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dstryvampres · 7 months ago

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Smoke Signals

Jonathan Crane x Reader

Summary: Dr Crane is tired of you talking back.

Warnings: smut, fingering, age gap(reader is early 20s, crane is mid 40s), power imbalance, brat taming(I think??), reader is a smoker, dub con, p in v, unprotected, praise, degradation, spanking, creampie

Word count: 2.2k

The trek to Dr Crane office on the fifth floor was quick and easy, seeing as there was no one else using the elevator because it was so late at night. When you push open the door to Dr Crane’s office it creaks, alerting him immediately to your presence.

“I thought I told you to quit smoking before you come to my office,” is what Dr Crane decides on greeting you with. His face is stern, pen in hand as he writes out a statement on a student’s quiz.

“Yeah, well I was fiending all day and they don’t let you have a smoke within 15 meters of the psychology testing centre. Hard to get a smoke break in,” You quip back, hanging your tote bag over the back of a chair before sliding between it and Dr Crane’s desk to sit.

“Well, if you won’t quit all together, you could at least have the common courtesy to not reek of it near me,” He scoffs, clicking his pen and setting it down on his desk.

You toy with the fabric of your sheer black tights as Dr Crane sets aside whatever he was working on before and brings out two sheets of paper. Two rubrics, one for him, which he settles in front of him, and one for you, which he flips towards you.

“Do you want anything to drink?” Dr Crane asks, standing up from his desk and heading towards the table near the window. He clicks on the kettle, staring at it for a couple seconds before he starts to hear it bubble up before he turns to you again.

“Just any tea is fine, except ginger, I want something herbal tonight,” you reply, rummaging through your tote bag looking for a pen to use for tonight.

“So herbal tea?” Jonathan asks, shaking his head at you in the corner of your eye.

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I said,” you sit up straight once again when you find your pencil case, plopping it down on Dr Crane’s darkwood desk.

You hear a sigh from the professor as he turns around to look out the window at the rain, his fingers toying around with the packaging of a tea bag. No matter if Dr Crane happens to be your boss, you can’t deny that he’s insanely attractive. Young looking face with high cheekbones, blue eyes that stare holes into your being, dark brown hair that he somehow styles perfectly without trying that hard, all packaged in suits that do him far too many favours. Sure he has a slightly bitter attitude, but you’re no better. With all the times you snap back and push his buttons he’s far too patient with you, and seems to genuinely care about your well being. Whether that care is actually genuine or is just to avoid having to find another TA, you’re not one hundred percent sure.

A click comes from the kettle, and soon enough Dr Crane sets down a steaming mug in front of you before sliding into his own chair with a mug in his hand.

“Thank you,” you say, blowing on the steaming liquid in hopes to cool it down quicker.

“Don’t burn yourself.”

Dr Crane grabs his pen before directing both of your attention to the rubric and assignment guide. He drones on about the basics, word count, percentage to dock based off of just principle things, before delving into more important specifics to the assignment. For a supposed research essay, the need to include the students own fears into the mix was a weird choice to be a necessity. There’s no need to ask about it, the conditions for the assignment have already been set in stone, the due date is in about a week.

“Everything making sense?” Dr Crane asks, looking at you, eyebrows furrowed together.

You nod in response, reaching over to grab a highlighter from Dr Crane’s collection across the table. Maybe you should bring up the weird conditions of the assignment…

“Actually, just one thing confuses me about this assignment,” You start, looking for any signs of anger from Dr Crane, knowing just how often you seem to push his buttons before continuing, “why do the students need to disclose their own fears in this assignment, it’s supposed to be a research essay on different ways the brain copes with fear.”

Dr Crane clenches his jaw, looking away from you annoyed. Acting like you were questioning the fundamentals of grammar and not some strange one off point he decided to add to this assignment. He shakes his head, taking off his glasses and laying them down on the table.

“You’re not the one running the class, are you?” Dr Crane asks, voice showing just thin his patience has become in a matter of seconds.

“Well, obviously not, but I’m just-”

You’re cut off with the screeching of Dr Crane’s chair as he stands up, walking towards the door. Fuck, is he going to leave? Is he going to ask you to leave? Are you being fired out of one of the best looking jobs on your resume? When you hear the click of the lock on the door, you’re not sure if your fate is better or worse than any of the options thought of before. Nevertheless, your body tenses up and your head starts to fog up, whatever is going to happen you don’t think it will be too pleasant.

“You know what? I’m so sick of you always thinking you know better than me,” He slowly walks over to you as he speaks, shoes clicking on the linoleum floor of his office.

“I don’t think that,” you respond, voice strained. Now he’s standing over where you’re seated, forcing you to look upwards at him. You feel so small and powerless in this moment. Maybe, it’s only now and here, in this position, that you finally remember that this man holds your entire future as a psychologist in his hands.

“I want you to remember who has more leverage here, who can get you into the best jobs in the state,” it’s like he can read your mind.

You gulp and close your eyes. You’ve spent the last year and three months of your masters degree and time as a TA under Dr Crane pushing back against him, challenging the man. You’re sure that it’s here, in his locked office that he will give you a piece of his mind before dropping you completely. Leaving you and your master’s thesis to flounder in the last half of it, beg for anyone to aid you in the specific thesis everyone knew only Crane was suitable to supervise at this university. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“Please, don’t drop me and my thesis. I won’t challenge you ever again, I’ll do anything you want, please,” you beg, opening your eyes to stare at Crane’s. Hoping the eye contact would connect with some deeper part of him, but his blue eyes stared back, cold and emotionless.

“Anything?” Crane asks, quirking an eyebrow at your begging.

“Yes, anything. I’ll get on my knees and beg you, I’ll mark every assignment myself-”

“Face the table and put your hands on top of it,” Crane demands.

“What?” Your mind short circuits at his request, not expecting something like that.

“I thought you said you weren’t going to challenge me ever again?” Dr Crane sighs, crossing his arms, waiting for you to obey.

You follow his request, placing both your hands on the table, looking down at the dark oak wood. It’s cold underneath your palms, but that doesn’t help with the sweat accumulating onto your palms. Dr Crane hums behind you, seemingly happy with your compliance to his request. He kicks your feet away from the desk, making your butt stick out more.

“Now, I want you to spread your legs for me,” Dr Crane puts a hand on your ass, squeezing the flesh. Your eyebrows furrow, taking a second too long for his liking and earning a slap to the ass, you quickly move to spread your legs.

“Good girl,” Dr Crane hums, massaging the spot where he hit you previously. You whine in response, feeling a heat start to grow in your cunt.

Dr Crane smacks your ass again, a little lighter than before, almost teasing. His other hand is placed on your ass, both hands move down to your thighs, then back up to your ass, this time sliding under your skirt and flipping it up. Your pink panties are visible through the sheer black tights causing Dr Crane to sigh out.

“You feel how hard I am, slut?” Dr Crane asks, you hear the smirk in his voice as he presses his hard-on into your ass. You moan, feeling the weight of it press into your wet cunt and soiled panties.

Quickly Dr Crane rips open the thin fabric of your tights, allowing for direct access to your panties and cunt. He feels your wet heat through your panties, quickly moving them to the side to expose your cunt. You moan as the cold air of his office hits your cunt.

“You’re so wet. Do you let all your professors fuck you? Or am I a sort of desprate case?” Dr Crane cooes, ghosting his fingers over your exposed cunt.

He runs his fingers up and down your cunt, collecting your wetness over them before pushing them inside of you. The intrusion is so unexpected it makes you gasp, pull away from it briefly. He fucks you with his fingers shallowly, at a bored pace. You push back onto his fingers, begging for more. Dr Crane removes his finger from your cunt, and you whine in response.

“Fuck, you’re a desperate whore huh?” Dr Crane laughs, giving your ass another harsh slap.

Behind you Dr Crane unzips his pants, freeing his cock. He lines it up with your hole and just stays there. No matter how much you try to push back and whine for him to put it in he isn’t moving.

“You’ve been such a bitch, I don’t think you deserve my cock. Why don’t you beg for it?” you can hear the cocky look on Dr Crane’s face just from his voice. Though it doesn’t seem to matter much as you open your mouth to beg.

“Please Dr Crane, I’ll be such a good girl. You can use me anytime and I’ll never be a bitch again, as long as I have your cock, please doctor please,” you plead, wiggling your hips.

“Good girl.”

Dr Crane pushes inside of you. His cock is average length, but stretches you out in a way no other man ever has. It makes your head spin as he spears you on his cock.

“Fuck, I didn’t expect a whore like you to be so tight,” Dr Crane pants out, putting both of his hands on your waist.

He pulls out of you slowly, before slamming back into your cunt. Setting a brutal pace as soon as he slams back into you a second time. Only faltering when he smacks your ass. You yelp out each time, before pushing back onto his cock. Dr Crane continually stretched you out and hit the most sensitive spots inside of you. Your legs start to shake half way through, the only thing stopping you from crumbling being Dr Crane’s cock and hands. He pushes you back on him each time, almost demanding you take him in further.

“You fuck me so good doctor,” you moan out, “Can I cum doctor?”

“Yeah, cum all over my cock dumb slut,” Dr Crane says, speeding up the pace.

One of his hands reaches down from your hips to your clit, rubbing fast and hard on it. A touch so hard and borderline painful on the sensitive bundle of nerves tips you over the edge in mere seconds. Your knees buckle. Stars flood your vision. Your boss fucking you through the whole thing.

You start to weep from overstimulation, tears welling in your eyes when you come back from your high. Dr Crane is still fucking you in the same brutal pace.

“Sluts like you don’t get breaks until I come too,” Dr Crane snarls out at you and your weeping, earning another sharp smack to your ass.

The tears spill out over your eyes as you cum again all over his cock. Your walls clenching and seizing around Dr Crane so hard his cock becomes painful as it pumps in and out of you.

He speeds up and his pace starts to become more aggressive, until Dr Crane stills inside of you. His cum rushes into your cunt, holding himself inside you after both of you have finally come down from your high. Once Dr Crane pulls out of you, you feel as his cum comes spilling out of your cunt.

“I’ll give you your share of the papers to mark next monday,” Dr Crane says, tucking his cock away and zipping up his pants. “I expect to not hear any confusion about the grading from you, I feel like I explained myself pretty well.

taglist: @paradiseprincesss @xanaxiii @luluartpop

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innerempire · 2 months ago

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Peter bringing home the boys he casually dates during college to introduce them to his dad, Tony. Tony thinks none of them are good enough for his brilliant boy, gives them the (extreme) shovel talk and it usually scares them off. Peter pretends not to know why none of his relationships work out as soon as he brings them home, but he’s secretly pleased because he only ever brings them home to kind of piss Tony off.

Sure, it’s fucked up that he enjoys seeing how territorial Tony can get over his own kid.

Because Peter’s a little shit, he decides to test the waters as to how Tony would react to him dating someone much older.

It’s his dad’s go-to place for business-related meetings, and of course Peter had purposely suggested to his date that they should have lunch there. Considering that he’s the Tony Stark’s son, Peter does have some pull of his own and requests for a table that puts him within Tony’s line of sight. He’s a little shit that loves being the centre of Tony’s attention, so he lets his date touch his hands. Accepts the casual hand on his thigh, and feigns interest in whatever it is that he’s saying.

He feigns surprise when they’re informed a few minutes later (a grand total of three minutes) that someone of importance has closed out the entire restaurant. It’s even more obvious when Tony stops by their table and tells the guy to fuck off.

“Dad.”

“You know, Pete, when I said you should broaden your horizons, I didn’t mean dating someone who looks as if they belong in a geriatric home.”

“He’s only 45!”

“Really? A bit too early to be having that tiny bald spot at 45, don’t you think?”

“Dad.” Peter snorts. “I know you’re always saying I deserve the best. But finding someone who can provide and take care of me the way you do is damn near impossible. And you know that. I’m starting to think that you secretly like it that you’re the only one capable of doing so.”

Tony grins at Peter in that infuriatingly cheeky way of his, leaning back comfortably against his chair, “I don’t think it’s ever been a secret, Pete. Do you really need anyone else when you’ve got your daddy?”

“Well, daddy dearest.” Peter leans forward in his seat, eyeing Tony. “Is that why you’ve been purposely sabotaging all my relationships?”

Tony calls the maitre d’ over, requesting to be served their usual favorites.

“Dad.”

“They should stuck around if they were serious about taking care of you.”

“Dad, you threatened Harry so badly that he dropped out of our Statistical Mathematics class and till today, he runs off in the opposite direction whenever he spots me.”

“Honey, all I said was that no one would be able to find his body if he ever treats you wrong. I’ve watched enough Criminal Minds and NCIS to cover my tracks.” It’s not something to be joked about, but Peter laughs. “You’re my precious baby boy.”

After lunch, Tony brings Peter to one of the boy’s favorite boutiques to shop at as an “apology” for “disrupting the date”, and Peter can’t complain.

“You know, since no one ever comes close to the way you take care of me, maybe I should just date you, dad.”

Tony nearly drops the bottle that he’s in the midst of uncorking, Peter watching gleefully from where he’s comfortably sitting cross-legged on the sofa.

“No one’s good enough, dad. You’ve raised the bar so high that everyone else pales in comparison. You’ve spoiled me.”

#starker #starker nff #starkercest

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d-z20 · 2 months ago

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Breaking Point

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Reader

Summary: Agatha goes up against the Scarlet Witch in a fight and refuses to back down until the end, no matter what it may cost her. Her injuries are severe and you tend to her them, providing comfort into the night

Warnings: angst with a happy ending, hurt (A physical & R emotional but not by each other), whole lotta comfort, protective reader

Words: 1.8k

A/N: Fic is based off this request. I should clarify that I actually don't watch MMA so I'm really sorry if there's inaccuracies, I gave myself a crash course for Heavy Hits so I'm hoping it's all okay.

AO3 | Master List

The atmosphere is tense

The lights in the arena shine brightly, casting a dramatic glow over the octagonal cage at the centre. The crowd roars as “The Scarlet Witch” is announced, Wanda Maximoff striding confidently into the ring. Her crimson gear matches the fierce energy in her eyes. Across the ring, Agatha Harkness, your girlfriend, is a vision of defiance.

It’s deafening, the crowd’s energy crackling like electricity in the air. You stand just outside the octagonal cage, gripping the metal fencing as though it might somehow hold you upright. The referee is giving final instructions, but your eyes are locked on Agatha. She stands tall, her lean frame wrapped in a sleek purple sports bra and matching compression shorts, her hands taped beneath her open-finger gloves. Her dark hair is pulled back tightly into a braid, leaving no distractions. She looks lethal—confident and determined.

But you know her better than anyone. Under her stoic expression, there’s always a flicker of doubt before a match, one she’d never admit to. As her partner in and out of the gym, you’ve seen her highs and her lows. And this fight? This one feels different. Facing Wanda Maximoff is like stepping into a storm. Wanda has a reputation: precision, aggression, and devastating power.

You’re here as part of Agatha’s cornermen. Not just her girlfriend but her trainer, sparring partner, and the person she trusts most to see her through battles like these. It’s your role that allows you to stand so close to the cage. Still, you hate being this near. You hate feeling so helpless.

“Let’s go, Agatha!” You shout as the bell rings, your voice almost lost in the roar of the crowd.

The fight begins cautiously. Wanda moves like a predator, light on her feet, her red-and-black shorts glinting under the arena lights. Her punches come fast, jabs testing Agatha’s defences. Agatha responds in kind, her kicks snapping out sharply, keeping Wanda just out of reach. For a moment, it looks even. They exchange blows, neither landing anything decisive. Your heart races every time Agatha ducks or blocks a strike—so far, so good.

But as the first round wears on, Wanda’s strategy becomes clear. She isn’t just fighting to win; she’s fighting to break Agatha down. Her strikes grow heavier, targeting Agatha’s ribs and legs. Agatha manages to return fire, her high kick glancing off Wanda’s temple, making the redhead stumble. You surge with hope, pounding the cage wall in support.

“Beautiful! Keep her on the ropes, Aggie!” you yell.

But Wanda recovers too quickly. She counters with a vicious combo—an uppercut followed by a low kick that makes Agatha’s stance falter. The bell rings to signal the end of the first round, and you rush to her corner.

“How are you feeling?” you ask, your hands gentle as you wipe sweat from her face with a cool towel.

“I’m fine,” she says, but her breathing is laboured, and you can see the faint beginnings of a bruise forming on her ribs. “She hits like she’s trying to kill me, though.”

“Stick to the plan. Keep moving. Don’t let her back you into the cage,” you say firmly, holding her gaze. “You’ve got this.”

