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godmadeaterribleerror · 24 days ago

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The Only Place That I Call Home - No Love Love Bonus Chapter

Series Masterlist

Read on A03!

Author's Note: The real tragedy in No Love Lost is The Boys having to watch Her and Ben pretend they're capable of being normal about each other. Title from Heartlines by Florence and the Machine.

Word Count: 3.2k

Summary/Warnings: It's team game night, and everyone is sick of you and Ben's shit. Takes place in Chapter 24. Usual warnings.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, tooth-rotting fluff, pre-established relationship, smut (blowjob, some fingering, p in v sex)

“We’re not playing codenames,” MM snapped. “The ban is fucking permanent, so drop it.”

“It’s a stupid ban,” She muttered, glaring at Ben’s hand as she turned it over between her fingers. It was hard to focus when She touched him like that. So natural and thoughtless, like he’s only an extension of her. He might be. She was perfect, and Ben would gladly just be a fucking extension of her. There wouldn’t be another goddamn idiot pussy he’d rather just be a weapon or tool of. “You’re just a sore loser-“

“We ain’t sore losers, Love,” Butcher snapped. “We’re just bloody sick of you always winning. Because you fuckin cheat.”

Ben almost snorted at the look of indigence on Her beautiful face. It was adorable, how She looked so genuinely offended by the very idea that she’d ever cheat, when they both knew that she cheated at almost every goddamn game they played with the team. Codenames is just the only one everyone else has caught.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” She stuck her chin up at Butcher, and it would be regal if she wasn’t full of such fucking bullshit. “I’ve never cheated in my life, Butcher, and I’m wounded you’d think that low of me.“

“I’ve thought a lot fuckin lower,” Butcher drawled Her name, and she scowled. “And you are cheatin. Because that cunt,” Butcher nodded to Ben. “Always helps you.”

Her hand folded fully over Ben’s as she held Butcher’s glare. “Last time we were on different teams-“

“And that motherfucker sabotaged everyone for you,” MM grunted. “No fucking codenames.”

Her sharp eyes turned to Ben. Are you going to fucking defend our honor.

You don’t have honor, Sunshine. He grinned, kissing the top of Her head. And we do cheat. All the fucking time.

I don’t make you cheat-

My loyalty is to you. He shrugged. Not whatever pussies I get put on a stupid fucking team with. And you never complain-

Because I like winning, Benjamin, and-

You don’t have any fucking honor.

Fuck you.

At the dinner table? In front of everyone? He raised his eyebrows, smirking down at her pretty, flushed face. That’s fucking disgusting-

I hate you.

No you don’t. Ben smirks, pulling her closer to his side. You love me.

I do, She sighed, whacking his arm before dropping her head on his shoulder. You’re such a fucking asshole, but I do.

“You twats want to clue us into your secret bloody brain sexting-“

“No.” She shot Butcher a glare, and he was smart enough to just wink back. “If it’s not codenames, what are we doing.”

“We could do Monopoly-“

Annie shook her head, cutting Hughie off. “Butcher always wins Monopoly, and he’s always a smug ass about it after.”

“It ain’t my fault I got killer business instinct-“

“I think you’re just a heartless dick,” Annie shrugged. “Only psychos are good at Monopoly-“

“You’re just real fuckin salty, Starlight, cause you hate admittin I’m good at somethin-“

“Oh, shut up-“

“What about Clue?” Frenchie cut off Annie this time, flinching slightly at her glare. “My apologies Annie, but I would like to begin with a game before it becomes midnight-“

“No Clue,” MM grumbled. “Those two cheat with that one as well.”

Ben decided not to punch MM, because they did in fact cheat at Clue, and Her annoyed pout made him want to pick her up and suck on her lips until she moaned, and they did end up fucking at the dinner table.

Ryan raised his hand slightly. “Could we, um, could we do Uno? I like Uno.”

The table fell silent, nobody willing to point out that She and Ben would almost certainly be cheating at Uno when Ryan looked so fucking hopeful, and Her glare made it pretty damn obvious she’d kill anyone who shot the idea down.

“I can do Uno,” Hughie mumbled, and when everyone gave small nods of agreement he rose up, going to retrieve the game from wherever the fuck they kept it.

Ben felt a tug on his arm, and looked down to find Her very pointedly not looking at him, attention focused on Frenchie, explaining Uno to Kimiko.

What.

Are we cheating.

He coughed, failing to cover his laugh as Annie gave him an odd look. No fucking honor, darling-

Shut up. I had a fun idea, but if you’re going to be a dick-

Ben tangled Her fingers between his, muttering Her name between their heads. If you want to cheat and win, I don’t give a fuck about it-

I want to win. She glanced up at him. But I can win at multiple things.

Ben frowned. What the fuck are you talking about.

No cheating, a smile played on her pretty lips, and Ben wanted to trace them with his hands and mouth and cock. She was so fucking beautiful, it was an issue to his attention as she continued. Because we’re competing against each other.

Why the damn hell would we do that.

Because whoever wins gets to be in charge of sex tonight.

Christ, he fucking loved Her. You sure you want that, Sunshine? Ben leaned down, bumping his nose with Hers, smirking as her heart jumped slightly. Because I’ll fucking kick your ass, my love. And you won’t get off easy, he nipped at her lower lip, and her mouth fell open. When I win.

If you win.

He chuckled. Brat.

Cunt. You in, or are you too much of a fucking pussy-

Ben tangled his hand in Her hair, pulling her up into a deep kiss. I’m in. Get ready to fucking lose.

Take your own advice, Pretty Boy. She pulled back with a wide smile, and Ben had never seen anything better. I’m going to make you regret being born.

That wasn’t fucking possible. Ben didn’t think he’d ever regret a thing again, when whatever he’d done before had gotten him here. Feeling all Her love for him in every corner of the world, with her perfect, sharp, bright eyes on his and her body fitting like a missing half against his.

She was real fucking serious about winning—she’d stood up, moving to sit beside Ryan across the table so Ben couldn’t see her cards—and it was going to make it so much more satisfying when Ben emerged victorious. He was already lining out what he wanted to do—maybe some edging, make her moan and beg and squirm under him as he teased her—but he was adaptable. If they got home and he realized she was already fucking dripping through her underwear, he’d probably just fuck Her. But he had to win first.

They’d had to combine two Uno decks—nine people was apparently too much for one fucking pussy deck to handle—and it took Ben about fifteen seconds after Frenchie dealt to realize that he couldn’t fucking remember how to play Uno. And when he looked up at the casual, sharp amusement on Her face, he realized She’d fucking expected that.

You cheated.

We’re not cheating, Benjamin. We agreed on that-

I didn’t fucking say we, I said you.

I don’t know what you’re implying. She glanced up from her cards with almost fucking sparkling eyes, and Ben felt like someone had dropped a building on him. Actually, he’d had a building dropped on him. This was a whole lot fucking better, because it was made of all her love and adoration and perfect, clever brain and smart fucking mouth. Are you getting worried, Pretty Boy? Want to call it off?

Never in a million goddamn years. Want to hear how I’m going to fuck you when I win?

She hummed, looking back to her cards. I think that’s foul play.

This whole thing is foul fucking play. Distracting Her with dirty talk was also the only fucking chance Ben had to win, but she didn’t need to know that. I’m going to finger you first, darling. See if we can get three fingers at the start this time, if I make you wet enough. Her heartbeat picked up, her eyes becoming slightly glazed, and Ben pushed on. You might already be fucking wet enough, you’re always so fucking wet for me, but I’d like to get you so wet you fucking squirt all over me. Make you fucking scream-

Ben. She shot him a half-hearted glare. Shut it. Stop cheating.

You started it.

She wrinkled Her perfect nose at him. Fuck you.

I will. With three fingers, then my tongue, then my cock, until you’re a beautiful, wrecked mess-

A crumpled up napkin hit him in the face, and when Ben glowered at Her, she just shrugged. I told you to shut it.

Ben didn’t shut it. By the time the game was halfway done, he’d gotten hit in the face with five more napkins, a plastic spoon, and a cup that still had some fucking water in it. But he was still fucking losing. By a lot. Half the damn deck was in his hand, She was down to two cards, and there was no actual warning in Her glares or distress trading between their bodies, so Ben kept telling her every single filthy thought that crossed his mind.

And he still fucking lost. Kimiko—despite only learning the game twenty minutes ago—won first, but everyone groaned to keep going for second place. When Ryan won soon after that, it became about third. Ben was hardly able to hold his cards in his hands—everyone had a fucking vendetta against him, and he’d been hit with so many plus two cards it had to be some sort of targeted fucking play they’d all agreed on behind his back—and the game was between Her and MM.

She won, with an overdramatic slam of a green five on the pile, and a wide grin around the table. And when Her eyes met Ben’s, already blown out and thirsty, he felt his dick twitch in his pants.

“If you losers will excuse me,” She stood up, still holding Ben’s gaze. “I’ve had to shit for the last fifteen minutes.”

MM’s face twisted in disgust. “You could’ve just fucking left, you don’t need to tell us-“

“Sorry,” She shrugged, clearly not fucking meaning it. “If you wanted not to hear about my bowel movements, you shouldn’t have shot yourself in the foot by changing it to green.”

As She turned away from the table, walking off to the dining hall bathrooms, her voice rang in Ben’s head. Give it five minutes, then follow me.

He gave it three. They were now going for fourth, nobody seemed to think he was a serious contender for the title, and Ryan eagerly volunteered to play for him, so with a grumbled thanks and half-run to the bathroom, Ben followed Her.

She was waiting for him, arms crossed as She leaned against the wall. “That was not five minutes-“

Ben locked the door behind him, and slammed his mouth onto Hers with a groan, swallowing every single moan and pulling her half off the ground as he touched Her fucking everywhere.

“Ben-“

“So fucking smart,” he muttered, dropping his head to her neck and sucking on that one spot that made her like putty in his hands. “You’re such a fucking brat, Sunshine-“

“And I won,” Her voice was breathless, but still smug. “So I’m in charge, Benjamin-“

He chuckled Her name against her skin, moving one hand under her shirt, palming at her breast. “We both know this ends with me fucking you, darling, so just damn say how you want it-“

She pushed him off—her hands heated enough to grab Ben’s attention, but not to burn him—and dropped to her knees, smirking up at him as she ran a hand up his thigh. “I’m in charge. And I want to suck your dick. Can I please-“

Ben had never moved fucking faster. Belt off, pants down, freeing his cock to press against Her pretty, parted, slightly swollen lips. Even if she hadn’t won that stupid bet, he’d never fucking turn Her down for this. Not when she was smiling up at him under her lashes, playing with his balls as she swirled her tongue over the head of him, teeth scraping as she squeezed him and he bucked forward slightly.

He growled Her name, fighting every single instinct in his body to just pick her up and fuck Her. Push himself into her perfect pussy, make her breathing as heavy and ragged as his was. Cover himself in the wetness he could see dripping onto the bathroom floor, her pants having been tossed off to the side so she could fucking finger herself. “If you don’t move-“

She leaned back, giving him a fake pout that made his cock jump in her hands. “No.”

“Christ, woman-“

She started to stroke him, gentle and almost fucking painful with how goddamn slow it was, and he groaned.

“I won, Ben. And I want you to fuck my face,” He hissed through his teeth as She licked the underside of his cock. “But if you’re going to be an ass-“

“You won,” he grunted, gripping the sink with one hand and tilting her head back with the other. “You fucking won, and I’ll fuck your face any goddamn day-“

She nodded, grinning. “When I tell you, pull out.”

“What-“

“Trust me.”

He nodded slowly, and when Her mouth fell open, Ben pushed himself down her throat, almost fucking moaning at how good she felt. Fucking sinful, Her tongue swirling around him, Her pretty eyes fluttering as he bumped the back of Her throat. He was pretty sure that he could find release just like this. Watching Her below him, her cheeks hollowed out and one of Her hands playing with herself as she held his gaze. She was fucking threat to Ben’s health, with how goddamn perfect she was. With a little drool escaping her lips as Ben’s cock rested between them, a hand steadying herself against his thigh, grinding onto the fucking floor-

That’s what got Ben to move. She was squirming against her own touch, and he could fucking smell how wet she was, hear her whimpers around his dick when his hips rutted slightly, and he wasn’t allowed to take care of Her until after this. So he tangled his hand in Her hair, tugging her almost fully of of him before slamming her back down, bucking his hips before repeating it over and over until She was moaning, pretty eyes rolling back in her head and her lips perfectly fucking puffed.

