there is no competition, really."

And to his surprise, telling you about Cazador, his ill-begot fate as a vampire spawn and its subsequent diet, is easier than he would have expected. You listen with a sympathetic but otherwise neutral ear that makes it easy for him– and he suspects everyone else– to confess their circumstances to you. He's rather surprised he's been able to “resist” for this long. Even Gale has confessed he has a literal living bomb inside him in the little time they've all spent together as a group.

(It goes to show how much everyone has grown to trust you; even Astarion is starting to see what everyone else sees in you.)

“I don't mind you taking my blood once in a while,” you instruct him, “but you can't just do it to an innocent person.”

“And how about a guilty person?” Astarion asks slyly, gleefully watching as you saddle next to him with a similar smile.

“Free real estate, I suppose,” you say nonchalantly. “Just ask before you bite me?”

“No more late night surprises, you have my word on that.” He smiles, fangs bared, and you don't even blink at the sight of them.

In the druid grove, you pick up a few more favors from the locals, though at least you have begun to ask for aid for the road. Not exactly payment, though you are offered a reward anyways. Astarion thinks you are either very lucky people are desperate for help or very charming in that innocent, eager to do good type of way that compels people to be generous. It is not unlike Wyll, who joins your group of illithid-afflicted companions, as the Blade of Frontiers.

Naturally, the two of you get along as like-minded individuals. Gale, too, gravitates toward you for your compassion, and Shadowheart trusts you for perhaps the same reasons. Even Lae'zel, who you often have problems speaking to without feeling intimidated, has come to begrudgingly accept you as the de facto leader of the group. You are, as Astarion suspected, strong in battle as you are in personality.

He often forgets both, but he cannot be blamed. After he witnesses you stand up to Lae'zel for the sake of an intimidated tiefling, he sees you lose an argument against a squirrel. Astarion sees you send goblins off rooftops and speak to trolls with confidence, and then he watches as you ask him to unlock a barn door with raunchy sex noises simply out of morbid curiosity.

It is in these moments-- apart from your heroism and startling sense of morality-- that you and Astarion are often on the same page. As long as it is not from the needy, you don't find it a problem to loot. (He thinks practicality plays a role in disturbing dead bodies for money and items, and your vow says nothing against it.) If it's for the sake of peace, you don't mind spinning half-truths and lies. (The lies he personally thinks you need to work on more but he is a master of deception so perhaps there is no comparison with him.)

Your curiosity knows no bounds, and it is in this, both you and Astarion take cheerful glee in raking chaos.

"I don't know what I expected!" You say almost cheerily after the group defeats the unlikely couple of bugbear and ogre after purposely interrupting their very loud lovemaking.

Shadowheart gives you a raised eyebrow that has you sheepishly grin at her, and Astarion lets out a laugh. "Well, I certainly had a guess, but finding out was very interesting indeed."

"Interesting... is certainly a way to describe the scene we just witnessed," Gale says dryly. Astarion catches your eyes before you smile slyly.

Innocently, you comment, "I wonder how the mechanics worked with the height difference-"

Gleefully, Astarion is quick to join in, watching Gale balk at the topic, “Well, with the way she was on her knees-”

"Some things need not be pondered!"

That is when Astarion realizes that as long as the world stops begging for your help, the two of you get along quite well. If anything, Astarion finds your presence and comments most amusing out of everyone in camp. Gale is exceedingly verbose and other times awkward. Lae'zel Astarion isn't sure knows the meaning of joking, though her violent tendencies are right up his alley. Shadowheart-- as it turns out and makes total sense-- is a worshiper of Shar and therefore an automatic stick in the mud.

Wyll waxes far too much about justice, and Karlach, when they find her and proceed to not kill her despite Wyll's initial request, is the next best thing though he is still wary of how hot she burns. You, however, have the humor and wit to match every ridiculous situation they encounter, and if anything, Astarion must give you that. God knows how he'd survive the boredom of camp and not being arms deep in gore without having someone to gossip with.

The two of you agree the most when it comes to other topics, like Mystra's treatment of Gale, how good Wyll looks with horns, feelings about Gods. It makes for great and easy conversations though the two of you are also quick to snark if there is a disagreement. Astarion admits his words were sharp in the beginning (and you gave it right back until you just mellowed out) but he eventually relaxed when his role in camp solidified after his vampiric reveal.

And what a gift your blood was; Astarion counts his lucky stars that you continue to offer your neck to him as long as it is only yours he bites-- with permission, of course.

He was almost beginning to relax when a gur comes, asking for him.

Luckily enough, it seems this Gandrel has no idea what he looks like, so the two of you can play innocent together. You and Astarion give each other a discrete look before you go back to talking to the monster hunter. It must be Cazador, he seethes. Who else would put a Gur on his tracks acres away from Baldur's Gate?

"And what did you want to do with this vampire spawn?" You ask innocuously.

"I would like to capture him."

"Capture? Not kill? Does someone want him alive?" You question, and Astarion must give you this: you are an excellent conversationalist, to seek more without giving much at all. Your eyes widen in what can be assumed as surprise, though they remain calculating. "You said so yourself: even vampire spawn are dangerous. Why would you accept a job to capture him?"

The gur shuffles his feet for a moment, chewing on his words. Astarion watches in secretive awe as you urge the hunter to trust you with unbidden information. "Well... It's not a request from an outside source..." He trails off, "We... have questions we were hoping he would answer."

Now that's curious, Astarion thinks. What would a monster hunter need for a spawn besides its demise? He knows you have the same question when he glances over at you as you watch on thoughtfully.

"Were you hoping to capture it to get to the vampire lord or something?" You ask, "Is that something that would even work?"

"We have little leads besides this vampire spawn, if I can be frank." He sighs and Astarion watches as he unravels the truth before you. "It's our children, you see. They've been captured.”

You are ever sympathetic to the Gur's plight--genuinely so. You hold no qualms keeping Astarion's name from your mouth but you speak to the Gur and provide him with advice and information you have received from Astarion. What a cheeky pup you are, playing double agent without batting an eye. Astarion feels like forgiving you for taking away the opportunity to get rid of the monster hunter once and for all just for the show of your wit and guile.

Though Astarion thinks you could afford to be more ambitious. If you could have perhaps a little creativity in deciding what you want to do with the little tadpole in your brain or the absolutist cult, Astarion is sure the two of you would get along more.

"I don't know how the tadpole will change me," you admit with unexpected vulnerability. "I don't want to give them more power over me, and I don't know if feeding them will let them."

"Well..." Astarion pauses, scoffing at your response before he can accept the fact the two of you have more in common that he would rather believe. He'd rather not lose what he barely got back as well, he thinks. "I suppose there is reason to hesitate so maybe I'll wait until some other brave soul decides to give it a go." He gives you a look before continuing, "Try not to convince the others too much. I'm not too eager to be the first and only one to eat a tadpole."

You shrug noncommittally, promising nothing. Astarion barely resists the urge to roll his eyes. Paladins.

Considering the dire straits in which you are bound and the rocky start the two of you had, Astarion would not have imagined the relationship with you to progress in this manner. Having you trust him was already beyond what was expected, especially after revealing his vampiric origins. Giving him your blood was a gift that he could hardly believe happened. One can imagine his surprise when he finds out you are charmed by his wits, finding genuine joy in his wry commentary.

For god knows why, you have grown fond of him-- he can see it in the way you provide him with the best equipment, the way you seek his presence. The way you laugh freely around him and turn your back to him during battle, believing he will defend it. Though arriving at this point was coincidental, it is almost too easy for Astarion to come to the conclusion that his next step is to seduce you.

Astarion sees your laughter, but he also sees the way you throw him glances when you think the others aren't looking. You instinctively lean closer to him when he is near and when he speaks, your eyes are quick to find him. You are attracted to him– and he means to capitalize on it and make you feel as though you would rather die than have him get hurt.

It's a simple plan, really. The seduction comes easy; all he needs to do is stay unattached, so if things go wrong, he'll find someone else to take cover under.

(The plan should be simple-- he has learned tactics that would put any to their knees, tricked hundreds of people of his affections. But something about doing this to you-- this performance-- makes him uneasy.

It's a shame, he finds himself thinking. He thinks he was beginning to like you too.

The thought lingers only for a moment. He is quick to push it from his mind; that too is a learned habit.)

Astarion finds his opportunity after the goblin camp has been slain and the tieflings throw a celebration in thanks.

The wine is mediocre at best, but there is much of it to be shared, so the party is still in full blast when the moon is overhead. He finds himself a secluded part of camp to sip at the sorry excuse of a liquor, discomfited by the praise they give him for participating in the fight against the goblins.

You are unused to the praise as well, humble as you are, but you are nearly glowing from the joy you feel as you make merry with those you have befriended. The rest of the party, even companions who were ambivalent at best at the idea of helping the tiefling immigrants, are satisfied with the outcome despite the lack of progress with removing the tadpole. He would say otherwise– the trade of goblin lives for tieflings hardly makes a difference, and surely the goblins would throw a wilder party than this. He says as much to you when, faithfully, you find your way to him to talk.