The second round is brutal. Wanda turns up the aggression, landing a spinning kick that sends Agatha staggering. You clench your fists, shouting at the top of your lungs, willing her to keep going. Agatha fights back fiercely, landing an elbow that opens a small cut above Wanda’s eye. But it isn’t enough to slow her down. By the end of the round, Agatha is clearly hurting. Her breathing is ragged, and she’s clutching her side.

“Let me call it,” you plead as the medics check her during the break. “Agatha, you’ve done enough.”

“No,” she says sharply, her eyes meeting yours. “I’m finishing this.”

The third and final round begins, and you hold your breath. Agatha gives everything she has, landing a solid right hook that makes Wanda stumble. For a moment, you dare to hope. But Wanda is relentless. She unleashes another devastating combo—a liver shot, followed by a spinning backfist that sends Agatha crumpling to the mat. The referee steps in immediately, waving Wanda off and calling a technical knockout.

You don’t wait for permission; as soon as the match is over, you’re in the cage. The sight of her lying there, blood trickling from her lip and her face already swelling, breaks your heart. She’s clutching her ribs, her breaths shallow and ragged.

“Agatha, my love, I’m here,” you say, your voice trembling, dropping to your knees beside her. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

Her eyelids flutter open, and she manages a weak smile. “I totally won that, didn’t I?”

“Always the joker,” you whisper, brushing her damp hair back. “You fought like hell, sweetheart.”

With the help of the medical team, you carefully lift her, her weight pressing against you. Her arm is draped over your shoulders, and you wrap your arm securely around her waist. Every step out of the cage is agonising, her quiet whimpers slicing through you.

Back in the locker room, you lay her down gently on the physio bed. The medics confirm a fractured rib and multiple bruises but assure you it isn’t life-threatening. As soon as they leave, you stand at her side, holding her trembling hands.

“Agatha, why do you do this to yourself?” you ask, your voice breaking as you clean her up. She hisses in pain when the antiseptic touches her skin, but she doesn’t complain.

“Because I love it,” she says softly. “And because I have you to patch me up.”

“You’re infuriating,” you mutter, but your touch is gentle as you bandage her ribs and ice her swollen cheek.

—

The drive home is quiet, the weight of the night pressing heavily on both of you. Agatha leans against the car window, her face pale beneath the faint streetlights. Her breath hitches every time you hit a bump, and each sound twists like a knife in your chest. You’ve never felt so desperate to wrap her in safety, to shield her from the pain she insists on enduring for the sport she loves.

When you finally pull into the driveway, you turn off the engine and sit for a moment, just looking at her. Her eyes are closed, her brow slightly furrowed even in rest. You reach over, gently brushing your fingers over her cheek. She stirs at the touch, her lips curving into a faint smile.

“Caught staring?” she murmurs, her voice hoarse but teasing.

“As usual,” you reply softly. “Come on, let’s go. I’ll carry you inside,” you insist.

“You’re ridiculous,” she says, but there’s no bite in her words, only affection.

“I don’t care,” you reply. “You’re not walking.”

Despite her protests, she lets you carry her up the driveway, the weight of her in your arms a grounding reminder that she’s still here, still whole despite the bruises and fractures. You settle her carefully onto the couch in the living room, arranging pillows around her and draping a blanket over her lap. She sighs as she sinks into the cushions, her body finally relaxing a fraction.

“Stay,” she whispers, her eyes fluttering open to find yours. “Don’t run off.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you assure her, pressing a kiss to her temple. “But you need food, Aggie. You haven’t eaten since before the fight.”

She grumbles something unintelligible, but the corner of her mouth quirks up as you disappear into the kitchen. You rummage through the fridge and cupboards, settling on her favourite comfort food—a simple grilled cheese sandwich with a cup of warm tomato soup. It’s nothing fancy, but you know it’s exactly what she’ll want.

When you return, her eyes light up at the sight of the tray. “You spoil me,” she says, her voice laced with affection.

“Rotten,” you tease, kneeling beside her as you set the tray down on the coffee table. “Now, eat. Slowly.”

She obeys, though her hands tremble slightly as she leans forward to pick up the sandwich. You watch her carefully, ready to step in if she needs help. Between bites, she keeps glancing at you, as if grounding herself in your presence.

Once she’s finished, you clear the tray and return with a glass of water and the prescribed pain medication. She tries to wave you off when you fuss over her, but you catch the way her eyes soften every time you adjust her blanket or tuck her hair behind her ear.

“Movie or book?” you ask once she’s settled again, her head leaning back against the cushions.

“Book,” she says after a moment of thought. “Something soft. Something... distracting.”

You nod, disappearing into the small shelf by the window. You pick a collection of short stories about witches you know she loves; its worn cover is a testament to how many times you’ve read it together. Returning to her side, you slide onto the couch, gently easing her to lie back against you. She winces slightly as she shifts, her body pressing into yours, but once she’s settled, her sigh is one of contentment.

“Comfy?” you murmur, wrapping your arm carefully around her waist, mindful of her ribs.

“Perfect,” she whispers, her voice heavy with exhaustion.

You begin to read, your voice soft and steady as you let the rhythm of the words wash over you both. Agatha’s breathing slows, her body melting into yours as you turn each page. Occasionally, she murmurs a comment about a line she likes, her voice laced with sleep.

By the time you reach the third story, her eyes are closed, her head tucked beneath your chin. You let the book fall to your lap, your hand shifting to stroke her hair gently. The tension from earlier in the night begins to ebb away, replaced by a warmth that feels like home.

—

Later, as the night deepens, you coax her into the bedroom. She protests faintly, her voice slurred with sleep, but you’re firm. “You’ll rest better in bed,” you say, kissing her forehead as you guide her to the mattress.

You tuck her into bed, piling pillows behind her to keep her comfortable. She looks so small, so fragile, and it breaks your heart all over again. You climb in beside her, pulling her carefully into your arms.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, her voice thick with exhaustion. “I hate making you worry.”

“You don’t have to apologise,” you say, stroking her hair. “Just... let me hold you, okay? I need to feel you’re here.”

She shifts, pressing her weight into you, her head resting on your chest. “I’m not going anywhere,” she whispers. “You’re stuck with me.”

You hold her tightly, the warmth of her body melting away the fear and tension that have gripped you all night. She’s here, safe in your arms, and you’ll never let her go.

To anon who requested it: I hope you enjoyed :)

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jamdoughnutmagician · 22 days ago

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Private Eyes (18+)

Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Ever since I saw those s5 set pics of Steve with his new truck I haven't really stopped thinking about him so here's a short-ish, quickly written bit of filth for you to enjoy!

Word Count:1,565

Masterlist // Steve Harrington Masterlist

Ever since Steve had swapped out his now long-past-retired BMW for his new light blue Silverado truck all you could think about was breaking it in the same way you had with his once beloved car.

The christening of Steve’s beemer had ended in a secluded spot near Lover's Lake, with you stretched across the backseats whilst Steve tenderly kissed every inch of your body, before pulling you close and taking you under the fading light of the evening's glow.

And now, the heady mix of that new leather smell, the suggestion of pine from the hanging car air-freshener dangling from the rear view mirror, and something distinctly warm and comforting and so very Steve was enough to have your senses tingling.

You admired him from your passenger seat, as he just drove with you, with no particular end destination. The way the last glittering rays of sunlight bounced off his perfectly messy hair, and the soft freckles scattered across the gentle slope of his nose never failed to have butterflies fluttering in your stomach. His strong, capable hands gripped the steering wheel as he pulled around the corner, and suddenly you were imagining those strong hands being put to better use elsewhere. Somewhere more intimate.

It’s his gentle voice that breaks through the Hall and Oats tape that's quietly playing from the car radio as he catches you staring at him.

“What's going on up in that big brain of yours, hm?” he asks, flicking his eyes over to you briefly.

“Nothing, I just like looking at you, Stevie, that's all.”

“Ohh okay, I see how it is.” He chuckles lightly. “You only call me Stevie when you want something from me.”

“That's not true.” You refute.

“Oh, but it is.” He smiles so effortlessly. “So whatever it is, lay on me.”

“I was just thinking, we've haven't taken your new truck out for a test ride.” you say, daring to let your hands stray from where they're safely sitting in your lap. Creeping over to his thigh, where the light-wash denim pulls tight across the strong muscles.

“What are you talking about? I've driven you around in this truck since I got it…ohhh” his brain connects the dots when he feels your dainty hand beginning to rub over his crotch. His cock immediately takes interest in your exploratory touches as it kicks up in his boxers. “Oh! You mean…a test ride.” He laughs lightly, his honeyed hazel eyes sparkling with desire.

“Now, you're getting it.” You smile as you nod along with him.

“Hang on in there, I know just the place.” Steve grins, and with that he's turning down a quiet little back-road that is all too familiar to you.

The branches dapple the moonlight gleaming down as the evening draws in and Steve pulls his truck up to a spot just a stone's throw away from Lover's Lake. The stillness of the water and the quiet hum of chirping crickets set the scene for your intimate date.

You flick your head around as if to check that there was anyone around, but as you do Steve is there to quickly assuage any of your worries.

“Don't worry, it's just us out here, Honey.” Steve smiles. “Now, why don't you come sit over here and let's see if we can christen the new truck in the way it deserves, hm?” He says, his smile stretching into a cheeky grin.

You try your best to climb over the seats and centre console as sexily as you can, although in the less-than-roomy front cabin of his truck it proves to be trickier than you'd imagined.

But you manage it, and soon enough you find yourself sitting pretty in the denim-clad lap of your boyfriend as he looks up at you with a lustful glint in his hazel brown eyes.

You can't help but shyly grind your hips down against the growing bulge underneath you, mentally high-fiving yourself for having chosen to wear a short skirt and soft cotton panties today. Steve always loved easy access. And the rough material of his jeans provides just the right amount of friction as you grind your hips further down into the insistent press of his erection. You’re keenly aware of the steering wheel edging close to your ass as you shift to get comfortable on his lap

The confined spaces forces you together, with his big hands settling over the curve of your hips and his lips nibbling bruised kisses along your collarbone and throat

“Honey..” he pants, pulling away from his assault on your neck with pink lips, “please you're killing me here…I gotta have you.”

You do your best to rise up on your knees enough to pull your panties to the side whilst Steve works on popping the button off his jeans and wriggling them down his thighs along with his boxers just enough to free his cock, which was flushed pink and dripping with needy arousal.

Steve’s hand slithers under your skirt, brushing against the soft plush skin of your thighs as his thumb toys with your clit before sinking a single finger into you. A quietly growled moan tumbles from his lips at the feeling of your wetness coating his finger.

“I don’t need your fingers right now Steve, I promise you I’m ready.” you nod as his finger slips from your centre.

“Are you sure? It’ll be a tight fit.” he asks. He’s not cocky when he says this, he’s just well aware of all the times he’s needed to warm you up to take him. He just doesn't want to hurt you.

You silence his worries with a kiss placed to his lips, your eyes looking deep into his honey-golden ones.

“I just want you, Stevie.”

Stroking a firm fist down the length of his cock, he smears the bead of pre-cum pooling from his tip enough to slick him up; he presses the head of his cock at your entrance. Then he looks up with your knees straddling either side of his hips, waiting for you to take up the reins.

And so you do, sinking down more and more, inch by inch until he’s fully seated inside you. He fills you so perfectly and he feels like he’s reaching so deep inside you that you swear you can feel him in your stomach.

You begin to rock your hips over him in a slow swivel, just letting yourself adjust to the stretch, before picking up speed in your movements and lifting your hips to ride him the way you want to.

You bounce up and down on his cock, eager to chase the feeling of his thick cock filling you over and over again.

Little whines of pleasure whimper past your lips, which he’s all too quick to swallow down into a kiss of his own, letting his tongue sweep into your mouth to taste every inch of you.

He pulls away from you kiss-swollen lips with a lazy grin pulling at his lips and a gloriously pink sheen blooming on his freckled skin.

“That’s it honey, make yourself feel good on my cock.” he says from underneath the crop of messy hair that’s fallen across his eyes in sweaty strands, each of his big hands settling on the curve of your hips to help steady your movements.

The windows of the truck have fogged up with the condensation, both your heavy breaths and shared moans filling the intimate space.

“Fuck…You look so goddamn pretty like this baby..” Steve paises, one of his hand daring to stray from its place on your hip to slip underneath your shirt enough to caress your tit in his massive palm.

You’re not sure how much more of this you can take. Steve’s meeting your every movement, thrusting his hips up into you, whilst you grind down into him. The nest of dark hair at the base of his cock tickles against your clit with every roll of your hips.

The knot in your stomach is beginning to get tighter, and you can feel yourself clinging on to the cliff-edge of pleasure, just waiting to fall and hoping that Steve will be there to catch you.

With every bounce of your hips you can see the need on Steve’s face enough to know he’s close to his high too. His brown eyes are glazed with desire and wants nothing more than to make you feel good.

“f-fuck..I’m close, honey…please..I know you’re close to..god I can feel you fucking clenching around me.” he stifles out through his teeth continuing to piston his hips up into you.

And then, with your arms looped around his neck and your fingers tangling in the soft strands of hair at the back of his neck, you find yourself falling over the edge of pleasure, shuddering out your release as you slump against the safe hold of Steve's broad chest.

And soon after, Steve follows you, thrusting up once, twice more before he's pressing in deeply and filling you with rope after rope of his release.

When he comes down from his high, and his breath catches up with him, he tilts your face under his finger, getting you to look at him.

“Hey there, Honey..” he says softly, the pink haze still flush against his cheeks.

“Hey Stevie..”

“Now, that, was a test ride.”

@penguinsandpotterheads @abitchyouhate @ali-r3n @seatnights

@mrsjellymunson @eddiesxangel

#Steve Harrington x reader #Steve Harrington x female reader #Steve Harrington x feamale reader smut #Steve Harrington x reader smut #Steve harrington x reader fanfic

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livin4woso · 8 months ago

Text

Breaking the media

Chapter 5- the incident

CW- brief mention of SA please dont read if it a triggering subject

As the sun peeked through the corner of the blinds it wasnt the blaring sound of your alarm that woke you up it was the calling of your name from alexia "y/n come on you need to get up" she said from the kitchen. Half asleep you clambered out of bed and into the kitchen where a plate with pancakes on waited for you "goodmorning" you said letting your eyes adjust to the light in the room "morning to you too now eat up we can't be late for training" she said while pulling the chair back for you to sit in. After finishing the morning routine and climbing into the passenger seat of the car you made small talk in the car "so how are you enjoying barca" she asked "its good, a lot warmer then back home" you joked "just a question y/n" she asked you hummed in response "i don't want to pry but why are you here by yourself" she asked, you paused before answering "oh well my parents weren't the best for my career they didnt mind when i played at sunderland but when i moved to arsenal i lived with a foster home so when i came here i didn't really have anyone to bring with me" you said trying not to show the sadness on your face it was a sensitive topic for you "im sorry pequeña" she said and rested her hand on top of your leg.

Training was hard today you had been doing fitness tests all day unlike the other girls who had normal training due to being new. It was so they can determine your stamina compared to the others and see how much they can play you on the pitch. "Hey y/n are you going back to yours to pack the rest of your stuff or are you gonna do it later" alexia asked you it was if she had read your mind or if the tiredness had spread across your face "I think I'll do it later, im sorry im just really tired" you said packing your stuff in your bag. You had arrived back at alexias place when you had essentially passed out on her sofa of tiredness "hey pequeña is it okay if mapi and ingrid come over?" She asked bringing a cup of coffee to the table. You just stuck your thumbs up at her you had 0 energy to talk and you needed a shower.

It was friday when you had finally got around to collecting your things from your apartment, the remaining days you noticed how close alexia and mapi were considering as in 4 days you'd seen her and ingrid twice. "Call me when you're done packing and i will bring the car for you" she said as you began to leave the building. Normal you wore your sweats to leave but it was so hot you decided to keep your shorts on. Alexia would have come and helped you pack but unfortunately she had to stay back for media and so did some of the other girls. You began to walk to your apartment when after a couple minutes you had noticed a tall man in all black following close behind you, but before you got to panicked you decided to take a turn which was no where near your house but it was just to check if he was actually following you. Then he turned down the same street all of sudden you started to feel your heart beat to speed up and you did the only thing you could do and that was call alexia.