He was close. She’d started to suck on him when he hit the back of her throat, and lick the tip of his cock when he pulled back, and Ben could feel the coil in his gut growing tight and hot, and fuck She was so perfect and beautiful and he felt goddamn high-

He hissed Her name as her nose bumped his lower stomach, her high and desperate whine making him rut up into her. “Christ, you’re so fucking good. Gonna fucking paint your perfect fucking body in me, darling, fucking love you, look so fucking beautiful with your pretty fucking mouth stuffed with my cock-“

Her nails began to sink into Ben’s skin, Her hips rolling against her own touch. Ben had never been fucking jealous of someone actively sucking him off, but god fucking dammit it should be him touching Her. She should be squirming under Ben’s touch, not having to fucking drip all over the bathroom floor. Everything was fading into a daze of Her, bright and soft and so fucking full of love it made Ben a little insane, and he was so fucking close to cumming right in her fucking vice of a mouth-

Out. Her voice was breathless in Ben’s head, and his hand loosened on her head before he’d even fully registered the words.

“What-“

She surged upwards, grabbing Ben’s face and pulling it down to hers, and he let every fucking instinct of Her, Her, Her take over. Spinning them around, slamming her into the wall as one hand dropped down, pinching and flick at her clit until she became putty in his arms, running one finger between the lips of her pussy, teasing at her opening but never pushing in-

“Ben-“ She gasped as he dropped his mouth to her neck, biting that one spot as he pressed his thumb around her clit, rubbing slow circles everywhere around it. “Fuck-“

“So fucking good, Sunshine-“

Ben’s words were cut off with a strangled groan as her hand wrapped back around his cock, pumping him so fast he was pretty goddamn sure it might make him pass out.

“Inside,” She whispered, lips brushing against Ben’s ear as his arms tightened around her. “Want you to cum inside-“

Ben dropped one hand to Her thighs, pushing them open without a further fucking question and ramming himself into her with a half shout of pleasure. He felt himself bottom out, rolling his hips just enough to angle himself against that deep part of her that always made her scream, and when She came—her moans and shouts of his name in his ear, her pussy contracting around him, and her hands scratching at his back—Ben cracked the wall as he slammed up into Her, relief crashing through him.

“So fucking tight, darling.” He growled against her skin, and she whimpered. “Good girl, taking me so fucking well. Fucking love you-“

Someone slammed their fist against the door, and they both froze.

“We can all hear you horny cunts humpin like bloody rabbits! Keep it in your fuckin pants!” Butcher shouted through the walls, hitting the door one last time.

“Either we cheat or we fuck,” Ben drawled back, letting Her bury her beautiful, flushed face in his chest. “So let us cheat, or buy some goddamn earplugs.”

“You could just not fuck,” MM yelled, sounding a little further away. “Not fucking is an option-“

Ben rolled his eyes, and turned his attention back where it belonged. With Her.

“If we run,” he muttered, forcing himself to pull out of Her and ignore the way he was already half-hard again from the sight of his cum, dribbling down her thighs. “We can get you back to the apartment, and keep fucking without any goddamn interruptions.”

“I, um,” She leaned against him as they dressed, and Ben realized there was a slight wobble to her knees. He’d fucking done that. “I don’t want to run-“

He scooped her up into his arms with a smirk and a kiss to her brow. “Hold on.”

“Wait,” She looped her arms over his neck, playing with his hair as she studied his face. “I’m still in charge. When we get home.”

Ben snorted, hauling her further up his chest to mutter against Her lips. “Tonight you’re in charge, Sunshine. But next time, I’m fucking winning, and you’re going to cum so many times you can’t walk for a goddamn week.”

She swallowed, mouth parting, and Ben pushed his tongue between her lips, sucking on the lower one in a silent promise.

“And if I win again-“

“You won’t.” Ben pulled back, giving her a wink. “Because we’re going to do a team game, and I’m going to take Ryan. And you’ll lose for him on fucking purpose.”

She scowled. “Cunt.”

“Brat.” Ben grinned at Her, and her pretty lips—still fucking swollen from his cock—pulled into a smile as pure, raw fucking joy painted Her feature. “Let’s get you home.”

End Note: I feel like the Boys would have the most foul Jackbox night. Things would be said that should've never been said in the first place, and will never be said again. She and Ben would make a voting block. MM would quit when his smart joke lost to Frenchie writing "massive balls" for the seventh time in quiplash. Someone would break the TV.

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euoniatz · 8 months ago

Note

Can I request leon finding a survivor in racoon city and protecting them? ( I've never played re2 so sorry if this would never happen in the game)

sure you can!🤗 i wasn't sure if you wanted slash or not so i went somewhere in the middle, hope that's okay 💕 enjoy!

☆ leon s kennedy x reader

tags: hurt/comfort, blood and injury, protective leon, gn!reader

wordcount: 2105

"thirty-three..." you count silently, hugging your knees to your chest as you shut your eyes even tighter.

you take a deep breath, hold it, and let it go. relax, a voice tells you in your mind.

there's another loud bang on the door. you try to be quiet, but your limbs flinch involuntarily and a cry slips past the hand on your mouth regardless.

"thirty-four..." you whisper into your palm, tasting the saltiness of your tears on the skin.

you're so tense it hurts, legs uncomfortably angled to fit under the same desk you've had since you were a kid and neck curled to do the same.

breathe, that voice says again, and you let go of the breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding.

the door creaks under the weight of another thud, and you inhale sharply, instantly regretting doing so as your nose fills with the sharp stench of blood.

you let another whimper slip, inching further beneath the desk as the scratching starts back up again. it never ends, really, but in times like these it reminds you that the wooden door separating you and them won't hold forever.

you are going to die in here, you think and glance at the window, or you are going to die out there.

"thirty..." shit, where were you?

outside, the rain is pouring, slamming against the thin glass of the windowpanes as if dedicated to give you even more problems.

you're grateful your flat is on the third floor, then is instantly struck with guilt again, remembering your neighbors downstairs and the plants you used to water for them.

maybe they- your mind starts, and for the nth time you have to remind yourself: no, they didn't get out safely, no one did, you're the last person alive in racoon city - you're alone.

of course, you can't be sure of that last part, but you can't imagine anyone who's still breathing would be stupid enough to stay.

one of them starts growling into the crack in the door again, and you're reminded of where you are - curled up in the bedroom you only moved into a week ago and hiding because zombies are real and the undead version of your landlords are trying to eat your brain.

you shut your eyes with a sigh, cursing your thoughts for being so entirely unhelpful.

"one..." you start over, wondering if you'll even get to thirty this time.

except, before you can even get to two there's a loud noise. not the kind of dull thuds you've gotten used to, but something else.

a gunshot.

at first you think you're imagining things, or maybe you misheard. but then there it is again - a series of deafening pangs just below your window.

your heart races as you sit perfectly still, listening intently for any other sound as the shots go silent. a loud creak follows, old and rusted and terrifyingly familiar.

your stomach drops - you know exactly what's making that noise, remembering how the landlord showed you how the fire escape works and how the metal groaned under his weight.

something got up there, you think, panic climbing in your throat.

heavy thuds join the familiar one on the door, except they come from outside your window. this time, as the voice in your head tells you to breathe, you can't. it's as if the air has glued itself to the inside of your lungs, and you hold it there as your body aches with tension.

the snarling outside the door intensifies, and just as you recognize the heart-wrenching sound of the door panels splintering apart. quickly joining the cacophony of terror, however, is the noise of the window shattering.

you can't move, can't breathe-

BANG!

ears ringing, your mouth opens in what is only to you a soundless scream. you watch through tears as a dark smear in your vison slashes at your landlord. the man drops in front of the desk, and you flinch as something dark and wet sprays all over you.

panic muddles your mind. you thought you were prepared to die - you were wrong. it's scary and it's horrible and you hate it-

a hand touches your knee.

your eyes fly open as your leg kicks out instinctively. you watch, dazed, as a man, bloody and blond and alive, grimaces and stumbles back, cradling his stomach.

he raises his hands, maybe hoping to calm you.

it's in vain, your head is spinning and you only now recognize the sticky liquid on your skin as blood and your lungs ache as you belatedly realize you're still screaming.

the man's posture relaxes considerably once you shut your mouth and you blink, eyes flitting around your room as you struggle to process the state it's in.

you look at the bed, thinking about the old quilt at the foot of it that your dad made you when you were little. a limp body is draped over it, and you watch, horrified, as crimson red begins to pool on the floor.

the body wears a sun washed nirvana t-shirt, and you remember seeing it on the old man a floor above you before.

oh god, you think, breathing picking up again. they're dead. they're all dead-

"-y, hey, look at me," a voice startles you as the ringing in your ears subside and you catch the tail end of his words. you look over at the man, trying and failing not to look at the gore on his knife.

"okay, you're okay," he tells you, and when you meet his eyes, you're surprised to find sincerity there. he could still kill you, that voice from before pipes up, no longer comforting.

as if noticing the clarity slowly returning to you, the man nods and stands up, heading towards the door. panic strikes you suddenly and you shoot to your feet, bumping your head on the desk as the idea of being left alone here makes you tremble.

"wait!" you exclaim, surprised at the sound of your own voice so ragged and breathless. the man turns, eyes wide as he quickly gestures for you to calm down.

"hey, look, i'm just going to check the hallway," he says carefully while pointing to the broken door. "i'll be right back, okay? just stay here, ."

he waits for your shaky nod before leaving. you'd almost be grateful for the time alone to collect yourself, except you're not alone, and the two corpses in your bedroom aren't going anywhere. or at least you hope they're not.

so, standing in the centre of the bedroom you moved into a week ago, next to your dead landlord and neighbor, you hug yourself tightly and walk over the corner furthest from the door.

unfortunately it's the same corner where the window is, and you make a half-hearted effort to avoid stepping on any glass.

you flinch as another gunshot echoes from the floor above, letting a few more tears fall even as you try to calm yourself down. you knew things must be terrible, but your vivid imagination is somehow still not as bad as seeing it for yourself.

you can hear growling coming form the alley below your apartment, and instinctively glance out the window - meeting the dead eyes of a dozen walking corpses milling under the raised fire escape.

gasping sharply, you stumble away from the scene, panic increasing as your back collides with a hard surface.

"easy," the man from before says and grips your arms from behind. slowly he turns you to face him. "don't look."

you nod, somehow unbothered by his hands on your wrists as his eyes, sparkling with concern, scans your face. maybe you should be embarrassed of your cheeks blotchy with tears and puffy from how you've been rubbing your face clear of them for hours.

"i'm leon," the man introduces himself. you're grateful to put a name to the face, especially if this is the last time you see him.

you give him yours in turn, and he smiles, tells you it's a good name as his hand moves to your back and he moves you towards the door.

the hallway is in worse shape than your room, and you avert your eyes before more of the splattered blood imprint themselves on your retinas. even though this is technically still your house, you let leon guide you through it until you're sat at the kitchen table, watching him crush some herbs on a paper towel.

"i just moved here a week ago," you find yourself saying, trying not to cry again as you think about the safety of home; cursing yourself for ever leaving.

leon looks up from his plants, smiling sympathetically. "yesterday was my first day on the job."

tomorrow would've been yours. you'd been excited for your new job, but now you don't even want to imagine staying here if you even survive. you huff bitterly. "lucky us, huh?"

he laughs. "definitely."

apparently deeming his work complete, leon hands you the herbs after grabbing a handful for himself. you watch, a little stunned, as leon shoves it in his mouth and begins exaggeratedly chewing.

he gestures for you to do the same, and you hesitantly bring a bit to your dry lips, absently wondering if you're about to be poisoned.

fuck it. you throw the whole thing in your mouth, immediately wincing at the bitter taste but chewing the best you can. leon watches you intently, but doesn't comment.