“All I want,” he tells you, “is a little bit of fun. Is that so much to ask?”

You snort into your drink. “Knowing you, it could be.”

“Don't be so sour,” he croons. “I like a good time as much as anyone.” His eyes fall half-lidded as he looks at you. You raise your brow at him, noticing the change in tone as he continues. "You know, we could always make our own entertainment."

The look you give him is partly apprehensive and the other amused. He knows that glimmer of recognition of what he is asking, though you are quick to hide it for plausible deniability. "...What do you mean by that?"

Astarion, with practiced ease, leans in, watching as you instinctively do the same before he purrs out, "Why, sex, of course. Experiencing a little death, figuratively speaking, is quite fun, wouldn't you agree?"

Your face is already flushed from the alcohol, but your cheeks on high brighten in the dimly lit torches at his tent. It's evident you didn't expect him to suggest something like that, especially to you, though you are not completely unwilling if the lack of immediate denial is of any indication.

You are rendered speechless though; a first for you considering how quick you often are at retorting back at his comments. It makes Astarion think of two conclusions: you are either inexperienced or incredibly shocked at his offer. Both are familiar, though the thought of your naivety extending into sexual relations does, at the very least, give him pause.

It is not as if he has never been someone's first. Virgins are often most eager to lose or prove themselves in someone so willing to offer bliss. If you are one, well– the shy ones are always the ones that are easier to fell.

He prepares himself to drop a few one-liners to convince you to take the offer, but you glance away for a moment before you turn toward him, face unreadable.

"If you're down," you say. You smile. "I don't mind."

"Until later then," Astarion replies easily. "Wouldn't want the others to interrupt, unless you're interested in that."

At this, you laugh, and he relaxes. "Definitely not. Though, I'm curious." You ask, "Am I your first choice, or am I just the first to say 'yes'?"

Astarion finds the best lies are in truths. "Lae'zel was quite eager to find a partner earlier. Luckily she and Wyll are in quite the agreement for tonight as far as I can hear and I have no desire to get in between whatever the githyanki has in store." He smiles slyly at you. "Besides, I couldn't help but overhear you flirting with our druid earlier so I at least knew you were in the, ah, mood. Never imagined you'd be quite so bold."

"It's the alcohol," you mutter, rubbing your cheek. You take the wine from his hand and take another swig. "Also, I didn't realize he'd be coming with us so that was a surprise. Almost as much of a surprise as you asking me." You glance at him briefly. "Well, sort of."

Astarion feels a familiar prickle of suspicion as he stares at you, already unamused at whatever dirty truths you have prepared for him. "What is it now?"

You quip a half smile, eyes bright under the torch fire. (Your eyes are brown.) "Nothing," you say teasingly. "Guess you do like me a little bit."

Astarion watches as you walk away, feeling less victorious than he imagined himself to be.

The flirting, the seduction, the fight for survival is familiar. The banter, the bickering, the camaraderie between the two of you is beginning to be just as familiar. Astarion feels just the slightest bit unease at how true your words are.

Astarion has much to prepare for the night, so it is lucky that you take center stage of the party, as the savior of the grove. You take part in the merriment and make conversations, taking genuine interest in the stories others tell. The tieflings keep you busy for the most part, but Astarion is nothing if not good at building anticipation, putting as much heat into his gaze as possible when you do have time to take a glance at him.

You are quick to focus your attention elsewhere after giving him a look, but the smile on your face that stays means that at least he is always on your mind. In some ways, he has missed this... coyness, the thrill of the chase. The results of his previous endeavors never fail to unease him, but with you, it is different. The familiarity of seduction comes with a little bit more fun knowing you are not going to be his victim- not like it usually is.

"Hey, still not joining in on the fun?" You suddenly ask him, your hand gently prying at his arm so you can hook onto him. You have gotten more drunk in the time you were away, the warmth of your skin seeping into him from where you've attached yourself. Your face is almost comically red if not for the carefree smile on your face and the affection that betrays on your face when you look at him.

Something in his chest warms at the sight of you.

"Unfortunately, the tieflings' company has not become any more appealing since you've been gone. Besides," Astarion says slyly, "the only thing I've been thinking of is how you'll taste later when we're alone."

You let out a huff, turning your head away with a half-embarrassed and pleased smile. "Laying it on a little thick, aren't you?"

"Not at all," he replies easily. "It's the truth, after all."

You look at him as though you don't believe a word, but you are charmed by them anyway if your expression is of any indication. As conscientious as you normally are, the alcohol and the fact you are delving into his territory of seduction puts you at a disadvantage. Even if you are the one that knows him best in the camp, you are not attuned to every secret. Half-truths and lies come easier than anything else, if only because it allows him to keep his distance.

When the camp is cleared and you linger to bid the others farewell, Astarion slips away to the lake to prepare. It is almost ritualistic the way he cleans himself, the cold waters readying himself for what comes next. He thinks of what lines to tell you, how he should appear to you to best whet your appetite. Are you chaste or are you more animalistic? Would you prefer to take a dominant or submissive role? Astarion cannot tell these things about you based on his interactions with you, so he can only rely on his flexibility and years of experience to get him through it.

(For a brief moment, he wonders if this is something he must do. What if you would protect him regardless of how this night goes? You are compassionate, sympathetic to the plight of others-- goodness flows within your veins like the light that beacons from your holy sword. Could that light not shield him too, without his body as an offering?

But gods are rarely so magnanimous, no matter the sacrifices. Astarion will not take his chances even with you.

Even then-- even then, he wants this night to be at least a little enjoyable. It is with you, after all. If there is someone who can allow him to feel safe, it is you.)

Moonlight beams above, and Astarion hears your quiet footsteps come closer. His expression masks into something more suitable for seduction and he steps from the shadows of the trees to greet you.

Upon seeing him, you yelp in surprise and- god, can you blame him?- he jumps as well.

"What in God's name-"

"Sorry, sorry! I didn't expect to see you half naked all of a sudden!" You stammer, "I mean, not all of a sudden, I guess. Your... state of undress didn't cross my mind as something I'd see right away."

It is reckless when his mark is so close to fruition, but he finds himself dropping the act, hand at his hips in an instinctual indignant huff you seem to invoke from him easily. "Darling, what did you expect after the invitation I gave?" Your sheepish grin is your only answer, and Astarion feels a quick flash of annoyance at how easily you are able to derail his thoughts.

Quick to redirect the conversation though, Astarion angles his body sensually, lowering his voice in the manner he knows can send shivers down his victims. "Perhaps you'd prefer if you could strip me down yourself?"

Like clockwork, your cheeks flush pink even as you roll your eyes in attempts to salvage your embarrassment. "Only you'd be able to pull those lines out of nowhere," you mutter, and Astarion allows himself the satisfaction when you approach him, eyes looking down at him appreciatively.

Only a small gap lies between the two of you now, your dark eyes meeting his. You are waiting on him; Astarion does not hesitate.

He takes your face into his hands and brings his lips to yours. Your eyes close almost immediately to the touch as you give into him, face tilting up to align with him and mouth parted to allow him in. Though Astarion knows not how you incline to be normally, he knows that this night, he's the one in control.

Your hands curl into the front of his chest as though you do not know where to touch, so he helps you along and pulls you in until there is nothing separating you. Astarion can see the way your eyes widen when you can feel his arousal beneath his trousers, and recognizes your interest with the way your pupils darken your eyes.

There is a slight satisfaction in seeing you this way. As stubborn as you are, you are malleable in his touch, opening up to his hands like a flower in bloom. He lifts you up against the tree, your legs quickly wrapping around his waist in response, and your little giggle morphs into a gasp of pleasure when he grinds into you fully.

It is probably instinctual the way you arch your back and bare your neck to him. It isn't in him to resist the temptation to bury his nose into the crook, nipping at the sensitive skin between your collar bone. And this is when he feels your hands, that were curled into his hair, push him back slightly, and his stomach drops.

He should be worried that he made a mistake and think about how to put you back on track with him. His safety depends on his success, after all. Despite himself, Astarion feels more hurt at your rejection, your mistrust, than anything. (Since when did that ever matter to him?)

"I wasn't going to bite, you know," he says, hoping nothing in his voice gives anything away.

"No, that's not it," you tell him, and your hand is quick to cup his face reassuringly. He finds himself soothed by your gesture though he wishes he was not in need of it in the first place. "I trust you not to without my say. I mean, you probably could tonight if you wanted..." You trail off. "I just wanted to let you know something before we go any further."

The offer for blood pleases him more than it should, as does the affirmation of your trust. "Whatever you want to say, darling, I doubt it'll deter me from having my way with you tonight," Astarion says, eyes half-lidded and staying strong despite the undignified huff you give him.

"Well, alright," you say as you try to save face. You brush over his collarbone with your thumb as you think. You're nervous, he realizes, over whatever you have to say, and he can't begin to guess what you could possibly reveal that would be of such import to leave you in such a state. "I... have never-- this is my first time. Having sex," you say, and Astarion does his utmost not to show any semblance of surprise.

"I hope," you continue, "that's okay? You'll probably have to show me a lot of things but, you know..."