The call came halfway through media luckily it wasn't alexias shoot, she picked up her phone and saw your contact and had no problem to pick it up and she wandered out to the hall "ale..please help" your voice was quiet and filled with panic "pequeña whats wrong" she asked her voice filled with concern "someone is following me" you said almost in a whisper, the minute she heard this alexia was filled with concern and almost a sense of anger but she needed to stay strong for you "okay amor you need to listen to me, walk to the nearest bus stop the one near the town centre and I'll be on my way" she says "okay please hurry hes getting closer" you said following her instructions as you headed towards the bus stop. She hung up the phone and nearly sprinted to the door when she said that she needed to go but before she drove herself to you she was in no state to drive her hands clenched ready to knock out whoever this was she didn't care if he was 5 foot 4 or 6 foot 6 she would do it. "Mapi i need your help please can you drive me to the bus stop near the cafe y/n is being followed and i said i would get her there" she said frantically to mapi on the phone "yes of course me and ingrid are on the way now" mapi responded grabbing her keys and ingrid to come to the car.

You had made your way to the bus stop when you sat on the furthest seat away and the man sat on the other side of the bench glancing at you every minute or so. You pulled out you phone to try and see how close alexia was to you but from the corner of your eye you could see the man shifting more and more towards you. The text came through to alexias phone 'please hurry he's moving towards me' you practically begged if alexia was driving she would have definitely broke some speed laws and here she sat in the passenger seat of mapis car her leg shaking up and down and worry knitted across her face. As each passing second the man had now made his way beside you his leg pressed against yours, you were helpless there was no one to save you and you couldn't move almost frozen by fear and slowly preparing your self for the worst. "Hey gorgeous whats someone like you doing by yourself" he gritted through his teeth placing his hand on your thigh "none of your business now please leave me alone" you said trying to mask your anxiety through your voice but it didn't stop him. His hands moved further up you leg to your inner thigh just as they were about to reach the hem of your shorts you saw a car pull up. Alexia had seen the sight from a couple hundred metres away and she couldn't believe it she flung the car door open and started shouting in spanish. Mapi quickly followed to restrain alexia from knocking him out "calm down ale, we don't want to cause a scene" mapi said her hand firmly on alexia waist trying to calm her down.

Meanwhile it was ingrid who had come to you, she crouched down infront of you as you were fixated on staring at your thigh you could almost still feel his hand on you. That's when alexia had turned around to face you, you were as pale as a ghost and trembling she reached out to put a hand on your shoulder buf before she could reach ingrid had slapped it away "ale you cant just touch her after she has been touched without consent" ingrid said trying to hide the anger in her voice. Thats when it hit alexia you must be terrified something way worse could have happened if she didn't show up earlier "hey pequeña can i touch you" she said gently you just looked up at her your eyes dwelled with tears. You didn't respond you just launched yourself at alexia and cried into her shoulder " he was.. he was so close ale... i was so scared" you sobbed into her shoulder as she rubbed circles on your back "its okay now you're safe" she whispered into your ear "how about we go home" she said as you nodded in to her shoulder. This time it was alexia who sat in the back as you lay still surgically attached to her as she sat and brushed her hand through your ragged hair you had fallen asleep on her lap as your tears had exhausted you.

You had arrived back home where instead of waking you up she carried you to her bed not yours she wouldn't let you out of her sight not again. Then she turned to mapi and she let out the emotions she was hiding to stay strong you she cried into mapis shoulder "i was so worried about her.. she.. she.. its my fault. I told her to go" alexia said her voice raspy her thoughts could only bring herself to blame herself for what happened "no no ale it wasn't your fault no one could have predicted that it would've happened" mapi said soothing her besf friend. After 10 minutes alexia was ready for bed she was greatful of the catalan who had let her cry on her shoulder but now she only had one place to be and that was next to you. To make sure nothing like this will ever happen again not under her protection she wouldn't let it happen.

#alexia x reader #barca femeni #woso #woso x reader #wsl #mapi leon #alexia putellas #ingrid engen

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s3thwrit3sstuff · 2 years ago

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❝ Line of Sight ❞

poly!Billy Loomis & Stu Macher X easily distracted!reader | fluff | graphic descriptions of violence

Billy and Stu adore their boyfriend, so they keep an eye on him due to the fact that he has this odd but adorable tendency to get...distracted.

#1, PURPLE FLOWERS "D'you believe in past lives?" Billy paused his rummaging and from behind his locker door he peered at his boyfriend, Stu, who was leaning on the row of lockers beside Billy's. "What type of question is that? Ya' been smoking pot again?" his arms, already sore from last night's activities, pinched as he added the weight of the AP Biology textbook among the binders full of notes. He readjusted his grip, shutting the locker as Stu jerked his chin across the hall. Bumping their shoulders together as he mimicked Stu's pose, Billy's gaze followed Stu's to the windows that lead to the school's front yard. There (Y/N) was, knees tucked under him and backpack forgotten by his side with his face in gentle awe at the flowers that had grown near one of the trees. That would explain why you weren't in the hallways like your boyfriends were. You probably were on your way but caught a glimpse of those purple petals and simply could not resist yourself. "I'm guessing that in his past life, he was a puppy" Stu chuckled. "Small attention span, ya' know? Gnawing on your ankles, trippin' over his widdle paws" Billy cocked a brow, a lopsided grin climbing his face at Stu's curled hands swiping at the air - like a puppy, he says. Billy thinks he looks like a lanky mantis shrimp. "Does he know classes are about to start?" he asked and Stu laughed. "S'he look like he does? Come on, let's collect our puppy and send him on his way" he all but cooed. The taller of the two shouldered open the school doors, wincing as he'd inadvertently put pressure on a cut he'd received - also from last night's endeavours. "What d'you think I was in my past life, Billy boy?" he let the question linger in the air as they came up behind (Y/N), who was none the wiser. He never got his answer, not that he minded, because (Y/N) had turned his attention to the murderous duo with a blinding smile that made the sun burn with jealousy as the winds ushered the clouds away like show curtains - it still paled in comparison to (Y/N)’s beauty.

“Classes are about to start” Billy put his back to the tree whilst Stu plopped himself next to (Y/N). “I know” bemoaned (Y/N) “but I saw these and they just reminded me of you two” he presented them with a mice-sized bouquet of fragile, dusty purple flowers with a deep vinyl colour in the centre, and meekly twirled it between his thumb and pointer fingers.

“We aren’t pretty like some dainty flower” Stu plucked it from (Y/N)’s hold, its petals tickling his boyfriend’s cheek as Stu tucked it by his ear. “But I am?” (Y/N) mused, squinting his eyes at Stu. Billy’s touch, which had always been cold, sent shivers as he placed his hand on (Y/N)’s head; “The prettiest little devil we’ve ever met”

The bell rang but the three boys stayed ever so enamoured with each other, more and more flowers decorating each other.

Everyone paid no mind as purple flowers kept falling from (Y/N) as he moved from class to class - though the nickname flower boy persisted for a few weeks despite how uncreative it was. (Y/N)’s boyfriends thought it was cute.

#2, COOL ROCK

In all honesty, Stu wondered why Billy had chosen this location as a date. He constitutes eating with a good movie, cuddling, making-out, and maybe some bed shaking sex as a good date not taking a walk through the Woodsboro woods.

But, it was nice.

The tests and quizzes…thank fuck this would be the final test for a good while before university rolls in. Well, that is if he aces it.

“Baby” he snaps out from his reveries and turns to see (E/C) coloured eyes with their eyebrows sloped in concern. “You went quiet, everything okay?” Billy halts from ahead, hands shoved in his pockets as he wonders why the two had lagged.

“Yeah, yeah” Stu’s rubs the back of his head and his shoulders droop as (Y/N)’s fingers slip in his hands.

“What’s up?” Billy inquired once they caught up. (Y/N) shakes his head, telling him not to worry too much as he reaches to hold Billy’s hands as well. “He thought he heard something” he soothed them both by rubbing his thumb over their lightly bruised knuckles. “Yeah?” Billy didn’t sound convinced and (Y/N) pursed his lips at him as they made eye-contact.

“Yeah, wolf or something…” Stu continued which made Billy eye him then glance around unsurely. (Y/N) snorted, rolling his eyes. People assumed Billy was the cool headed, suave, Cassanova. Which, to his credit, he was...sometimes. Meanwhile, people assume Stu was the airheaded, frantic, hyperactive comedy relief of your relationship.

They did not know how romantic Stu was, or how smart he was. His extrovertedness along with his bubbly attitude was often mistaken as some sort of weakness - if only they knew how terrifying it was how closely intergrated Ghostface was in Stu’s very soul.

How for Billy, he can hang the robe and mask in the closet. Despite how it peers from the darkness, creaks it open and makes the walls shake from its breathing when it demanded attention.

Stu? The line between him and the mask was a blurred line in the sand that he barely notices. He is Ghostface, with or without the mask.

He’s like…he’s like a…an…a…

There was a twinkle from the corner of (Y/N)’s eyes.

Your boyfriend’s were debating the existence of a wolf and mountain lion hybrid when you spotted the glimmering ‘gem’.

“After this, we’re getting something nice and warm, right?” Stu batted his lashes and Billy nodded, not quite registering the loss of weight and warmth from his left hand as he peeked at the treetops. “Yeah, might be good, it’s getting pretty cold lately” Stu allowed the satisfying crunches of the dead leaves on the forest floor to distract him from (Y/N)’s hand slipping away.

That and Stu’s anxiety of the uncertain future with Billy simultaneously unsure of how to bring the topic up himself. Thankfully, Stu unknowingly made a segway to the conversation for the perfect opening.

“Why’d you even drag us out here, Billy?” Stu whined, kicking a stick out of the way. Billy paused, sighing a bit and moving to bump their shoulders.

“You looked like you were about to damn near cry while staring at your textbook and my head was about to explode anyways, so was our (Y/N)’s. I figured a walk in the woods would help us” Stu realizes that it was more for him because Billy had been silently skimming through some English assignment while (Y/N) had been half-asleep on Stu’s bed. He pressed a kiss to Billy’s jaw, effectively making them pause as he fully held Billy’s face in his hands to kiss him.

He mumbled (Y/N)’s name into the kiss while the corners of his mouth lifting as he grasped Stu’ waist; “(Y/N) also promised me I’d get some kisses from both of my boys if I did as I was asked, he suggested it…” Stu wondered why he stopped midsentence but then he looked around, blood going cold as all he saw was trees and more trees.

“(Y/N)! Baby!” Stu called, interlacing his fingers with Billy as they called out for you. They weren’t too worried about scouring the woods for you as they dredge through here at night often - to evade curious eyes as they carried their equipment around - along with the fact that you couldn’t have possibly been that far.

“(Y/N), come on! Where are you, doll?” Billy called out, retracing their steps down the path as they attempted to spot their darling boyfriend.

“I’m here!” a voice came from behind an overturned tree, the two raced over and blinked owlishly as (Y/N) held up his palm to show them -

“A rock?” Billy brushed his bangs back, holding it in his hand as he turned it around. He even held it up to catch the light, it twinkled shyly under (Y/N)’s lovers gaze.

“It’s a pretty rock! It’s shiny!” he defended as he rose from his knees, dusting the dirt away from his (insert bottom attire).

“You seriously let go of our hands for a rock, baby?” (Y/N) pouted as Stu pulled him into his side, pressing a kiss to his temple all while Billy continued to inspect the rock. “Hey, quit it! I’ve never seen a rock as shiny as that, okay” he huffed, reaching for it while Billy evaded his attempts.

“No, no, answer his question” Billy ‘frowned’ and Stu giggled, “A rock over us?”

“You guys are assholes!” (Y/N) exclaimed making his boyfriends laugh with complete glee.

The shiny rock stayed on Stu’s desk, googly eyes glued on as it weighed down a note that read;

Don’t lose your head over the small stuff. You’ve got this, baby. We love you - (Y/N) + Billy ♡

#3, SHINY KEYS?

In all fairness, (Y/N) thought it was lovely how his boyfriends insist on either one of them holding his hand or both at the same time. But surely, they must not think he was that helpless. Call him crazy but clammy hands was not a cute thing to feel despite how nice of a gesture it was to be holding hands. He’d slipped away a few times, only a few! Nothing bad happened. If anything, most of the time, (Y/N) came back with trinkets!

Well, there was that one time when Stu was hosting a party to let loose and some guy’s cousin from a neighbouring high school had shoot his shot which ended with him getting practically beheaded with a hunting knife by two annoyed Ghostface’s a week or so later.

But, (Y/N) was completely fine!

“I am not that bad” he retorted for the fourth time and Billy simply squeezed their hand and kissed his temple.

“Don’t be a big baby about it”

“Yeah, you saying ya’ don’t like holding hands?” Stu swings their arms together and (Y/N)’s mouth twitches as he fights the urge to smile. “M’not a big baby, I’m a grown man!” a few heads turned towards the trio as they made their way down the street. “Yeah, because grown men yell that they’re grown men” Billy grunted as he was elbowed. “I will castrate you” (Y/N) hissed, “You like my dick too much to do that” he braced himself for another elbow but Stu’s gasp saved him from the wrath of his boyfriend.

“Dude, they opened up an ice cream and waffle place!” Stu tugged his boyfriends across the street, (Y/N) yelping as frantically made sure they weren’t going to become the first hand-holding trio to end up in the ER as some sort of human pretzel’s.

“Jesus, didn’t take long to replace that shitty old man’s shop” Billy muttered with a cruel smirk. The butcher who used to own the shop lot had been a mean asshole who often sold even older cuts of meat for a hefty price. He’d brag his family had practically been the first butchers in Woodsboro and how it was a piece of the town’s history when one bought his product.

You’d think with that as a selling point more people would’ve mourned when he ended up as a corpse, bled-out and hanging from the hook in some pig farmer’s barn. The brutality certaintly shocked everyone but the funeral service held for him had been a dreary affair, with only a handful of people.

“His kid sold it” (Y/N) said as he looked at the menu on the chalkboard sign propped next to the door, “Heard from his grandkid, ya’ know Brandon from theatre?” Billy nodded “Yeah, well, his grandpa was in debt so Brandon’s father decided to sell it”.

“Brandon is related to that geriatric bag of bones?” Stu laughed, clutching his stomach. His boyfriends joined. Well, to be far, the guy was the nicest person you could possibly meet so it was a jarring surprise to know he is related to such a grumpy man.

“Think we did him a favour” Billy curled an arm around (Y/N)’s shoulder with his other placed on his hip. “When Christmas rolls around, I’m betting he’ll get some extra shit out of pity” he continued while Stu moved forward to peek inside the store.

A few familiar faces stuck out to him, they waved in recognition and he glanced at Billy and (Y/N) to gesture for them to head in. Shrrugging, they went along. Stu was the most extroverted - a natural people’s person. It wasn’t unusual for him to be pulled aside to chat with someone. Neither Billy nor (Y/N) minded, especially in this case seeing as they could squeeze in some dessert.

A group of people walked towards the entrance as the three walked in, a gasp of Stu’s name making traffic stop.

Truth be told, Billy had thought he had him leashed to him by his hand alone but by the time the group of school mates had passed through the threshold, he was not there.

Cue the usual song and dance of the lovers heads swivelling and eyes darting to catch a glimpse of (Y/N).

Stu motioned for his friends to wait as he stepped out fully and called out (Y/N)’s name.

“Stu, I’m here!” came the sheepish reply, there he stood in front of a neighbouring store. Their shoulders sagged in relief, lips pursed endearingly as they walked to stand on either side of him.

It was an antique store. Billy swore he could smell it through the display glass, the dust and nostalgia of all sorts of trinkets that were once loved. (Y/N) lifted his hand and pointed to a clever showcase of keys on a string that decorated the top left and rights of the display window. Big, old and clunky but swaying ever so slightly from th ventilation within the store.

They twinkled under the light.

“Puppy,” Stu snickered which earned a head tilt from (Y/N) - it further cemented his claim.

#4, PIZZA

They did it. They fucking did it. They graduated. What better way to celebrate then a date at the new mall?

Stu had outdone his usual parties with the one he had thrown just a few days ago - the three of you were still finding confetti in all sorts of corners in Stu’s house - it was a real Gatsby. Even Billy had found himself dancing in the crowd, feverishly and unabashedly squeezing (Y/N) between Stu and himself.

Now, with that done and over with, it was time for a more private celebration.

(Y/N)’s boyfriends were keeping him in the centre, Stu’s hand around his waist while Billy held a few bags of dorm essentials. Last-minute shopping squeezed into a date, it was usual with the boy’s hectic life and double life.

“That movie sucked” Stu said, “fake blood never looked faker”. (Y/N) rolled his eyes, placing his head on Stu’s shoulder.

“Not everyone’s a murder and horror movie expert, Mr Ghostface” Stu narrowed his eyes at (Y/N)’s teasing tone, grip tightening. He knew what that particular nickname did to his lovers. Billy’s stomach grumbling made their eyes shoot towards his warm face.