"that'll make you feel better," he says and begins digging through a pouch on his hip. it takes a second, but he eventually finds what he's looking for - pulling out another knife.

you're already halfway to your feet by the time he's set it down on the table, looking at him fearfully. "please, i-"

leon looks between you and the knife, and his eyes widen. "oh, no- hey, i'm not gonna hurt you, okay?" he says carefully, showing you his hands, "it's for you, so you can protect yourself, it doesn't matter if you're not trained, it's better than nothing."

you're heart sinks at the confirmation of being left behind, that you'll have to fend for yourself from here on out. "oh," you say sitting back at the table, "okay, thank you."

leon smiles and goes back to checking through his various packs and pockets. "is there anything you need?" he asks. "you live here, right? maybe some other clothes or important medicine? i could get it for you, if you'd like."

his care only makes the idea of losing him worse. you shake your head, knowing you're being childish still. he's a survivor, he could give you tips if you weren't so busy pouting.

"we can probably find some later, don't worry," leon says and starts shamelessly raiding your cabinets. he pulls out the pack of wafers you bought the other day and stuffs it in a backpack you belatedly realize is your own.

maybe you should feel more scandalized by the daylight robbery, but you don't. you don't feel much at all, really.

leon disappears for a second long enough for you to worry but not outright spiral, since he left yours-now-his backpack on the table. when he returns, it's with one of your favorite hoodies in hand, along with a pair of trainers and some bandages from your bathroom.

he stuffs the bandages and the shoes in the bag, barely even batting an eye as he steps up in front of you and pulls the hoodies over your head. he gets some tape from god-knows-where and tapes several layers of it around your forearms and calves before you even have time to blink.

stunned you gape as he hands you the now full backpack and stands in the door, as if waiting for something.

"look," leon says after he realizes you aren't moving, "i know this is your home and all but we really gotta go..."

you furrow your brows, confused by the fact that he's even still here. "we?"

leon frowns and steps towards you. "yeah, we. what- i'm not just gonna leave you here."

"oh."

"come on." you startle at the sudden feel of a hand on yours, but quickly close your fingers around his, holding on tight. "it's time to go."

you nod, sticking close to leon as he guides you through the apartment complex and starts to show you the world, in all it's terrifying glory, again. it's scary and messy and half the time ou think you're going to die but at least you're not alone.

breathe, a voice says, familiar and supportive again. this time, you listen.

psst- my writing asks are still open, go check it out if you have a request ;)

#leon kennedy #my writing #leon resident evil #resident evil #re2 leon #resident evil 2 #leon kennedy x reader #x reader #gn reader #writing requests #leon s kennedy

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kana-daydreams · 2 months ago

Text

punishment by tickles || gojo | fluff | 1.3k

°*:ᰔ in which gojo threatens to exact his revenge on you by releasing an onslaught of tickling rage.

tags: fem!reader . teen!gojo . established relationship . gojo and reader has a mini-argument

jjk masterlist

A loud smack resonates across the four walls of Tokyo Jujitsu High’s gymnasium. And another succeeds it with the successive thumps of a basketball bouncing until it slows into a roll across its floor.

Suguru and Shoko who sit at the bleachers stare, eyes wide, across at the once-in-a-lifetime scene that had just unfolded in front of them—Suguru being the first to break the loud silence that accompanied it in a burst of chest-quaking laughter.

"It ain’t funny," Satoru grumbles from across the centre of the gym’s ball court, a faint blush on his cheeks and lips curled down into a frown as his hand massages a splotch of red marring the forehead of his once pristine smooth face.

“It kinda is, man.” Suguru chuckles and Shoko agrees with a light giggle of her own much to Satoru’s chagrin.

It’s only when Satoru’s face scrunches into a deeper frown does the pair decide to resign their laughter, raising their hands in promised surrender, to spare him the torment of further tarnishing his pride—and to save him from the downfall of premature ageing.

But Satoru swears when he starts peeling his salty blue glare off them, he hears another sputter of stifled laughter from behind him.

He groans, reluctantly letting it go for now and instead snaps his gaze down at you—his adorable, loving girlfriend who stands in front him with your cheeks puffed, seemingly miffed at the current situation.

"Why?"

The single question echoes his confusion. And bears the hurt of someone who's just been betrayed.

A question Satoru patiently awaits a response to wanting to know why you, his adorable, loving girlfriend had nailed him square in the face with a ball using your unanticipated herculean strength.

You huff, arms crossed. "How was I s'pose to know you had your barrier down?" You reason with a click of your tongue.

Satoru feels the muscle in his right eye twitch. "Well babe,” he starts, tone measured. “My barrier was down 'cause I didn't think my own girlfriend would try to demolish my face with her godzilla-like strength," he argues.

You purse your lips, grimacing at his accusing tone; guilt slowly creeping in and taking form in a sheepish expression on your face.

Today you'd taken on the challenge of besting the untouchable Satoru Gojo in a game of basketball wanting to wipe that high and mighty shit-eating grin off his handsome face. And to ultimately prove to him that he could be outdone, letting your competitive nature get the best of you—even at the expense of your composure when you were miserably losing every game.

But, who knew the cost would be you almost caving your boyfriend’s face in, in what was suppose to be a nice, clean game of ball?

Truthfully and shamefully, you have to admit that your intentions weren’t quite…pure: that you did deliberately aim the ball at your boyfriend, and his face. Something you would never admit. Though, you genuinely weren't aware that his impenetrable force field would be deactivated—and didn’t reckon your throw would be strong enough to bruise the face he called “the epitome of perfection.”

"Stop being such a baby. I wasn’t really tryna hurt you— It was just an accident,” you retort. “Besides... it kinda serves you right.”

Satoru gapes. "Serves me right?” His white brows creases, tone drenched in utter disbelief. “Mind telling me what that even means, sweet girlfriend of mine?"

You fidget a bit where you stand. "For..." your words die on your tongue as you think your reason might be petty, and labelled immature. Nonetheless, after a brief minute, you spit it out wanting to get it off your chest. "For calling me short," you finally say, heat spreading across your face.

An uncomfortable quiet suddenly washes over the room at your answer. The kind of quiet that heralds an impending storm.

“Sa…toru? Everything alright, buddy?” you call, worried you’d stunned your boyfriend mute.

But momentarily, you notice that isn’t the case when you see his lips part to speak, his gaze downcast to the floor.

"You mean to tell me…” Satoru’s words leave him in steady breaths, an eerie shadow seeming to cloud his expression. “...you almost smashed my face ‘cause I called you short?"

You nod, failing to discern the subtle change of his tone that teeters towards the borders of something sinister. "Yeah...?"

Another beat of quiet descends the room.

Then—you notice it.

The violent but slight shudder of Satoru's shoulders, and the corners of his lips slowly tugging up into an almost deranged smile.

His gaze then suddenly snaps up to you, vibrant eyes piercing your own.

"Guess then,” he drags. “Someone needs to be punished." Satoru glides a tongue across his lips, slow and deliberate; a wicked glint in his eyes and a predatory smile that showcases his pearly white canines, spreading across his face.

You swallow, footsteps reversing to take a step back as you lower your gaze down at his fingers which flexes with devious intent—a tell-tale sign of his planned torture.

"S-Satoru?...Babe?" Your voice quivers his name. "Y'know, w-we can talk this out right. There’s no need to resolve things like this.” You take another step back as he takes a menacing step forward.

"Talk?" He chuckles darkly, a heart-throbbing melody that gives way for a river of warmth to involuntarily course throughout your entire body. He then tuts and coos, "Aww baby, it's too late to talk now. Though, gotta warn you—" he takes another threatening step forward and like routine, you mimic it with a step back. "You better pray, I don't catch you.

“S-Satoru, wait. I-I didn’t mean to do it. Please, I—waittt !” You lurch back with a squeak, eyes seemingly bulging out of their sockets when Satoru leaps toward you in a sprint.

You instantly whirl around, bolting in the opposite direction, releasing a pleading cry for Shoko and Suguru to intervene.

However, the two remain impartial to the entire situation that unfolds, leaving you to fend for yourself, and opting instead to send their good luck wishes by a gesture of their raised thumbs.

"You bitches! I'll remember this!” you scream curses at them as Satoru continues to hound after you in a chase that prolongs for almost half an hour.

A chase that you very well know could have ended in an instant if Satoru didn’t like playing with his food, savouring every minute of the chase, before aiming for the kill.

It’s only when Shoko shouts “better hurry this up guys, got a minute left!” do you find yourself, in the blink of an eye, with you back pressed flush against the wall as Satoru's towering frame stalks closer, and closer towards you. Every route for an escape, blocked.

Your eyes clench shut, preparing.

Preparing for the onslaught of tickles you were about to be subjected to.

Momentarily, you feel Satoru’s presence when it nears you. Feel his electric warmth that radiates off his skin and seeps into your own. And breathe in the tantalising musky scent of him that floods your nose.

But, the anticipated feeling of fingers against your tummy never comes.

Instead, you feel the accustomed sensation of a soft pair lips planting themselves against your own.

"Mmm, caught ya." A finger boops your nose and you crack an eye open to meet Satoru's face an inch away from your own, a boyish wide smile adorning his face.

Your own face wrinkles in confusion; an expression that Satoru finds adorable and at the same time makes him explode with laughter.

"I hate you, you know that," you mumble with a frown, and Satoru acknowledges your words with a soft hum.

A lull falls between you two as your features then morph into a sheepish look, face gradually warming with guilt. "...I’m sorry for, y'know, hitting you with a ball. In the face."

Satoru smiles a wide smile that lights up his ice-blue eyes. "I know, baby. I know.” He hooks a finger under your chin, face drawing closer to yours. “And I'm sorry for calling you short," he says before capturing your lips in a tender kiss.

#gojo satoru #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x you #gojo fluff #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jjk x you #satoru x y/n

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dogs2shouldvote · 1 year ago

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during my latest relisten of taz balance, i recorded every line i found even the slightest bit funny with zero context, not even who said it (though some are pretty obvious). here’s all my favorites!!

“i’m probably studying.. my cantrips”

“just say mastrubating, dad”

“don’t come in mom i’m studying my canteips!!”

“yeah you’ll do any dumb shit”

“it’s like a bag of holding! but for.. ass.”

“do we know how much damage we did to him?”

“six damage, you said it out loud with your mouth.”

“it should be in the player’s handbook! get your salty snack to enjoy while you play dnd”

“my grandpa says it’s rude to whisper. especially on a train!”

“i’m not going to go toe to toe with a crab while youre armed with a terrible scottish accent and travis doesn’t even have his sheild. i’m out! … did i say travis? i mean leman kessler.”

“nope! that was wrong all the way around.”

“i’m cosplaying taako right now, as a stupid man.”

“who’s just rolling dice? who is doing secret checks that i don’t know about?”

“i always waste my 20’s on perception checks. like i give a shit.”

“it’s completely conceivable he would have a name tag.”

“IN A GANG?”

“like a pelt??? like a bramble*pelt*?????”

“is there a math check? what are you talking about?”

“yeah it’s your fucking brain. you use your brain to add numbers together”

“16”

“what are you fucking doing??”

“griffin i love you youre my brother. but if my skill called history doesn’t literally help me with history trivia questions in a category called history what are we FUCKING doing here??”

“can i ask you a question? are you guys mean to everyone?”

“fus-ro-over dere”

“that one was actually a badass bernie sanders”

“hey thug! what’s your name? i’m about to tentacle your dick.”

“a d6 is like some dice ass dice. that’s some monopoly shit.”

“i thought you were saying merle, it’s his bread and his body, take 2d6 healing points”

“you two remind me of something… you remind me of the babe! and then i throw the glass sphere at them.”

“make a constitution saving throw to see if you can eat this fucking rock with your mouth.”

“dungeons and dragons is a. great game.”

“my name is magnus burnsides”

“marchins burchens”

“magnus would not say that. however, travis would.”

“can we please not talk about chekhov’s bush?”

“we’ve got a ball, a sack, and a tool!”

“everything is gross here in dnd.”

“only losers smoke, isaac.”

“i give isaac an hour long lecture about the dangers of smoking.”

“i’m just gonna put my mouth down there and go buck wild”

“there’s a lot of go cart tracks called the adventure zone and i’ve been working with my lawyer to shut them all down forever”

“does taako fish?”

“yeah taako fishes.”

“a rock hard-“

*justin, clint, and travis laugh*

“come ON, *really*?”

“taako rushes in!”

“what! magnus follows him.”

“merle’s good out here!”

“WHAT is going on?”