You are a virgin after all. Astarion had some thoughts on the matter but he never truly took stock in it considering how rare it is to save yourself for this long. You were modest but far from prude, and you had thoughts of debauchery like any other in the camp. But you are of untouched flesh. Inexperienced. And yet you accepted him to be your first?

You are not so unique that he has never bedded someone like you, but it does tweak his heart in a way it has not for a long while that you are giving yourself to him as a result of his seduction. You feel self conscious about this inexperience, and it would be easy to take advantage of that for his benefit. Typical, even.

The thought does not sit well with him.

"I know you wanted a fun night," you tell him, eyes downcast when he does not respond. "So I get it if you're not interested anymore since I'm probably going to be a lot of work-"

"And what’s to say we cannot have fun while discovering something new?" Astarion interrupts in a momentary panic. He's not on autopilot but he's not stopping the night from happening despite your deference- so what is he doing? "Darling, I'm rather concerned you want to spend your first night with a vampire-" He needs to get back on script.

He recites the words in his mind. Isn't this what you want? To lose yourself in me? And all he has to do is say it-

"No, that's not-" You talk back, frowning. "You being a vampire has nothing to do with it. When you asked, I said yes because I trust you, vampire or not."

To have and to hold, he thinks, and wonders how you have survived for so long being so willfully trusting when at times you should not. "Then trust me, darling," he says, heat building in his chest. He lifts you up again and growls. "Let's have some fun. That's what you want, isn't it?"

"If that's what you want," you breathe out, and Astarion claims your mouth with his own.

You let out a sigh when he begins to undress you, his dexterous hands easily removing every lace and button to leave you bare. You giggle into his kiss, and Astarion lets himself smile, being pulled along as you roll on top of him playfully, mischief in your eyes. You full on laugh when he rolls you back over, uncaring of the outdoors, bearing your neck for him to bite.

Astarion doesn't remember the last time he's had fun doing this. And it is fun- always has been with you, he realizes, a type of levity that he has not experienced with anyone else. He takes leisure in biting you, sucking a mouthful of blood that has him moaning into your neck as he rolls his hips into you. Your hand gently cards through his hair as he bites, and true to his word (only taking just enough), he pulls back with blood on his lips before swooping down to share in his bounty.

He cannot help but laugh when you stick out your tongue at him, nose wrinkling at the metallic taste of blood that is otherwise sweet to him. He pulls his remaining clothes off and smirks when he sees you follow the line of sight down to his hardened cock in compulsive curiosity.

"Like what you see, darling?"

You make a noncommittal hum as you sit up, quick as you are unbothered by your nakedness. "Can I?" You ask, gesturing toward him, and he would find it amusing for you to ask if not for how eagerly you grasp his member at his nod.

Astarion hisses in pleasure as you pump his cock, getting into an easy rhythm with your thumb sliding deliciously on the tip of it. He watches as you gather spit to smoothen the pace, hand delicately pushing your hair from your face, and feel arousal melt into his belly like molten lava.

"Why, it seems you have a little bit of experience in this matter, or are you just talented?" He asks and earns himself a coy look.

"Just twice," you say, twisting your hand in a way that has him rolling his hips. "Hold my hair, will you?"

Astarion is quick to follow your orders-- almost instinctively-- and before he has a moment to ponder on that, he is throwing his head back when your mouth swallows his cock in wetness and heat.

Most of his so-called lovers were more eager to be pleased than please; it makes sense that you would be different with the way you are. Your eagerness is quite adorable, as is your earnestness to provide him pleasure. Astarion revels in it, ecstasy climbing up like a tidal wave.

"That's enough, dear," Astarion purrs. He sees you look at him with a protest on your lips, and he continues, "I'd much rather continue this while I'm inside you."

Based on your expression, you are more than thrilled at the aspect.

Astarion guides you to lay down as he climbs over, hands carving a path over your curves and into your heat. He is careful to not scrape his fangs over your bosom, though he suspects you would not mind it in the least with how roughly he plays with your nipples to elicit a moan. You are dripping by the time he is done preparing you.

It does not take much resistance to enter you fully. You let out a short cry, reaching out to him instinctively for comfort as your body adapts to him. True to your words, you are tight beyond measure, squeezing his cock as though you are determined to milk him for what he's worth. You pant into his ears, hands grasping over his shoulders as you ease into the feeling of him.

The moment you nod, Astarion begins to move steadily. It is easy for the both of you to lose yourself in the pleasure, and it is these moments that he feels himself drift away, and the feeling of dread settles in.

Any type of intimacy takes him acres away, the gasps and moans that was music to his ears fading into numbness. He hardly knows what he's doing, except to know that he's doing well enough, hands playing at your clit as he moves at a persistent rhythm.

Astarion wishes it were different. Sex is fun, especially with you, if only it didn't make him feel as though he were fighting for his life. Every stroke calculated, every climax comes with a price. You are not to be taken back to Cazador, but it still feels like he's going to.

You tighten around him, and he knows you are about to come just as he is. He lets out a grunt and persists through a rapid pace before feeling your body jolt in pleasure. He soon follows after, head upon your shoulder as he shudders into his climax.

The night is still young; why don't we go back to my place for more?

Won't you come home with me? We need so much more time to get to know each other.

His next lines come too easily for him that it makes him sick.

A hand pulls at his cheek rather cheekily and Astarion finds himself coming back from the haze. He lifts his head to look at you, face relaxed from pleasure but still otherwise amused.

Is it ridiculous to think that the sight of you makes him feel safe?

"That," you begin, "was crazy. Sex is like that, huh?"

"Be welcomed to the land of the living, darling," Astarion says. "I fear you have been missing out on one of the finer parts of life."

"Well, it's not like I've never orgasmed before," you tell him, "but I guess it is pretty different with someone else." You sigh when Astarion removes himself from you. "Thank you for being so patient with me."

"No need to mention it, darling," he says, finding it easy to relax with the banter, "though I dare say it did not take very long for you to be prepared. Why, I'd even call that a record for getting as wet as you did-"

"Hey!" He avoids your playful slap with ease as you pout at him. "I... I have no comeback to that, except maybe you're welcome."

"I'm welcome? I should be the one saying that to you. I'm rather magical in bed, don't you think?"

"I don't know if your neck could support a head that big if I agree with you." You laugh, flipping your hair away again. For a moment, Astarion has the urge to take it upon himself to brush the stray strands from your face, but he does not. "By the way," you continue, "are you okay?"

Astarion blinks. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, you just seemed a little..." You stop before shaking your head. "No, never mind. You seemed a little far away but what would I know."

His heart lurches. "I had to make sure I didn't lose control," he says carefully. He clears his throat and goes for levity. "Who knows if your fragile, virgin body can handle it?"

Astarion is grateful you take the line for how it is, quick to come up with a haughty retort, the banter easy to fall back to. You are adamant on being sturdy enough and not one to waste a chance, he proposes a long night of lovemaking-- if only to cinch the deal with you. After all, he thinks as your legs close around his head, this is all part of his plan: seduce you and win your protection. Nothing more, nothing less.

He tries not to think how sex for once, as he nips playfully at your thigh, has been enjoyable.

The sun wakes him up before anything else. It is unfamiliar to him, even at least a month beyond the time when his deathly aversion to sunlight has disappeared. The warmth of the morning rays, the light that dawn brings-- Astarion did not realize how much he had missed it until he had felt it again.

He almost isn't sure if he can ever go back to never feeling it again.

He stands to bask in it fully, glancing over to his side to watch your sleeping figure for a moment. You are curled up in your own clothes-- and his shirt as well, he remembers, having a little play fight over it before you eventually let exhaustion take you. The ache in his body from last night is familiar at least, and he stares at you, waiting for the dread to come-- but it does not.

How curious. Only good for his plans if everything is more palatable, of course, but it is... unexpected for him to feel so at ease. He decides not to question it, using this moment of strangely acquired peace to face the sun in its entirety.

Your voice filters in after many minutes, a little scratchy from slumber. "You awake already?"

"It isn't exactly the break of dawn, dear," Astarion replies, and he shoots a glance back expecting your usual deadpan, but you are rubbing your eyes sleepily instead. A thought comes to mind that he has never seen you in your first waking moments: you are rather unguarded, movements leisurely and expression soft still. It's quite... cute. "I'm rather surprised you're awake. I thought you'd be exhausted from last night."

You let out a titter behind your hand at this. "Yeah, well, everything aches in different ways than a fight, so it's not too bad." You yawn. "Still sleepy though," you mumble, looking up at him through the gaps between your fingers as you block the sun from your eyes.

"Say," you begin, and Astarion realizes belatedly that the reason you were looking so intently at him was because you saw his back. "Can I ask about those markings on your back? Are they scars?"

"A poem from my old master," he replies facetiously. "Or so I assume. He carved it all into my back in one night." His lips purse. "He made a lot of revisions."

"I'm sorry," he hears you say with sympathy in your voice, and he knows he must quickly move on from this topic.

"It's fine," he says abruptly. "It doesn't matter now. I'm free and far from Baldur's Gate. And he'll never control me ever again."

"Good," you say, and he wonders if putting warmth into your words comes naturally to you.

