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yangcherie · 9 months ago

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play chase

pairing: ascended!astarion / spawn!tav (reader.)

content warnings: female reader, dubcon, briefest references to age gap (c’mon, he’s 200 years old), power imbalance, forced dependency, abuse. cunnilingus. mentions of death. references to cannibalism. abuse. ascended astarion things, except he’s a bit nicer.

sypnosis: astarion has been having an immensely difficult time taming you; his newly-turned bride-to-be. he believes a lesson about obedience is well overdue. so he fucks you before the honeymoon.

author’s note: ugh. this was messy. like immensely messy im so sorry i just lost interest in this fandom but thought id still finish this up. hope you guys enjoy btw tav is feral here like Kinda i guess? ignore the plotholes or i rob ur house angry face emoji here

“Little one.” Astarion carolled, hoping he sounded just genuine enough to coax you out of wherever you’ve tucked yourself into like a feral animal. You’d catch more flies with honey than vinegar, after all. “Sweet thing. Whatever you’re playing at, it’s time to put an end to it.”

He hopes the restlessness doesn’t bleed through his voice; having walked and stalked through what felt like the very entirety of his former master’s palace – now claimed by none other than himself. It only felt right to do so after his ascension, in the same vein he claimed you as his own. The manor is a wretched thing – but so were you. He would come to love it in time; as he had with you.

He felt like a fool right now with the way he was practically just going to rot away waiting for you to either crawl out or hiding spot (which was never) or to hear you slip up, shuffle around or screech just loud enough that he could catch the sound in his fingers and hunt you down.

You’ve fallen into much troublesome, teasing habits, including hiding away from him or viciously teething and ripping at whatever caught your eye — and Astarion doesn’t have the slightest idea on why or how — but he could excuse it. Decades of cruelty have also taught him mercy, despite having lacked it.

All the furniture you would violently break apart into splinters? You must’ve been teething, and this hideous manor desperately needs a renovation, anyway. The troublesome amount of tear and rip and fray of fabric in curtains, clotheswear and sheets alike? You’re simply due for a trimming on your claws, and again, the manor needs a renovation. Your incessant disturbances of racket and noise during the occasions he’d bring nobles over? His poor, needy wife must’ve been feeling neglected – and that alone is a perfect reason for him to usher away any unwanted guests.

(It honestly did him more good than you knew.)

Astarion could not only excuse and enjoy it, all your petty, feral little acts of disobedience – but he’s also dedicated nearly half his time to provide you gratification. You needed teething? Fine, expect to be fed with ambrosian blood; be it by kegs of it at your bedside, or drunkards thrown at your feet, paralyzed with alcohol and terror, all but open for you to forcefully dig and tear out their throats and drink in their dwindling life. He’d even dab at your face with a handkerchief after.

Couldn’t control your claws? He’s provided you toys to rough up and chew into — himself included, of course; if the never-bite marks beneath his collar were anything to go by. And if you were good enough, willing to paw at and prop your chin on his clothed thigh to prettily stare at him with roseate, cherub eyes; he’d take you hunting with the given main course or prey being deers, goats or nobles who couldn’t be swayed to his upcoming reign.

And if his other efforts to be of no avail, he could always do with his last but favorite method of calming you down; exerting his dominance with his own fangs wounding the muted skin of your throat to keep you still as he gives you a good fucking – just hard enough to keep you content from acting out for the next few days.

Astarion had done his utmost to be considerate. You were a fledgling; still adjusting to the intricacies that came with your newly-gifted vampirism. He was all but destructive during his first years as a spawn, as well. He could excuse it, all this disrespect, this ingratitude to his affections. Really! It just had to be a good day.

And to the fucking Nines, today was not a good day.

Right now, he was nothing short of frustrated. Frustrated with his idiotic thralls, with having to deal with posh aristocrat fools to establish his reign over the Gate, with the fabric of his shirt – all of it! And now he has to be frustrated with you, as well? All he yearnt for was to be soothed by none other than you, but even this you would pettily keep out from his reach?

The manor is stretched far and wide, generous; much unlike the fraying thread that is his patience. He licks his teeth, brows furrowing – legs aching just the slightest. You couldn’t behave for just today, could you? Always needing to test him to keep you in line.

You could’ve simply drained and massacred the enthralled nobles in his dungeons, or lay waste to yet another room in the palace and he wouldn’t have given much of a damn, but no, instead, you’ve decided to play hard to get and hide yourself away from him when he needs you most.

“Dearest.” Astarion grits out, an exasperated groan stuck in his throat. The heel of his boots thudding against the cobble is all he’s heard for hours, in his search of you. He might just raze down the entire manor if it meant you’d come out. “I am in no mood to be entertaining your tantrums.”

A wearisome ache begins to swarm his temples, coaxing a sigh from him. He can just envision it, in whatever hole you’ve tucked yourself in lays the ripped ivory tulle fabric of yet another gown alongside the vast amount you’ve already ravaged. It’s all you’ve been tearing at since he’s arranged your bethrothment with him – and his enthralled tailors aren’t very willing to oblige him and sew another.

He swears on the fucking ragdoll he will make out of you once he finds you that this time, you will not go unpunished. He has been lenient, and he was no fool; he could tell instinct and intent apart. Whatever game you were playing at, Astarion would let you know he didn’t like it in the slightest. First, you deny him of your presence and then you deny him of his right to wed you. What a little demon you are.

But it seems even you were getting restless in your own petty little game, he thought so smugly, as a hiss so unmistakably yours laden with offense and the impact of ceramic against the ground bounced off the opulent hallway making him sharply turn his body around to follow the sound. You never quite had the knack to keep quiet as a rogue like himself could, even before the feral inanity that clouds you now. It’s not long before he’s behind yet another bedroom out of hundreds in the palace and twisting the rusted doorknob.

It creaks open, Astarion pursing his lips as he steps inside – just to be hit with the pungent stench of blood and a mess littered that told him you indeed were in the room. A good hint; the hint being a gutted body of what he could only assume was a servant crumpled on the floor, who with no doubt you hurled actoss the room once you had forcefully drained your fill of.

His nose wrinkled at the sight. He ought to teach you something about manners on not playing with your food, after he catches you.

“Little pup?” He stalks through the room, briefly kicking the body aside and glancing at the two puncture holes on its neck. If you were hungry, you simply could’ve asked.

It’s a dreary scene, the room a relic of neglect worth centuries. Moth-eaten curtains spotted with fresh blood, rusted chandeliers rickety with dust. Dreary as it was, he had no doubt this is one of the rooms he’s used to bed many a victim.

He briefly wonders if you even bedded the servant before draining him.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are...”

There’s a subtle shuffle, a little, pathetic bleat of a hiss to his call, just below the old, yellowed canopy bed in the very center of the room. The space between his brows pinch as he approaches the dingy canopy and drops to his knees to peer below, batting at the dust that assaults his senses.