“how do you not have a d6 it comes with every board game”

“my daughter-“

“eats them for power???”

“uhhh how much health do you have.”

“im not gonna tell you.”

“let’s see… i am going to hurt jenkins. with a magical spell.”

“this is about to become the taako show starring taako.”

“BLUFF FUCKING BLUFF O’CLOCK?? WHAT IS THIS, HALF PAST PERSUASION TIME??”

“i’m not laughing in game” *justin fucking loses it*

“she’s the best at burning shit ever.”

“traaav griffin got to do his show for so long and now he’s gonna destroy yours.”

“fucking lup finds like. a gun.”

“for sure, keep it sleazy. we’re out, bye!”

“i have to believe…. i’m gonna get those fifteen dollars back from greg fucking grimaldis”

“based on the rules of the game, dad… you die.”

“dad’s making a jerk off motion at me”

“don’t play the pennywise card like you ALWAYS try to”

“should i talk slower so that everybody who has been complaining about us not playing dnd has time to nut?”

“i am a wizard. my name is taako. and i am pretty well fucked.”

“yeah i’ve got cumin who do you think i am?”

“hear that, babe? we’re *legends*”

“i’m clint mcelroy and i played merle hightower-“

“nope”

#i actually have a ton more #taz balance #taz balance spoilers #kinda #the adventure zone balance #mcelroys #taz #the adventure zone #mcelroy brothers #taako taaco #merle highchurch #magnus burnsides

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qosbaez · 3 months ago

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A lesson || Drew McIntyre x Rhea Ripley x Damian Priest

Summary: Rhea gets taught a lesson.

Warnings: Smut, Drew and Damian tag teaming Rhea

Rhea Ripley was storming down the corridor of the arena, her mind set on finding Cathy Kelley. She had something to settle, something she couldn’t let go. Cathy had been giving her the runaround all week, and Rhea was done playing games. But just as she passed one of the locker rooms, a hand shot out of nowhere, grabbing her by the arm and yanking her inside.

She barely had time to register what was happening before she was pushed up against the wall, a familiar scent filling her senses. It was Drew McIntyre, his towering frame looming over her, his eyes dark with something that sent a thrill down her spine.

“Drew—what the hell?” Rhea started to protest, but her words were cut off as he pressed a finger to her lips, his eyes narrowing with intent.

“You’ve been teasing me all night, lass,” Drew’s voice was low, a dangerous edge to it that made Rhea’s breath hitch. “It’s about time I did something about it.”

Rhea’s heart raced, a mix of anticipation and excitement flooding her veins. This wasn’t the first time Drew had cornered her like this, and every time it happened, it sent a jolt of adrenaline through her. There was something about his roughness, his dominance, that she craved. And tonight, it seemed, he was done waiting.

Before she could respond, Drew’s hands were on her, pushing her down to her knees with a force that sent a shock of pleasure straight to her core. Rhea didn’t resist—didn’t want to resist. She loved the way he took control, the way he didn’t ask for permission, just took what he wanted.

She looked up at him from her knees, her eyes wide and eager, waiting for his next move. Drew’s gaze was locked on hers, a smirk playing on his lips as he undid his belt, the sound of the leather sliding through the loops sending a shiver down her spine. He didn’t waste any time, pulling down his pants just enough to free himself, his erection already hard and throbbing.

“Open,” he commanded, his voice a growl, and Rhea obeyed without hesitation, parting her lips as she looked up at him, waiting for him to fill her mouth.

The moment he did, Rhea felt a rush of heat between her legs, the sensation of his thick length sliding over her tongue making her moan around him. Drew’s hand tangled in her hair, guiding her movements as she took him deeper, the salty taste of him flooding her senses.

Rhea loved this—loved the way he made her feel so small, so powerless, yet so alive. She loved the way he used her, the way he didn’t hold back, thrusting into her mouth with a force that made her eyes water. But she didn’t care about that, didn’t care about the way her lipstick was smudged, or the way her mascara was running down her cheeks. All she cared about was pleasing him, about hearing the low, guttural moans that escaped his lips as she worked her mouth over him.

Drew’s grip on her hair tightened, his thrusts becoming more urgent, more desperate, and Rhea knew he was close. The thought of it, the thought of him losing control because of her, sent a wave of arousal through her, making her moan louder, her own need growing with every passing second.

But just as Drew was about to reach his peak, the door to the locker room creaked open, and a second figure stepped inside. Rhea’s heart skipped a beat as she recognized the newcomer—Damian Priest, his tall, lean frame silhouetted against the light from the corridor.

“What’s going on here?” Damian’s voice was low, amused, as he took in the scene before him, his eyes darkening with desire as they settled on Rhea, still on her knees, still with Drew in her mouth.

Rhea looked up at him, her lips still wrapped around Drew, her mascara smudged and running down her face. But instead of feeling embarrassed, she felt a thrill of excitement at being caught, at the way Damian was looking at her like he wanted to devour her.

“She needed an attitude adjustment, Priest,” Drew grunted, his hips still moving, though slower now, his eyes never leaving Rhea’s. “Thought I’d teach her a lesson.”

Damian’s lips curled into a wicked smile as he moved closer, his hand brushing over Rhea’s cheek, wiping away some of the smudged makeup with his thumb. “Is that so?” he murmured, his voice sending a shiver down her spine. “Well then, maybe I should help.”

Rhea’s heart raced as she looked between the two men, her body thrumming with anticipation. She knew what was coming, knew that they were going to take her, use her, and the thought of it only made her wetter.

Damian’s hand moved to the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her hair as he guided her off Drew’s length, tilting her head back to look up at him. “You want that, don’t you, Rhea?” he asked, his voice a low purr. “You want us to take care of you?”

Rhea nodded, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps as she looked up at him, her eyes wide with need. “Yes,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “Please.”

Damian’s smile widened as he leaned down to capture her lips in a bruising kiss, his tongue slipping into her mouth as Drew moved behind her, his hands sliding down her body to pull her up to her feet. Rhea felt like she was on fire, every nerve ending in her body alive with sensation as the two men surrounded her, their hands and lips everywhere at once.

They didn’t waste any time, stripping her of her clothes with a roughness that made her gasp, her body trembling with anticipation. Before she knew it, she was naked and vulnerable between them, their hands exploring every inch of her skin, their mouths leaving trails of fire wherever they touched.

Rhea didn’t know how much more she could take, the pleasure building inside her with every passing second, until it was almost too much to bear. But she didn’t want it to stop—she wanted more, needed more.

And they gave it to her. Drew’s lips found her neck, kissing and biting as he guided her back to the bench in the locker room, bending her over it with a force that made her gasp. Damian was in front of her, his hand on the back of her head, guiding her mouth back to him as Drew slid inside her from behind, filling her with a rough thrust that made her cry out.

It was overwhelming, the sensation of being filled from both ends, of being taken by both men at once. But it was exactly what she needed, exactly what she craved. She moaned around Damian, her hands gripping his hips as Drew pounded into her from behind, each thrust sending her closer to the edge.

The sounds of their moans filled the locker room, the air thick with the scent of sweat and sex as they moved together, their bodies in perfect sync. Rhea’s world narrowed down to the sensation of them, of the pleasure building inside her, until it was all she could focus on, all she could think about.

When she finally came, it was like an explosion, her body convulsing with the force of her orgasm, her cries muffled by Damian’s length in her mouth. Drew followed soon after, his own release flooding inside her as Damian pulled her off of him, his own release spilling onto her chest.

They were spent, panting for breath as they collapsed onto the bench, their bodies tangled together in a mess of limbs and sweat. Rhea felt like she was floating, her body sated and exhausted, her mind blissfully empty.

As she lay there between them, her chest rising and falling with each ragged breath, Rhea couldn’t help but smile. This was exactly what she needed, exactly what she wanted. And as the three of them drifted off into a contented silence, she knew one thing for certain: she wouldn’t be finding Cathy tonight, but she didn’t care. This was more than enough.

#wwe #wwe imagine #wwe fanfiction #wwe raw #wwe smackdown #rhea ripley #rhea ripley fanfiction #rhea ripley smut #rhea ripley x damian priest #rhea ripley x drew mcintyre #damian priest fanfiction #damian priest #damian priest smut #drew mcintyre #drew mcintyre fanfiction #drew mcintyre smut

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pastshadows · 6 months ago

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Shadows of the Past

Chapter 16: Ruins

Summary: After a year of blissful cohabitation, Astarion disappears without a trace, leaving behind a heartfelt letter explaining his departure. Determined to find him, you traverse Faerûn in search of your lost love, only to realize that some absences are meant to be permanent.

Returning to Waterdeep, you find solace in the company of Gale as you come to terms with Astarion's absence. But just as you begin to heal, Astarion reappears, begging for a second chance at love.

The question looms: can you forgive his abandonment and trust him once more? As you grapple with your emotions and trauma, a sinister force lurks in the shadows, targeting you for unknown reasons.

With danger closing in, you must navigate the treacherous waters of trust, love, and betrayal to uncover the truth behind the mysterious entity's motives. Will you be able to reunite with Astarion while facing the demons of your past? Can you unravel the secrets that threaten your very existence?

Setting: Post End-Game. Mostly canon compliant.

Word Count: 6.9K

Content: Explicit 18+ - intended for mature audiences.

Warnings: [Additional tags will be added, but expect mature content / read at your own risk.]

Spoilers. Mentions of in-game missable content. Violence. Sexual Assault [Implied/attempted sexual assault: Chapter 7]. Past Trauma. Murder. Death. Longing. Sexual themes. Smut. Blood drinking. Angst. Innuendos. High use of sarcasm. Completely fabricated camp interactions. Panic attacks. Anxiety.

“Are you sure this is the right place?” You ask, glancing at Shadowheart.

Her eyebrows pinch, and she studies the map in her hands with Gale looking over her shoulder.

“This is the correct location, according to the map.” Gale says, with his fingers cradling his chin.

You walk through a grand wrought-iron archway toward the two-story manor with a facade of azure tiles that gleam in the sunlight. A marble staircase leads to the portico, lined with stately round columns and a double door with intricate carvings of mermaids and sea serpents.

“You look perplexed, Gale,” you say, as he comes up beside you with his arms crossed. “Something wrong?”

“Just lost in thought." Gale cants his head. "I cannot recall ever seeing this building before, and something with this much grandeur stands out.”

"So, are we just going to spend the day outside or are we going to discover what treasures this puppy has inside?" Hecat prompts with her voice high with excitement.

You barely manage to stifle the groan that tries to cow its way from your throat, but your face deforms into a disgruntled scowl despite your intentions to remain impassive.

Why did I insist on bringing her again? Ah-yes, because it was either this or leaving her alone with Astarion.

“We cannot just go barging into homes,” you conclude with an authoritative edge. It’s been a while since you had to take this tone with anyone, and it feels strange to be playing the role of the fearless leader again. “Gale grew up here. If he says he hasn’t seen this building before, then something is up, and we must proceed carefully.”

Hecat purses her lips with her hands on her hips, and then she laughs like an overly energetic child. “Of course, dragon girl. Whatever you say.”

“Well, it’s possible I missed it.” Gale says, trying to ease the tension. “Though, unlikely.”

“No.” Shadowheart hisses with distain. She looks at you with a mischievous smile. “Kamena is right, Gale. You wouldn’t miss a bright blue building in your hometown.”

You make a mental note to hug Shadowheart later. There’s a peculiar feeling rife in the air, and you glance around and study the environment. Though it looks picturesque, no birds fly in the sky above, no insects hover above the vivid yellow and blue flowers that line the gardens, and the salty breeze doesn’t rustle the trees or grass.

An illusion, and a sloppy one at that.

The Weave suffuses you, infusing every pore of your being, until the essence emanates from you in a blushing radiance. Reaching out, you project vines of power to twist and penetrate into the illusion and expel the magic that holds it in place.

The mirage flutters and dissolves away like paint on a canvas left out in the rain, revealing a forsaken structure with thorny, sunburnt vines that run up cracked walls of dirt-stained limestone.

“Someone went through a lot of trouble to hide this,” you mutter, drawing your quarterstaff, Markoheshkir. “Be on your guard.”

Gale fills himself with the Weave, Shadowheart brandishes her spear, and Hecat unholsters the sword she procured from the prison as you approach. The door squeaks on its hinges as you push it open and enter the grand vestibule. A discarded chandelier lays sprawled on the floor, which is layered with dust and rubble that grinds under your boots.