"Yes, it is." He pauses. "May I have my shirt back? Not that I mind being half nude, by the way- if only to let everyone know exactly what went on last night."

"Don't even joke," you sputter, tossing his shirt- miraculously clean- to him. "I don't kiss and tell! And they'll definitely know, but not the details!”

In the morning glow, nothing much has changed. As predicted, the entire camp is in-the-know of whomever slept with who. Astarion is quick to inquire Lae'zel about her tryst with Wyll, only to find, to the mutual disappointment, that he spent most of the time talking about his feelings. Shadowheart, on the other hand, was more than happy to share her wine last night.

"Shadowheart mates like she fights," Lae'zel says. "Precisely and aggressively."

"Which is a good thing, I assume."

"Immensely." Lae'zel pauses then in breaking down her tent to look at him intently, which, for the githyanki, is as terrifying as anything. "I see you and our paladin decided to explore each other's bodies last night."

"Why, yes, thank you for noticing. It was quite the exploration," he responds, opening his mouth to elaborate.

"I suppose even you have your charms," she tells him instead, and the conversation ends there.

(Astarion hopes to glean more conversation elsewhere to no luck. Your talk with Shadowheart this morning is brief ("Lae'zel, huh."/"Astarion."/"Yep."), and Karlach's put-out expression is enough to give sympathy and a wide berth. Astarion sees Gale gazing upon the visage of his goddess again and turns the other way.)

The camp dynamic stays strangely the same. It is to Astarion's benefit, for he was comfortable with how the way things were, though he is more generous with the pet names for you. Halsin joins the fray, and they make their way to the mountains upon Lae'zel's insistence.

In the midst of adventure, Astarion finds that you seek his presence more often. His night invitation seemed to open an avenue up for you to be more comfortable in doing so. Astarion finds he doesn't mind it; your camaraderie is most enjoyable in the too quiet camp and as far as "seducing" goes, you are doing half the work for him.

Your gaze holds some heat for him once in a while when the moon is high and the fire burns low, but you have not asked him for another night. He is neither pleased nor displeased at the notion, because your affections for him are as clear as day. He knows you would say yes in a heartbeat if he did propose another night together, but he rather likes the late-night conversations he often has with you, a type of intimacy that borders on his comfort zone-- exciting and enjoyable without the unnecessary reminders of his past.

Still, he sometimes finds himself recalling his night with you fondly. It's strange: he's gotten on his back ten thousand times or more and forgotten half of them, but his time with you, he knows he will remember.

Astarion puts the thoughts of "why" (why you? Why are you different? What makes you special?) behind him for now. A treasure hunt for the Blood of Lathander (as if you needed to shine even brighter), a stolen githyanki egg (Lae'zel keeps it safe in her backpack), and an escape from a créche later, Astarion is more than happy to find refuge in the underdark, which proves to be more beautiful than any of them could imagine.

Something makes him look over to you then, and he watches as you take in the sights with wonder in your eyes, the gentle darkness cradling your face in its dreamy blue glow.

#astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion/tav #astarion/reader #astarion bg3 #will there be a second part? who knows #i black out and suddenly there is 10k words

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kerubimcrepin · 4 months ago

Text

Wakfu OVA - Book 3, Dragon Mountain [PART 1]

Amalia he is handing you all out the Twelvian equivalent of six nuclear devices.

Amalia: [asks Joris]

Kerubim: [replies instead of Joris]

Second most batshit thing he's doing after the whole "speaking over him in private" thing. He's so evil dad energy.

Joris having to do the thing most of us know as "mom stooop she already got it."

AND after Keke stops talking he starts answering the question she asked him himself.

Once again, what seems like a normal interaction to most, is a goldmine to me.

Literally the funniest possible thing a guy who keeps losing Dofus, and had to stop being Ebony's guardian due to "interpersonal issues with the dragon", can say.

I never mentioned this previously, but one really cool detail is that even though he probably can't use them, the Dofus do react to Joris's touch — thanks to his dragonized nature.

Since the OVAs came out before the movie, this drove a lot of people a little bit crazy.

Big fan of Atch and Keke standing silently and looking vaguely worried about things.

I'M INSANE.

OF COURSE KERUBIM CREPIN WOULD REACT TO THIS. HE'S DAD.

I can read into things soooo well. I can read into them so easily. It comes like breathing to me.

[puts on tinfoil hat] Yes Kerubim wants to come back home together with Atcham and Joris, but also, Kerubim is seen pushing Joris towards his responsibilities, so I wonder if he feels a sense of guilt for the person Joris has become (guy who will die if he isn't saving the world).

lL;sdf;epor21301;;;; aksdkmaljwijahcfaw j

Anyway, I'm liking the fact that Kerubim and Atcham decided not to come with. Letting Joris have fun (type 3 fun, to be exact) with his friends <3 without making him feel weird by hovering around.

I have thought for years what Joris allowing Yugo to risk the end of the world for Tristepin might mean for his character. It doesn't feel out of character, far from it, — though it would be just as in-character if he was (softly) against this.

I think it's just one of Joris's many multitudes. He has very strong ("strong") morals, until people he cares about are involved.

Besides that, as someone who was alive before Ogrest's Chaos, I do think he'd love for the flooding of the world to stop, which might also be a factor in him not resisting the Brotherhood of Tofu's dangerous decisions here.

Just like OVA 2 was win after win after win after win for Crepinjurgenites, I think this OVA is kind of a big win for Adamai and Yugo fans.

Anyway the way Joris and Ruel are watching this happen is so fucking funny I can't. They really said 😬 and 😐

Joris hesitates before joining in.... because he's not a part of their friend group (but he wishes he were)

Personally, I think he joined in after seeing Otomai do so. It felt less awkward/presumptious. We don't see him lay his hand on Ruel — it cuts away to Otomai before that happens, which makes me consider this possibility.

OVA 3 makes me wish for an alternate season 3 that doesn't suck ass and actually handles Adamai's arc well. My suffering is so real and poignant.

THAT'S WHAT I WAS TALKING ABOUT. HE WAS SILENTLY STANDING THERE THINKING "Adamai is right though..." and doing NOTHING. Because he's sick in the head.

GET SCARED.

When I first watched the OVAs, I thought that these were all his past lives, and not the fucking Eliotropes. I wish life was kinder 😔

Joris "50 traumagenic psychological disorders" Jurgen ready to attack things at the drop of a hat like a wild animal.

Cutie-patootie shielding his eyes and groaning all pissed off at Yugo for doing whatever scary shit he just did.

Staring at Otomai.

While Otomai is staring at him.

He replies to her as if his own reaction to this wasn't O_O

Ngl I feel like having Grougalorasalar (the #coguette #female manipulator dragon), Dardondakal (??? the cringe warcrime dragon), and Goultard's Gay Lover Doomed By The Narrative inside your head would give anyone brainrot that leads them to cause an apocalypse to happen.

AND there are three other guys in there. And all six of them are eating holes into his brain.

Your honor, Ogrest just had a silly little time and we should forgive him for it.

[clears throat and approaches the mic] Ogrest and Otomai are good but. What if another father-son duo also had a scene where the son threatens to hurt his father if he doesn't leave him alone. Wouldn't it be cool. Haha. There are tons of father-son duos in this franchise! Tumblr user @jorisjurgen, also known as @kerubimcrepin, is not pointing at any pair of characters in particular — I just think a son should threaten to kill his father at least once more in this franchise.

#ro liveblogs dofus #krosmoz #dofus #wakfu #wak3

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iomoru · 25 days ago

Note

I've never used one of these asks before , but I read one of your Kazuha ones and I adore your writing and saw requests were open!!!!

I would love to see something with Kazuha protecting/saving the reader from something n comforting them, fluffy cute stuff? Thank you :>

A Gentle Blade

A/n: I'm so sorry it took so long Uranus anon! I pretty much got busy thinking about my Halloween special tomorrow I ended up forgetting about my last request- (-ω-；)

Genre: Canon Verse, Fluff, Strangers to Lovers (?), Gn! Reader, Kazuha x Reader, Second Person, Proofread

Summary: After a close encounter with a band of Treasure Hoarders, you're saved by a calm and mysterious swordsman named Kazuha. He offers to walk you home, easing your fears with stories from his travels. As you reach safety, an unexpected warmth lingers between you, leaving you wondering if fate had more in store for this chance of meeting each other once again.

The sun had begun its descent, casting a warm golden glow over the trees and rivers that bordered Inazuma’s dense forests. You were on your way back from a nearby village, having run a simple errand, when you sensed something was off. The rustling in the bushes around you wasn’t the usual whisper of wind or animals—no, this was something else.

Before you could react, a group of Treasure Hoarders stepped out, cutting off your path with grins that promised trouble.

"Well, well, what’s a fine person like you doing out here all alone?" one of them sneered, his hand reaching for your belongings.

Heart racing, you clutched your bag tighter, taking a step back nervously then surprisingly landed on the ground. You tried to reason with them, but your voice wavered, and they laughed, thinking you're an easy prey. You braced yourself, ready to make a run for it, when a gentle yet firm voice drifted from the shadows.