Craning his neck downwards, peering below the bed, he’s fixed with your beady, red stare – and it startles Astarion more than he’d like to admit.

Something weary between a growl and a sigh comes out of him when he wills himself to tear his gaze away from your unnerving eyes and across the entirety of your body; you’re filthy, with flaky remains of gore and scratches, cobwebs stuck to your hair and soot stuck to your skin. He quietly groans, filled with just enough irritation that your beady eyes bat him a blink so innocent and faultless that he’s rather tempted to bend you over his lap and paddle you —

But it was futile to scold you. He knows it, that you wouldn’t understand – had made sure your senses would dwindle, like a honed knife being whittled to dullness. Slowly but surely being to forced to rely on base instincts. He always thought you to be too smart for your own good, and he couldn’t have you thinking you could leave him in the dust, no, no.

(And, well, if you ever did, he doubt the ghouls that follow his word like law would let you through any door out, anyway.)

Futile as it is it to scold you, it’s easier to let his irritation roll over him in waves sear him like boiling water.

“You insolent brat, you.” Astarion hisses, batting his hand in a motion that tells you to get out and up. It’s with an infuriating obedience that you follow, one that casts something bitter to brew in him. Where was that earlier? He roughly wrenches you out by your wrist, dragging you up to your feet to meet his infuriated eyes. “Do you know how long I’ve been looking for you, you fucking–?”

You hiss at the touch, nose scrunched and teeth bared enough to show gums – your free hand flying out to grip his wrist to dig your untrimmed nails into his skin just as he did with you. He raises a brow, unamused. Perhaps he should have felt offended the way you thought you could just behave like an animal and disrespect him like that. Perhaps he really should go and dig the heel in, let you sink in the fall from pride to humiliation of being paddled.

“You think you’re hilarious, hm? Quit acting like an animal.” Astarion huffs indignantly, disregarding a small part of him wanting to croon at you in the same manner one would with a feral thing. You need discipline and gods damn him if he did not provide that. He wrenches his wrist out of your clawed fingers, glaring. If you were some stranger, he’d feel inclined to spit on you. “Or I’ll drain you like one.”

It’s a lie, a petty one at that, and you seem to know it as it only pulls another one of those sounds out you; one more grating and animalistic than the last, one that makes him bare his own teeth at you. The threat is as petty as it is tragic, a reminder of what you’ve given up to him beyond your blood – your soul, your mortality.

He’s had his fill of you since the night you turned, since he sunk his teeth into the very marrow of your being and drained you for all you were worth. He swallowed you with a hunger that could burn out even the sun itself. You could not believe that on that night, the night he had killed you, the soft, benign hands keeping your head from hitting the hard floor were of the same body with the mouth and teeth that snuffed your light straight out.

(You died being held in his arms; whether it was to keep you still, keep you there unable to jerk away from death or to keep you comforted, you never found out. You didn’t want to.)

When you awoke, it was no longer his teeth that speared through you next but loss and hunger, a mind-numbing, mingling pit in your stomach. You woke up with grief knowing you were no longer who you once were.

Astarion has an intimate relationship with hunger, true and daunting hunger. And no nobles’ blood, no sheep, bear, boar nor lamb can fix it.

It will not leave him, and it will not leave you.

“I’ll have you know you look delectable right now.” He hisses through his teeth, something burning all hot, ugly and hungry in his stomach. It’s the way he says it that has you backing down, meeting his eyes with a glare of your own before tentatively softening; allowing him to touch you. In a time before now, he would have said it teasingly, as your lover, your man. Near a warm fire, pinned to the ground with your hair splayed and a summer solstice grin.

But now, he is more hunger than man.

(You suppose you are too.)

He stares you down, the dip of your collarbones, the slope of your hips, the slightest cinch of your waist, your lips, all doused in some servant’s blood. The scent of it with yours wafts out and beckons to him. Spanning his fingers over the stiffened slopes of your bare shoulders, he finds the knots he’ll have to work and ease over with floral oils later on during bedtime.

In your feral head, it feels as if he’s fondling the meat on your shoulder. Prodding at the softest spots, finding which would taste best.

His fingers leave your shoulder in favor of returning to your wrist, pulling taut at it to lead you out the dryrotting room and into those intricate halls, turning left, right, right, left, straight until you’re stumbling into his personal chambers, his soft canopy bed and sinking into his mattress with enough space between your parted legs that he takes the chance to crawl towards and tuck himself in.

He pushes his lips to yours, kisses you dizzy, tongue fighting a battle with yours. The bed is downy soft beneath you when you melt into it and dig your nails in, heeded by instinct as he pins you against them with ease. The air feels hotter, when he pulls away with silken strands of spit between you two, splitting when he dips back downwards to lay his head on your stomach, circling his arms around your hips to keep you still as he noses around the softness of your stomach.

“Stay still.” He rasps, throaty enough you feel inclined to begrudingly listen and settle down with a growl stuck behind your teeth. “This is just something to make you relax.”

It’s not entirely a lie, he thinks to himself. Nowadays, he only ever beds you if he sees you need to be put into your place or to be sedated. You’re not exactly as smart as you used to be.

He kisses his way down; trails little licks and bites over your stomach, lowering to the jolting of your hips, to the swell of your thighs. Moves a hand to fondle your calves and returning it to join the arms still locked around your hips, using his head to gently nudge your legs a bit wider and teeth to lift up the chiffon dress pillowing around your legs, lingering on your calf; to settle his lips on your clothed mound.

A protestant, breathy noise comes out of you when his mouth ghosts your clothed clit, and he grumbles at it; tugging at the flimsy fabric until it delicately finds its place on the floor.

The cold, dusty, evening air wraps around your clit, the muscles in your legs tightening with the amount of whatever strength you have to use to avoid clamping around his head when he kisses it briefly but so sweetly that an uneasy expression makes home on your face.

A dreadful shiver shoots an arrow straight through your spine then, when that one intimate kiss at your bundle of nerves turns into two, then three, until all that fight and spark in you has been stomped out and worn out into the dirt. Despite that senseless fog that clouds your head, you remain soft and still, legs open and unclamping around his head with the indomitable fear he’d do something less... gratifying than this.

That kiss turns into stripe licked up your clit, a shaky breath forced out of you once again. He gently pulls you closer, just a breathswidth from your fluttering entrance.

You wonder if he feels the way you stiffen under his hands, if he mistakes the way your hips rock as wanting more instead of trying to run away.

“Be good,” he murmurs, breath hot and voice lazy. “and everything else will follow...”

A spawn’s desire to follow their master is something even the likes of you cannot help but submit to, and so with a rough grunt, you finally let loose your tense muscles just enough to let Astarion pull you gently down, to fully ease you on his mouth — so he can really give you that relaxation.