It doesn’t look like anything aside from rodents and insects has resided here in a long time as you search the forgotten manor. Clothing is strewn with holy moth-eaten rags hanging from wardrobes and chests as if the drawers were retching the clothing, indicating whoever lived here fled quickly. Jewellery of all kinds still sits on tarnished silver platters in the bed chambers.

“Don’t mind if I do!” Hecat yammers with a wide smile as she fills her pockets.

You roll your eyes as you flip through the embrittled pages of what looks to be an old journal, but the pigment in the ink has faded with age and become nearly unreadable.

Leaving Hecat to her ransacking, you meander through the upper-floor bedrooms and libraries, trying to imagine what this place would have looked like without the mould eagerly crawling up the walls, spreading its tendrils of decay, and the dreary, dirt-clad flooring. The ceiling was once frescoed to depict epic scenes of something that's no longer discernible through the fractures and decayed patches.

Shadowheart trots up beside you and whispers. “Hecat is going to need someone to carry her out of here if she keeps stuffing her pockets.”

“Good.” You lean close to Shadowheart, putting your arm around her shoulder. “I will happily leave her and her overstuffed pockets here.”

Shadowheart chuckles under her breath. “Me too, but I imagine we will have to drag Gale away.”

You wiggle your glowing fingers with a devious grin. “What do you think Sleep spells are for?”

Ducking into a bed chamber, you use the sleeve of your robe to wipe the grime from the window, allowing some light into the dim space. Shadowheart follows you, pulling out drawers and opening containers, analyzing everything with a quizzical furrow pinching her brow.

Your boots thud off a floor plank with a hollow plunk, making you stop in your tracks. Crouching, you brush away the debris and rap your knuckles against various boards until you find the source. It’s barely perceptible, but you can see the scratches where the beam has been moved.

“Shadowheart. Do you think you can pry this up with the tip of your spear?”

Shadowheart wedges the point of her blade between the board and pops it out to reveal a small compartment full of the silky remains of spider webs, and you cringe.

Shadowheart laughs. “Don’t tell me you’re still afraid of spiders.”

“Oh, don’t you start to!” You huff theatrically. “I take enough shit from Astarion over this.”

“Well, you did throw rocks at him that one time.” Shadowheart goads, trying to stifle her chuckling.

“Once! I did it once! Gods above. I’m about to throw rocks at you too!”

“Spiders, huh?” Hecat simpers, leaning against the doorframe with a smarmy grin. “Don’t worry. We all have our weaknesses. I’ve got you, dragon girl.”

You and Shadowheart glance at each other with palpable caution. Hecat has never been quiet, always stomping around Gale’s manor with footsteps so loud that it’s like her feet are made of lead. Yet here she is sneaking up and eavesdropping on your conversations. This one was innocent, but if she is capable of moving that quietly when she wants to, you will have to be more vigilant.

Hecat reaches into the hole, shooting you a smile that looks genuine but doesn’t reach her eyes, and produces a small diary with leather straps, keeping it tied shut. She hands the item off, probably unhappy that it’s not another gem or golden necklace for her to stuff in her already plump pack.

You open it carefully. The pages feel weak, as if they might fall to pieces like a dried leaf. The ink is dull, but there are passages that are legible, and you scan them. It’s written in an old dialect of common and speaks of meeting a handsome man in a tavern with eyes red like the sunset and skin pale and impossibly smooth like a pearl’s surface.

Several pages have to be flipped before you find another passage clear enough to read. It talks about sneaking out to meet the unnamed man in the rose gardens bordering the estate every night, how he seemed oddly cold when they embraced, and how his smiles were only ever tight-lipped.

Another excerpt speaks about sneaking him into the basement of the manor, falling in love, and how he spoke in sweet promises of eternity.

The rest of the words are illegible until the last page, which reads, “I am dead. I am dead. I am dead.”

By the time you look back up, Gale is standing with Hecat while Shadowheart reads over your shoulder.

Shadowheart shakes her head. “Poor fool.”

“I didn’t see a basement in this place.” You glance between Shadowheart and Gale, who both shrug.

You meticulously search the main floor for anything that looks out of place. Hecat and you move overturned furniture, Shadowheart tosses books off shelves, and Gale uses the Weave to look for any illusion that may be still at play, but all you get for it is dirt-streaked faces and grimy hands.

“You could just break the walls,” Hecat muses, looking around. “You’re powerful enough to do that, aren’t you?”

“What a bright idea!” You cannot keep the poisonous sarcasm out of your voice. “I will just bring the entire place down on our heads. That will surely do it!”

Hecat scoffs, but before she can lash you with a clever counter, Gale shouts, “My friends! I think I found something!”

Shadowheart pats your back as you trail behind Hecat with a fearsome frown. You really would like to melt her eyes from her sockets. She’s been eyeballing Astarion ever since you returned, and try as you might, letting go, or growing up, as Astarion so harshly put it, has been a challenge.

You’re trying, but insecurity is a rabid beast, and it hasn’t quite had its fill of you yet.

Gale points to an unremarkable shelf built into a wall. “Seek, and you shall find! There’s a draft from the cracks in the wood.” Gale grabs your hand, sticking it close. “Feel it?”

Although it’s barely perceivable, the air coming from behind the cracks is cooler than that of the ambient room. Your fingers trace around the edges. If there were any scratches or marks to indicate a way to open this, they’ve been hidden by peeling paint and swollen, cracking wood.

You fill yourself with the Weave making your eyes burn pink, and Shadowheart and Gale move away habitually, an old habit from your adventures. Hecat, on the other hand, stands close, tapping her foot impatiently. You’re very tempted to let her get caught in your destruction — an unfortunate accident — but Gale guides her away before you can make up your mind.

“Detono!”

The wood boards are thrown inward, hailing splinters with a loud boom. The dank, mildewed air fans your sweaty face as you peer into a dark corridor. Shadowheart casts Light on her spear, and you hold fire in your palm as you make your way through the cramped alley with mindful steps until you come to a stone staircase that winds down.

The shadows seem to stretch and distort along the stone walls ominously, and your footsteps echo throughout. It takes minutes to reach the bottom, where it finally opens up into a room with a dirt floor. There are dirty, hay-stuffed mattresses strewn about, but the room extends too far to see properly.

You crouch as Shadowheart stops by your side. You hold your arm out to halt her and scan the earthy ground. “Traps.”

Astarion taught you many things — identifying traps was one of them — but he laughed boisterously until tears shone in his eyes when you asked him to teach you how to disarm them.

“Ah-no.” Astarion giggles mirthfully. The harder you scowl, the funnier he thinks it is.

“What?” You pout and shoot him the puppy eyes that you know he has a hard time refusing. “Please?”

Astarion smirks, leaning back in his chair with his hands laced behind his head. “You can look at me with your sad puppy eyes and precious pout all you like, darling. The answer is still no."

“Why not?” You snort. “Don’t you think it would be prudent for me to know? What if I get myself trapped somewhere?”

“Well, since I go where you go, I don’t see that being a problem.” Astarion grins handsomely, fangs peeking out from the perfect bow of his lips.

“You’re scared I’m going to blow myself up, aren’t you?”

“Scared?” He chuckles with a highly arched brow and a slight shake of his head. “No. I have no doubt you will blow yourself up. If you die, who is going to light the fire for me? Gods forbid I would have to return to doing it the old-fashioned way. With these nails? Truly a travesty."

“You know that I am well aware you can cast Fire Bolt, right? I mean, you don’t cast it well, but well enough to light the fire."

“Don’t cast it well? Hells below.” Astarion groans. “It’s a cantrip; there’s hardly any skill needed for such child's play. The same cannot be said about disarming traps. If you fuck that up, you die, and your dexterity is atrocious. I’ll leave the magic to you, and you leave the traps to me, yes?”

“Fine!” You relent, giving your foot a stomp because you know it will earn you another lilting giggle from him, and it’s somehow the prettiest sound you’ve ever heard. “I didn’t hear any complaints about my dexterity last night.”

"Sassy tonight, are we?" Astarion smiles, patting his lap. “Do you ever stop thinking about sex?”

“With you?” You settle with your legs at his hips and his hands around your waist. “Never.”

“Well, stop thinking and start doing, my sweet.”

Returning at night is a dangerous prospect. You’ve been doing most of your scouting during the day and making sure you’re well within the safety of the manor long before twilight blankets the city.

You sigh. “We will need to return with Astarion before we can proceed any further.”

“Oh, goody!” Hecat squeals. “I cannot wait to see the vampire in action. That must truly be a real pleasure to see.”

You close your eyes tightly, scrunching up your entire face with a white-knuckled grip on Markoheshkir.

It would be so terrible if she tripped and fell into the traps. Wouldn't it?

“That vampire has a name,” Shadowheart scolds with a surly intonation. “And you would do well to mind your tongue, or you’ll find yourself on the streets.”

“Now, now,” Gale mewls in his too-cordial, assuaging intonation. “I’m sure Hecat didn’t mean to offend.”

“I—“ Hecat trips over her own words. She tries to keep her voice steady, but you catch the faintest tremble of dread braided with embarrassment. The Tiefling doesn’t want to be left on the streets, it seems, but you cannot help but wonder if it’s all an act. “I didn’t mean to antagonize anyone. I’m grateful for everything you’ve done for me.” Hecat grabs your arm, forcing you to turn and look at her. She pleads, “Especially you. Truly. My mouth can run a little brainlessly. I’m sorry.”

She sounds sincere, and her eyes don’t radiate any ill-will. Guilt sneaks up on you like a shadowed figure, unnoticed until it’s standing behind you and smothering your conscience in its dark silhouette. This woman has been decent to you. In prison, she protected you from the riffraff and was essential to your escape; outside of it, she’s done nothing more than make obtuse comments and salivate over Astarion, but most people do the same when in his presence.

You wonder idly if there is anything you can do to make him slightly less earth-shatteringly handsome — a moronic contemplation. Your best idea is that you could polymorph him into a sheep, but knowing him, he would find a way to make even that look good.

Ridiculous, bafflingly beautiful man.

With a lungful of musty air, you acquiesce and try to gag the mistrustfulness that has made its home in your bone marrow. “It's alright. Let's return home, and we can think about if we want to return here at night. We could be walking straight into a trap.”

Astarion greets you, standing just shy of the sun flooding in from the door, having heard your approach. “Gods. You’re positively filthy. What in the Hells were you up to? You look like you’ve been rolling in dirt.”

“What? Not going to give me a welcome back hug, lover?” You tease.

“Bloody Hells no,” he taunts, quirking a brow at you with a mock disdainful grin. “You seriously cannot expect me to sully all of this with all of that.” He gestures wildly toward you.

“I’m certain I recall you enjoying a little roll in the dirt once in a while.” You taunt, shimming your shoulders with a whimsical smile.

“Good Gods, you two really haven’t changed a bit, have you?” Shadowheart chuckles, placing her spear on the weapon rack. “At least take it upstairs, will you?”

Astarion smirks with a dangerous gleam in his eyes. “Gladly.”

Hecat strolls past Astarion without even glancing his way, and you wonder if the woman has finally — fucking finally — taken the hint, but there is still a slight sway to her hips and the tip of her tail ghosts over his upper thigh. Whether it was done on purpose or by accident, there’s no way to tell.

Astarion darts to the side at the unexpected contact, and his features contort in a knee-jerk response. He swallows hard, making his Adam’s apple bob, and you see it written in his eyes.

Disgust. Loathing. All those feelings he tries so hard to forget.

You seethe, your skin worming over your frame in a sea of flames, and you step forward with magic braced on your fingertips. Astarion slips in front of you and shakes his head in a silent plea to overlook it. It makes you physically ill, but you yield and stalk upstairs to your room to change into something less covered in muck.

“Thank you,” Astarion murmurs.

“For?”

“I do love it when you act pig-headed,” he grunts, currying his fingers through his hair. “Hecat. I know you saw it, and I know you saw my reaction to it.”