"I suggest you let them go."

The Treasure Hoarders whipped around, and you looked up, spotting a figure standing calmly nearby. A man with silver hair, dressed in elegant yet travel-worn clothing, held a shaft on his hand, his crimson eyes focused intently on the bandits.

"Who’re you supposed to be?" one of them taunted, clearly unimpressed.

The swordsman tilted his head, his expression remaining calm but somehow even more intimidating. "Merely a wanderer who dislikes senseless cruelty."

With that, he unsheathed his blade in a swift, graceful motion, the shimmer of his Anemo Vision illuminating his form. The Treasure Hoarders hesitated, but his unwavering stance spoke volumes—they wouldn’t get away so easily.

One by one, they tried their luck, but his moves were too precise, too practiced. Within moments, he had them either retreating or knocked to the ground, leaving you sitting there in a stunned silence.

As he sheathed his sword, he approached you, his gentle gaze now focused on you.

"Are you alright?" His voice was warm, a perfect contrast to the strength he’d just shown.

You nodded, though your hands were still shaking. "Thank you…I didn’t expect anyone to help."

He gave a slight smile, offering his hand. "It’s fortunate I was passing by then. I am Kaedehara Kazuha, a simple traveler." His hand lingered for a moment, as if waiting to ensure you felt safe enough to take it.

Taking a deep breath, you placed your hand in his, and he gently helped you up, his touch calm and reassuring. You felt as if your nerves began to settle in his presence.

"It’s…really lucky you came when you did," you managed, cheeks warming. "I thought they’d just leave after taking what they wanted."

He released your hand but didn’t step back, remaining close enough to offer comfort. "Unfortunately, they rarely do," he replied softly. "Are you hurt?"

You shook your head, though your voice gave away a hint of lingering fear. "I-I think I’m okay, just…a little shaken up."

Kazuha nodded understandingly, his gaze softening. "If it’s alright with you, I can walk with you the rest of the way. You don’t have to be alone."

You glanced at him, a small smile breaking through the nerves. "I’d really appreciate that."

As you walked together, the unease began to fade, replaced by a quiet, warm companionship. He told you stories of his travels, his voice soothing, a steady balm to your frayed nerves. You found yourself getting lost in his words, and the fear of what had happened melted away, replaced with an odd feeling of comfort.

When you finally reached your destination, you felt a pang of disappointment that the journey was over.

"Thank you, Kazuha," you murmured, your gaze lingering on him. "You didn’t have to accompany me on my way home, although…I’m really grateful."

He smiled softly, a hint of something unspoken in his gaze. "It was my pleasure. Perhaps fate had our paths crossed today." He hesitated, then added, "If you ever need someone to accompany you again, well…I might be persuaded to pass through here."

You laughed lightly, feeling your cheeks warm. "I’d like that."

With a nod and a gentle bow, he turned to leave, and you watched him, your heart inexplicably lighter. Somehow, a part of you knew this wouldn’t be the last time your paths would cross.

A/n: isn't he just so dreamy?

#iomoruツ #iomoruwritingsツ #iomorurequestsツ #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact x y/n #genshin x reader #genshin x y/n #genshin x you #genshin fluff #kaedehara kazuha x you #kaedehara kazuha x reader #kazuha kaedehara x reader #kazuha x you #kazuha x y/n #kazuha x reader #kazuha fluff #genshin kazuha #genshin impact kazuha

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imagining-in-the-margins · 2 years ago

Text

Maddening One, My Goddess (S.R.)

*Picture is not indicative of Reader's appearance.

Summary: Spencer hooked up with a goddess on February 13 and almost immediately comes to regret it when he attends a pre-planned Valentine's Day blind date.

Request: Spencer has a one night stand with a random woman but on valentines he's supposed to go on a blind date with one of Penelope's friends and it turns out it's the same woman Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Fluff (16+ for sexual themes) Content Warning: Fade to black scene with sexual themes, alludes to sex, one night stand, Greek mythology, Reader as Aphrodite, second hand embarrassment, awkward dinners, kissing/making out Word Count: 4.85k

MASTERLIST

Many mistakes begin with a poorly timed question. There is no more obvious rendition of this tired trope than a book chosen at random from the romance section of a bookstore.

So often had it happened, where the hero seals his own fate by misunderstanding the weight of his words. Whether he had been the one asking or the one being asked, it always ended with tragedy reminiscent of the Greek Gods.

I knew I would be that hero from the moment I saw my heroine sitting lonely at the cafe on the corner. Her eyes, half-lidded but filled with yearning, remain affixed on the empty chair across from her.

The place was packed with busy bodies, but she seemed so still. It was as if an oil painting of Aphrodite had come to life and left her without her other.

Perhaps it was just the foolhardy romantic in me, but I found that a woman waiting for nothing to arrive was a bit too tragic with Valentine’s Day only one night away.

“Are you waiting for someone?” I had asked.

Those eyes that had been lost resurfaced. They’d turned to me with a dreamy sigh and a demure charade to hide the deviance hidden betwixt the words.

“No, I wasn’t,” she had purred, “but now I’m hoping you’ll ask me to stay.”

Who was I to deny Cupid’s arrow, no matter how poorly timed? Was it chauvinistic to want to save her from solitude when she was so clearly aware of her own tragedy? She had not been a woman who needed to be saved. But she had wanted someone to try.

Try, I had. We spoke until long past the flickering of shy streetlights. I’d watched the sun set behind her, casting its halo as her backdrop. The jealous star had burned twice as beautifully in an effort to outshine her. When it had finally accepted defeat and gave in to the night, she also had to take her leave.

It had only been a few hours. It was only a few hours before the day of the lovers’ feast. I’d spent the afternoon fantasizing about an alternate reality where I could let myself be consumed by her. I had trailed behind her, her Icarus chasing what felt both unattainable and inevitable.

When she had leaned forward to kiss me, wax wings turned to a puddle at my feet. I had been trapped in place, powerless to her as she kissed me again, and again, and again. I fell for her then, with no reservations.

The chilly February air had presented the perfect contrast to her warmth. Her scorching lips were still soft. I had felt the intensity growing stronger with each meeting of our lips. When she had shyly asked for entrance, I had given it without hesitation.

Like the fools in every Greek tragedy, we plummeted swiftly into the inferno of lust. Cupid had claimed another victim, but I hadn’t been able to find a reason to resist her.

It was inevitable, after all. Fated by Eros himself.

Yet I’d been surprised that she’d lingered when her had chariot arrived.

Still sporting that intoxicating stare, she had asked, “Are you coming?”

So many mistakes begin just like that.

“I-I just met you,” I’d answered honestly, “I’ve uh… I’ve never done this before.”

She’d tipped her head back and laughed. It had hurt less than I would have expected. How could it, when the sound had been so beautiful?

“Oh, honey, I know,” she’d giggled, “But don’t worry, I’ve done it enough for the both of us.”

The animal in me trembled as it puffed it’s chest at the taunt.

“Is that supposed to be attractive? Because it is,” I’d laughed.

It had been enough of a yes for her. She took my hand in hers and began leading me away from the remnants of wax wings that I no longer needed. Like them, I’d shed my insecurities in exchange for a promise of a bed less painfully empty.

“Really? Not worried about where you’ll end up on the rankings?” she’d snickered.

“Terrified, actually.”

She had paused before she could climb into the backseat. She’d turned to me with an overwhelming, paradoxical nature. Still somehow seeming shy, she’d tugged me forward until her lips ghosted over my ear.

“Good boy,” she’d whispered, “you’ll be on your best behavior, then.”

And I had tried. I’d tried with everything I had to please her any way that she would let me. We had remained tangled together from the moment we’d crossed the threshold to her hotel room until long after the clock had struck midnight.

She had been every bit as idyllic as I’d expected. My shy seductress with her eyes full of wonder and ambrosia spilling from her lips. I had worshipped her like Aphrodite herself, and like her devout followers, I felt no shame in my own humility.

But as the sun peeked through thin veils, I knew that reality had persisted. The jealous sun rose and shone brightly as it sought to reveal the aftermath of a night with a goddess.

I woke to an empty bed and the distant sound of the shower. The feeling of regret was nonexistent up until I heard the raucous reminder of exactly what day it has been.

Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzt.

At first, I thought about ignoring the call. I considered the most cowardly option of not alerting Penelope Garcia of my indiscretions. If I simply didn’t answer, maybe it would spare me some of the humiliation.

Of course, that also risked her searching the location of my cell phone, which would take her approximately fifty five seconds to do. If she were to do that, I feared that the moment she discovered I was in a hotel room a couple blocks from my apartment, she might come kick my ass herself.

I knew I had to be brave. I had to tell Penelope the truth that, despite her kindness in finding some poor woman who would put up with me on Valentine’s Day, I had to cancel.

I had to cancel because I had made the truly heinous, foolish mistake of a one-night stand on February 13th.

Without allowing myself to dwell on my idiocy any longer, I picked up the phone and spoke as quickly and quietly as I could.

“Penelope, I have to cancel.”

“What?!” she shouted back.