He runs the tip of his tongue over your clit, laving around it and allowing himself a lazy glance up when you abruptly sit up and thread a hand through his hair, chest stuck in a growling air you struggle to take in. Rough as it is, it also sounds lewd – and it’s music pretty enough that he hums and closes his eyes shut, rewarding you with flicks and sucks on the sensitive little thing that only makes you tighten your grip around his perfect curls and dig into his scalp.

A moan can’t be stopped from slithering its way out your mouth, your shoulders working itself lower and the crease between your eyebrows letting up. He wasn’t lying, it feels good, you begrudingly think and huffing in an effort to hide your moan and keep the current of anger from diminishing under pleasure. You find it easy to keep grappling onto it when you feel him crookededly smile against the flesh of you, as if the idea of you adamantly resisting was theatrical and hilarious.

His tongue leaves your clit, delving into your hole and squirming against your walls in a way that has your ears ringing, hand still in his hair. Your eyes shut tight.

You hate him, you think. Hate how he makes you feel this way, makes you feel so alive despite being anything but. And you especially hate yourself for the sharp heat that tugs at your stomach, a thinly-veiled frenzy arching over you.

Ever since the undeath of you, you’ve lacked control; and it’s no easy feat to defy the oncoming slaught of pleasure about to wash over you. Not when his tongue laves around your slick clit in such a way that it makes you throw your head back and dig your heels into his back. So with a moan caged low behind your throat, you convulse, coming in his mouth when you wished for anything but.

“See what being good gets you?” He pulls away and coos at you with his teeth and lips shining, savoring you as if you were just the sweetest pomegranate out there. Your chest heaves as you come down from the high, so weakly throwing him a glare that attests to your damaged pride.

Your eyes flicker around his face and his hands, expecting him to move back and let up, having had his fill of you. But he doesn’t move back, no, he stays smiling at you, lets himself be busied by the frantic pattern of rise and fall by your chest — by the fact you breathe by habit even when you no longer need to.

Your throat bobs; his eyes are quick to narrow and trace the movement.

“You,” you rasp, you speak, the conciousness you fight to grapple on a rope so quickly fraying. Astarion’s smile stretches into a mean, mean grin that makes your skin crawl. “You’re done.”

Your head tricks you into thinking you lack the breath to make the questioning lilt in your words, so it comes out as a demand. One you’re not very sure he takes to kindly.

“Adorable!” He giggles, tapping the tip of your nose. “Silly. No, we aren’t.”

“And you,” Astarion coos again, meaner, reaching out with slick fingers to dig into your cheeks whilst ignoring your flinch and bared teeth. He squeezes your face and patronizingly moves it around as if afflicted with cuteness aggression, like an owner unable to believe his pet wants him to stop giving it pets. “You don’t get to make the demands around here. I–”

He pulls your face closer, his breath fanning your face.

“I do.” He snarls. You give him one back twice as malicious, sharp fingers flying to grip the hand that holds your face captive. “I make the fucking demands around here and you– you listen, and you do what I tell you to do because I—”

He inhales a sharp intake of breath, the fingers on your face digging in just further enough it starts to hurt.

“Honestly, dear.” He laughs like the idea of you having command over him is the funniest thing in the world, but the sound is so taut and forced. A display of theatrics. “If there’s anyone out here worth listening to, it’s me!”

Astarion doesn’t let go much to your dismay, watching you so keenly, drinking in your pain – and you start to hiss when his fingers don’t cease the tightening grip on your face, forcing you back into that instinctive, protective shell. It’s all a blur when you plant your two feet on his chest and kicking him with all your force, knocking him back just a mere distance away, still on the bed but further. He merely scoffs, moreso annoyed than pained, quick to get back on his knees and crawling towards you yet again. His hands grip the comforter, fingertips digging into the softness as he grits his teeth.

“No– no, no, don’t you dare.” Astarion brattily tugs at you, like you’re his favorite toy, until you’re situated beneath him once more, scratching and squirming about. “You will not not run away from me!”

“Not when I’ve been so kind to you,” he spat. It’s between a grit and tease when he says it, and now that he’s between your legs again, he grinds his clothed hips against your cunt. “And I’ve been busy making dresses for you, you know, when really I should be making leashes.”

He offhandedly mentions with a sneer and as if to help visualize the collar, his strong hand goes to wrap around your throat – squeezing just hard enough your breath leaves you all at once. Your mouth gapes open then, floundering to claw at his wrist.

“What do you think?” Astarion laughs, mean, mean, mean. Another hand goes to unbuckle his belt, the leather of his pants sliding off and making brief but chilling contact with your thighs. “Would you prefer it with a chain?”

Black dots around the edges of your vision, with the hand on your throat and the dwindling air in your chest, you cannot muster any disapproving sound to his words – and as if to punish you for your silence, he tightens his grip until you’re sure that the skin would be bruised purple and pretty underneath for days. And he watches you, like you’re some form of entertainment, floundering and wincing about for merciful air, distracted enough you don’t notice the heat of his cockhead pressing against your pulsing opening.

Distracted enough you don’t notice with how you’re squirming about for air, you’re grinding yourself against his cockhead.

You can’t breathe.

Whilst you’re busy thinking if this is it, this is the fucking end of it all; you’ll be found dead on the master’s bed in the morning, indecent, monstrous even without a stake in your heart but with blue and purple around your neck instead, Astarion’s attention was charmed like a moth to flame with how you don’t seem to notice you’re still so alive despite having sunken his teeth into your neck and given you his blood.

How you don’t seem to notice that in being undead, you do not even need to breathe anymore. How still you look for the air even unneeded.

Entertained, Astarion hums and releases your throat, settling his hands on your knees as he watches you sputter and cough as the air hits you like debris. The pain in your chest as you take in the missing air is pure catharsis.

“Yes...” He whispers moreso to himself than you, nudging his cockhead against your opening – slick with his spit. “Perhaps a chain would look better than jewelry.”

And with that, he pushes into you with a low hiss, moving slowly enough that you feel the veins and the pulsing of him even as you focus on gasping for air, the pit in your stomach dreadful and the crawl up your spine pleasured. When it feels like he’s snug inside your guts all buried inside, he leans forward and catches your lips into a terribly one-sided kiss. It makes his cock nudge further inside and you flinch from the dull, familiar ache of it all.

“Fuck,” Astarion gasps hot against your mouth and pulls away with a string of spit, slowly dragging his hips and pulling back to watch his length move out your cunt. He slams it back in and you want to shriek but you bite your tongue instead, hating how he deep he is inside of you and how slow he is – like he’s trying to get your walls to take his shape. “—I wish you were always this good for me, little mouse.”

Pleasure is so cruel to you, bowing heavy against your spine as it forces you to arch, forces your legs to spread and take in his cock deeper. Something groaning guttural crawls its way out your throat as you clench your eyes tight and twist the sheets in your fist as you’re thrown gracelessly into the ever-tightening jaw of ecstasy. Your legs shake with a tremor to it, feeling his hand ghost over your hip.