“She made you uncomfortable,” you hiss under your breath, tossing your dirty robe and trousers away aggressively. You want to say she is lucky to still have her life, and that is a godsdamned truth. Relax, you think. Astarion is capable of taking care of himself. He needs my support, not my ire. You take a deep breath and say, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“There’s nothing to talk about, really,” Astarion laments, sitting on the bed with his hand on his forehead. “Not that you’re not aware of anyway. It was a spontaneous response to being touched in a way I wasn’t expecting, and perhaps a little too close to home, if you catch my drift, but I am not convinced it was purposeful.”

Sometimes you wonder if you pushed him too hard in the Shadowlands when he confessed. Should you have backed off and been his friend instead of his lover? Is that what would’ve been better for him? In the moment, it felt right to hug him, but sometimes you look back and see it as a selfish thing to do when he was telling you he didn’t enjoy intimacy.

Oh? Intimacy brings up feelings of disgust and loathing? Well, let me press my body right up against yours without asking!

Foolish fucking woman.

You cannot help but worry that you cause the same discomfort on occasion when you touch him unexpectedly. Though his issues surrounding affection are difficult for him to navigate, they are also undeniably demanding of you. Where you find solace in his touch, regardless of whether it’s expected or sudden, the same cannot be said about him, and it’s all too easy to misplace the mindfulness of that fact.

How often do you touch him out of reflex and cause the same feelings to crop up? How many times has he ignored it and simply let it happen without saying a word?

“Don’t.” Astarion pleads suddenly right in front of you, taking your hand and pressing it to his chest in the way he knows soothes you. His face and voice are a ledger to his anxiety. He blurts frantically. “Don’t pull away from me now. Don’t run from me. Please.”

In another lifetime, you would’ve asked the questions plaguing your mind without hesitation. You have memories of when communication was harmonious and uncomplicated. He would tell you when you were being an obstinate, pigheaded child, and you would tell him when he was being a haughty, old prick.

And then he left me, you think, in the dead of night.

That time is dead, buried in a graveyard of uncertainty and doubt. You’re beginning to trust him; day by day, it gets easier and a little less daunting, but will you ever be that confident in your relationship again?

Astarion’s crimson eyes don’t leave yours, and his thumb sweeps across the back of your hand, the picture of patience. You allow your body to lean into him slowly so that he knows your intention — a gesture of comfort and reassurance that you aren’t going to race out the door like you’ve done on so many occasions. His response is unforced and natural, wrapping his arms around you and holding you tight.

“Tell me what’s going on in that beautiful mind of yours, my love.” He coos, soft and gentle, in that whisky-warm voice that allays your turbulent thoughts. “You can talk to me about anything.”

You mull it over in your head, not completely sure that you can handle starting down this particular road. Quiet minutes stretch out between you. Astarion’s hand rubs slow circles across your back, but he does not press you further.

“Do I ever make you feel like that?” You mutter against his chest, sheltered in his arms from whatever painful truths this ends with. “I forget sometimes to make my intentions to touch you obvious or known. I need you to remind me when I lapse.”

“Oh, love, no.” Astarion smiles as you venture a glance up at him. He leans forward but halts inches above your lips, making you meet him halfway. You kiss him, your hand caressing his cheek. “When it’s just us, you needn’t be heedful of when or where you touch me, Kamena. You haven’t made me feel that way in some time, but if you ever do, I will tell you. I do not intend to keep anything from you again.” He reassures.

“Okay.” You exhale heavily through your nose and try to relax the rigidity in your body. “I still get scared sometimes that you’re going to leave again, that I’ll wake up one morning and you’ll be gone.”

“I know,” Astarion sighs, kissing your forehead. He takes your arms and gently guides them around his waist, encouraging you to touch his back with a steady gaze. When you hug him, you rarely wrap yourself around his waist, ever mindful of his back and scars. It is a show of how much he trusts you and how your touch does not bother him. “I know it will take time, and I will never stop trying, but do you think you will ever be able to trust me again?”

“I’m trying,” you reply truthfully, even though it’s far more complex than that. You bury your face in his chest, finding it easier to confess when he isn’t staring at you with those eyes that impair your ability to speak honestly. “It just... it still hurts.”

“I’m well aware. You mutter in your trance sometimes, begging me not to go or to come back.”

A flush of embarrassment tidal waves through you, pricking across your skin all the way to the tips of your ears. Hells. You knew you often woke up screaming, but you didn’t realize you were also talking during your rest.

You wave it off, trying to play it as insignificant and something you can easily disregard.

Astarion grabs your arm. His touch is gentle, but his expression is grave. “No. Don’t pretend it’s nothing when it is anything but.”

You ground yourself and attempt to persuade him. “They are just dreams, Astarion. It’s really not— “

“Serious?” Astarion retorts, clearly a little irritated that you think you can manipulate him into believing this little white lie. “It is significant, Kamena. Those fears, the ones I caused, do not just infect your dreams; they bleed into the waking world as well. I see them on your face; endeavour to catch them before they latch on and take root; keep them at bay as much as I can.

“I do not begrudge you, but don’t discount your residual pain.” Astarion looks askance, his eyes darkening like cloudy skies. “If you minimize it, then you also discard the effort I am putting in to dispel them and prove that I am here and I’m not going anywhere.”

“I--" you stutter, trying to govern the impulse to keep cementing your suffering behind a wall and hope he doesn’t see it. Your throat feels dry all of a sudden. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I know this has been difficult for you as well. I didn’t mean to undervalue your efforts.”

Astarion’s eyes return to yours, full of hope and appreciation for acknowledging that you know he’s trying. “Thank you. Now, quit leaving me in this dreadful suspense. Did you find anything on your little expedition today?”

You dig through your bag and hand him the diary. “Not much, but the place was glamoured like the bog, if you remember.”

“Do you think my memory really that fickle?” Astarion scoffs while he pours over the pages. “I may not remember everything from two centuries ago, darling, but I vividly remember a couple years ago, especially your sun-kissed skin, rosy cheeks, and eyes that could slow galaxies. Though, I would have preferred if you had left that illusion in place.”

“Perhaps it would have been more pleasant, but it was pretty funny to “Baaa” at the Redcaps, no?”

Astarion laughs. “You surprised me that day.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes,” Astarion simpers with a smug grin. “I did not expect you to bleat like a sheep so well — a flawless performance, truly.”

“A flawless performance, truly,” you repeat, doing your best to imitate him with a mocking flair.

“Sorceress.” His eyes swing up from the journal with a handsomely quirked brow. “Not half bad! You’re improving.”

You giggle at his praise. “Do you still have armour and weapons, Rogue? Or do we need to go on a thieving spree?”

That gets his full attention, and Astarion’s head jerks up. “I would never say no to a night of splendid depravity, but I do indeed still have my armour and weapons. Why?”

“There’s a basement positively brimming with traps that need disarming.”

“Hm, well, now I kind of wish I picked the thieving spree.” Astarion pouts. “Disarming traps all night sounds like much less fun.”

“You could always teach me how,” you taunt.

“This again? Gods.” Astarion groans, smoothing his hand down his face, exasperated. “The answer will be no until the end of time, sweetheart, but nice try.”

“You suck sometimes.”

Astarion laughs, saunters over, and folds his arms around you. He presses the sculpted muscles of his chest against your back and kisses your neck, tracing his lips up the column. “I am a man of many talents. I suck, bite, and lick, if you ask nicely enough, love.”

“Please.”

“Good girl,” he purrs.

Approaching the derelict estate slowly, Astarion’s eyes flit about the shadows as he methodically scans every concealed corner. He holds out a hand, halting you and Shadowheart at the archway, and listens. You and Shadowheart know this routine well, and you stand muted and motionless until Astarion indicates otherwise.

“I don’t hear or smell anything out of the ordinary, but that doesn’t mean they are not waiting downwind or out of sight.”

“You don’t say.” Shadowheart snickers satirically. “I would never have guessed that. Thank you, Astarion, for your impressive observations.”

“You’re very welcome, flower.” Astarion drawls with a boyish grin.

It feels like old times watching Astarion in his strikingly etched, black leather armour with gold stitching and buckles. Shadowheart still wears the Adamantine armour from your travels, but it’s been dyed sky blue, white, and gold. You adorn Wavemother’s robe, dyed deep lilac, orange, and black. The chains have been altered to include dragons that appear to soar up your chest.

It is, unsurprisingly, Astarion’s favourite among your robes.

Brandishing Markoheshkir with a flourish, you keep the Weave poised at your fingertips as you make your way inside.

“Do you think I could have a little look around?” Astarion asks, looking at you for permission as if you were still the leader of the ragtag group of misfits. “Perhaps I will find something you… overlooked.”

“Missed,” you grunt. “You want to look for things we might have missed. Be my guest, but if you’re looking for valuables to steal, Hecat already pocketed them all.”

Astarion nods, strolling off to pick through the ruins of someone’s life long since dead and turned to bone dust. Your fingers pass over dainty figurines that are chipped, dulled, and antiquated.

“How did you get Hecat to stay behind?” Shadowheart asks.

“I don’t know if you remember, but I can be exceptionally persuasive, and if that fails, intimidating.”

“Oh,” Shadowheart picks up a tattered book, tossing it aside. “How could I ever forget your silver tongue? It got us into and out of so many situations.”

“Didn’t it?”

“Who do you think these people were?” Shadowheart’s brows furrow. “They were obviously affluent and left in a hurry, but people with this type of money don’t tend to just go missing without notice.”

“Left, taken, or were killed.” You cast Light on your quarterstaff to illuminate the gloomy space and peer around.

“Killed,” Astarion concludes, descending the stairs with silent but rapid steps. “Massacred really.”

“How do you know?” Shadowheart frowns.

“Come now. Need I remind you that I’m a vampire?” Astarion crouches, sweeping away the layers of grime to reveal tenebrous, old floorboards. He twitches his fingers at you, and you toss him your glowing quarterstaff. He hovers it above the cleared patch and gestures toward an almost invisible discoloration. “Blood,” he concludes. “Very, very old, but blood nonetheless. It’s positively hither and yon in this place.”

“Hither and yon?” Shadowheart giggles. “Hells below. I do forget how old you are.”

“Curious.” Astarion arches a brow at her with a dastardly gleam in his nebulously red eyes. “I never forget how much of a child you are.”

Shadowheart scoffs indignantly, her arms crossing with a scowl.

Astarion chuckles, spinning Markoheshkir like he would his daggers, and then handing it to you. “Well, shall we head down into whatever horrors await us? You’ve only paid for my services until dawn, sorceress. It will cost you extra if I have to make an additional visit to this hellhole.”

“I don’t know if I can afford your fee, Rogue.”

Astarion pivots on his heel, tugging you by the waist into a chaste kiss with a knavish grin. “I am positive we can work something out, love.”

Shadowheart grunts her displeasure, making Astarion smile against your lips. You give him a playful shove away and point. “I’m not paying you to stand around.”

“Oh,” Astarion murmurs with a wink. “I do like it when you take charge and boss me around.”

Descending the stairs is even more imposing with the knowledge that you could be walking straight into a trap. The drum of your heartbeat spikes, and your breathing starts to quicken. Astarion glances back with a nod that tells you he still hasn’t detected anything unusual lurking in the abyssal depths. He offers you his hand, and you take it gladly.

At the bottom, you, Shadowheart, and Astarion all shuffle into the minimal space that Astarion indicates as a safe zone. Each of you tries peering into the nethermost bowels of the basement, but the shadows are far too thick. Even the Light emanating from Markoheshkir is hardly enough to brighten the vicinity around the three of you.

Shadowheart stares at the ground with a mix of trepidation and hesitancy. “Can you disarm traps in such low light, Astarion? Safely, I mean. I rather like my limbs attached to my body.”

“Not all traps are bombs, my dear.” He drawls nonchalantly, taking your staff and holding it out over the ground. “And these are an invigorating mix between acid and explosives. Hmm. If the acid is combustible, we would be in for quite the show. Not to worry. I can defuse these in my sleep. However, I’ll need some light, so Kamena, you need to stick close to me and step only where I indicate, understand?”

“Are you sure?” You ask, gripping his arm.

“If I was not sure, I would not have you follow me. I would never put you in danger.” Astarion assures with his eyes anchored on you, covering your hand with his own. “Do you trust me, Kamena?”

A nod to your earlier conversation where you admitted you’re still afraid he’s going to leave. You meet his gaze resolutely. “I trust you. Lead on.”