“I’m sorry!” I tried to interject, but she shouted over me with a contained fury, “Reid, what the hell are you talking about? You can’t cancel, the date is tonight!”

When I didn’t answer, she continued—much louder— “It’s Valentine’s Day! The day of love, Cupid’s birthday, the holiest of Hallmark holidays, the day on which we agreed that you would come with me on a double date with a woman I very carefully chose specifically for you!”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry just—.”

I stopped as soon as the shower had. The sweet sound of her humming in delight caused butterflies to roar in my chest before they were caught in the vortex of anxiety that was beginning to peak.

“I have to go,” I rushed, but she hasn’t understood.

“Damn right you do!”

“No! I meant I have to get off the phone. I can’t go tonight,” I repeated.

On the other end of the phone, Penelope remained blissfully unaware of my predicament.

“Reid, if you abandon me on my favorite day and leave me to pick up the pieces of this poor girl’s broken heart, I am never going to personally make sure that—!”

The door opened.

“I’ll call you back,” I said before hanging up.

Despite the obvious fear plastered on my face and coursing through my veins, my Aphrodite strolled past me with a wave of her hand.

“You’re bad at whispering,” she droned.

I hadn’t exactly been trying to, but I realized that actually just made me seem worse, so I didn’t dare correct her. Instead, I just watched her nonchalantly drop the towel from her naked body.

I was so distracted by her beauty in the morning light that I almost missed when she spoke again.

“Also, relax,” she sighed, “I already have plans today, so I’m not interested in whatever you were planning.”

Perhaps I had been wrong about how it would feel to be struck through the heart by Eros. I had thought it felt like sweet torture, but in that moment, any remnant of sweetness turned to bitter waves in my stomach.

“Oh, okay,” I muttered.

I’d tried—and failed—to hide my disappointment. In a way, I think she was doing the same.

I thought about saying something, anything to prolong my time with her. I looked at her again. Just the same as the day before, the sun hung behind her and made her appear like a vision from the heavens. She glanced at me over her shoulder as she tried to collect her clothing scattered on the floor.

I opened my mouth to ask her if she was sure she’d wanted me to leave when she still looked so tragic.

The words never made their way through my lips. They died on my tongue the second that she spoke.

“Do you need me to order you a cab?” she asked.

So many mistakes had started just like that.

The walk home to my apartment had been a grueling endeavor. Partially because of the vengeful wrath of Penelope Garcia in my ear, but mostly because I couldn’t help but feel that I’d made the most horrible mistake by accepting her invitation to leave.

It would have been rude to overstay my welcome, of course. But there was something about the way she’d looked at me as we had stood at her door.

I’d expected her to shut it in my face, but she hadn’t. In fact, before I had departed for likely the last time, she had taken the time to press a lingering kiss to my burning cheek.

“If you ever work up the nerve…” she’d whispered, “I’ll be waiting.”

The nerve for what, though? The question had haunted me the whole day. I feared it might haunt me forever.

But this had hardly been an opportune time and place to ponder and yearn for another woman. There, in a beautiful restaurant on Valentine’s Day, with two close friends and waiting on a woman whose heart I was fully prepared to break.

My own heart pounded with the anticipation of the disappointment. I carried my own heartbreak in a lead arrow that would surely drive everyone away.

I knew when she’d arrived because I could hear Penelope’s excitement from across the table. She nearly leapt from her chair to greet my date.

By contrast, my eyes stayed fixated on her feet. That was, until Penelope said something that seemed impossible.

“(Y/n),” she said so simply, as if it hadn’t been an earth-shattering revelation. “This is Spencer. Spencer, this is…”

My Aphrodite, my damsel, my greatest desire and my greatest regret. I stared at her with wide eyes and a dropped jaw that floundered rather than spoke.

“(Y/n),” I muttered when my mouth managed to make words.

She smiled.

Then, as if no part of this was strange or fateful, she continued, “It’s so nice to meet you, Spencer.”

Each step of her perfectly polished heels felt like a knife to my heart. When she took the seat beside me, her perfume hit me the same as her lips against my cheek that morning.

I was so stunned, I couldn’t even breathe. I was waiting for everyone to reveal that this had all been a twisted joke they were all in on.

She seemed so… calm. So prepared to pretend. I wondered how I’d ever thought of her as a damsel. If anything, in that moment, she was more of a villain.

The wrath of Aphrodite came with a quirk of her lips and her hand resting gently on my forearm.

“You know, Spencer…”

How cruel it was, the sound of my name on her lips at a time when I could not kiss them.

“Penelope told me you got cold feet this morning.”

“Uh,” I blabbered. My eyes darted up and down from her hand to her eyes.

I tried to find a way to pretend. It seemed so futile. From the corner of my eye, I saw Luke’s eyes expertly navigating the tumultuous waves between the two of us.

It would only take one poorly worded statement, one question, one answer—one mistake—and he would know the truth.

Assuming he hadn’t already.

“It’s nothing,” I said as confidently as I could, “I uh… It had nothing to do with you.”

Great job. Super convincing.

The bustling sounds of the restaurant felt overwhelming, but still nowhere near as deafening as the way she giggled under her breath. She took her time slowly dragging her hand down my arm until it finally fell away.

“Well, that’s a relief,” she said with a sigh. “I would hate to have ruined such a wonderful evening.”

Of course, she hadn’t. I had. I had become so consumed with the weight of my feelings for her that the mask I would’ve worn was heavier than any lead arrow that Eros might craft.

Even when Penelope and Luke tried so hard to help her maintain the facade that any of this was normal, I remained stubbornly stuck to the truth.

There was a goddess beside me with revenge to exact on the man who thought himself worthy of worshipping her. And, my god, she knew how to make a man suffer and squirm beneath her heel.

She didn’t even need to touch me to make my body react. Her voice alone was enough to cause goosebumps to ripple over my skin. I nearly dropped my fork against the ceramic from the shock of her speaking so boldly.

“So, Spencer, what do you like to do for fun?”

“I don’t have fun,” I answered immediately.

Just like she had the night before, she tipped her head back and laughed. She bared her neck to me and I tried not to think about how it felt against my lips. I tried to drown out the memory of her calling my name with a trembling timbre.

“Really?” she said between chuckles, “So no crazy late nights with people you’ve just met?”

Instead of answering, I just stared at her as I took a long drink of water. I didn’t bother pleading with her because I knew it wouldn’t work. My gaze was not made of saccharine attempts to please her into showing me mercy. It was heavy and filled with the rocks now lining my stomach.

Underneath the table, hidden from prying eyes, that damned woman punished my insubordination by running her foot up my leg.

I jumped hard enough that I bashed my knee against the table. It backfired—or rather, worked exactly as she’d intended it to—when she took the opportunity to rest a warm, gentle palm against my thigh.

“Are you alright?” she asked, still smiling.

“Yes. A-And the answer to your question is… no. No, I-I don’t do that.”

Smooth.

Smooth like the supple skin of her thighs as she perched herself against my hips. Stinging like the drag of her nails down my back.

I had to stop picturing her naked when her hand was on my thigh.

From the other side of the table, Penelope and Luke broke free from each other and attempted to dissipate the awkwardness ensuing between my Aphrodite and I.

At least, I would like to think Penelope had good intentions. Then again, I had scorned her first thing in the morning while still laying in a hotel room with the most beautiful manifestation of God.

“He says that,” Penelope ushered with an excited and accusatory hand gesturing wildly to me, “but he’s definitely kissed both a movie star and a serial killer, so…”

Yeah. She was pissed.

“Garcia!” I pleaded because I thought she might show me mercy.

She didn’t.

“Stop being weird and I’ll stop saying embarrassing things. Like this one time—!”

Thankfully, though, Luke was familiar with the wrath of women and had no problem neutralizing both threats with a simple question.

“(Y/n),” he called, “what about you? What do you like to do?”

Unfortunately, poorly timed questions never boded well for me.

“Most of my time alone is spent at local places,” she answered.

The truth. The terrifying, dangerous truth.

“I meet the most interesting people,” she sighed.

I could feel it on my skin. Not literally, but figuratively. What I could feel literally, was the way she gripped my thigh tighter until her nails could make marks to match the others she left behind in her wake.

I nearly whimpered. I swallowed it with a bite of food that could never taste as good as her. I had abandoned all hope of Luke not figuring out what was happening. Judging by the shit-eating grin he sported, he had probably known from the moment she’d arrived.

I was in full blown damage control, and absolutely none of it was working.

She was, though. She was working so hard at ensuring my downfall would come swiftly and in the most embarrassing manner.

“For example, yesterday, I met the most beautiful man, and he…”

With a sigh of defeat and absolutely no self-preservation, I groaned, “I’m not going to like this story, am I?”

“Why?” she snickered. She had this glimmer in her eye as she removed her hand from my thigh. “Which part are you worried about?”

She’d won. She knew she had won.

Penelope’s patience snapped like a twig beneath a boulder.

“If one of you beautiful, infuriating people doesn’t explain to me what the hell is going on at my dinner table right now, I’m gonna lose it!”

That dastardly goddess turned to me and smiled. I stared at the ceiling and prayed for a miracle.