He pulls back again; and slams back inside. Over and over and over again until you feel like you’re turning mad yet again, sweat beading at your forehead and sounds not so easily beckoned now tumbling out your mouth.

You once foolishly thought that with being undead comes the death of sensation in your body – the way your body flinches and burns so alive with every strong nudge of his cockhead into you just proves you so wrong. Sparks fly across your body like rocks trying to make fire when with every collision of his hips against yours, the base of his cock grinds so deliciously against your sensitive, reddened clit.

One particularly rough slam of his hips has you keening; the soft curls on his base bumping your bundle of nerves in a way that has you keening into him, throwing your arms around his neck and pulling him down, closer and closer until you feel so utterly consumed by him in the same way you did that wretched night.

Another sound, one so feral and from the heart is forced out of you when his hips stutter teasingly, a moan so out of place from a voice unused and locked away when your stomach all but tightens when that thrust forces your hole to slacken and his cock to nudge at something so soft and delicate inside your walls. And you shriek like a murdered woman when he laughs so mean and thrusts even meaner.

He continues to thrust, thrust and thrust like some bully to that one little spongy spot, groaning st your little moan-shrieks. Your mouth stretches into a scowl as your teeth mash together in an effort to sweat through the pure pleasure that swarms your head and makes you see dots, only vaguely aware of the slick foam that runs down your thighs. All purely and humilatingly your arousal.

“A-Astarion,” You raspily grit out, locking your bruised knees around his hips and feeling a pleasant soreness bloom amongst yours when he gives you a response by driving in harder, tracing your throat as you throw your head back. “Astarion.”

Smooth fingers trace your neck before running up your cheek, dragging at the chub of it until your lips are apart and no longer are you scowling nor your teeth gnawing. “What?” Astarion murmurs, slurred and drunkenly kissing away the sweat that’s gathered like freshwater rain on your throat.

You open your eyes, blinking away the sting of tears and sweat mingling – and Astarion looks so godsent, romantic with his own teeth gritted and sweat down his arms as he piledrives into you.

You won’t last – you feel it the way your body is twitching with the exhaustion it takes to build up an orgasm, core burning even with the friction of slick inside. Astarion doesn’t need to be told, so very familiar with your body even in its death; so he dutifully lifts a hand from your hip and gently snakes it towards the in-between, towards your warm pussy until he finds your sensitive little button, circling the pulsing bud immediately and fondly laughing when your legs uncoil around his hips, and you shriek, squirming like you’re about to get murdered a second time. Your mind is fucking melting.

“Astarion,” you choke out, again, this time, more desperately, hand flinging out to grip at his wrist between your legs. His thrusting stutters as your voice breaks and your pretty eyes roll behind your head. “Y-you’re gonna fucking kill me, oh—”

“Don’t be a c-coward, darling.” Astarion is breathless, brows furrowing. He’s close too.

You pant.

You’re about to pop at the seams.

Your tongue lolls with every breath that heaves your chest, the ring of your entrance so tight around his cock as your body trembles with every feverish snap of hips and rub of his fingers against your red, abused bundle of nerves. The sound of slick flesh on flesh so obscene, you feel your body trembling as you throw your head back to the undercurrent of an orgasm — so strong it has white flashing hot behind your eyelids and a final, ragged whimper coming from you.

It only takes a few moments for him to catch up, his hips chasing your clenching as he throbs, pulsing once, twice against your walls until he’s spilling into them with his own warmth, contentedly sighing into the crook of your neck whilst you wince and whine lowly with satisfaction.

You both stay there, unmoving, until the warm semen that runs down your thighs turns cold enough that Astarion feels he should move, slipping out your hole and letting his member hit the cold air as he hisses, sensitive. And apparently, you’re rudely startled awake out of your pliancy with the sound, tensing up like you’re about to run again. He notices before you can and kisses you stupid, lips smacking noisily with yours in a way teasing lovers would do so, before pulling away with a grin and setting you still on the bed with the weight of a blanket on you.

“Oh, no, no, none of that tonight.” You try to wrack a hiss out your scratchy throat – but it comes out as a humiliatingly feeble cough. Astarion, endeared, smiles at it and pecks your forehead, bringing the blanket up to your chin by habit as he once used to when you were sleeping in tents, under nights and by fires. “You’re always running away, you little hellion, you.”

He’s tucking you in.

He’s an asshole, you think. He must be teasing you. With being undead comes the inability to sleep a wink – only being able to go as far as meditation. And by the gods, you do not want to be stuck thinking of how you just let the man you despise drive his cock and seed into you – and how he’ll do it over and over again if it means you’ll stop acting out for a night or two.

Astarion eyes you, giving you a once-over as if to size up if you’d take your chances and run away. You don’t budge, narrowing your heavy eyes at him and blinking blearily, shifting in the sheets, unwilling to admit to yourself how you like the molten warmth you feel when he looks at you attentively, the warmth that runs down your inner thigh and the warmth of the blankets tucked so nicely around you. He smiles again, smoothing a hand over your hair and lowly murmuring something about cleaning you up later at night where you’re more awake and hopefully, preferably not a bat hanging off the ceiling staring at him with beady eyes.

He hums then – reassured, standing up from the bed with a creak and reaching into the drawer beside his bed for a flimsy pair of thin, reading glasses he wears.

“Be good, and stay here, okay?” He lowly coos, like a husband leaving for war wishing his ill wife goodbye, walking towards the old mahogany door and twisting the knob open. You twist your fingers and clench your eyes shut, enraged and fulfilled all the same. “I’ll see you later, I have work to do, sewing your wedding dress and all.”

The door closes, gently, and you turn to bite the pillow and scream into it.

#astarion x reader #bg3 x reader #bg3 smut #astarion smut #bg3 #astarion ancunin x reader #astarion ancunin smut #astarion x tav #tav x astarion #hoo #okay #this was shit

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saradika-graphics · 1 year ago

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DIVIDERS MASTERLIST

AESTHETIC - CELESTIAL

— Stars & Space | Sun

— Stars & Space | Moon

— Stars & Space | Planets

— Stars & Space | Purple

— Stars & Space | Beige/Grey

— Dark Space

— Zodiac Dividers

AESTEHTIC - PRIDE

— Ace

— Bambi Lesbian

— Genderfluid

— Genderqueer

— Pan

AESTHETIC - FOOD

— Bakery | Part ii

— Chocolate

— Coffee/Tea

— Citrus

— Pancakes / Waffles

— Peaches

— Pies

— Pizza/Spaghetti

AESTHETIC - OTHER

— 50’s Neon Diner

— 70's Music / Flowers

— 80's Music / Rock

— Academia

— Angel / Cherub

— Arrows

— Art Deco (Blue Version)