“Hungry, baby?” (Y/N) received a sigh and nod. They continued walking as they wondered what they should eat. This mall was huge, and all sorts of restaurants were squeezed into every corner. But that was not where the problem lay.

“Why the fuck would I eat raw fish?” Stu scoffed “We might as well hit the pet store and ate the goldfish”.

“A California roll isn’t as fucking stupid as Italian food made from some American red neck” Billy snapped “I’m the one that’s fucking hungry, I should choose”.

“Nah, no - (Y/N), you choose”

A pause, the escalator they were on continued it’s task of sending the two boys to the upper level with their lover nowhere to be seen.

Unlike the times before, however, calling out your name and retracing their steps did not work. For the first time, they felt cold sweat erupt as they shared a glance. Sure, no real harm could have come to (Y/N), and he was full and well capable of protecting himself. But he was also someone that had walked into a pole, thrice.

“(Y/N)” Billy called out as he and Stu reached the third floor of the mall, nearing the kid’s arcades and all when he finally spotted (Y/N)…

Talking to someone in a brown bear mascot that had a top hat, bow tie and microphone in one of his hands.

“(Y/N)!” he perked up as his boyfriends came into view and waved them over. The man who wore the suit narrowed his eyes at the two, a flash of recognition in his eyes as they came by (Y/N)’s side.

“David, this is Billy and Stu, Billy and Stu, David” Billy paid little attention, just noticing the fact that one of the gloves David was supposed to wear was off and in his hand was a cell phone.

(Y/N)’s name typed down along with his number.

Stu slipped his hands around (Y/N)’s waist, slipping a hand up his shirt which he did little to react too - seemingly used to it.

David’s face fell, expression clear as day despite the shadows of the suit.

“He was talking about this deal they had!” (Y/N) chirped out, showing them the flyer with the establisments name written in a whimsical font.

FREDDY FAZBEAR’S GRAND OPENING!

“How’d you even find this place?” Billy took the flyer, feigning interest as he cocked a brow at David. Who, by the way, realized where he recognized (Y/N) from; he was the boyfriend of Billy Loomis and Stu Macher and he was untouchable.

“While you two were arguing I saw a flyer so I decided to scope around, didn’t think you’d mind considering how serious the discussion of spaghetti and sushi was” he mused, leaning against Billy as he passed the flyer to Stu who had not let his eyes leave the poor part-timer.

“And David…explained the deal?” Stu inquired and (Y/N) nodded “Yeah, we even exchanged our numbers so he’d get us the best seats in the house” he cooed and David shifted uncomfortably as (Y/N)’s boyfriends gazed at him with daggers in their eyes.

“Why the hell would we even eat a kids place with creepy animatronics?” Stu retorted “Let’s bounce, this is laaame”.

There was an edge in Stu’s voice. It often did when he decided to use this sharp-tongued persona - which rarely came out…unless he was particularly annoyed.

(Y/N) rolled his eyes but shrugged and gave David an apology as they eventually walked off to some sushi place.

—

“Woodsboro police department reports the dead body found within the suit of the Freddy Fazbear Pizzaeria mascot is identified to be David Perron. His body was found mutilated and stuffed within the mascot and dragged into the ball pit of the establishment. Authorities are saying this might be the work of the infamous serial killer, Ghostface -“

Stu turns the radio off, (Y/N) squealing as he bounced his knees - effectively making the boy in his lap jump and hold him tighter.

“Stu!” he laughed, the wind in his hair as Billy rested a hand on the back Stu’s headrest. The roof of Billy’s new convertible was down, letting the three lovers feel the blissful breeze and gentle warmth of the California sun.

“Bounce, bounce!” Stu cheered which made Billy peek at the two of them from over the rim of his sunglasses.

“Come on, baby, celebrate!”

“I’m not jumping on your lap in the car! Dumbass!” Stu was no deterred as giggles poured out of (Y/N)’s mouth, his lips attacking (Y/N)’s neck with tongue and teeth.

“The sweater looks better on the floor” Stu purred, hissing sharply as Billy tugged his hair back as he nonchalantly drove with one hand on the wheel. The sweater all three of them were wearing had the logo of the university they’d been accepted into and the one they were making their way towards.

“Billy” Stu whined, the wind muffling it as (Y/N) leaned to kiss Billy and shortly after, turned the radio on. Their favourite song blasted and the lovers rode off, cheering and whooping.

#s3thwrit3sstuff #had to squeeze in a small FNAF movie mention #slasher #slasher x slasher #male reader #ghostface #ghostface x reader #billy loomis #stu macher #scream 1996 #billy loomis x reader #stu macher x reader #slashers fic #poly!ghostface #poly!ghostface x reader #gay reader

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innocentlymacabre · 1 month ago

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DUE NORTH: VIGNETTES / 9

A cozy urban fantasy about two best friends who move to the pocket of eccentricity and magic that is Due North

Producing a knife from one of her jacket pockets, Alecia made a small, sharp cut in the packaging of one of the two, scooping up the pills before they could hit the ground. She crushed the edge of one of them and sucked on the produced powder, testing its strength and pocketing the rest.

“What? Still don’t think I’m good for it?”

“I don’t think you’re smart enough for it, J. Twice now you’ve been duped into bringing me candy. Not even the good kind. Ended up giving it away with meals at the diner both times.”

“Hey, twice in – shit, how long has it been? Whatever. Twice in however many years is still pretty damn good!” he protested.

“Yeah, well, I’d just like to make sure it’s not thrice. But yeah, you’re good for it this time.” She reached into another pocket and produced a wad of cash. Jasper took it with an exaggerated bow, Alecia’s response to which was to roll her eyes, and unloaded the two packages before closing the trunk and walking back to the driver’s seat.

“Fix that headlight, J,” Alecia called out. “Can’t count on me for light on your other routes.”

“Bye Alecia!” came the singsong reply as he sped off into the night.

↝✧↝

Berto, true to himself woke up well after noon. Bella, most untrue to herself, woke up even after him, having chosen to finish moving in after dinner the previous night. After a decidedly most undignified wake up, as Bella had so elegantly put it, Berto dragged the pair of them to a bookshop simply named Deluca’s. He raved about it the entire way there, claiming it was half the reason he moved to Due North at all.

Large glass double doors stood front and centre, opposite the canal that ran through the town. Small tables lined the two storefronts it occupied, its wonderfully comfortable light spilling out onto the pavement in front. Postcards hung from near invisible strings, each one unlike its neighbours, boasting fantastical narratives and landscapes dipping in and out of reality.

Overlapping scents floated around inside, books, new and old, mingling lively with fresh-baked cakes and pastries; the quietest music, soft around the edges, piggybacked on the aromas. Rows of books lined the front half of the store, some simply stacked on shelfs, some on painted carousels, others on platters hanging from the ceiling, and still other, ludicrously expensive ones, behind glass cases. The latter half boasted the most impressive patisserie either one of Berto or Bella had seen (“And I did a year in Paris!” Bella remarked). Lines of pastries, macaroons, puffs, breads, doughnuts, waffles, and more streaked down the enormous glass casing, leaving the two of them instantly famished, despite having eaten only half an hour ago.

Alia Deluca herself manned the counter, introducing herself proudly. It wasn’t arrogant pride, Berto noted silently, even though, looking around, she had every right to be. Rather, it was indulgent and her smile warm and welcoming, inviting you to enjoy with her.

Bella ordered a black coffee with a plain muffin and Berto, with a little more than a little difficulty, managed to ask for a strawberry tart and an iced coffee. Bella thought she glimpsed something vaguely bear-like in the kitchen while placing her order, but then kicked herself for making fun of someone’s body.

“Such a vanilla order,” Berto chided once they were seated. The sun was shining, a light breeze was blowing, and the riverbank glittered with fish merrily making their way about, so they took a table outside.

“What? Afraid I embarrassed you in front of your new little friend?”

“What?” Berto cried incredulously.

“Oh please, you could barely make it to the end of that order!”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he firmly negated, smiling slightly nonetheless.

Bella would have perhaps been less focused on teasing Berto if they had sat inside. For all the attention they spent on the bookshop itself, they had completely neglected the patrons, a mere glance at whom would have proved to be a rather useful introduction for the oncoming evening.

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fandom-lover2 · 30 days ago

Text

Deep In The Woods, Something Lingers In The Trees

Before the virus, before the shelter, before the beginning of the end, a very ordinary girl met an extraordinary chimp. Friendship bloomed, and a love grew. This is their story

Chapter One - Epilogue

Word Count - 2254

Chapter Two - Stranger Not Like Me

It took 3 weeks for every continent to report cases.

It took 4 weeks for the origin of the virus to be traced to Genesys.

It took 6 weeks for people to realize how serious this virus was, when quarantine zones were established.

It took 10 weeks before the first billion deaths were confirmed.

It took 11 weeks for the first cities to confirm a loss of power, the beginning of the fall of civilization.

It took 12 weeks before the first riots to break out.

It took 13 weeks before the cities crumbled, the people destroying all in their paths in a desperation to survive.

It took 3 months for the world to come apart.

My parents died around the time the city centre was attacked, the military desperately trying to keep control of the population.

It took 3 days for San Franciso to fall. It took my parents 2 days to die.

I didn’t.

I was with them, breathing their air. Surrounded by their blood when it started pouring from their noses.

I held their hands as I tried to cool their fevers, stop the bleeding from their everywhere.

Once they passed, I tried phoning who I was supposed to to come fetch the bodies. The phones didn’t work, the streets silent.

I hadn’t seen Will or Caroline since the CDC had placed a quarantine sign on their door 2 weeks after the first case.

The first case, a scientist that had been exposed to the ALZ 113 gas while experimenting on a chimp.

The gas Caesar had used to make the other apes smart, like him.

Internationally, after the virus was traced back to apes, the world government called for the immediate extermination of apes world-wide. Zoos, sanctuaries, testing labs. They were all sentenced to die. Some had starting showing signs of intelligence, thought the people only saw it as “violent and erratic” behaviour, and had escaped already. Many didn’t, and they were shot like fish in a barrel.

3 months since the beginning of the end, and I was alone in my house with 2 dead bodies.

Will and Caroline were in there for 2 and a half months. They were dead.

Soon, people would find there was nothing else to salvage from the city and would move to the residential areas. I needed to leave.

It was sunset when they passed. I would wait for morning.

Go where, I had no idea. Maybe follow the rest of the people evacuating the city. Los Angelas was still under government control, maybe go there. Hide there.

It was near 3 am when I heard it, gunshots. Close, in our street. A few houses down. They were here, the raiders.

Moving swiftly, I fought tears as I packed my back pack. A change of clothes and a spare pair of socks. That was all I could take.

Rushing downstairs, I grabbed the last few cans of tinned food we had, what we’d managed to buy before the stores were looted and turned into ghost houses. Then, the first aid kit, reusable hydro flask, a fridge magnet picture of mom and I.

Then, I charged back upstairs and into their room. They were holding hands, eyes closed and dry blood pooled around their heads. I pressed a brief kiss to my mother’s forehead, uttering my apology that I had to leave them here and that I would always love her.

I went to my room one last time, looking around at my space. Books I wish I’d read lined shelves, and books I wished to take stood silently and worn. My stuffed animals lay around my room.

Would they be stolen, given to other children? Would they remain here, collecting dust until they fell apart?

Would someone new move in, love this house as I had. Find my photo album, see my mom and I grow up together alone? Hear our laughter down the halls once we were long gone? Or would everything remain like this, till the earth was destroyed by its own sun. A picture on my board caught my attention, and despite the hurry, I walked towards it.

Caesar and I, under the sheet we’d thrown over one of his ropes. It was just our silhouettes, the outline of a lamp on the floor between us.

Our hands were raised, making shadow puppets against the sheet.

It’d been years since Will had handed me a copy of the picture he managed to snap.

Caesar had grown so much since then, grown up and taken the apes with him across the Bridge.

Oh god I missed him.

Maybe one more memory can find space. I crossed my room and pulled the picture from its spot, folding it and slipping it into my jeans. With one last look around my room, I let a few tears slip free as I closed my door and rushed down the stairs for a final time.

Grabbing the car keys, I took a deep breath, then yanked the door open. The shouting was closer, and another shot rang out in the silence. Two cars were rushing down the street, families fleeing the inevitable. I leapt from the porch to the street, unlocking the car and slipping into the driver’s seat.

My back pack felt strange on my back as I tried to start the car, turn on the lights and get into gear. I was just about to pull off when something slammed onto the passenger window.

I looked over and froze. A man, gun aimed at me.

“Get out.” he growled.

I held my arms up in surrender.

Another man appeared at my side, tapping the glass with his gun.

I reached over slowly, unlocking the door. Once the click sounded, the man retched open the door and yanked me out, throwing me to the sidewalk. The first man moved around to our side, gun aimed at me.

“What do we do with her?”

“Take her with. She’ll be useful eventually.”

I jumped up and bolted across the street. Thank you 4 years of track. I was a lot faster than them.

Racing across the street, I repeated an action I had done daily for years, bounding up the familiar porch of Will’s place.

Not slowing, I used my speed to slam into the door, breaking through the quarantine planks they hammered on the doors. Once inside, I shut the door, locking it from inside, and braced my weight against it.

The men had reached me, and one tried opening the door.

“Leave her. Look, quarantine house.”

The second man scoffed. “She’s gonna be infected for sure now. Dead in days.”

I waited braced against the door long after I heard them walk off the porch and my stepfather’s car pull away from our house. Slowly, I slid down the door, finally breathing.

A gun fired somewhere done the street, followed by a scream. I ignored it, blocking my ears and clenching my jaw.

I stayed at the door, curled into myself until the house began to lighten, sunrise.

Standing on shaky legs, I dared venture into the house I considered my own more than the one I’d left. Everything was the same as the day I left it, the day Caesar was taken away.

I couldn’t find the strength to go back after Charles died. It felt like everything was broken the day Caesar left, and Charle’s absence made the place empty.

Now, I wanted one last chance to see this place before I left forever.

Downstairs was empty, so I crawled up the stairs. Charles’ room door was slightly ajar, his bedroom exactly as it was when he left. Will and Caroline’s was open too, empty. I wasn’t surprised.

After the connection between him and the virus was made, I met Will on the porch, asking what the hell had happened.

He looked worn, eyes bloodshot and sunken. He promised he was working on a cure. Caroline told me he wasn’t sleeping, spending days in his home office, desperately trying to find an end to what he’d caused. Now, I knew where I’d find him.

Creeping carefully, I ignored my pounding heart as I looked around the corner, into his office.

There, covering his desk and staining the floor, was dried blood. Blood dried for a while. The CDC must’ve fetched the bodies when I wasn’t looking out the window. I found some comfort in the knowledge that they weren’t just left here to be forgotten, which was weird considering that their fates were that they were burned in a mass grave. At least something happened to their bodies. My parents would just remain there, slowly left to rot away to skeletons.

Above me, something creaked. Foolishly, my heart leapt at the familiarity that it was an ape up there.

I rushed to the spiral staircase, charging up to the attic. Everything was as it was the day I left, besides a layer of dust that had settled over everything.

The swing, the ropes, his bed unmade. The piano was still open, a song waiting to be played on the stand. A halfway through chess game sat forever, never finished. God, I knew I was shit at chess before, but Caesar seemed to find joy in letting me think I was maybe about to win before swooping in and wiping out my entire fleet in 5 moves or less.

Oh god, how much I wish we could go back to that day. My knees went numb as I dropped to the floor, hands raising to cover my mouth as my throat closed and tears fell.

If I had done something different that day, would things have been different? If I had ignored him, stayed when he wanted me gone. then I would have been here that day, stopped him from… saved him from the centre.

No, that wouldn’t of changed anything. The new gas was being ready to be tested before that, the scientist was still going to be infected. The pilot would still get sick, and he would go on an international flight. The only thing that would’ve changed is I wouldn’t be remembering how this room had been filled with so much anger the last time I was in here.

God, why? Why was I alone? Why couldn’t he have just stayed inside and we could be facing the end of the world together.

Instead, all I had left was the memory of Caesar being carried away as the forest burned around us.

I still remembered that day so clearly, hearing the whispers in class that they were going to burn the Red Woods to eradicate the apes.

I’d left school, hailed a taxi with no money and gone straight to the Red Woods, desperate to stop the humans, warn Ceasar. I had gotten there too late, only able to wrestle a gun from one of the soldiers and shooting at the men shooting the troop.

Rocket appeared beside me, and we recognized one another. The scarred one was there to, helping lead apes away.

The fire around is roared, and the helicopters above prepared to shoot from the sky.