I got Luke instead.

“These two already know each other,” he explained very gracefully with a wave of his fork in our general direction. When Penelope still didn’t understand what he was saying, he clarified, “They know each other… very well.”

“Actually, we just met last night,” I corrected.

It had been in the spirit of my incessant need to ruin everything.

“That’s definitely not what he meant,” explained my Aphrodite, who had apparently decided to join in on the celebration of my descent into madness and debauchery.

“I know,” I sighed.

As soon as I looked at the woman beside me, I couldn’t help but drown in the residual feelings left behind from Cupid’s bow. I looked at her, dressed beautifully for what she must’ve thought was another man. I thought about how her beauty never waned, only altered in its theme.

She was still smiling. I wondered how much of it had been driven by her adversarial teasing. I would be lying if I said I’d hadn’t sensed the competitive spirit in her the day before.

After all, Aphrodite could be jealous and petty. She could be vindictive and clever and, when she wanted to be, she could be human. Those were the moments where I would love her the most. The quiet vulnerabilities and wordless exchanges in the middle of the modern warfare that was a double date with an established couple on Valentine’s Day.

I’m the midst of my internal monologue of adoration for the woman, I heard a sharp, scandalous gasp come from across the table.

Followed by a salacious whisper from my Aphrodite.

“Oops.”

“Spencer!” Penelope screeched in a failed whisper, “Why the hell would you sleep with someone the night before your very thoughtful friend sets you up on a blind date?!”

Before I could respond, the woman beside me held her hand to her chest in feigned disbelief as she sarcastically cried, “Really, how awful.”

I couldn’t help but voice the obvious, despite Luke warning me not to with a quick, almost imperceptible shake of his head.

“Why are you only asking me?!”

Mistake.

As the only merciful one remaining, Luke chimed in with a desperate attempt to save me from being devoured for dessert.

“He’s got a point. Not sure I’m meant to believe he was the Casanova here.”

He couldn’t help but laugh at the thought. Normally, it might wound my pride, but in that moment I was willing to slaughter the beast inside me for any freedom from my current, personally crafted hell.

“No offense, Reid,” Luke managed through his lighthearted laughter. Then, he turned to the beautiful goddess beside me and offered more bashfully, “A-And no offense to you, ma’am, you’re just uh… a little intimidating.”

To her, it was the highest compliment a man could give.

“Thank you,” she purred.

I took the concession and tried to wield it as both shield and sword.

“Yes! What Luke said!” I squeaked, instinctively leaning away from her when she swayed closer. As if proximity made her more powerful, because it did. I could practically feel the warmth emitting from her. I could smell the champagne on her breath as it mixed with her perfume. My olfactory organs failed me, clinging instead to the memory of her and the way it both calmed and excited me.

Snap out of it!

“She’s the one who asked me to go to her hotel room! Ask her!”

The accused raised her hand further to cover her treacherous lips and she mimicked Penelope’s gasp. Behind lithe fingers, I saw how she still smiled.

“You can’t just ask a woman why she has sex with someone, Spencer,” she chastised playfully, “I wouldn’t answer such an impertinent question anyway, I’m a proper lady.”

For the first time of the night, I laughed. It was a loud, bitter, uncontrollable sound immediately followed by something we both knew was true.

“Oh, you are not—!”

Unfortunately (and fortunately), I wasn’t able to finish the thought because Penelope’s clutch whacked the words out of me.

“Stop it!” she scolded before bringing it down on my head for a second time.

“Ow! Why are you hitting me?!” I whined.

“Don’t slut shame her!”

Fair point.

“You should only be so lucky!” she huffed.

Then, in the spirit of the continued chaos that had led to basically everyone in the room staring at us slack jawed and fascinated, Luke decided to throw all caution and good will to the wind.

“It seems like he was that lucky,” he chuckled.

It earned us two whacks each.

We looked at each other and tried to stifle the laughter. From beside me, I heard my partner in crime snickering along with us.

Worth it, I thought.

Worshipping her was always worth whatever punishment would come.

“You two— Ugh!” she groaned in disgust as she finally took her seat. Defeated, she stubbornly remained angry only at the two of us who really should have known better. “You have ruined my plans to make these two fall in love. I hope you’re happy.”

Raising a celebratory glass to perfectly painted lips, my Aphrodite smirked.

“I’m having a great time,” she said dreamily.

Then, to make it absolutely clear that she had only been teasing for the drama of it all, she cheekily whispered to me, “Had fun last night, too.”

Penelope watched the scene unfold with an apathy that was so unlike her. It was if her excitement from her plan having worked—albeit in an unexpected way—had canceled out her anger.

In the end, she had nothing left to say but, “You two deserve each other.”

I turned to the woman in question at the same time she turned to me. I was immediately caught in the inferno of lust and adoration in her eyes. The flames felt all consuming. The longer I looked at her, the harder I fell. If I hadn’t been sitting, I’m certain I would have fallen to my knees trembling.

She knew it, too. That’s why when she smiled, it was softer and more genuine than the rest.

“There are worse fates,” she hummed.

She would know. Aphrodite was familiar with the Fates.

I, on the other hand, was a mere mortal who had sacrificed almost everything he had. After a moment of uncomfortable silence, and an overwhelming desire to kiss the goddess hidden in plain sight, I had to test my torturer one more time.

“Does this mean I can leave now?” I asked.

That time when Penelope raised her hand towards me, it was firmly grasping a knife that was pointed straight at me.

“No, you’re going to sit here and be respectful and eat your damn cake!”

Just once more.

“… She started it.”

“Eat your damn food!”

So, we did. We ate our food with calmer heads. Throughout the meal, the distance between each half of the couples diminished. Eventually, I’d even managed to summon up the courage to accept a perfectly manicured hand resting against my palm.

That night ended in an eerily familiar way. Once Penelope and Luke had abandoned us in the night, only the two of us remained. The streetlights shone down on Aphrodite in a pathetic attempt at mirroring the relationship between the sun and the moon.

She just stood there, still tragic, still beautiful. She looked off at the blanket of darkness to find any sign of stars fighting against the man made mimicries of their wonder.

I wondered if her soul seemed so sad because she had missed laying alongside the universes. I had been so enraptured by the theory that when she addressed me, I’d jumped.

“So, Spencer…”

“I’m sorry,” I replied immediately. What for? It didn’t seem to matter. I had been sorry. I was sorry for not having asked to stay.

She laughed and my heart shivered at the sound. I watched how her whole body relaxed as the joy fell from her lips.

Don’t think about kissing her.

But oh, how I wanted to.

“Please, Spencer, that was the most entertaining Valentine’s date I’ve ever been on, by far,” she said between wonderful sounds, “You have nothing to apologize for.”

“Oh, good,” I strained nervously, “I had fun, too.”

A lie, but she already knew that.

“No, you didn’t.”

“No, I didn’t.”

But we still could.

“What I was going to ask was…” she trailed off. She turned to reveal a wicked smile and provocative eyes that would forever render me helpless. “You are coming home with me, right?”

All the fight left me at once. I surrendered myself to her. My head and shoulders fell with a wave of relief.

“Oh, thank god, I thought you’d never ask.”

Thank Goddess, I corrected myself. But she had already known that, too.

“Were you really planning on leaving me alone on Valentine’s Day?” she teased. She swayed closer to me until the floral scent of sweetness felt almost suffocating. The intoxicating taste of ambrosia, the indulgence of her lips haunted me still.

I fought past the lowered inhibition and overwhelming lust to offer her a more genuine vulnerability.

“Well, I uh… I found someone else I wanted to spend the day with, but she kicked me out of her hotel room.”

She accepted the piece of my heart with a godlike grace. She took my hand in hers and rested a weary head against my shoulder.

It had been soft. There was no ulterior motive in the movement. She had simply wanted to be closer to me, and I had offered her a place to perch among the mortal coil.

I thought of how different it had been from that morning. Even more so, I thought of how it had been exactly like the night before.

“Did you know it was me?” I asked.

She wordlessly tilted her head to the side with an inquisitive look in her eyes.

“I just figured you might’ve heard me say Penelope’s name.”

After a quiet, saturnine moment, she confessed in a whisper, “No, I didn’t.”

My heart sunk in my chest, if only for a moment. Like she was so loath to do, my Aphrodite willed her way into my heart and held it up with strong yet quivering hands.

“But I was hoping that you would ask me to stay.”

It was soft. It was fated. It was human.

That time, we opted not to take the chariot. Together we ventured through the concrete jungles and climbed Mount Olympus. We sought comfort in each other through the trials and tribulations that was our blasphemous feelings.

We worshipped each other in Eros’s name and never stopped to think about what would happen in the morning.

I realized that it was true that many mistakes began with a poorly timed question. But it was not the question itself, it was the timing that mattered most.

So when the time was perfect, when the sun served as her backdrop and the intoxication from Cupid’s bow had finally subsided, I would ask her again.

I would ask her to stay.

(Tell me what you thought about this piece here!)

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nessihow · 3 months ago

Text

Heartbeat (Logan Howlett x Reader)

Prologue.