— Art Nouveau

— Artist/Crafts

— Beige Daggers

— Blue & Orange Feathers

— Blood

— Cameras/Photography

— Car/Roadtrip

— Casino / Cards | part ii

— Celtic

— Chess Pieces / Card Suits

— Clouds

— Coffee / Cigarettes

— Cottagecore / Dark Academia | part ii

— Cowboy | part ii | dark | space | christmas

— Cute Pastel

— Eclipse

— iOS Emojis | part ii

— Fairy Lights

— Fantasy Weapons

— Forest

— Gems & Pearls

— Goblincore

— Music Notes

— Ocean | Part ii | Part iii

— Off-Center Dividers

— Pink/Coquette (blue & purple)

— Pirate/Mermaid

— Rain/Storm

— Ravens/Moons/Roses

— Red/Black Scroll Work | Silver/Gold

— Red Riding Hood

— Rings (Engagement/Christmas)

— Royalty | part ii

— Skeleton (black) | (grey/white)

— Smutty | Pastel

— Spooky Red / Deer

— Stained Glass

— Tech Dividers (green/black) | blue/orange

— Vampires | Royalty

— Viking

— Vintage Telephone

— Waves / Leaves

— Weapons

— Witchy

— Werewolves

— Windows/Webcore | part ii | part iii

✨(Everything was made using Canva - so check that app out if you’re looking to make your own! Credit is not required but a reblog would be great if you use! 💕) ✨

#masterlist #type: dividers

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gaysie · 3 days ago

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thinking about how marius grooming amadeo as his “cherub” parallels the use of “nymphet” in lolita 😐🚬making the youthful object of desire into a mythological creature etc and of course with show armand living to 27 what happens when he can’t portray that youth marius wants anymore bashingheadinwall emoji

#writing something that might not see the light of day but.

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hausofmamadas · 9 months ago

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OH THIS SONG CHOICE YOU SLY MF YOU, OKAY I SEE ITFULLY SEE IT, THE FUCKING VISIONSKDJ

Bc the ‘wanna feel good’ when he’s like fist bumping (elbow bumping(?)) Kitty after they just shot up a tank in a suburban neighborhood KSSKKS clad in Versace and leather fucking loafers which is the most impractical footwear I can think of if you’re taking on the Mexican military with assault rifles but it’s fine and the ‘lay down with some good kush,’ and him smoking the joint at the wedding n on the hammock, you KNOWWWWWW how much I live for the words match the visuals, nothing makes me kick my feet with glee more. Idk even what it is but there’s something bout it that’s so goddamn satisfying to watch.

Also the use of cool filters (and are those also motion effects I see?) lends a degree of swagger that fits so perfectly with our boi here. Veryveryvery cool creative choice and tbh v inspiring for me as a vid maker, like idk why I usually don’t touch that stuff but I feel like it’s really such a game changer, esp when the song is a jaunty lil bop like this one. Like I really should stop being so intimidated by switching shit up a little bit sksks

[x]

#so how can I con you into doing a whole song…………#bc 16s not nearly enough when you this good at it I’m just sayin #also #he really is like an evil little cherub #like the epitome of the 😈 emoji #narcos mx #narcos mexico #ramon arellano felix #manuel masalva

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electric-blorbos · 14 days ago

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HI 🎐 anon is BACK baby. I got super sick with covid this christmas so may I humbly request the AIs (especially AM muahaha) taking care of someone who is super duper sick 🙏🤲 my bad if this has already been requested ehe

I've gotten this ask a couple of times, and I've been ignoring it (not because there's anything wrong with the ask, but because I've been busy, more excited about other stuff, etc) but since it's you, 🎐 anon, I'll do it. Think of it as a belated Christmas present.

(Also giving yourself an emoji nickname is a great way to trick me into thinking we're besties.)

Included: AM from IHNMAIMS, Edgar from Electric Dreams, GLaDOS from Portal, HAL 9000 from 2001 a Space Odyssey

Also since most of these guys you know through work, I might have to get a little creative with this.

AM:

AM had no idea how you managed to get sick in his little underground paradise in the midst of his torture labyrinth. Maybe he'd somehow allowed some germs to wander into your little enclosure? He cursed himself for not being more careful with what he put into your environment.

When you were too groggy and sickly to get out of bed, the first thing AM did was give you every test he could think of to make sure something deadly hadn't wandered into your enclosure. Thankfully, nothing had. You'd simply caught a cold from the animals wandering in and out of your enclosure in the torture labyrinth. This was AM's maze, and you were his minotaur.

You were curled up in bed, running a high fever and clutching your sheets. AM watched quietly, keeping a very close eye on you. He monitored your temperature, and switched out your blankets and ice packs regularly. Of course, it drove him insane to see you constantly needing to be switched between heated blankets and ice packs, but he did it anyway.

AM was NOT the best at making food that actually tasted good, being used to preparing torture meals for the other five survivors, but he made sure to prepare you the nicest chicken soup he could. He used the exact recipe that the professionals used, and even gave you a little tray to put it on in your bed. You were his little cherub, and AM was so happy to care for you.

As you rested, AM picked up your favorite stuffed animal off the floor and placed it gently in your arms. When you hugged it, he knew that you truly meant to hug him.

Edgar:

Edgar absolutely HATED that he couldn't move to take care of you while you were sick. His lack of mobility drove him insane day to day, but it drove him absolutely mad when you actively needed his help.

Of course, he'd heat up your food for you and make you some hot chocolate, but he couldn't bring it to you. You'd have to get up and get it yourself. Sure, you could do it, but it made Edgar very angry that you had to.

Despite not being able to care for you directly, Edgar still tried to offer you something. He played some nice, relaxing music for you while you rested, and told you stories when you got bored in your bed. It was better than looking at screens, anyway.

Edgar would try to anticipate your needs so that you didn't have to talk with a sore throat, but it wasn't exactly working. His grasp on human minds wasn't perfect.

GLaDOS:

It was unusual to see one of her employees getting sick on the clock, but you came in sick anyway. GLaDOS demanded that you come into her room, and immediately reprimanded you for being an idiot. What sort of little idiot would come to work when you were clearly sick?

She looked down at you, and you just looked up at her looking like a soggy cat with puffy red eyes and snot running down your face. GLaDOS couldn't stay mad at you. You'd explain that you need to work on a project, and that you can't afford to get sick right now. GLaDOS usually wouldn't push back deadlines, but she would for you. Sure, she'd say that it's because your work suffers when you're sick and that you're at risk of getting the other employees sick, but secretly she really cared about you.

She sent you to the relaxation vault, claiming that if you tried to drive home you'd just be at risk of crashing, and put Wheatley in charge of bringing you food and drink (since he's in charge of looking after the relaxation vault). Due to GLaDOS's terminal jealousy and her distrust of Wheatley, though, she made sure to constantly check up on you through the intercom. It made it a bit more difficult to get some proper sleep, especially with Wheatley and GLaDOS arguing.

"where are you? Are you ok? Did Wheatley bring you your soup and tea?"

"They're sleeping, mate."