Then, the wind turned and they were forced to back off, blinded by the smoke.

The last time I saw any of the apes, they were going into the wind, away from the flames.

I had been in a lot of trouble when I’d called my parents telling them where I was. The whole ride home, I tried ignoring the fact I had shot 7 men, killing all of them.

I wondered if they even knew what had happened, if they were seeing people fleeing the city.

No one was stupid enough to go to the woods, fearing the apes.

No one would be there, and it’d be the perfect place to hide.

Leaving the last of my pain in the room, I left the house and began towards the Muir Woods. At first, I walked through our neighborhood alone, but soon cars filled the streets and families that were trying to make it on foot.

I walked for a day, and well into the night. Tryng to get across the Bridge was near impossible, the left over destruction from Caesar still causing it to be backed up. And the military were trying one last ditch at keeping the people contained.

Travelling alone, I could slip between the shouting groups, and continue onto the bridge. And then, where everyone turned left, giving the Woods a large birth, I forged ahead, into the trees.

First order of business would be shelter, somewhere close to water but deep enough into the woods that if people do get stupid enough, they won’t find me.

It was near sunrise though, I had gone over 24 hours without eating or sleeping. For now, a temporary resting spot would have to do.

I knew this forest, had spent hours with Caesar learning every trail, and often times going off the trail. I knew of the abandoned ranger’s cabin near the creek.

It would take only about an hour to reach on foot. Luckily, the fire had been deeper in the woods, and so when I finally stumbled into the clearing, the old wooden structure still stood.

Breaking a window, I shimmied my way inside. Too tired to do much else, I boarded up the broken window, found some old sacks to make into a bed, and fell asleep as soon as my head hit the wooden floor.

#pota caesar x reader #pota x reader #pota caesar #caesar #pota will #pota charles #pota caroline #rise of the planet of the apes #planet of the apes #pota rocket #pota koba

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girl-next-door-writes · 1 year ago

Text

Now and Then

Characters: Mycroft Holmes x reader

Summary: A bustling airport lounge had Mycroft contemplating the future and what his life could become with you.

Word Count: 1383 word

Prompt: Airport. Seeing them with kids/baby. Making you taste test. “You know you’re stuck with me, right?”

A/N: This is the penultimate part of my Build-A-Festive-Fics so thank you to the utterly brilliant @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek who put these prompts together for the lovely Mr Holmes. This can be seen as a second part to my first Build-A-Festive-Fic is you like.

********************************************************************

Another year, another airport. There were times Mycroft wondered if it wouldn’t be more economical to invest in a private jet. The airport lounge at Christmas was a festive oasis amidst the hustle and bustle of holiday travel. As travellers awaited their flights, the lounge became a haven of seasonal cheer and comfort. Twinkling lights adorn every available surface, casting a warm and inviting glow throughout the space. Garlands of pine and red ribbon drape elegantly over counters and railings, infusing the air with the nostalgic scent of Christmas.

A towering Christmas tree, adorned with an eclectic mix of ornaments, took centre stage, its branches sparkling with lights and reflecting the colours of the season. Beneath the tree, carefully wrapped presents create a sense of anticipation, adding to the overall festive ambiance. Soft instrumental renditions of classic holiday tunes play in the background, creating a melodic backdrop that adds to the joyful atmosphere.

Mycroft lingered by the bar, a gentle smile gracing his lips as he observed you near the resplendent Christmas tree. You stood with a small girl in your arms, enthusiastically pointing out the various types of decorations that adorned its branches. There was a warmth in your interactions that tugged at his heart, an ache that had become all too familiar in recent times. The sight of you with the child painted a poignant picture of familial bliss, a scene that both touched and unsettled him in equal measure.

Sherlock's deep voice sliced through Mycroft's contemplative silence, injecting a note of teasing smugness. "Thinking about the future, brother mine?"

"I was simply observing," Mycroft replied, his tone steady, though a subtle softness lingered beneath his composed exterior.

Sherlock, ever perceptive, leaned into the banter. "Observing the love of your life holding a small child and absolutely not wondering about what that might look like if you had one of your own."

Mycroft's lips tightened imperceptibly, a flicker of irritation crossing his otherwise impassive features. "It had not even crossed my mind," he declared with a carefully measured hum, attempting to deflect the conversation away from the unspoken thoughts that lingered in the recesses of his mind. Yet, a keen observer might catch the hint of vulnerability in his eyes, betraying the depth of emotion stirred by the scene before him.

In the quiet recesses of his mind, Mycroft found himself entertaining the notion of what life might be like with a little one in tow. The prospect of sharing knowledge, moulding a young mind, and experiencing the unpredictable chaos that parenthood promised had begun to weave itself into the fabric of his contemplations. An unexpected warmth enveloped him at the mental image of guiding a curious mind through life's intricacies, embracing the potential chaos as a welcomed disruption to his meticulously ordered existence.

Despite these musings, Mycroft had yet to broach the subject with you. The various paths to parenthood lingered unspoken, a myriad of possibilities silently contemplated but carefully kept in the realm of his private reflections. Whether through traditional means, adoption, or other avenues, the desire for a family remained a quietly nurtured aspiration within Mycroft's heart.

Sherlock chuckled knowingly, taking a sip of his drink. "You may fool the entire everyone else, brother, but you can't fool me. You're a romantic at heart, even if you hide it beneath layers of bureaucracy. You are not the Iceman you once were."

Mycroft shot him a stern look, but Sherlock merely raised an eyebrow in response. The truth was, Mycroft Holmes, the enigmatic and powerful government official, had a softer side that few were privy to. The prospect of family, of a life beyond the intricacies of political manoeuvring and clandestine operations, was something he couldn't help but entertain since you had entered his life.

As you approached with Rosie and John, Mycroft smoothly shifted the conversation. "And what have you been conspiring about over there?" he asked, his tone impeccably composed.

You grinned, the little one in your arms giggling. "We were just discussing the best strategy for decorating the tree. It seems you have a budding interior designer on your hands, John. She has very definite ideas about what belongs on a tree."

Mycroft's gaze softened as he looked at the two of you, a twinge of warmth in his eyes. "Indeed, it appears so. Perhaps we should let our young prodigy take the lead in the decorations next year."

Sherlock smirked, detecting the subtle shift in Mycroft's demeanour. "I never thought I'd see the day when my brother willingly allowed his home to be decorated for the festive season. It seems we have a Christmas miracle."

Your laughter echoed through the air as you handed little Rosie over to John, a sense of warmth lingering in the atmosphere. Placing a gentle hand on Mycroft's arm, you remarked, "It's a season of surprises, after all."

Meanwhile, Rosie, in her father's arms, couldn't contain her curiosity, her tiny hands reaching for the enticing display of sugar cookies on the bar. Without hesitation, you purchased one, starting to unwrap it before a thoughtful pause crossed your face.

"Oh, do you think these might be a little too sweet for her? Mycroft, darling, can you try a bit?" You turned to him, holding out the cookie, expecting him to automatically acquiesce.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow, a mild protest forming on his lips. "Me?"

With a playful grin, you teased, "Well, you are the one with the sweet tooth."

The accusation, albeit light-hearted, was one Mycroft couldn't deny. With a small sigh of mock frustration, he broke off a corner of Rudolph's ear and placed it into his mouth. Chewing thoughtfully, he declared, "Not as sugary as one might think, given the season."

John accepted the cookie gratefully, making his way to an empty table where Rosie eagerly indulged in the festive treat. As you and Sherlock observed the adorable scene, Mycroft slyly purchased a couple of cookies for himself, slipping them discreetly into his jacket pocket.

Sherlock sauntered over to join John and Rosie, his penchant for imparting unconventional knowledge evident as he began explaining to the small child the reasons why Rudolph might be a female reindeer rather than male. Mycroft, standing nearby, couldn't help but wear a bemused expression as he watched his eccentric brother engage with the little girl.

"Your brother is infuriating, but he is surprisingly good with children." You mused, leaning against Mycroft and letting your arm slip around his waist.

"Unnervingly so," Mycroft replied, his attention momentarily divided, a faint frown forming on his usually composed features.

Sensing a slight distraction in Mycroft's demeanour, you decided to break the quiet moment with a question, hoping to offer some reassurance. "You know you're stuck with me, right?"

The unexpected inquiry caught him off guard, and Mycroft looked down at you, raising an eyebrow. "I am not 'stuck' with you; that would imply I am unhappy with the arrangement. I rather fear it is you who is 'stuck'."

Your laughter filled the air, and Mycroft couldn't help but allow a small, fond smile to grace his lips. The banter, the shared moments, and the ease with which you complemented each other had become an integral part of his life—a fact he wouldn't trade for anything.

Your words carried a tender sincerity that caused a subtle shift in Mycroft's usually composed countenance. The glint in your eyes hinted at a depth of understanding that made him wonder if you had somehow glimpsed his recent musings.

"I think you would be a rather brilliant father, just so you know," you declared nonchalantly, your eyes twinkling with genuine affection.

Mycroft, momentarily caught off guard by the heartfelt compliment, allowed a softness to touch his features. "Perhaps that is a discussion for the New Year. Right now, we have to sit through an eight-hour plane journey with a toddler."

His attention returned to Rosie, who was thoroughly engrossed in creating a masterpiece on Sherlock's shirt with crumbled cookie and icing. The amusing chaos brought a small smile to Mycroft's face, a silent acknowledgment of the unpredictable joys that parenthood might bring.

"First things first," you agreed, acknowledging the immediate reality of the plane journey ahead and the shared journeys which might present themselves in the not too distant future.

#Mycroft Holmes #Mycroft Holmes x reader #Build A Festive Fic #gndw fic

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strxnged · 5 months ago

Text

TIGHNARI: # the roots of ambition.

CHAPTER II. In which your research is disturbed by several events, and Collei is told a bedtime story.

Word count. 2.6k. Genre. Found family, gn!reader.

Table of Contents. / Next chapter.

It was your first time in Gandharva Ville, and it was nothing like you expected.

You’d heard about the treetop huts, and the winding paths between them. You’d anticipated the culture of the Forest Rangers and the rustic lives they kept. You couldn’t have been mistaken about the smells or sounds of wildlife around the village. No, it was something you couldn’t have prepared yourself for with all the knowledge in the world.

Everyone was so friendly. As compared with Sumeru City, the glowing diversity of food vendors and perfume smells had been replaced by chatter of Forest Rangers with one another, with the nature around them, and with your entering group that day around noon.

“General Watchleader, how was your journey?” — “Collei, how are you feeling? You should get some rest.” — “Amir, come and see how your pups are doing!” — “Forest Watcher Tighnari, I finished a rash cream prototype!” — “Hello, who’s this you’ve picked up, sir?”

You realized this question addressed you. You smiled, “I’m an Amurta scholar.”

The woman who had asked the question replied with a knowing grin, “Ah. Not for long, dear.”

Tighnari’s hut sat near the centre of the village and there was no door on the way in—simply a large leaf he pushed aside for himself and you. He pulled a chair out from a desk and said, “Please, sit. Why don’t we go over your research goals?”

You obliged.

“I’m interested in the current state of fungal mycelium as the ecology of our nation changes drastically. Especially, I want to understand the changing role of mycorrhizal networks between trees.”

“With the spread of Withering Zones.”

You nodded.

“I see. How are you testing it?”

“I’m trying to collect samples from healthy soil and from soil near Withering Zones. Or, I was, before I was so rudely interrupted.”

“Before you were almost so rudely killed,” Tighnari sassed.

“The fungi wouldn’t have been aggravated if you’d left me alone!”

Tighnari only laughed. “We do apologize for the inconvenience. So, what do you hypothesize? Do you expect the control group to associate with Adhigama saplings, and for the fungal mycelium from areas at risk to infect them?”

“Based on the circulating theory that fungi are the most deeply connected with Irminsul, this would support the idea that the mycorrhizal networks are the paths by which The Withering spreads.”

“Interesting,” Tighnari said, narrowing his eyes pensively. “Very, very interesting.”

You unloaded your samples and tools from your bag onto his desk. As he continued you labeled the last sample that he’d helped you filter yesterday and sorted them.

“Now, why trees? Why not, say, Nilotpala Lotuses? Though mycelium might not interact quite as much with them, they have a way of repelling The Withering that would be beneficial to study. In my studies I have been able to unite them.”

“I’m more interested in replicating as much of the context as I can. It would be an entirely separate phenomenon that would yield results I’m less interested in.”

“Context.” He nodded. “Good.” He knelt next to his desk so that his sparkling hazel eyes were horizontal with the items on the desk.

⸙

Working with Tighnari was unlike any group project you’d engaged in reluctantly at the Akademiya. In some ways, he was like a senior guiding you, rebuking you, facilitating your ideas—in others, he was like a fellow student who had as much curiosity—though not possibly more—as you in this project. There was also the issue of his proximity. He wasn’t encroaching on your personal space by any means, but he had a way of looking over your shoulder or reaching across the desk that felt like the closest any person had been to you for a long time, aside from your physician. You had always known that people had a certain hesitation because of your condition. Some would feel squeamish, as though the plain knowledge that the disease was not contagious suddenly merited questioning anytime you were too close. Others acted careful, as if they were afraid your arms or legs or emotional mask would just brittly snap off at a moment’s notice. You assumed it was his experience as a medical professional, but a part of you doubted things would stay the same if he knew. Things always changed when people found out about the Eleazar.

You spent days together, mostly, though it seems Tighnari was the most popular individual in the Avidya Forest. Every few hours or so, someone would let theirself into the hut to address Tighnari with whatever news or issue he needed to help with. He’d go off and fix it and then return to get to work with you.

After a few days of this, as the experiment was nearing its end, a certain request caught your attention. “Sir, Collei’s just come back from an expedition with some other Rangers and we’re trying to convince her to get some rest, but she just won’t stop reading.”

Tighnari’s ears perked and you turned to see a Forest Ranger with a somewhat defeated look on his face. As Tighnari made to leave, you offered to step in. “I haven’t seen her much since we got here—I’d like to see how she’s doing.”

Collei was indeed reading stubbornly. She was sitting cross-legged on the bed in her hut with a thick book open on her lap. Her eyes had dark circles under them, making her purple eyes look rather ghostly.

“Collei,” Tighnari said sternly.

She started and nearly threw the book. “M-Master!”

Tighnari tsked at her and took the book with ease from her grasp, closing it. “You need rest. I told you not to push yourself. Should I tell Y/N I’ll take a break to stay with you until you listen?”

“I can stay with her,” you said, taking the book from Tighnari’s grasp. The Folio of the Foliage, Three Volumes, read the cover. “What chapter were you on, Collei? I’ll read it to you so you can lie down.”

“I was just starting Volume 3… I’m sorry, Master Tighnari.”

Tighnari crossed his arms. “I need you to take your health more seriously, Collei.” He turned to you and leaned in to whisper, “Take care.”

You nodded at him as Collei got herself under a blanket, facing you on her side. You observed her for a moment. She looked so small, so young. You would have hated to have been taken care of in such an attentive way at her age. Back then, you were always running off to be by yourself outside. And still now, you wouldn’t let anyone press their knuckles to your forehead. Life was easier this way. You knew in your soul that you were not made to be taken care of, and so you were at peace with the prospect of the sudden end your life may have.

You could only give others that same peace, you’d realized long ago, if they weren’t given the opportunity to care.

⸙

You really wished you had brought some water with you as you reached the end of the story. Your voice was a bit hoarse, and you wondered how Tighnari kept it up when he talked her to sleep. Well, she wasn’t sleeping at any rate, so you might as well finish before you found some respite for your throat.

“The lord of all animals let out a furious roar with its dying breath,” you read, “then fell, protecting all that she had entrusted to him. But the memories themselves did not shatter, collapse, nor fall. Like the wisdom she left behind, they were unborn, imperishable, eternal, and ancient.”

You finished the last paragraph and looked up at Collei. She said, “Thank you, Y/N, for reading that to me.”

You tucked Collei’s blanket a little more snugly up to her chin and said to her, “Do you think you might actually get some sleep now?”

“Okay,” she acquiesced, her tone trailing off into drowsiness.

As her eyes slowly closed, you felt there was still a gaze on you. You rose from the side of her bed and acknowledged the General Watchleader, who leaned on the doorframe with his tail waving gently.

“Thank you,” he mouthed.

You left the hut with him, letting the large leaves fall over the entryway before you asked, “Have you read that story before?” You noticed your tone was tired. You’d put more of your energy into that than you’d thought.

“I have. You do it justice.”

You nodded, still feeling hoarse. You knew if you coughed, the tension in your chest from the Eleazar would worsen and ruin your day, so you kept your breaths shallow and slow.