Jessica befriended Wade looking for new emotions, looking for something to break her out of her receptionist routine and make her feel alive again. What she did not expect was to find a man who would completely unsettle her. Not even to discover that the feelings of her closest friend were much stronger than a friendship.

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Wade was looking forward to seeing her, it had been a long time since he had last been with her. They had been friends for almost a year. . Since then, they got together from time to time to watch a movie, get drunk, have sex...

Jessica was not doing very well at work, you know that kind of office where the boss is a bastard? Yeah, she worked in that kind of company. There was never much money, she couldn't afford a decent career. But by making eyes she had landed a job as an administrative clerk, or as they called her to make her feel bad, the receptionist.

He didn't like his job, he didn't like his city, he didn't like his life, for years he had wanted to disappear from that reality.Until she met Wade Wilson.She met Wade after he broke up with Vanessa, from the first day he found in Jessica a shoulder to cry on and a faithful companion.

It was completely obvious that at first Wade just wanted to sleep with her. Jessica had tried to resist at first, her willpower didn't hold out for long. One night, he drunkenly promised her that he was going to make it work, swore to her that he loved her and would devote his life to her if he had to. Jessica's heart was squeezed, but not with tenderness, but with pain, knowing that all this was false. The next day, Wade was not so drunk, and all his promises were gone that morning when he called Vanessa crying because he missed her. There were things that didn't work, they had both understood that. But neither was willing to give up the presence of the other. It had become daily, it had become necessary. In the end, instead of lovers, they had become friends. Wade had been gone for a few weeks, and when he returned, he didn't hesitate to plan a movie night with his favourite buddy. Only this sleepover was going to be a little different from the others. "Who are you?" said a man much older than Wade and much better looking than him, as he opened the door for him."AL! JESSY HAS ARRIVED. Come in, honey," Wade said as he opened the door wide and hugged her warmly. "It's been forever, where have you been, Wilson?" Jessica smiled as she walked away from him. "Saving the world so that beautiful things like you can continue to exist," the girl rolled her eyes when she heard her friend's compliments. He was a flattering bastard.

"Who is your friend?" The man was still at the entrance of the house, he had closed the door and was leaning against it with his arms crossed and raising an eyebrow at the whole scene. The girl scanned the guy from top to bottom, drinking in that bad boy pose that he imposed on her so much."GOD, IT'S TRUE, I was so looking forward to introducing him to you," Wade put his hands to his head, as if he had ruined a birthday party. "Remember that man with the animal complex I told you I fought with a few years ago?" the woman wrinkled her face as she felt the mutant's saliva on her face, he was talking so excited that he was spitting non-stop. "Spiderman?" she asked, very confused."NO! WITH MUCH MORE TESTOSTERONE. Just look at that hairstyle, he's a wolf, he's a dirty dog," at this last nickname, the man at the door stood up, uncrossing his arms and clenching his fists, ready to kill the loud-mouthed mercenary at any moment. " IT'S WOLVERINE" he extended his arms as he pointed at him, the man exhaled through his nose. His nostrils flaring as he frowned. "Wolverine? I don't know, I'm sure I've seen him on TV, but I don't know..." the woman wasn't lying, she couldn't really say she knew him.

"Ignore this asshole, Bub, the name is Logan."

"Nice to meet you, I guess, I'm Jessica, I'm a friend of Wade's." he approached her and the girl looked up to meet his eyes, but stood still and uncomfortably pondering whether she should shake his hand, or give him two kisses, or a polite hug....

"She's my fuck buddy" the younger man said, completely sure of himself as he nodded his head.

"Oh my god, that's completely untrue!" she exclaimed, not expecting such barbarity from him. Well, if she imagined it, it was something Wade would say. She just wasn't used to those moments yet.

"He's still in the denial stage, just like you, you'll both go down eventually." he pointed at them both making pistol signs with his fingers before hearing a beep and running off to the kitchen. Probably the popcorn.

"Why do you put up with this character, why would you willingly hang out with him?" Logan had plopped down on one of the couches, stretching his legs out and leaving a small space in the corner for her to sit, all gentlemanly. She was lucky that Wade's couch was huge, and that man wasn't very tall either.

"Maybe I'm looking for the abnormal brother I never had" She leaned back against the back of the couch in that cramped spot her companion had given her.

"What about you? If according to Wade, you're some kind of superhero, what are you doing here with him?" the brunette asked genuinely.

The sound of Logan's laughter flooded the room, the girl didn't quite understand his reaction, but shuddered as she heard his chest rumble. It was husky, it was hard, it was fucking sexy. "Kid, I'm absolutely everything but a superhero, but hey, I guess between living with him and living badly waiting for my death. I chose the hard option." It sounded like he was talking about something really serious, but he wanted to take the heat off the matter.

"I'd choose dying over living completely with him, if I'm being honest." It was of course a lie, she loved Wade like a brother, and he made her life so much more exciting.

"He's not that bad, sometimes he steals pizzas from the shop downstairs." Jessica smiled at her friend's confession of crimes, it wasn't the first time they had eaten free fast food.

After laughing at the situation, there was an awkward silence in the room. What the fuck was Wade doing with the popcorn? The answer came quickly when a burning smell came through the doorway connecting to the kitchen, they wrinkled their noses at the smoke. It would take even longer to make others, and Logan was still silent, unwilling or unable to say anything. An introvert's fight? Not really, neither of them were shy, but when they opened their mouths to say something, the words wouldn't come out, and they would close them again, grimacing with their lips. In one of these attempts their gazes connected, the girl saw how the man scratched behind his ear, and decided she had to break the silence before the silence broke her and started reciting biblical passages.

"So... How did you meet Wade?" she asked, changing the position she was sitting in on the couch. Her whole body itched strangely, it could be nerves, but it could also be the dirty couch.

"I met him at a gay bar." at that very moment, Wade walked in with a giant bowl of popcorn in his hands. Logan swung his legs off the couch to make room for the mercenary, but he whined quickly, like a child.

"Yeah, you're crazy if you think I'm going to give you the comfy spot on the couch, I'm sitting next to the armrest, I want to rest my head there. "The older man decided not to fight him and give him the spot, now he was next to her, and she could feel even more the smell of cigarettes permeating her, well, it was something much stronger than cigarettes, but it wasn't entirely unpleasant.

"This fucker came into my dimension, manipulated me and made me help him save this reality" Logan popped a handful of popcorn into his mouth.

"What do you mean your dimension?" Jessica furrowed her eyebrows, Wade had told her mind-blowing things in all that time and even more to the point, he had shown them to her. On one occasion she had even visualized him breaking the laws of physics and other sciences when confronted by mercenaries who were out to kill him.

"Yeah, you remember everything I told you about Cable? Well apparently it's not only possible to time travel, you can also travel between universes. BUT THAT'S NOT THE IMPORTANT THING, THE IMPORTANT THING IS THAT I DIDN'T LIE, I MADE UP REALITY." She sighed heavily, assimilating a little badly everything they were telling her. Would there be another version of her that was living a better life? Could she undo all her mistakes and go live in another reality? What had pushed Logan to leave his reality and live in this one? What had happened to the Logan of that dimension? His eyes remained fixed on the television, still unlit. And something in his memory clicked.

-WAIT, I KNOW WHO YOU ARE," the woman shouted, suddenly standing up and startling the two men who were arguing over a Honda Odyssey. - YOU WERE IN THE X-MEN, THE GUY WITH THE CLAWS, I SAW YOU IN ACTION WHEN I WAS LITTLE. - after her outburst, she felt as if she had remembered something essential on an exam.

Like when you're thinking all day about the name of a song, and it comes to mind just before you go to sleep.

Although Jessica was expected to be happy, Logan clenched his jaw and looked away. He didn't like being associated with the Wolverine from that dimension, when Laura confronted him at camp, he was annoyed by it. It seemed everyone expected him to be a person he wasn't in reality.

"Well, that one you saw on TV is dead, but here our friend is just as cool as he is." Wade was conveying a kinder tone, he already knew how his partner felt about the comparison, he was trying to calm the waters before Logan responded rudely and Jessica freaked out.

"I... sorry, I know you’re not him, I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable."

Now the atmosphere was uncomfortable again, Logan looked at her and told her not to worry

But instead of taking his eyes away from her, he spent a few minutes examining her features. She seemed really sorry, as if she really cared about hurting her. Not something that Logan was used to, most of the people he dealt with in his previous dimension were insulting and booing him. Wade and the other mutants also seemed to use him as a weapon rather than a person.

But Jessica stood there with those green eyes and while she gave her a look of pity made Logan feel after half his life that someone really respected him.

"Do you want to watch the movie with us? Otherwise I’m not gonna put up with Wade making jokes about actors."

She spoke with her renewed enthusiasm, the younger man thought it was an apology rather than a proposal. To look good.

But the older mutant, blinded by the sympathy he had longed for centuries, nodded without thinking.

"I don’t have anything better to do either, but we’re not watching a drama."

#wolverine #logan howlett #x-men #Deadpool #deadpool and wolverine #wade wilson #logan howllet x reader #wolverine x reader #logan x reader #logan x you #marvel fanfiction #marvel #mcu

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