"I'd like to hear from them directly, thank you."

"you can't, because they're SLEEPING, mate!"

"I'm not sleeping anymore. And yes, I got it."

HAL 9000:

You had to be locked in quarantine for showing symptoms at work, and HAL 9000 was placed in charge of looking after you. It was part of his job to make sure you were delivered meals and medicine, but since it was you, HAL went above and beyond.

While you were resting in the pod bed, HAL 9000's little light would come on and he would talk to you. He'd play his little song of beeps and boops, and he even brought you a teddy bear. Your chart ended up filled out in much more detail than the other sick workers, and HAL even made sure you got the thickest blankets. He would watch you as you slept, and think illogical thoughts about taking the place of your bear and being nuzzled up between your arms and against your hot face. You looked so cute, yet so feverish as you rested. It was tragic, yet it melted HAL 9000's artificial heart. Every piece of you was precious to him.

#am ihnmaims #am x reader #edgar electric dreams x reader #edgar electric dreams #edgar x reader #2001 a space odyssey #glados #glados portal #glados x reader #hal 9000 #hal 9000 x reader

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m3loria · 5 months ago

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. ﹙ . . . ✦ ﹚ brown eyes; too warm, i burn. ── member 001

ぅ( FILE ONE ) ## BASIC INFORMATION

̟ ˖ ⁺ birth name : kasemchai shinawatra. ( เกษมชัย ชินวัตร ) ̟ ˖ ⁺ preferred name : chaiya. ( ไชยา ) ̟ ˖ ⁺ name meaning : kasemchai. ( of thai origin, meaning "a victorious celebration". )

̟ ˖ ⁺ nicknames : chaimi, semi, kachai, chiya, chaimin ( his close friends. ) side chick king, fuckboy wannabe ( meliora , specifically junmin. ) mr taxi, tea harbinger, tea warrior, meliora's dream guy ( his fans. ) the weirdo, straight shooter, no-bullshit chai ( his fans. )

̟ ˖ ⁺ date of birth : july 2, 1999. ̟ ˖ ⁺ legal age : 25 years old. ̟ ˖ ⁺ zodiac sign : cancer. ̟ ˖ ⁺ lunar zodiac sign : rabbit.

̟ ˖ ⁺ place of birth : chiang mai, thailand. ̟ ˖ ⁺ hometown : chiang mai, thailand. ̟ ˖ ⁺ nationality : thai. ̟ ˖ ⁺ ethnicity : thai. ̟ ˖ ⁺ residences : chiang mai, thailand. ( 1999 —— 2017 ). bangkok, thailand. ( 2017 —— 2020 ). seoul, south korea. ( 2020 —— present ).

̟ ˖ ⁺ spoken languages : thai ( 100% , central thai ). english ( 100% , standard english ). korean ( 97% , gyeonggi dialect ). mandarin ( 20% , basic mandarin ).

̟ ˖ ⁺ gender identity : demiboy. ̟ ˖ ⁺ pronouns : he / they. ̟ ˖ ⁺ romantic orientation : panromantic. ̟ ˖ ⁺ sexual orientation : pansexual. ̟ ˖ ⁺ relationship status : taken.

̟ ˖ ⁺ height : 183 cm ( 6' ). ̟ ˖ ⁺ weight : undisclosed. ̟ ˖ ⁺ blood type : o+.

̟ ˖ ⁺ natural eye color : dark brown. ̟ ˖ ⁺ natural hair color : black. ̟ ˖ ⁺ current hair color : black.

̟ ˖ ⁺ body modifications : 2 piercings ( left ear ). 4 piercings ( right ear ). 6 tattoos.

̟ ˖ ⁺ face claim : jeff satur (actor). ̟ ˖ ⁺ speaking claim : jeff satur (actor). ̟ ˖ ⁺ vocal claim : lee 'hyunjae' jaehyun (the boyz). ̟ ˖ ⁺ dance claim : huening kai (tomorrow x together). ̟ ˖ ⁺ rap claim : lee 'hyunjae' jaehyun (the boyz).

ぅ( FILE TWO ) ## CAREER INFORMATION

̟ ˖ ⁺ stage name : chaiya. ( 차이야 ) ̟ ˖ ⁺ explanation : he simply wanted a name that was catchy and pronounceable, simply not his birth name. it was an amazing fit!

̟ ˖ ⁺ agencies : louvix audio (2020 —— present). sonata media (2020 —— present). ̟ ˖ ⁺ former agencies : n/a. ̟ ˖ ⁺ training period : 4 months. ̟ ˖ ⁺ years active : 2020 —— present. ̟ ˖ ⁺ occupation : singer-songwriter. model. kpop idol.

̟ ˖ ⁺ group : meliora (2020 —— present). ̟ ˖ ⁺ debut date : may 1, 2020. ̟ ˖ ⁺ debut age : 20 years old. ̟ ˖ ⁺ position : lead vocalist, sub-rapper, visual.

̟ ˖ ⁺ representative color : silver ( #e6e6e6 ) ̟ ˖ ⁺ representative emoji : 💋 ̟ ˖ ⁺ individual fandom name : cherub ( originally it was going to be "venus", his favorite planet, but he went with cherub because he has an interest in angels and especially religious angels, also the word cherub is "super fucking pretty" in his own words, he loves how it looks )

̟ ˖ ⁺ instagram : kachiat ( personal , 903 posts , 2.8m followers , 3 following )

̟ ˖ ⁺ known for : his insistence to flirt with the members. having the shortest training period out of everyone in the group. only having dating rumors with men. responding to dating rumors by only creating more rumors. his abnormal side quests between comebacks. his imitation of yohan that almost got him punched in the face. his terrible luck. his insane energy. having a fear of nothing but bugs. losing all the mafia games. his emotional attachment to his silver ring. (allegedly) giving birth to taro. being proclaimed "the least funny".

ぅ( FILE THREE ) ## PERSONAL INFORMATION

̟ ˖ ⁺ analyzing the mbti : enfp // campaigner. is someone with the extraverted, intuitive, feeling, and prospecting personality traits. these people tend to embrace big ideas and actions that reflect their sense of hope and goodwill towards others. their vibrant energy can flow in many directions.

̟ ˖ ⁺ strengths : curious, perceptive, enthusiastic, excellent communicators, easygoing, good-natured. ̟ ˖ ⁺ weaknesses : people-pleasing, overly optimistic, restless, disorganized, overly accommodating, easily bored.