Astarion leads you through the tangle of traps, pointing where to place your feet. With Markoheshkir gleaming and slung across your back, you let fire hover in your palm at a distance Astarion deems safe and impel the element to burn white-hot. It is, admittedly, an excessive expenditure of your sorcery.

Even with Astarion’s mastery, it’s a slow-going process. There are far more traps than you were able to perceive at first glance, and the room extends further back than you anticipated. It seems every time Astarion has you proceed, you get naught more than a couple of shuffling steps before he’s crouching over another trap lying in wait for a careless foot. You glance back at Shadowheart, who has cast her own weapon with Light and call back to make sure she’s safe.

“Tell Astarion to bloody hurry up!” She grunts. “I think he’s out of practice.”

Astarion rolls his eyes, groaning under his breath as he fiddles with the device before him. You watch the deftness of his fingers as he makes short work of the mechanisms. It’s obvious why he refuses to teach you this particular skill. You wouldn’t possess enough patience or adroitness to perform this task. How Astarion knows which wires to cut, levers to adjust, or shells to remove is a mystery to you. They all appear different visually.

“She knows I can hear her, yes?” Astarion grumbles, wiping the sweat from his brow.

“She knows. Are you getting tired? We could take a break.”

“Tired?” Astarion quirks a brow at you with a frown. “What gives you that impression?”

“You’re sweating,” you reply bluntly.

“Yes,” he says snidely. “You are hovering a white-hot orb of flame over my head.”

“Why didn’t you just say something?” You scold him, trying to hide embarrassment. You know you’re being overzealous with the brightness. “I think I can coerce it to burn cooler.”

It’s an utter certainty that you can; fire is in your blood, and it bows to you, but it will require more endurance. As adept as you are, power is not limitless.

“I didn’t say anything because it’s kind of like being in the sun again, Solicallor.” He smiles authentically, but there is a sadness behind it that he doesn’t try to hide.

He misses the sun.

You nod your understanding, but still focus on marginally reducing the heat.

“How did you learn this?” You blurt out the question that’s been whirring around your mind since you started watching him.

You can’t imagine a magistrate would have much use for this, even a crooked one. Picking locks, absolutely, but this?

“Books at first.”

“Books?”

“Yes, darling, books. You know those things with paper and words all bound together? Books.” He teases.

“Ha-ha.” You say flatly. “I meant it more like you can learn this from books?”

“The basic principles of it anyway.” Astarion nods. “The application of them requires a little more hands-on experience.”

“There is not much to do during the day when you’re a vampire, besides trance, so I would read.” He glances up at you. “At night, after my orders were completed, I would peruse the city and disarm every trap I found. I blew myself up, poisoned myself, and had my skin eaten away by acid plenty of times before I got it right. Cazador would get positively peeved when I returned injured. It was good fun. Looking back at it now, I think I was trying to get myself killed, either by the traps themselves or Cazador.”

He seems bemused by the whole reminiscence, and you’re trying to decide whether to be horrified or not.

“Vampire spawn are obnoxiously hard to kill.” He muses thoughtfully. “I think that’s the last of them.” He stands, eyeing the ground and looking for anything he might have missed. He reaches for the quarterstaff draped across your back. “May I?”

You nod, and he takes it. He instructs briskly. “Stay here. I’m going to double check.”

“Astarion…”

Astarion squeezes your shoulder comfortingly. “If one of these things blows up on me, I will survive — a little blood and I’ll be right as rain — but if one blows up on you, it could kill you, and I would never be able to forgive myself. Please don’t be mulish for once. I will be right back, and you’re more than welcome to continue scowling at me.”

You huff, rubbing your forehead. “Fine.”

Astarion strolls off confidently while you mutter under your breath, keeping the fire in your palm animated mostly for the solace it provides. You observe Astarion’s movements only by the lambency of Markoheshkir bobbing around in the dark like a dancing spectre.

He returns, calling out to Shadowheart to let her know it’s safe to move about.

“Should we spread out and search, or should we stick together?” Shadowheart asks, directed at you. “How big is this place?”

“I’m not sure.” Spreading out doesn’t sit well with you when you don’t know what could be skulking around in the darkness, but time is also of the essence, and it would be more efficient. You find yourself giving instructions, falling back into the leader role you so loathed. “Spread out, but always keep each other in sight. We can work our way down systematically.”

You recast Light on one of Astarion’s daggers, making the spell keeping Markoheshkir aglow fade. Astarion opens his mouth to protest, but you cut him off. “I have fire. I don’t need it.”

It surprises you when Astarion merely nods and concedes. He knows well enough that there’s nothing he can say to change your mind, and it’s a pointless venture to try.

You can veritably hear him in your head calling you pig-headed, and you smirk to yourself as you start combing through the space. Mattresses litter the ground, stained and soiled. Pieces of loose paper, utensils, cracked or broken dinnerware, and sometimes stuffed animals are scattered around chaotically.

When you finally get to a wall, it’s just plain bedrock. This place is more of a cavern than a basement. Droplets of water dribble down the stone, and gnarled roots reach out from the ceiling like spindly fingers. You swallow hard when you come across sets of rusty shackles and bindings affixed to the walls, nailed straight into the stone. A shiver runs down your spine; whether it’s from being cold or your increasing disquietude, you’re unsure.

It may have been prudent to wear a thicker robe.

You, Shadowheart, and Astarion don’t need to communicate much as you work your way through foot by foot. It takes little more than a glance or a curt nod for any of you to indicate you’ve found nothing and it’s time to proceed.

The nostalgia is equal parts wonderful and unnerving. You cannot deny that you enjoy having a clear goal — the danger and exhilaration of peril — but the small voice of reason affirms that this, too, is another way of running from yourself.

Barrelling headfirst into hazards gives you something to focus on instead of facing the fact that something within you is broken, perhaps beyond repair, and you don’t have to admit to yourself the thing you fear most — that you will never be able to trust Astarion again and any chance of a real relationship is fated to fail.

Can you go to bed every night terrified that when you wake, he will not be there? Can you spend the rest of your days wondering if today is the day he disappears?

Furthermore, is it fair to keep him with you if you’ll always doubt him?

Your inability to let your fears go and move forward affects him just as much as it affects you. Would he be better off finding someone else — someone who can be with him without reservations, someone who can love him completely and utterly without worry.

He deserves that, the kind of love you had for him before, and you’re not sure you will ever be able to get back to it.

“Kamena!” Astarion hollers with a too-high, almost panicked timbre that rips you from your contemplations.

You lunge into a sprint, Shadowheart following closely behind, both of you with spells already sparking on your fingertips, and Markoheshkir poised by your side. In your alarm, your mastery of your dragon Hellfire slips, and flames writhe over your body like a nest of molten serpents wrestling to escape.

Astarion is standing by a dilapidated desk, with moss growing over the surface and up the tottery legs. He holds a piece of wet parchment in his hands that he’s inspecting with a dismayed look.

He hands it to you when the flames around you wane. “Recognize these?”

The red ink has been smudged and streaks down the parchment like crimson tears, but you would know these markings anywhere. You’ve been trailing your fingers over similar ones every night.

Infernal script.

Thank you to all those who read/like/comment/follow/reblog/etc. I'm forever thankful for the support. I love reading your comments ❤️

Chapters Master List - Shadows of the Past

AO3: Crossposted

If you're interested, I also write fanfic for Ascended Astarion x Spawn Tav - Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Small Notes:

Shadowheart is the best ❤️

Infernal script - rarely a good sign.

Still wanna know your thoughts on Hecat!

#astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion x you #bg3 astarion #astarion x mc #astarion #astarion smut #astarion romance #astarion ancunin #baldurs gate astarion #shadows of the past #astarion bg3 #astarion baldurs gate #astarion x oc #astarion x named tav

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minki-moo · 1 year ago

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♡‧₊˚ 𝙤𝙝, 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙧𝙪𝙨𝙝 ♡‧₊˚

pairing ♡ yunho x f!reader tags ♡ bf!yunho, oral (m!receiving), deepthroating, accidental exhibitionism rating ♡ e for explicit w/c ♡ 500

a/n ♡ omg gamer yunho is here ;) once again i was projecting but in reality i want him to carry me in valorant so bad (also did i make everything purple and use a reyna voiceline as the title cuz he's a reyna main? yes. yes i did)

"yunho, you good?"

you could hear the voice of yunho's teammate through his headphones. he'd been playing valorant for hours, promising at least three games ago that he would get off.

so he could help get you off.

unfortunately for you, he got caught up in his competitive games, his winning streak motivating him to play even more.

unfortunately for him, however, you decided to take matters into your own hands. which also involved taking his cock down your throat.

"i-shit-i'm fine. just a bit tired." yunho tried to grab your hair, holding you still, but his hips kept bucking up into your mouth anyways.

seeing him start to lose his composure like this awakened something inside you; you were never really the dominant one so this was very new to you.

when you fell the grip on your hair loosen, you decided to tease him even more. hollowing your cheeks, you suck hard on most of yunho's length, using your hand to stroke the rest of it. hearing yunho's gasp above you makes you move even faster, taking you other hand to gently play with his balls, earning you another choked out moan.

"fuck-baby please keep going." you look up at yunho, his eyes closed and mouth open as little gasps leave it. the expression on his face was enough to make your pussy clench. you were waiting for hours to have his cock inside you, but seeing yunho like this was satisfying in its own way. now, you're craving his release. you wanted his cum and you wanted it now.

removing your hand off his cock, you take all of it in your mouth, gagging on the head as it slips past the back of your throat.

yunho lets out a muffled whimper, desperate to keep quiet. "mmph-fuckfuckfuck 'm gonna cum." he starts to tremble as his climax approaches, covering his mic with his hands hoping no one else could hear him.

you quickly pull off his leaking cock, only taking the tip in between your lips and running your tongue on his slit as you bobbed your head up and down. hearing a cry above you, you feel yunho's cock throb in your hand and his salty cum shoots into your mouth. without hesitation, you put his whole length back in your mouth to make sure no drop of cum goes to waste.

once yunho came down from his high, he pulled you off his softening cock, panting as he looked down at the smirk on your face. "wow. just wow."

"mhm", you say as you crawl from under his desk. giving him a kiss on the cheek, you whisper in his ear, "i'll be waiting."

he stares at you in awe as you walk out of the room, only taking his attention off of you when the red "defeat" screen illuminates his room.

"damn yunho," his teammate sounded shocked but also somehow impressed. "i didn't know you could moan like that."

a/n i sincerely apologize for the last line (only a little tho it's kinda funny)

@anyamaris @yuyusboyfriend 🫶🏾

#ateez #ateez yunho #ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #ateez headcanons #ateez hard hours #ateez hard thoughts #yunho smut #yunho hard hours #yunho headcanons #yunho x reader #yunho hard thoughts #ateez smut #bf!yunho #gamer!yunho #pls yunho carry me im bronze 3

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hitomisuzuya · 2 years ago

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Wanderer x fem!reader. Smutty. White Day Special. Foreplay. Degradation. Mention of chocolate just because. Wanderer's ego. A dash of shy Wanderer.

a/n: Don't mind me. This is just something little I wrote, a way for my brain to go brrrr and relax a little. I had a bad dream that's all. So it shook me up, that's all. Normal schedule tomorrow. Please enjoy.

Tagging @xxventiswindblumexx and @kichikichiko

"Here," Wanderer said, holding a box out to you. He was sitting on his bed, his elbow propped on one of his thighs, cupping his cheek in his hand. He couldn't look at you, a heavy blush heating his cheeks, and he was sort of glaring.

He felt shy and he hated it.

"Huh? What's this?" You asked, looking at the box curiously.

It's not like you hadn't received any gifts from Wanderer before. In fact, this boy was so weak for you that he spoiled you any chance he got, and always with that same shy, flustered glare on his face.

But this gift in particular, it wasn't one you hadn't received from him before. It was chocolate. Something Wanderer hated.

"I didn't think you were that dumb," he said, rolling his eyes. "It's White Day today, remember? So just take that sugary crap you like before I change my mind."

Wanderer still refused to look at you, he was even fidgeting nervously.

You grinned and took the box. "Aww, you got me candy," you couldn't help but tease him a little bit.

"Yeah, whatever. It's dark chocolate with sea salt. At least it isn't completely sweet." Wanderer scoffed.