“I think Collei really looks up to you, you know.”

You almost laughed. “Really? I thought you’d indoctrinated the Akademiya admiration out of her.”

“There’s more to you than your status as a scholar.”

“Can’t that be said of anyone?”

He shook his head. “Research out of curiosity and research out of greed are separate disciplines.”

That much was true. But yours wasn’t purely out of curiosity. You, too, had greed. You were greedy to search for a way to have a longer life than was allotted to you by Irminsul.

“Besides, you’re good company, and it was very selfless of you to sit there and give her so much of your day.”

“I didn’t know you liked to compliment people this much. Is this part of some scheme to convince me to join the Forest Rangers?”

Tighnari’s ears flattened a little. “No… Not exactly.”

“Not exactly?”

“We’d like you to stay and join our team. I hope that’s no secret. But I’m capable of giving genuine compliments too.”

“I guess it’s just backlash after all your critique these past few days. Doesn’t… sound right.” You felt out of breath and you slowed your pace.

“Y/N? What’s the matter?”

You shook your head, but you felt a chill up your spine that warned you of an oncoming bout of numbness. It forced you to stop and lean on a tree. “Archons. I’m fine,” you said, taking a deep breath. “I must have spent a little too long staring at a microscope lately. Don’t worry about me.”

“You should take a break tonight. No use in pushing yourself to exhaustion. There will be more mycelium.”

There would be more waves. More frequently.

And you were afraid that he knew.

What if he saw the shadow towering behind you and chose to say nothing?

“No, I’ll be fine once I’ve had some water. You know, I’m not so good at talking for extended periods.”

“It’s a skill I’ve been blessed to acquire in passing. The Akademiya occasionally persuades me to lecture field researchers.” He chuckled lightly. “You must have skipped the last one.”

You made no response. Perhaps you had.

“Hey, are you sure you’re okay?”

You decided a change of subject would be most suitable. “I’m just thinking about Collei. I feel bad for her.”

“She’s come a long way, you know. That child couldn’t read a word when Cyno showed up with her on my doorstep. Now? I have to chastise her for reading too much. Once again, thank you for making time with her. I want her to rest, but I don’t want her to hate every moment of surviving. Eleazar is hard on the body, and hardly easier on the mind.”

“She’s bright, and so eager to please you.”

“I know. I think she mistakes my care for her, sometimes, as anger or disappointment.”

“But she knows you care?”

He smiled. “She knows well that Cyno, the rest of the Forest Rangers, and I care about her and her well-being. It is my humble hope that she is finding herself a home with us.”

“Do many Forest Rangers start on your doorstep, Tighnari?”

“You know, now that I think about it, there is an uncanny pattern. I suppose that indicates we have a good reputation all around.”

“I wish that were true,” you said, meaning it. “I was wary of the Forest Rangers and their unbookish methods. Now I see things are different.”

You approached the hut and took a swig of water from your flask. “Things are… better here, than at the Akademiya. I will grant you that.”

“High praise indeed,” he said with a chuckle. “Are you feeling better?”

Hardly. The tension in your chest was building.

⸙

As you recorded the final details in your lab book, you couldn’t help but notice the fox-eared Forest Watcher watching you. The results of your study had been made clear tonight; there was no difference in the soils, your saplings and sample networks had intertwined equally, with no significant chemical differences found between control and experimental saplings. Your hypothesis hadn’t been supported. While your results were still worth presenting, you felt like you were missing something, and perhaps your face reflected this to Tighnari as you scribbled away.

Once you had finished and closed the book, he asked, “What’s next?”

You set the book on the desk. Exhaustion overwhelmed you, but you pushed yourself to your feet and sauntered to the window. The night sky was obscured with clouds, so you gazed into nothing when you said, “I don’t know, yet.”

“These results open a realm of possibility for future experiments. Do you want my help to brainstorm?”

You let out a puff of air. “No, not… Not right now.”

He nodded. “I understand.”

He was right. This wasn’t a bad thing, not exactly. But had your hypothesis been correct… “I’m just disappointed.” And fried. You felt like you needed to lie in a bed, and not leave it for a week. You refused to admit defeat in such a way, but the feeling remained. “I guess I was more invested in getting the results I wanted than I should have been.”

Tighnari stepped closer, tilting his head to look into your eyes. “Y/N. You look exhausted. Have you been sleeping?”

You shrugged. “You’ve asked me this before.”

“You didn’t answer me then, either.”

Gripping the windowsill enough to turn your knuckles white, you admitted, “No, I haven’t been sleeping. I haven’t slept a night through in a very, very long time.”

He paused. “It’s more than the research, right?”

Your heart skipped a beat.

“What do you… mean?” you said, trying to keep calm. He knew?

“For me, my research has always felt like an extension of myself. A space made just for me to examine nature’s mysteries. I break myself, sometimes, to learn something new. Gods know it’s the only time Collei gets to lecture me.”

You laughed. “Really?”

“I have a thing where I feel compelled to put non-toxic species in my mouth to taste their properties,” he said, sounding a bit sheepish. “It’s empirical. You can’t deny that.”

“I guess it’s something like that,” you lied. You couldn’t even imagine what you meant. Your head was swimming as you attempted a joke, “Did you lick my samples, Tighnari?”

He quickly made a gesture of denial with his hands. “No, no, no! Don’t misunderstand. That would have vastly altered our results.”

You tried to agree but no words came out. Here came the numbness—stronger than before, wiping even your mind blank from everything but senseless panic. The last clear thought you had was, if he doesn’t know yet, he will soon.

Then, you knew no more.

Table of Contents. / Next chapter.

#the roots of ambition.#tighnari & reader #genshin platonic #genshin longfic #genshin adventure #sumeru fic #tighnari platonic #genshin series #collei ff #tighnari angst #genshin impact sickfic #genshin x disabled!reader #gi x gn!reader #genshin lore #sorry this is late my ass was not thriving on friday

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orkbutch · 1 year ago

Note

for the ficlet, what about someone getting hunted down by another character? whether it's flirty or murderous is up to you

Hot. I'm going with the obvious pair, imo.

---

Shadowheart moved in near silence through the thickest part of the wilderness’ woods. She had run through a manicured portion of the forest used for hunting and foraging, too open and touched by moonlight to avoid her pursuer. Here in the dense centre, the underbrush grew tall enough to disappear into. The trees grew close and wild, their layered canopies filtering the moon until there was utter darkness.

She crept slowly, her heart beat loud in her ears. She was focused on trying to see where her hunter was. Shadowheart knew she could see better in the dark. But her hunter was tricky, unpredictable, and very motivated. She knew this had been coming eventually. Euphoria was always so wrapped up in Karlach, she hadn’t listened to Shadowheart’s warnings - hadn’t taken her seriously. But she was serious.

A glint of silver in the dark. Shadowheart’s insides lurched, but she repressed any sudden movement. But then something snapped so close to her it seemed deafening, and she launched into a sprint away from that glint of silver.

Quick and so easily, Shadowheart was swept from her feet and crushed ruthlessly against a tree. The body pinning her was sturdy as iron and warm with activity, smelled sweetly alien, like a musky flower she’d never encountered in her life. One calloused hand pinned her arm, while the other had grasped her jaw tight, and held her head twisted back.

“Le’ me go,” she said painfully, her jaw complaining at the angle it had been crushed into.

“Silence, istik. It is clear from your behaviour that this is what you’ve wanted all along. I am only answering you finally.”

Shadowheart had been antagonising her. Their spat over the artefact that night had brought things to a boil, and Shadowheart had known no matter what Lae’zel had said to Euphoria, the Githyanki would not let the matter lie so easily.

Shadowheart could only wait for some point of weakness and try to break free. Then, it would be a matter of speed. Kill or be killed. “Don’t act like you haven’t been waiting to pounce,” Shadowheart muttered snidely.

“You’re right,” Lae’zel said, her voice touched by amusement. “I would not be here if I didn’t want this. Not that you made it easy. You are painfully dishonest, even with yourself.”

Shadowheart tested moving, but Lae’zel clamped down on her like a bear trap. She frowned as she processed what Lae’zel had said. “What are you talking about, Gith?”

She was suddenly released and spun to face Lae’zel, pressed back into the tree by her shoulders. Lae’zel was in nothing but her strappy leather kit. She regarded Shadowheart impassively, and then kissed her very firmly.

Shadowheart’s brain stuttered to a stop. Lae’zel’s lips moved against hers, her tongue brushed the line of her mouth. Shadowheart’s lips parted automatically, and she was drawn into a dizzying kiss, held hot and tight against the rough bark, in Lae’zel’s immovable arms.

They broke apart breathlessly. Shadowheart stared into Lae’zel’s eyes, her thoughts lagging back to the present. “I thought you wanted to kill me,” Shadowheart said breathily.

Lae’zel’s eyebrows drew together. “We agreed to work together, yes?”

“Yes.”

“I intend to honour my word.”

“... And you thought I wanted this? From the beginning?”

Lae’zel caught her in another kiss, her hand curling over the back of Shadowheart’s neck and squeezing. It made Shadowheart’s legs tremble, some embarrassing whimper spilling from her lips. Lae’zel pulled back, infuriatingly smug.

“You wanted this.”

#bg3 #lae'zel #shadowheart #shadowzel #writing

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partystoragechest · 10 months ago

Text

A story of romance, drama, and politics which neither Trevelyan nor Cullen wish to be in.

Canon divergent fic in which Josephine solves the matter of post-Wicked Hearts attention by inviting invites four noblewomen to compete for Cullen's affections. In this chapter, read the first line.

(Masterpost. Beginning. Previous entry. Next entry. Words: 3,363. Rating: all audiences. Warnings: fighting and blood mentions.)

Chapter 39: Duel Purpose

“The Commander is going to duel Lady Orroat!”

Trevelyan almost spat out her tea.

Lady Samient had burst through the door of the Baroness’ chamber, disrupting the quiet morning conversation taking place within. Both women whirled on her, but—before they could query what she had said—Samient was already gone.

Trevelyan locked eyes with the Baroness, their faces equal in confusion. With nary a word spoken between them, they threw down their tea, and gave chase.

They pursued the sound of Lady Samient’s vanishing footsteps along the corridor, and down the stairs—tumbling out into the Great Hall, where they managed, at last, to catch her.

“What is going on?” asked Trevelyan, to no answer. Samient’s only response was to shoo them out of the door, to the courtyard beyond.

Emerging into the glare of the sun, they caught a glimpse of a crowd below, congregating around the sparring ring. Soldiers, servants, visiting nobles—it appeared most of Skyhold had turned out for the event. Word, as always, had spread rather quickly.

Yet, within the ring, Trevelyan saw only two individuals of note: a battle-ready Lady Orroat, plated in iridescent obsidian, preparing to fight—and a flailing Lady Erridge, who tugged fruitlessly at her arm.

“Really, Lady Orroat, it is quite all right!” she pleaded, as the Ladies neared. “I suffered no injury from the Commander’s rejection, I assure you!”

Lady Orroat fastened her pauldrons.

“I am completely fine—I swear!” continued Erridge, to seemingly little effect. “I don’t mind at all! This is surely unnecessary!”

Lady Orroat turned. She hooked a finger beneath Lady Erridge’s chin, and tilted her face towards her own. Soft morning light trickled around them, motes of dust dancing through the air. The crowd almost melted away; time appeared to slow. Just their silhouette, in the shape of two lovers. As gentle as her touch, Lady Orroat spoke:

“My dearest Tam, though you may bear the insult, I cannot. No man shall walk this plane and feel so entitled as to so callously discard your treasured affection.” Her thumb traced the curve of Erridge’s jaw. “Please, my Lady. Allow me this.”

Trevelyan’s mouth fell open. Lady Samient gripped her arm. The Baroness fanned herself. All those romances Lady Erridge had read, and somehow, she had failed to realise that she was, apparently, living in one.

Naturally quite helpless to do anything but gaze back at Lady Orroat, her eyes—wide and innocent as a doe’s—fluttering rapidly, Lady Erridge assented.

“Oh, well—um, don’t hurt him too much, I suppose?”

Lady Orroat took a step back, and bowed low. “Anything for you, my Lady.”

She strode away, to meet her foe. Lady Erridge listlessly waved her off, before stumbling over to where the Ladies had gathered. She was a mess of giggles and squeaks, unable to say anything that was not in relation to her dear Lady Orroat.

The Baroness helped her regain her faculties, as Trevelyan and Samient shared in the amusement of it. Certain that Erridge would recover from her stupor, they returned their attention to the ring.

Lady Orroat—sword drawn—had taken position at its centre, and performed spectacular practice swings, to the adoration of the crowd. Yet, while all eyes were on her, Trevelyan’s drifted, to the other side of the arena—in search, perhaps, of the Lady’s opponent.

Her breath caught.

There he stood. Soldiers flanked his sides, aiding him to prepare. Armour was placed upon his body; leather straps were pulled taut by his iron grip. He tested his breastplate with a beat to the chest; it clanged against the metal of his gauntlet.

His mantle was brought, and draped over his back, amplifying the broadness of his shoulders. His helm was presented—a lion’s roar, frozen in steel—and lowered upon his head, his fearsome glare framed within its maw. His sword was last, offered in its belt and sheath. He strapped it around his hips, good and tight. His fingers curled around the blade’s hilt.

The sword was drawn; he needed no practice. He was the Commander of the Inquisition—and Maker, did he look it, in the entirety of his regalia. Intimidating, unwavering, he stalked towards his opponent.

“Hey.”

Trevelyan startled, quite unaware how how enraptured she had been by the display. She glanced about for the source of the voice, and found Varric beside her, holding up a pouch of coin.

“I’m taking wagers on who’s gonna win. Want in?” he asked.

Lady Samient, whom Trevelyan had definitely not forgotten was beside her, took an interest. “What are the odds?”

“Winning side splits the pot.”

The Baroness tossed a coin to him, which he caught with ease. “One crown on Lady Orroat.”

Lady Erridge applauded. “Oh, good choice!”

Varric noted it down, and moved on to the next group of punters. Trevelyan watched him go, then returned her gaze to the arena. A Captain addressed the combatants, and defined the rules—to which they gave their assent. Satisfied, the Captain withdrew, and raised an arm.

A hush fell over the crowd. Anticipation slowed the air around them. Breath spilled from Trevelyan’s lips. The Captain’s arm dropped.

They charged. Swords clashed.

It was the Commander who dominated first. His muscular build and experienced arm were a force to be reckoned with. He struck out with a barrage of blows, each one ferocious as the last. Each one as confident. Each one as precise. He commanded the battlefield, as was his right.

Yet Lady Orroat showed no signs of yielding. She was a fleet-footed fighter, taking each hit and turning it into momentum. Dodges and blocks; no counters. It seemed she was not interested in fighting back—not yet. She was biding her time. She was waiting for something.

Whatever opening this was, the Commander would not give it. He stepped back only to return, with even greater force. Trevelyan admired the arc of his sword through the air, its flash in the sunlight, as he thrust hard toward her abdomen.

Lady Orroat deflected it away. The crowd gasped. The Commander was open.

She delivered a swift slice to his arm, before it could straighten. The Commander’s grip weakened. She moved in, butted her pommel direct into his helm. The Commander stumbled back. A mighty kick to his chest, and he was thrown to the ground.

The crowd roared, the Ladies cheered. The Baroness was going to get that crown back.

Lady Orroat strode to where the Commander lay. Before he could recover, she knocked his helm away, with the tip of her blade—and then held it to his throat.

“Yield.”

The crowd waited, breath bated, for the reply. The Commander let his sword fall from his grasp. “I yield.”

The Captain’s arm went up, on Orroat’s side. The crowd began to holler and cheer. Soldiers, trained hard in this same ring, applauded the satisfaction of seeing their Commander humiliated.

Lady Erridge burst from the masses, running to Lady Orroat’s arms. The Lady dropped her sword, and embraced Erridge entirely, twirling her through the air.

Over the noise of the crowd, one could barely hear what was said between them in that moment. But as their dance ended, and Orroat set Erridge down, she sank onto one knee—and the crowd fell silent once more.

“Lady Tam Erridge, of West Coldon,” said Lady Orroat, loud enough for all to hear. “My dearest friend. My most ardent love. I have been enamoured with you since the day we met; in the years I have known you, my love for you has only grown. I have always cherished our friendship, but I wish to cherish you entirely. Please, I humbly beg—will you marry me?”

The pause afterward felt as though a lifetime. Though no one suffered it as much as Orroat, the Ladies held their breath. They looked to Erridge—as did the entire crowd—and waited.