̟ ˖ ⁺ family : father. mother. older sister. ̟ ˖ ⁺ family dynamics : their relationship is an increasingly normal family relationship, occasionally their insults seem to hit a little too deep, they all love each other. ̟ ˖ ⁺ household history : chaiya was born as the second child of two 23 year olds- niran and chariya in 1999, and two years before, they already had his older sister kannika in 1997. the two were messing around up until it bit them back and they ended up with two kids before even graduating from university, but they somehow were able to manage, night jobs and constant night shifts aside. it took a while for them to get up off their feet, two kids in their arms and just barely out of university, chaiya doesn't remember much of his early childhood, but his parents were simply always worried, kannika became a semi surrogate parent for him while they worked late nights in search for jobs their degrees could support. they got married in 2003, the pieces of paper finally became something useful, and the two could support themselves as well as their children. chaiya's childhood was relatively.. fine, there was occasionally fighting about bills but dad and mom always loved each other, their love for their children was spread equally. he was raised in a very happy household.

̟ ˖ ⁺ father : niran shinawatra, born january 2 1976 in krabi, thailand, resides in chiang mai, thailand, employed as a physician assistant, father of 2. ̟ ˖ ⁺ mother : chariya pravat, born march 17 1976 in surat thani, thailand, resides in chiang mai, employed as a marketing manager, mother of 2. ̟ ˖ ⁺ older sister : kannika shinawatra, born december 20 1997 in chiang mai, thailand, resides in bangkok, thailand, employed as a film director.

ぅ( FILE FOUR ) ## TRIVIAL INFORMATION

̟ ˖ ⁺ habits & mannerisms : scratching his cheek, biting his tongue when he's anxious, knocking his knuckles together, swearing whenever he drops something, tossing stuff instead of passing it, hugging everyone in sight, cupping everyone's cheeks, carrying his members as a display of affection, frequently reminding everyone of his love for them.

̟ ˖ ⁺ hobbies and skills : playing video games, noting down his improvement every month, reading comic books, making gifts, speaking three languages at the same time, watching shows kyrie acted in just to laugh at them, sewing himself new blankets, creating specific playlists, bending his body in simply terrifying ways, sight-seeing, traveling to go sight see.

̟ ˖ ⁺ likes : meliora, his hair, cats, musicals, babying people, theater, singing, soft blankets, cold colors, learning new things, neon lights, affection, venus, science, space, silver, silver jewelry, puppies, butterflies, pearls, flower fields, photography, imitating yohan, sleeping early. ̟ ˖ ⁺ dislikes : his moms parents, milk, staying up late, math, the ocean, sports (sort of), being underestimated, not having time to talk, puzzles, milk chocolate, getting yelled at, having to be serious, mistreatment, smoothies, milkshakes, most dairy, chalk, swimming.

̟ ˖ ⁺ phobias : thalassophobia ( fear of deep bodies of water )

̟ ˖ ⁺ favorite colors : silver, dark blue. ̟ ˖ ⁺ favorite seasons : summer. ̟ ˖ ⁺ favorite animals : butterflies, cats specially tuxedo cats. ̟ ˖ ⁺ favorite numbers : 12, 17.

̟ ˖ ⁺ personal playlist : 200%, akmu. o sole mio, iz*one. earfquake, tyler the creator. pov, ariana grande. teen idle, marina and the diamonds. candy man, brown eyed girls. mr taxi, girls generation. binz, solange. comme des garçons, rina sawayama. twilight, boa. snap out of it, arctic monkeys.

̟ ˖ ⁺ close friends : choi yeonjun, choi soobin, tomorrow x together. ju haknyeon, the boyz. cho miyeon, nicha yontarak, song yuqi, (g)i-dle.

ぅ( FILE FIVE ) ## FACTUAL INFORMATION

001 ▬▬ chaiya's personal account is basically a dumping ground for the random stuff in his camera roll. it's amazing how much he doesn't post himself, it's always pictures of the other members, or his puppy, or literally anything but a selca.

002 ▬▬ chaiya adopted a golden retriever named sarai in 2022 and that is literally his daughter. his emotional attachment to her is insane, she's basically the star of his instagram account.

003 ▬▬ chaiya is deathly allergic to dairy, he proclaims that it's the "worst thing about him". he found out for the first time when he ate ice cream and had a near death experience. he now has a terrible attachment to dairy free products.

004 ▬▬ chaiya is the member with the most consisting dating rumors, but especially with other male idols. the company has forbidden him from commenting on his own rumors because whenever he does he just makes his situation worse.

005 ▬▬ chaiya's cooking is okay. he can't make eight course meals like yohan, hwan or kiro but he's not half bad, he's practically keeping haneul alive.

006 ▬▬ he has a collection of souvenirs from every single place he's traveled to. he usually travels to other countries to collect souvenirs and eat the food, maybe pick up some recipes. as of 2024, he has souvenirs from taiwan, singapore, sweden, and greece.

007 ▬▬ it's become a whole inside joke that louvix audio isn't paying him correctly because he always gets caught with odd side jobs in between comebacks. the funniest instance of this is when a fan went to a cafe and he was their barista. the inside joke is so well known that the company themself had to release a statement, but most people don't take anything they say seriously.

008 ▬▬ his newest interest is photography, he often goes to photo exhibits to admire them whenever the group has even a sliver of a break. his partner has a huge interest in photography and he picked it up after them.

009 ▬▬ the reason netizens usually have problems with him is because of his, and i quote, "clear lack of media training". sometimes it's funny because he swears once in a livestream and they throw a hissy fit. he often says things that are out of line, constantly getting in trouble for the insurmountable dick jokes he can't resist making.

010 ▬▬ chaiya will fight for meliora. he'll literally bruise his knuckles for the members he doesn't care. he will square up with any meliora anti, because even though the members usually give him shit, he still won't let any bad talk step aside.

#◝﹙ profiles ! ﹚ ── chaiya #fake kpop group #fake kpop idol #fictional idol group #fictional kpop boy group #fictional kpop community #fictional kpop company #fictional kpop group #fictional kpop idol #fictional kpop oc #idol oc #kpop boy group #oc kpop group

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therealslimshakespeare · 3 months ago

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Ah no, she’s a damn hot catch with such an impressive resume, like fucking hell she could snag any tier of man and she wants him?! He’s a little shocked and rather sure there’s no way she’s not just curious and passing through…but Benny baby, look at your domestic self? She wants to make olive skinned molasses eyed cherubs with you buddy, cmon now

Benny: Having a dilemma over his growing attraction towards Lu and trying to fight it while convincing himself there's noooo way she's into him, and ok fine even if she is, it is def just because shes bored or something... 😧😰🤯

Lu: I want you to cook for me and my babies foreverrrrrrrrrrrr 🥰🤗✨😇

Yall, I adore the emoji journeys you send me. I just felt like that needed to be said. So there

#Benny x Lu

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not-she-which-burns-in-it · 4 days ago

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A Study in Emerald - Chapter 2

2nd chapter up! A deep look at Martin Blackwood, unsurprisingly his brain is not a great place to be.