It was your favorite chocolate. This boy, he really was genuine with his love, even if it ruffled his feathers being so vulnerable.

Opening the bag, you put one in your mouth, enjoying the salty, bittersweet taste of the chocolate on your tongue. Honestly, the flavor reminded you of Wanderer. He likes bitter tea and dark chocolate was bitter but sweet. Sweet like him.

Now he was looking at you. He wagged his finger at you in a come hither motion. His blush remained. "Come here."

You walked over to him, sucking on the chocolate on a way that made his eyes fixate on your mouth. "What's up?" You asked, blinking with curiosity. The air around him had just changed. And drastically.

Wanderer curled a few strands of your hair around his finger, before he grabbed a handful and pulled you down, pressing his lips against yours.

You shivered when his tongue licked your mouth, mixing the chocolate on your tongue with his. Your fingers barely got to stroke his cheek before he pulled away, wiping his mouth and glaring like he was only mildly disgusted. "I..tolerate this taste. It's more salty and bitter than sweet."

"Wanderer, I.." you were flabbergasted and flustered, the intimacy of his kiss left you breathless. Honestly, you were about apologize.

He smirked at you, putting his hands on your hips. "You think I didn't notice at all, did you?" His fingers kneaded into your skin a little harder.

"Notice what?" You asked, starting to play his game.

"Don't make me laugh. You have been flaunting around in that tiny blue and white skirt with the ruffles I like on it. And you eating that sugary crap in front of me with your slut mouth, tempting me," Wanderer replied, making your heart flutter, aroused.

Bunching your skirt up around your hips, Wanderer yanked you down to straddle on of his thighs. You moaned when he pressed his fingers against your clothed clit, making a damp spot in your panties. "You really are perfect, do you know that?"

His hand tightened on your hip, increasing the pressure of his fingers, just enough to make you squirm, grinding down against his thigh for more friction. Your hands landed on his shoulders for leverage, moving into his fingers.

Wanderer groaned when he felt this thigh rapidly getting wetter each time you slid your cunt along his thigh. "The perfect slut, made all for me."

Wanderer was using his favorite weapon against you.

His voice.

He knew he would make you crumble in a second just by saying a few words of praise mixed with degradation.

And he was going to enjoy it tonight.

"You should see how pathetic you look," Wanderer laughed, pushing your panties aside and sliding two fingers to tease against your clit. You quivered with pleasure, melting into him. "Giving and receiving is a two way street. You got your treat and now I get to have mine."

He kissed you, possessive and agressive, biting your lower lip before pulling away, leaving you breathless even more. You couldn't speak and he loved it. "I am going to take my time and enjoy you making a mess of yourself before I fuck you. Judging from how wet you are, it won't take long for you to crack like the slut you are. Now moan and beg me to make you cum. I love you best like that."

Wanderer did love you. The chocolate had been a genuine gesture of love.

"Do your worst," you panted, burying your face in his neck, nuzzling your cheek against his jaw.

Wanderer stroked your hair lovingly. He continued to wind you up with his voice. "I'll bet it blew your mind when I licked chocolate from your pretty mouth. I may give you the privilege of licking it off your cunt."

#genshin impact #genshin smut #fem!reader #wanderer #wanderer x reader #wanderer x you #wanderer x y/n #wanderer smut #suzu after dark

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waywardsalt · 2 years ago

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made some tier lists of zelda characters based on how hot i think they are

#loz #legend of zelda #im not tagging all of those games or characters you cant make me #i just. found these character rankers on tierlist #couldnt make my own bc you need to login for that and to make a login for it you need a twitter and thats gross so i just found some #did these with my friend. hence the moon #didnt rank link properly bc i dont want to and i left out some characters due to lack of interest and template limitations #i dont like tingle. i dont like him #anyways free story #when i was in 7th grade (obviously) that was about when i got ph and had that special interest sparked and so i had a crush on linebeck #like bad. obviously. anyways i got out of middle school and into high school and after 7th grade thought #'ah i dont actually have a crush on linebeck hes just my favorite zelda character so i like him a lot as a character and stuff'#but yeah no im down bad for linebeck 7th grade me was right #my post #salty talks #lmk if you want the specific templates i used linked #these arent 100% consistent between each other and i think thats great. im not changing them

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fillinforlater · 1 year ago

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On her paws

Male Reader x Kim Hyunjin

Length: 1618 words

Tags: pet play, kitten kink, feet kink, feet fucking, hate sex, degradation, cumming on feet, cumming on body, hate sex, always baked, punishments, cursing, chastity belt, choker are the best, daddy kink, Master, desperate_kitten!Hyunjin / Master!you

TW: lot's of feet and the usual degradation lol

Credit: @sooyadelicacies for co-writing

(A/N: just a short piece both Sooya and I wrote as a one off/connective piece in the "On her" Series. Enjoy!)

"Aeong!"

"Hyunjin! What did I tell you about posting feet pics online? I don't want others to see what belongs to me, you naughty kitten!" you growl and come storming into the house.

"Aeong?" Hyunjin meows again, this time as if to ask what you mean, and perks her head above the back of the couch she kneels on. It's one of many pieces of furniture she likes to jump and crawl on.

"Get over here now!"

You are not in the mood for games.

"You naughty girl, you filthy kitten. How dare you disobey your Master's rules, your Daddy's rules! I thought I trained you better than that…"

Hyunjin gets off of the couch and gracefully crawls to you, her huge, glowing eyes locked onto yours. You know her tricks, the ways she hopes to soften your heart, but not today. Hyunjin has crossed a line.

"Don't give me that look, kitten. Don't even think about rubbing yourself on me. You're so filthy."

Pinch her cheek when she gets too close and make her feel your anger. It's a bit petty, the way you pinch harder and pull at her face, yet Hyunjin gets the message. She tears up and her purr is but a whimper. You lean over and whisper to her.

"You're an ungrateful brat. You know how much time and energy I exhausted into saving you and your group members from the BBC shitshow?"

Without warning, you push her back so she harshly lands on her back. Then you grab her ankles and bring her feet to your nostrils and inhale like an addict.

"And now I'll take my payment. You'll be a good little kitten-whore for your Master, won't you? I will have my way with your feet and fuck them until I explode, is that clear?"

A tiny bead of salty water runs down Hyunjin's cheek as she nods. Her hands are up in the air like paws, and she squeaks when you lube her soles up with your spit.

Hyunjin is an expert in keeping herself clean and because kittens do not wear clothes, just a cute little choker, she is always ready to get used.

With one hand you massage the foot that is currently not in your mouth, with the other you rub along her slit. Hyunjin is so fucking sensitive on this part, you as her Daddy know and have to use it to punish her.

"Kitten… so sensitive, so fragile. Some things never change..." You take another whiff of her foot.

"Still smells delicious." You suck on her other gently, savoring her sole.

"Tastes delicious too. If you're a good girl, maybe I'll even fuck you. But first, how shall I punish you?"

Hyunjin does not answer. Go figure, she is a cat after all. Trying to talk to you through her eyes often ends in 'miscommunication' or rather, you doing what you know the two of you love.

"Hm, I think you deserve it in here," you think out loud while spreading her folds apart with two fingers. You can see Hyunjin's pussy twitch and suck on nothing. She wants to be stuffed badly, but you don't need to. You fuck so much pussy, so you can leave her waiting, begging with her large orbs and pouty lips.

"You want it so badly don't you kitten? You miss your Master's cock? Well, I want your feet, I need to fuck them first. My pleasure is always more important, so don't waste your time dreaming about me fucking your kitten-cunt before I cum all over your feet."

"Ang~" Hyunjin moans when you align both her feet with your crotch. Tug on your dress pants and let them fall to where they can't stop you anymore, nothing can stop you if you're quite honest. Hyunjin's defiance has you riled up, and with her feet right there, on your throbbing cock, you take what's yours.

You push forward and start to slowly thrust between her feet with your cock. The cute color on her cute toes glistens with your spit as you pump faster into the soft gap Hyunjin's soles form.

"Good, fuck," you growl and watch Hyunjin struggle to keep her paws up. "Your feet still feel nice, but it's been awhile since you've had any kind of idol training… Maybe they aren't as strong as they used to be. I'll have to test that out."

Hyunjin's forehead is covered in wrinkles. The fact that her Master doubts her abilities, her devotion to training—both for her idol-job and kitten-service—leaves her unsatisfied. She wants to prove you wrong, and she tries so by putting all her strength into her feet, creating a tight pocket for you to fuck into.

"That's a bit more like it, my little kitten. How about you try pleasuring me? Move those fucking feet."

Hyunjin mewls in disapproval, her pussy dripping wet, desperate for something to penetrate her deeply over and over again, but you snarl louder, snap her out of this defiant self-pityness

"Fucking move those feet! You're lucky I am even here right now. Your bandmates did similar things, some even worse and I still chose to deal with you first. Move your feet and get me off, what is the point of having a kitten pet if you can't do that?"

In slow pump Hyunjin starts what she has been trained for. Her tender feet create friction on your delicate skin, more blood streams to your crotch and you grow to incredible hardness. Hyunjin's feet strokes are special, but for some cursed reason you have to urge her to do it. A good, trained pet should do this on their own volitation— guess you still have a long way to go with her.

"God, why didn't you do this sooner? Fucking great. Stroke me with your kitten feet, and I might allow you to cum tonight."

Hyunjin's ears perk up. Cumming is her favorite word, she goes crazy over it. Deep instincts get triggered, which make her pumps sloppier, grippier, better, yet she seems less focused on you. It's like she is in her own world, wetting the floor with her arousal, while the arousal of her Master is an afterthought.

Your face turns from overwhelming blissfulness to annoyance at Hyunjin's absentmindedness, but real anger starts to bubble as you check your vibrating phone to see Yeojin snuck her feet into a pic as well.

"What the hell is going on with you LOONA girls?" you shout and spit on Hyunjin. "You're all defective!"

You grip her ankles more.

"I didn't tell you to space out! I can't even say 'cumming' without you turning into a brainless kitten? What good are you?"

"Meow" Hyunjin whimpers out and tries to focus back on you. Why does it always have to be such a grind, such an arduous task to make and keep them well-behaved? At least Xiaoting is showing rapid progress and Monday is still a good girl, but with all of LOONA defecting and the Miyeon debacle and—you can't even count all the betrayals, there have been too many.

Press Hyunjin's ankles from both sides, hold them steady and fuck your rage out through her feet. You have entered a different sphere, one, where orgasms don't matter. You can shoot ropes anytime and none of your stamina would drain, yet it also does not matter. The satisfaction is too little.

"Lie there and take it like a whore, kitten. That's all your worth. You don't deserve to cum today. What a fucking waste," you grumble spit on her again, straight to Hyunjin's bewildered, teary face.

White rains down on Hyunjin's upper body like snow, some of it gets stuck on her feet, and your repetitive pumps rub it all over the skin like a lotion. There are so many fun things you can do with such a kitten, but now you have to resort to a simple, really unsatisfying orgasm.

"Fuck, it can't go on like this."

You withdraw from Hyunjin's feet, then from her presence by moving to the most secluded part of your living room where a secret door awaits you behind a bookshelf. Whatever it is you get from there, it always spells either trouble or pleasure for the girls you're currently playing with.

Today, Hyunjin is in big time trouble.

"Put this on," you tell her, anger hidden behind a firm layer of dominance. "Then call off all of your schedules and plans for the next three days. You have to be straightened out."

"M-Master?" Hyunjin whimpers when she looks at the harness, chastity belt and paws with handcuffs in her hands. "I-I'm s—yes, of course."

"Good. Don't clean yourself, don't put on any clothes, don't speak a coherent sentence unless I say so. We have to start all over again."

You pull out your phone while searching for something to wear. Sweatpants and sweatshirts will do, enough with all the suits and dress pants. You're not doing business the next couple of days, though this will be a lot of work too.

Send Miyeon a short, unmistakable message, which she reads almost immediately. There is no need for her to respond as long as she arrives at your door asap.

Another message lands in the ITZY group chat, though it is only addressed to one of the members: Lia. The rest has been rather obedient, but oh God, Lia definitely needs some harsh reeducation. She is a liar and doesn't even try to get away with it.

"Things will be very different," you tell Hyunjin and close the handcuffs around her wrists. "Don't expect any mercy from me and don't—

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

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