Erridge, fixed in place, blinked. “Oh, Lady Orroat,” she gasped, “well—of course! I could not think of anything more wonderful in all my life!”

Lady Orroat shot to her feet, and collided with Erridge. The Ladies screamed, joyous and in sheer disbelief. The crowds applauded. At long last, a kiss that had waited for years to exist, finally came to be.

The Ladies rushed the arena, and even more followed. They met and embraced both Erridge and Orroat, smiling, laughing, squealing in delight. The world became nothing but noise and happiness. Congratulations were given, and received with joy. Invitations to a wedding, promised and assured.

Never had Trevelyan seen such mirth, and such festivity. Though very few of Skyhold knew the significance of the event, they celebrated nonetheless. The happiness of others was enough motivation.

And yet, in the crowd, Trevelyan found one face to be missing. As her friends continued their revelry, she continued to sweep their surroundings. Somewhere, in this maelstrom of merriment, surely—

“Your winnings!” came Varric’s voice, not quite the one she’d been looking for. He passed a handful of coins to the Baroness, who tucked them discreetly into a pocket, and told some joke about starting a fund for her wedding attire.

But before he moved on, to hand out his next prize, he stopped—for just a moment—beside Trevelyan.

“Armoury,” he said.

Trevelyan looked out, over the heads that surrounded her. The vaguest shape of red wool and silver plate disappeared into a building nearby.

“Thank you,” she said to Varric—but he had already gone. She made her excuses to her friends instead, and began to pick her way through the crowds.

It was difficult, to move against the flow of excitement—but soon enough, she found herself at the very edges of the hubbub. The armoury door lingered open, just a crack, in the distance. She hurried towards it.

Peeking her head through, Trevelyan took in the space. She’d not been here often. It acted as a secondary smithy, with forges and furnaces along the back wall, swathing the room in their warmth and light.

Yet, unlike the smithy of the Undercroft, soldiers would frequent this place. Armour and weaponry lined the racks, ready for use in training. A long bench, where such soldiers would prepare, waited below.

Today, however, it boasted only one occupant.

The Commander had collapsed upon the bench, wrenching the plate from his body. Each piece clattered to the floor as soon as the straps came loose. With all outside celebrating, there was no one to attend him.

And so he continued the task himself, stripping his mantle and laying it over his lap. Arms free, he tugged at his gorget until it came loose; removed it and the breastplate beneath. Just a gambeson, now, and his helm.

He discarded the latter first, his face at last revealed—exhausted, and panting. Sweat-streaked skin glistened in the glow of the fires. But not mere sweat alone. Trevelyan gasped. Blood. There was blood.

The Commander must have felt it, for he raised his hand to his upper lip, and pulled it away, red. A bloody nose. That strike to the face.

He sighed, and, like the weight of the world was holding him down, leant back against the wall—

“Forward, Commander!” blurted Trevelyan, before she’d even thought of what to say next. “You... need to tilt your head forward.”

His eyes widened at seeing her there, but he followed her instruction regardless. “Thank you,” he said.

Trevelyan barely acknowledged it. She glanced at the door, and almost stepped through—but, out of the corner of her eye, saw a drop of crimson splash against the floor.

She could not leave him like this.

She let the door shut, and turned instead towards him. A hand dipped into her pocket, and from within, she produced a small cloth.

“Commander,” she said, creeping closer, “use this.”

Head still tilted downward, the Commander’s hand clumsily found hers. Their fingers overlapped for the briefest of moments—before he took hold of the cloth, and fled with it.

Yet he hesitated, in bringing it to his face. “This is from the banquet,” he muttered.

Surprising that he’d somehow remembered. But he was right. It was the napkin he’d given to her that night, to dry her tears.

“I had it cleaned,” said Trevelyan.

He held it out to her. “I... can’t use this.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to stain it.”

Trevelyan sighed. “Commander, you’re bleeding. Please.”

His hand withdrew, and he pressed the napkin to his nose. Trevelyan took a little step back, and watched him. Her hands twisted around each other, unsure of what to do with themselves.

“Commander?” she whispered.

He started to raise his head.

“No, no—keep it forward,” Trevelyan instructed. “Please.”

This order came not only for the benefit of his bloodied nose. She could not bear both his gaze, and the words she wished to say. Thank the Maker, he did as asked.

“I’m... so sorry, Commander, for my behaviour, last we spoke,” she murmured, struggling not to falter. “My response to your situation was entirely unsympathetic, and undeservedly harsh. My temperament at the time was not balanced, and it is you who bore the brunt of that. I am sorry, truly, I am.”

He was quiet for a moment. A terrifying, excruciating moment. Until, that is, he said:

“You needn’t apologise to me.”

Trevelyan blinked. “What?”

“Nothing of what you said to me that day was incorrect or undeserved,” the Commander told her, voice firm. “You had every right to despise me. I treated you all disgracefully.”

He lifted his head, if only for a second, to look at her—despite the pain it seemed to bring.

“It was not your fault, but mine. There is nothing for you to apologise for. I am sorry. For everything I did.”

She waited until his head dipped back down, and moved a little closer. “But even if I were upset, even if I were right, I needn’t have been so wicked in how I addressed you.”

“No. I deserved to know the consequences of my actions, in as clear and difficult terms as possible. I was cruel, and ignorant. I needed to understand the hurt I had caused. Especially to you. And... I am sorry that I did, cause it.”

Trevelyan sank to her knees before him. Gently, she took the napkin from his grasp, and examined his nose.

“The bleeding’s stopped,” she told him.

Unable to meet her eye, he nodded, head still bowed.

“I understand why you did it,” she muttered. “Lady Montilyet explained to me, what the court of Orlais has put you through. Were I faced with the same, I cannot imagine I would have acted differently.”

The Commander’s head shook. “You would. You would never have done what I did to all of you.”

“Oh, come, Commander. You’ve seen my less savoury side, now.” She folded the napkin, so that it formed a clean little square. “You should have heard the things I called you the first night we met.”

“Deserved, I’m sure.”

“Stop punishing yourself, Commander.” Trevelyan raised the napkin to his face. “May I?”

He nodded. She placed her fingertips beneath his chin, and tilted his head. The cloth was dabbed upon a small cut, lancing across his cheek.

“Besides,” she said, “I hear you’ve had punishment enough.”

The mere mention was enough to eke a little smirk from his mouth.

“Yes, the Ladies made quite sure of that,” he murmured. “I... ought to have listened to you, and Lady Montilyet. They are good women.”

“Impressive, even?” she suggested.

“Yes.”

Trevelyan smiled. She turned his head, and brushed dirt from his other cheek.

“Their ‘punishments’ were more endearing than I believe was intended,” the Commander confessed. “I quite enjoyed their company.”

“Finally.” Trevelyan withdrew her hand, let him face forward once more. “I told you.”

“You did. Though… I was right about one thing.”

“What is that?”

He smiled, eyes askance. “I still much prefer yours.”

“Oh.”

Trevelyan stared at him. No longer seeking his skin for wounds, she took in his face, closer now than it had ever been. Every prick of stubble was in perfect focus. The exact curve of the scar that marred his lip. Each lash that framed his honey eyes.

She caught their gaze.

“Um…”

The door burst open. Trevelyan scrambled to her feet, shoving the napkin into her pocket. Lady Orroat—halfway-out of her own armour—strode in, with Lady Erridge hanging upon her arm.

“Oh!” gasped Erridge, eyes wide at seeing Trevelyan. “Lady Trevelyan is here. Um, dearest Hul, perhaps we should leave them, for a moment—”

Lady Orroat, apparently as oblivious in nature as her fiance, continued regardless. “But we must make certain the Commander is all right,” she begged, marching for where he sat. She winced, upon seeing his face. “Oh, Maker, I am so sorry, Commander.”

“It’s fine,” he said, though Trevelyan could not help but note a hint of confusion in his voice. He mouthed, to Lady Orroat: “Does she know?”

‘She’ referring here to Lady Erridge—who promptly began to giggle.

“I’m afraid I do!” she confessed. “My dear Lady confessed all to me after the duel had ended—though I had suspected it might be a ruse. Dear Hul would never truly be so insistent upon fighting if I objected so!” She took Orroat’s hand, and squeezed it tight. “Oh, it was so terribly romantic. Thank you, Commander. I am ever so sorry that it got you hurt.”

He waved it off. “Perhaps that makes us even.”

Erridge nodded. “I believe it does.” She glanced between Trevelyan and the Commander once more, and tugged at Orroat’s hand. “Come, my love, we’d best be off.”

Orroat finally allowed herself to be led away—but as they left, called out:

“There’s been some kind of impromptu party arranged at the tavern nearby! Do come along!”

“No, no,” said Erridge, hurrying Orroat out of the door, “stay here as long as you like!”

The door swung shut, and silence fell again. Trevelyan looked to the Commander. He had begun to reoccupy himself with the removal of his armour, and was already busy loosening his greaves.

“Is that why you invited Lady Orroat here?” she asked.

He glanced up. “Hm?”

“You conspired with Lady Orroat to stage a duel?”

The Commander released the straps, and straightened up. “Not originally. I invited her because I realised Lady Erridge cared for her. I thought it might be a start, at making amends. I spoke to her privately after she arrived. She told me of how she and Lady Erridge had met—through a duel, between a boy and Lady Orroat.”

Trevelyan nodded. “Lady Erridge told me the same story.”

“I suggested we recreate the circumstances, to provide Lady Orroat an opportunity to reveal her affection. I thought it... might be poetic, in some way.”

He shrugged. Trevelyan smiled. A little warmth gathered in her chest.

She moved closer.

“Will you be attending the party, Commander?”

He shook his head, and continued working off his greave. “I am unsure the loser would be welcome at the celebration.”

“I believe it would a show of humility,” Trevelyan teased. “You do have an arrogant streak.”

“I’m working on it.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it.”

The Commander glanced up at her, hand finding the back of his neck. “I, ah…”

Trevelyan giggled. “Here,” she said, offering him the napkin, sullied as it was, “in case you need it. I’d best get to the party, before any rumours start.”

He took it, and nodded. “Yes, of course, ah…”

“Perhaps I will see you,” she said.

“Perhaps.”

She smiled, and bid him farewell with a curtsy. He bowed as best he could, and watched her go.

Trevelyan had thought, that when she spoke to him again, she would know what she wanted. Whether she wanted to forgive him, whether she wanted to trust him.

She was right, in a way. For when she glanced back, one last time, before slipping through the door—she knew exactly what she wanted.

It was simply not an option she’d expected.

#unwanted fic #unwanted #cullen rutherford #cullen x trevelyan #you know what those tags mean folks #he's here #and ohoohoooohohohooo #spoiler warning for the next tags #i've been soooo looking forward to this. the tension. the atmosphere. cullen panting and sweaty. it's got it all #on the other hand i am very sorry because next chapter is not the party as nothing of import is going to happen there #and cullen does not show up #but dont worry #there's another party coming soon enough #(and congrats to anyone who gets the deep cut cullen girlie reference in this chapter lol)#(btw this was 99% done for days but it took me so long to get the beginning right that i kept it back and im glad i did bc i like it now)

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kmenkea · 1 year ago

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Bloodlust - Part 1

A/N: This is the first chapter of my Astarion Fanfic. It will mostly follow actual in game conversation, but I will expand on them greatly. The main reason I'm writing it is because I felt like there was a gap in all these stories: none of them had an explicitly evil or morally grey Tav. I like my anti-heros and I want to share this love to everyone.

Leeith is the character I'm playing (first run, still at act 2). I made up a whole backstory for her, so excuse me while I also try to develop her.

I have a plan of where things will go and I might keep writing even after the events of the game.

Other than that, feedback is very much appreciated. I tried to stay true to the companions personality, but it is hard to write characters which aren't my own. Hopefully it won't ruin your experience.

I will also try to add a quick doodle to each chapter.

The smut will come in like 2 chapters, but I did leave some breadcrumbs around.

There's lots of Gale hate because he insulted me and I never forgave him.

Word count: 4.6k

Summary: Leeith is quick to mistrust. Astarion seemed extremely suspicious that night. Fortunately, he was just thinking about their companions blood. The pair decides to take some time to themselves, away from the party.

Read on AO3

Leeith’s eyes were transfixed in the fire, chin resting on her knees to relax. The moon was high up in the sky, casting its light on the camp. They had set it up in a clearing, where a large rock stood in the middle, overseeing all the tents that had been put up around it. The place was quiet and green, covered on most sides by the mountains, except that for a little lake, which sang its song: calm waves caressing the shore. Some bedrolls were laying around the fire, for whoever preferred to sleep near the pit, rather than alone.

The drow was one of them: being in the centre of camp meant that it was going to be a lot harder for any threat to sneak up during the night and slit her throat without anyone noticing. Plus, she didn’t know how to put up a tent. It just looked horrible, barely able to ward off the wind and rain, giving free reign to the cold to bother her all night long. The underdark was much better, full of caves and alcoves to hide, with little rain to worry about. The only thing she would miss if she returned back home was the gentle light of the moon and all the stars.

The drow extended her hand out, testing the flexibility of her wrist: she had slipped in a puddle of mud and down a small cliff the day prior. In the fall the clothes had got torn apart, too damaged to repair even with magic, so Shadowheart had to part with one of her suits. It wasn’t too bad, and the drow was actually happy with the change: the dark cloth suited her better, bringing out the colour from her pale grey skin. Her hair was a black, grey and red mess, as if she was hit by one of her own eldritch blasts, but that was the norm for her. It was much easier to just take a dagger and shorten it whenever it was needed, than having to deal with braids and coils, just for it to look like a bird nest right after any fight.

The stinging pain returned when she flicked her wrist too fast: the bone wasn't broken, but the flesh still swelled up. That was her casting hand and the recoil from her blasts wasn't helping the recovery. Alas, she couldn't take the time to rest. Everyone relied on her planning and she certainly didn't trust anyone enough to go out without her present to keep track of everything.

Many of her companions were reliable fighters, above all Lae’zel, strong and able to perform all tasks with extraordinary efficiency. She respected her, even if she was hard to deal with at times: her arrogance came from mastery of her abilities, so it was righteous. Shadowheart was quiet, but didn’t seem the type to backstab anyone. The cleric had two motives: she wanted her mission to be over and the tadpole out of her brain, the best way to get both was to travel together. Then there was Wyll and Gale: the first seemed too much like an honourable hero with a heart of gold. The drow didn’t trust him one bit. Her methods were ruthless and often involved cruelty, so she would rather keep him occupied with other errands, than take the chance of him making a scene during a crucial moment. Gale, well, he was just an asshole and not the funny kind. His ego was inflated like that of a beholder, always spewing some bullshit about how great he was compared to everyone else. She didn’t feel like that at first, but his comment on her being just a lowly warlock, rather than a learned and mighty wizard like him, had hit just the wrong nerve. He was relegated to cannon fodder for now.

Which left her with one last person, reliable for sure, but something always felt off. More off than him being a blood-sucker spawn. Too nice, too perfect, too flirty. Just enough mistakes to make her believe that maybe that was his true self. Enough said about his past for her to know what she was dealing with and what his motives were: control the tadpole, kill Cazador, gain freedom. Commendable. And useful. Just as a spawn, Astarion already had an edge, a natural talent that only required a few drops of blood to kick in; a full vampire would have proved a most formidable ally. But only if it was governable.

As she laid there, analysing and planning, Astarion's eyes were darting around, pensively. He was trying to hide his face with the large book in his hands, staring at the words, before gazing back up again; in all this time the page had been turned maybe once or twice, so either he was reading a very difficult passage or, more likely, was just trying to conceal some plot that was forming in his head. A good few times Leeith caught him staring at her, but their eyes never met. She wanted to lull him in a sense of false security, so that the drow could learn what his intentions were and why he was checking everyone out.

Her patience though was wearing thin and Astarion seemed pretty content to stand there still. The elf’s sanguine gaze fell on her again, but this time, it was met. She could almost see her reflection in it: they shared the same eye colour, though for her kind it wasn't unheard of to have red irises. The vampire didn’t flinch, appearing nonchalant even after having been discovered with his hands right in the pie.

Leeith stood up, dusting some ash away from her bottom and walked over to him with a smirk.

"Astarion!" she started. "How are you doing this fine night? Is that book any fun? You seem extremely absorbed by it." Her arms followed her words theatrically, to end up crossing in front of her chest. Astarion closed the book, holding it below the armpit.

"There you are. Quite a fine and serene night, made all the better by your presence." He put the book on a nearby table.