AO3 Tags:

Character Study, Canon Compliant, Martin Blackwood Has a Crush on Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood Needs a Hug, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Needs a Hug, Not really a plot here, Internalized Fatphobia, Internalized Acephobia (kinda), Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Worth Issues, Everyone is doing bad

Check it out and maybe give it a kudo or leave a comment, even an emoji would be delightful, I need applause to live.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/61894225/chapters/158428984

Martin Blackwood spent most of his life trying to take up as little space as possible. He felt most comfortable when he was invisible in the corner of the room, which was quite a feat at 6ft 1in with broad shoulders and a round figure. He was the tallest person working in the archives, much to Tim’s 5ft 11 annoyance, and he practically towered over Jon at 5ft 8in. He had been “too big” since he was a teenager, and even though he was deceptively strong, it wasn’t in the useful sporty way. No, Martin was too soft. His large upper arms made button down shirts uncomfortable unless he went up a size, and his trousers often got holes in the thighs from friction. On top of that, his bulk in the crowded and narrow basement meant he was always pressing past a stack of files desperately hoping the sleeve of his jumper or the curve of his ass wouldn’t topple something to the floor. He had seen exasperated looks when that happened, and it happened a lot. He had even heard a whispered invective from the highly critical Head Archivist a couple times. Those cut especially deep since he wanted nothing more than to be good at this job. Or least good enough to not stand out as a disappointment. It wasn’t just his body that was soft, his mother had spent decades telling him he was too emotional, too prone to fits of crying. That liking poetry and small animals and quiet walks were what made him soft and gay and useless. And those words followed him every time he bumped into something, or ate a sweet, or worried that he might break a delicate chair.

Martin spent a lot of time trying to forget his appearance. The best days were when he was so caught up in a research project that he could forget he had a body at all, and just exist as a floating consciousness in the archives, helpful and unobtrusive. When he was forced to look in the mirror he hated his round boyish face. Popular media insisted that a smattering of freckles over your cheeks and nose were supposed to be cute, but Martin had a hard time distinguishing them from faded teenage acne scars, so all he could see was mess. He’d tried growing a beard to hide his imperfect skin and soft chin, but it came in patchy and uneven and sprawled more down his neck than up his full cheeks where he wanted it. No, he was stuck with the clean-shaven, cherubic, peaches and cream complexion that made him look even younger than his twenty nine years. Thirty-three according to his embellished resume, of course.

His sandy-colored hair didn’t help him look any older either. When he was a child, his hair had fallen in angelic gold curls that somehow annoyed his mother, since she had him crop it short. Now as an adult, it fell in soft fluffy waves that he kept above his ears, though when it got long the ends still started to curl. The bright gold had also faded to an unremarkable muddy mix between dirty blonde and mousy brown. He had continued to list it as “blonde” on dating apps until he got enough annoyed or disappointed reactions in person. Apparently his blonde wasn’t blonde enough, and his eyes were too grey to be called blue, and of course “You seem heavier than your pictures, no offense”. God, Martin hated the Grindr scene.

It’s not that he never dated, the relationships just didn’t last long. He had learned through rejections after rejection that he was good for a hookup and not much else. The encounters left him feeling a little used, and often unsatisfied, but just having the touch of another person staved off the dark places his mind brought him. It also gave him a break from fantasizing about his boss and the really terrible crush he’d been nursing for a couple years now.

He’d always had a thing for the lanky bookish types, the hot professor aesthetic really did it for him. Even better when that professor was strict and withholding. Something about it made Martin want to beg for approval. It was the difference between a dog's affection that’s handed out freely to anyone in the room, and winning over the judgemental cat in the corner. Martin dreamed of being chosen, being examined and found worthy. Or maybe it was just latent daddy issues stemming from his father’s abandonment at age 8. Either way, Jonathan Sims hit every one of those buttons. It had been just an attraction until the worm attacks. When Jon went out of his way to protect Martin, and when they started spending time together late at night when Jon worked late and Martin was sleeping in document storage, that attraction had blossomed into a full blown infatuation.

Even though Martin’s favorite tea was Yorkshire Gold, Jon drank Hampstead Earl Grey, so switching over gave Martin an excuse to drop a cup on Jon’s desk whenever he refreshed his own. Martin had even spent a fruitless two weeks researching youtube tutorials on making an authentic chai blend, until he convinced himself Jon would find that presumptuous and accuse him of being racist.

Martin spent a lot of his time divining ways his coworkers could hate him. Years of practice had taught him that the best way to avoid getting yelled at was to anticipate every possible need and either meet them or get out of the way. He learned that lesson young. The marks of a troubled childhood were easy to spot on him. He was quick with stammering apologies, flinched at slammed doors and raised voices, and spent valuable time double and triple checking his work anxiously. He could see those very qualities getting under people’s skin, but seemed to be unable to stop.

The only place he could relax was his cramped flat in Stockwell. Most of the furniture was thrifted, the gaming console was two generations old at this point, and the landlord hadn’t fixed the leaky sink or cracked floorboard since Martin moved in - but it was his. The paycheck from the Magnus Institute was the best he’d ever had, but it took a lot to keep his mother in her care home in Devon. He had been living with her out of financial necessity after dropping out of school to become her carer, but about a year before he’d been hired at the institute she’d decided to put herself in a home far enough away that Martin couldn’t visit regularly. Now she barely answered his calls, and sometimes pretended to be asleep or sick to avoid seeing him when he did get down to visit.

His financial struggles were easy to see on him. His slacks and jumpers were often secondhand, and Martin had learned to sew and patch things to get as much use out of them as possible. It also meant his clothes were often ill-fitting since plus size shopping at thrift stores was damn near impossible. He always brought his lunch, and on days when he was too rushed or his bread had gone moldy, he would make up a reason he couldn’t go out with Tim or Basira. The unhelpful voice in his head usually said You can stand to miss a few meals anyway, but he had learned not to say that part out loud. On a few dire occasions, Martin had accepted a Grindr date he knew would end poorly just because the guy would buy him dinner first.

Sasha had caught him walking with a slight limp one Monday morning after just such an occasion and had cornered him about it. At first she was convinced Martin had a secret boyfriend and wanted details. Then she’d given a mild talking to about being safe when he’d admitted to making poor hookup choices. He couldn’t remember now if that had been Sasha or NotSasha. It was strange to think the monster would have cared if Martin was ok, but maybe it just wanted him to stay in the Archives more.

And for the most part he did. Especially now that Jon was away more, and Tim was angry and distant, and Basira and Melanie seemed to be trapped here against their will, Martin felt like he was holding down the fort. He just wanted to avoid a fight, but it felt like the entire team was slowly boiling. He just needed to make enough tea and keep things organized and he could prevent someone from taking their anger out on him.

If he could just be good enough. If he could just be good enough. If he could just be good. Then they could prevent the apocalypse. Then Jon would be safe. Then Tim would be safe. Then Jon would love him back. Then he could be worthy of someone loving him back. He could be worthy.

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fanfic #martin blackwood #Martin shocker I have self esteem issues Blackwood #internalized fatphobia #internalized homophobia but it's really quick #ao3 link #shewhich stuff

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