"You're too gracious. I didn't know surface elves were still taught courtesy… or discretely ploying." He seemed unfazed, still observing her from under his brow. Leeith walked past him, to sit in one of the many pillows which adorned his tent, giving it a pretty cosy atmosphere. The bit of blood splatter around, she did not mind. The elf soon followed, remaining at arms distance.

"I was just thinking about you." He sighed and shook his head with grace, the curls falling barely out of place. "And about that delicious moment we shared the other night." Leeith didn't even need the gestures towards her neck to understand what he was talking about. This had yet to explain why he was studying everyone, but she was starting to get a hitch of the reason.

"The moment when you bit me?" She decided to still play along.

"The very same." He nodded with a smile that looked genuine. For just a moment, his gaze fell down at the ground, absorbed in thought. His expression changed and though it still held a smile, it was also a lot more serious. For a moment more, no words were uttered, so that the only thing they heard was the lake and the crackling fire. His hands fiddled together for a split second, in search of the right words

"I've had this… condition for two hundred years. But, truth be told? You were my first." Those last few words were quiet, almost a whisper, but a smirk still lingered on his lips. The drow raised an eyebrow, harbouring disbelief and a slight weird sense of pride, if what he said was true. She didn’t get to rebut with anything, that his face returned jolly and his eyes skimmed over everyone once again, studying them and thinking gods-know-what in that wretched mind.

"In all these years I've only fed on beasts. Drinking the blood of thinking creatures is a different thing entirely." The vampire leaned closer, barely able to contain his hunger. "You were delectable." He purred, gently tracing Leeith’s neck, where two dark punctures were still more than visible. Leeith flinched at the unexpected touch, suddenly aware of how close they were laying. Astarion moved back, amused and excited, happy almost. "And now, I can't help but wonder how the others taste!" He laughed, gesturing towards the camp. Leeith holstered the imaginary dagger she was holding, grateful she didn't have to deal with a traitor. The smile returned to her lips, as she dropped her defences.

"Are you looking at other necks? I'm hurt!" Every word was filled with fake indignation. "I really thought we had something special, instead here you are, traitor, after I took your bit-rginity… that sounded better in my head." Astarion chuckled, if at her or at her pun she couldn't tell.

“Don’t worry, there’s enough of me to go around. I’m a man of tremendous appetites!” He placed a finger over his lip in thought. “Not that I think they’d volunteer, of course, but it doesn’t make me any less curious” He rested his weight on his elbow stretching his legs out. She did the same, propping her head up with one hand. Most men and women here on the surface looked so plain, with their brown hair and brown eyes. Even those with some special characteristics, like the devils, had little that interested her. But the vampire was different, skin and hair so fair they glimmered in the light and eyes red like her own, that spoke of subtle blood and violence. It was the charm of bloodlust that made him so attractive in her eyes, of stopping at nothing to survive and thrive, but revelling in the chaos caused, not be ashamed of the cruelty. More than once Leeith needed to defend the vampire from their travelling companions, especially the morning after being bitten. Truth be told, Astarion seemed more than ready to suck her dry that night. It made sense now: after two hundred years of wandering in the desert, thirsty and with rocks and knives thrown at him, the pale elf had found a source of clear water.

"Take Gale for example," the voice shook her awake from the vision of them laughing from high atop a mountain of corpses. "He strikes me as someone whose blood is rich, refined, like a well aged brandy.” Astarion twirled an imaginary glass. “But the Gith? What in the hell would she taste like?” The elf looked up, catching the drow’s eyes.

“Surely something exotic, like an Amnan liqueur.” Discussing the taste of blood wasn’t in tonight’s plan, but they were both having fun.

“Ohh! That sounds very appealing. I’m almost convinced.” She didn’t know if the other’s could listen and, frankly, she didn’t care. For the first time since leaving the underdark, the drow had met someone that did understand her. Being labelled as a mindless monster, just because he had been cursed to be a spawn, isolated him. Leeith too was always labelled as a low-life murderer because of her lineage, but she enjoyed the fear she’d strike in those below her.

“Could I convince you to kill someone less useful?” She raised an eyebrow and chuckled.

“No one is getting killed, I swear. We’re just- two friends talking.” He waved his hands between them. “So - in the spirit of theoretical questions - if you had to take a bite from one of them, who would it be?” He got closer, raising his eyebrow. For once he sounded actually happy, not just cheeky and overconfident. Leeith pondered, staring up at the stars. She glanced at him, noticing how his hair captured the colour of the moon and the light of the fire.

“You, of course.” His eyes opened up and he couldn’t hide a grin.

“Oh! I’m flattered. Who knew you had such taste.” His ego kicked in again.

“That… and the fact my blood doesn’t come free. It’s only fair I get a taste of you, after I shared my own.” Leeith reached up for his neck and, like he had done previously, caressed his scars. The feeling of cold skin was strange, even if she had lingered only an instant.

“Of course. It was a gift. One I do intend to repay.” His voice was much lower now, returning to his flirtatious attitude.

“All this talk made me realise I would love to get treated to a bottle of fine wine.” Leeith sighed. “You surface dwellers really do have much sweeter wines than the sour water we get downstairs.” Her gaze returned to Astarion, but wasn’t met. He was sitting back up again.

“Unfortunately, it will have to wait. All this talk is getting me hungry. I’d better find something I can actually sink my teeth into.” The vampire looked ready to be back on his feet.

A thought crossed her mind. Should she act upon it? It seemed like the perfect time and, truth be told, she was starting to get a soft spot for the elf. Laying there on those pillows, she moved her hair away from the neck, freeing her scars.

“And where would you go? Am I not delectable anymore?” She grinned, raising her arms above her head. “Unless of course you have acquired a taste for goblin.”

“Oh- well.” He fumbled, surprised by the offer. “Of course. I didn’t expect you enjoyed it enough to offer yourself again.” His cocky tone would have almost sounded perfect, if it wasn’t for the fact he didn’t move. He was stuck sitting there, waiting for something; a question still lingered on his tongue. Yet still, he couldn't help lick his teeth and lips.

“Don’t flatter yourself too much.” Leeith was tense, but still tried to keep a calm demeanour. “As you said in the past, I need you strong. If a bit of my blood is enough, then you can have it. I trust you won’t go overboard this time.” Astarion looked around camp. A few too many glances were being thrown in their direction, even the dog seemed to stop sniffing around just to focus on them. Leeith noticed too.

“Should we wait ‘till after dark?” His tone was hushed, but it didn’t mask his excitement.

“If it’s more comfortable for you not to have eyes on you, sure. In my opinion, it’s their fault for not looking away.” She giggled and stood up, stretching her back. “Well, I’ll go eat something more myself. Have a fun time with your book.”

Leeith returned to the fire, calling Scratch to her.

Not much time passed before everyone said their good nights to one another. Leeith spent the time studying a map of the region, thinking of ways to best ration their food during the following days of travel. The light kept getting dimmer in the fire, so she'd just chuck another log in. Scratch was sleeping beside her, shaking his paws at times. She glanced at Astarion's tent: the elf had the flap pulled down, but she could sense movement inside. They were the only two souls awake in the camp. He didn't need much sleep; she didn't feel the need to either, but her body was still weary and hurt in places. She wanted the day to be over and finally rest. The map was folded and put back in the backpack, then she walked to Astarion. The drow knocked on the floor and whispered his name. It didn't take long for him to appear.

"Yes, darling?" He was shirtless. Leeith took her time to respond, not really knowing how to ask. "Did the cat get your tongue?" Something metallic caught a ray of light. A moment later it was gone from his hands.

"I- well, are you still hungry? I am pretty tired, I kind of want to be done with today." She motioned at her bandaged wrist.

"Mh, I didn't think you were this impatient." Astarion made his voice deep, glancing at her with a seductive grin. "Well if you can't wait I'll find a boar or rabbit to snack on. Don't need to miss your beauty sleep for me." He disappeared back into the tent, but Leeith followed him.

"I can wait, just need an estimate." Sprawled on the floor there were a few bottles of blood, some empty, some full. At least the drow didn't have to ration the food for him, since he could provide for himself. More weirdly though, she also saw a pair of scissors, some thread and a small metal box full of pins. His white shirt was laying on the ground, the collar ripped off.

"I know you aren't a vampire, but you could have still asked before entering." He barked, annoyed at this invasion. The elf picked up the shirt and began to pin and sew the collar back on.

"Well, it's not like you're doing anything weird here. I didn't know you liked sewing… you could have fixed up my clothes instead of forcing me to borrow Shadowheart's!"

"I'm afraid your clothing was beyond repair even before it got torn apart. If anything that might have helped make it look better."

"Tks, I'll show you what true luxurious clothing is like; the underdark has the best spider silks imaginable, they feel like water around your body. You surface dwellers know nothing."

"And yet none of your ancestral fashion knowledge got to you, did it?" Replayed him. Leeith crossed her arms and furrowed her brow. If he was any other person, he would have already been made into a fine mist of gore, but his tone was too sarcastic for her to take it seriously.

"I'm done." he said at last, donning his shirt back on. "After you, darling." He pointed to the outside. The drow crawled away, soon followed by tonight's companion. Astarion stepped in front of her and, after making certain no one was around, directed her through a small hidden path. He was more than excited: she could see it in the way his hands trembled, his eyes flickered eagerly towards her, to make sure she was still following. Leeith caught him licking his lips once, the phantom sweetness of her blood still lingered on them.

Finally they got to a small river, with little flowers growing everywhere. It wasn't any random spot, the elf had put thought on where to lead her. Did he think a cute flower bed would have made her more trusting? Or was he just a romantic, wanting the moment to feel special for him? Not that it mattered. He didn't even need to set up a trap since the drow had offered herself.

"So?" She sat down, crossing her legs and looking up at the man. He soon followed, landing at her side, closer that he had ever been. She expected warmth to come from him, but again, nothing but cold dead flesh.

"So? Want to admire the stars before I go?" He teased, brushing her hair away from her neck. His hand fell on it, caressing it. His skin was soft and cared for, unlikely for a warrior. It smelled of fancy cologne and fabric soap.

"Maybe I will, Astarion. You don't seem that hungry after all." Leeith stretched her legs out, then lowered her head to the ground. Her eyes did search for the moon, but it was hidden among the clouds and leaves above her. Finally she shut them, bracing herself for the bite.

"What do you gain out of this? Why are you doing it?" He blurted out, not having moved an inch. His eyes were still bloodshot, but he was controlling himself. Leeith was puzzled.

"Nothing really. Why are you asking?" She lifted one of her eyebrows and rested her weight back in her elbows.

"You said it yourself, I'm borrowing your blood and you want something in return. What is that?"

"Well, I suppose it's true I never do anything for free, but I don't know. I wasn't actually expecting anything back. Again, you can treat me to a bottle of wine if you want, but otherwise, I'll be fine. It's just some blood, a good night's rest will take care of it."

"So, is this just… out of the goodness of your heart?" The way his voice got higher, it almost made him sound offended.

"Oh yes, Astarion. When the gods were handing out goodness, I skipped everything regarding not murdering people or threatening them, and grabbed bucketfuls of selfless vampire feeding acts. My soul aches for all the poor little starving vampires of this world." She placed a hand over her heart. His expression was undecipherable, a mix between confusion and indignation.

"Relax, Astarion." Leeith sighed and dropped the act, understanding his displeasure. "I don't know why I'm doing it, but it does help you, doesn't it? I see the way you fight and act after being able to eat something proper. It's a completely different you. A better you. I need that."

"Is this it?" He was still unsure. Was this it? Not even Leeith could tell. There wasn't a reason to give herself out like that. He was a perfectly good assassin even when hungry. The only ulterior motive was gaining his favour, so he’d still be on her side once killing and drinking Cazador. Not that she was going to tell him that. She scrolled her shoulders.

"Guess so." At that answer, he smirked again, returning to his old bastard self.

"Shall we make ourselves comfortable?" The vampire guided her down, supporting her head all the way. His body shifted over hers, putting his weight on his knees. For a moment, Leeith hoped his fingers would caress her stomach and move upwards to her ribs or down to her thighs. That didn't happen. Astarion just used his other hand to keep himself hovering above her. The drow closed her eyes and exposed her neck. A sharp pain followed. She whimpered and gripped his shoulders tight, clenching her jaw almost enough to break some teeth. Then the pain faded, substituted by a dull humming above her shoulder, in rhythm with her heartbeat. Astarion's tongue lapped at her skin.

"Easy now." He murmured, still with his lips on her. Was it just a thought he had? Leeith swore she could sense herself in his mind and him inside her. A similar feeling to the tadpole, but more fuzzy, deep into the recesses of their soul. The drow smiled, feeling his bliss as hers, the excitement of blood awakening something in them. For the first time, his body felt warm, alive, as he kept clinging to her sweet, sweet life. The elf was on edge. He didn't want this to finish, it felt better than any sex or drug or wine he's ever had. Just a moment more, just one more drop. Leeith’s mind was well and alive, shaking in shared joy. He needed this more than gold; he needed her to stay, to defend him from others. He couldn’t let the drow grow bored of him. As long as she trusted him, he wouldn’t have had to worry about monster hunters or Cazador’s goons; the warlock would have scared them off and, failing that, she was more than capable of crushing their bones. Her body was warm like the sun under him; He was going to cling to it for as long as he could.

The cold arrived too soon. The connection broke for an instant, as the drow below him got weaker. A wake up call.

He lifted his head up and almost felt like he needed to catch his breath, but his lungs were still dead. The vampire admired the wound on her neck: he had done a perfect job, with very little blood running off. They shared a glance as he went down on it again, just licking the few droplets on her shoulder.

Leeith tested the wound with one hand once he sat up. It hurt like hell, but it wasn't bleeding a lot. She undid the bandage on her wrist and used that to pat her neck dry. Astarion, by her side still, was brimming. His eyes were alive and shining like rubies, a faint smile was on his lips and he seemed not to have noticed that a drop of blood was about to fall down from his chin to his prized shirt. They sat in silence for a few minutes. The drow was the first to break it.

"So your hobby is sewing." She noted.

"I would call it less a hobby and more a useful skill. It's not like Cazador would give me his hand-me-downs." He spat, bile raising from inside of him.

"You're free now. You could buy anything you want."

"I quite like my clothes. And besides, where should I get anything? Maybe if we were in Baldur's gate I’d think about it, but here I could at best cover myself with twigs like those druids."

"Uhh… you wouldn't look too bad covered in fig leaves. I'm sure you'll find a way to make it work."

"Just because you want to see me nude, doesn't mean I'll concede myself to you so easily."

"Alright then, no more blood until I see you dressed with just one leaf." She wanted to sound serious, but the look on his face was worrying. Did he actually understand sarcasm?

"Hey, I'm still joking. No need to look at me like that."

"That reassures me. The thought of bedding a drow wasn't a pleasant one."

"Hey what?!" For once she was actually offended.

"Canings, ties, gags, whatever spiked torture device you have in your caves to get you off. Are you sure you are having sex down there, or just trying to eviscerate each other?"

"Well first and foremost, the "device" is called a spike cross and you aren't actually supposed to get off on that. Second, not my fault you surface elves are more sensitive than a babe. And third," she moved her lips close to his ear, whispering seductively. "I'll be gentle your first time, you'll still be able to sit the next day." She smirked, but couldn't hold in a chuckle.

"Is it true your men are slaves?" He asked all of a sudden.

"It depends. Most commoners, like me, have left the practice behind. Not that I wouldn't enjoy having a slave or two, but you know, either they consent or I buy one. Now, the matriarchs, they still cling to the old ways. In any case, most say it's not as bad as it was a few centuries ago. This doesn’t change the fact all men are unworthy and unclean in the Spider’s Queen eyes and her followers… like me, but I won’t chain you up unless you request me." She shrugged. Astarion was lost. His face was turned towards her, but his eyes were looking somewhere far. In that moment, Leeith remembered all that he had to go through, between the torture and the servitude.

"Hey," she placed a hand on his shoulder, trying to comfort him. "That won't happen anymore, alright. You're free now. Nothing can take that away and if they try, you aren't alone. I'll personally go into Cazador's lair and open all of his curtains, while you stand above his ashes. The sun will burn him, while you will be free." He shook his head.

"A naïve and puerile fantasy… but thank you. Shall we go? You said you were tired and don't think blood loss made you any stronger." He offered his hand and she took it. Even with that, standing up was not an easy task when her world kept spinning and going dark at the edges, but she managed.

"Lolth be graced, no one tells you the downsides of being a blood bag when you pick up this job." She joked, as they both walked back to camp.

#baldurs gate astarion #sketch #astarion x reader #bg3 astarion #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate fanfiction #astarion #astarion romance #astarion x tav #baldur's gate oc

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