#full fic

[arieslost]

quiet | op81

oscar piastri x fem!reader

summary: oscar is quiet in the ways he loves you.

word count: 1,620

warnings: disgusting levels of fluff

masterlist — join my tag list here!

© arieslost 2024. DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT PERMISSION.

– the sidewalk rule

You don’t even have to explain this to Oscar. In fact, he’s done it every single time the two of you walk together. You really don’t even notice until you see something on TikTok about it and think it would be fun to pay attention and see if he did it or not without you saying anything.

“Wanna go for a walk?” You ask him casually, and he nods, reaching for his sneakers.

Exercise tends to be the bane of your existence, a la Yuki Tsunoda, but you love to walk, and Oscar loves to walk with you. So whenever you ask him to go for a walk, no matter what he’s doing or how he’s feeling, he’ll always drop everything to go with you.

He holds the door open for you to go out first. “What kind of walk are you thinking, babe?”

“Mm, probably a longer one. It’s pretty nice out today.” You say, taking a deep breath of the fresh air. It feels so nice after being cooped up inside working for most of the day.

Lacing your fingers with his, you purposely place yourself on the outside of the sidewalk, but you don’t make it more than fifteen feet before Oscar stops both of you so abruptly that you nearly fall backwards.

“What? What’s wrong?” You ask your boyfriend, who is frowning.

“This is not right,” he mumbles, gently grabbing you by your shoulders and maneuvering you to the inside of the sidewalk. “You walk there. I walk here.”

“Why?” You feign innocence.

“I protect you,” he says, like it’s obvious. “I’m always on the outside to protect you.”

He says it with such conviction that you don’t bother telling him that you did it on purpose because you saw a TikTok. Instead, you press a kiss to his cheek, take his hand again, and go on your way on the proper side of the sidewalk.

– fixing your clothes

Sometimes, you think that Oscar is more attentive to you than you are to yourself. It’s like he’s gained a sixth sense dedicated entirely to you. This applies to microexpressions, body language, even when your clothes are even the tiniest bit askew.

You’re five minutes late to a work meeting, you can’t find your shoes, and you haven’t even left yet. Oscar watches you rush around the apartment, holding your bag and your keys in his hand so you don’t have to go looking for those either.

“I’m so fired after this,” you huff, forcing your feet into your shoes that you finally located and wincing when your fingers get stuck between your heel and the shoe.

“You won’t get fired,” he says gently. “This is the first time you’ve ever been late, and you’re a fantastic employee. I’m sure they’ll be understanding.”

“They’d better be, I need this job.” You mutter, shoving your arms into your jacket and buttoning it at the speed of light.

“You don’t need a job, I can take care of you.”

“Nice try, Osc. We’ve talked about this, I’m not going to be your sugar baby.”

“Trophy wife?”

You glare at him playfully. “I’ll see you later. Or in an hour, if I get fired.”

“You won’t get fired,” he repeats as you take your bag and keys from him. “Oh, wait a second!”

You pause as he reaches for you, undoing the uneven buttons courtesy of your hastiness and deftly buttoning them back up the right way. “There y’go, have a good day, honey.” He gives you a kiss and opens the door for you.

A few days later, Oscar comes home to see that his favorite hoodie is missing. He walks into the living room, where you’re curled up on the couch taking a nap, wearing the hoodie in question. He sits at your side, brushing your hair away from your face, and that’s when he notices that one of the drawstrings is tucked back behind your neck into the hoodie. It doesn’t look like it’s causing you any discomfort, since you’re asleep, but regardless he immediately starts to tug on it. You stir, and he freezes.

“No, don’t wake up,” he whispers. “Just fixing this for you.”

“M’kay, thanks Osc,” you reply, wrapping a hand around his wrist. “Cuddle me.”

“Baby, I just got home from work, I’m sweaty-”

“Don’t care,” you grumble, reaching for him when he stands up and causing the hoodie to ride up over your stomach. “Miss you. Cuddle me.”

“Let me shower quick, and then I’m all yours, okay?” He pulls the hem of the hoodie down as he leans over and kisses your forehead.

You twiddle the drawstring that he fixed between your fingers as you wait for him, thinking about how sweet he is to pay such close attention to you all the time.

– watching your favorite movies with you

Nobody is perfect, and in your eyes, Oscar’s only imperfection is that he’s never seen Star Wars. As a life-long, diehard fan, you decided to wait until you’d been with him for a few months to introduce him to that side of you and invite him over for a Star Wars marathon.

“I hope these live up to the hype,” Oscar teases, surveying the way you’ve decorated the entire living area with Star Wars paraphernalia, prepared Star Wars inspired snacks, and just laid a Star Wars blanket across the both of you.

“Are you joking? It will be everything I say it is and more, now be quiet.” You shush him as the main theme begins.

You peek over at him over and over throughout every movie, almost watching him more than the films to see how he reacts to every little moment. You start to watch him more intensely during Revenge of The Sith, but ultimately your focus goes back to the movie when Padme arrives on Mustafar to confront Anakin, Obi-Wan secretly in tow.

Oscar’s enjoying the movies, of course, but even without seeing them he knows how well you know this upcoming scene. He’s heard you recite it so many times under your breath at various times that he feels like he might be able to surprise you with his minimal well of knowledge within the next few minutes. He grins to himself as the penultimate moment of the scene grows closer and closer and you sit up straight, accidentally knocking his arm off of your shoulders without noticing as you move to the edge of the couch.

“I have brought peace, freedom, justice, and security to my new empire!” Anakin says on screen, and you say the words at the same time.

“Your new empire?” Obi-Wan replies. Oscar mouths the words along with him, gathering up his nerve.

“Don’t make me kill you,” you and Anakin warn.

“Anakin, my allegiance is to the Republic, to democracy!” Oscar exclaims, getting a little ahead of Obi-Wan in his enthusiasm.

“If you’re not with me,” you and Anakin say as you slowly turn to face your boyfriend, “then you’re my enemy.”

“Only a Sith deals in absolutes.” Oscar and Obi-Wan reply evenly, Oscar unable to hide the smile on his face at your barely contained excitement. “I will do what I must.”

“You will try.” Only Anakin says this final line, because you launch yourself at Oscar and bear hug him.

“You knew the lines! You did so well!” You cheer, kissing his head, his temple, his cheeks.

“You say them all in your sleep, that’s how I knew,” Oscar says, flushed from your sudden onslaught of affection.

“I do not!” He gives you a look. “Okay, I wouldn’t be surprised if I did, but still! You knew! I can’t believe- oh, wait, shh!” You shush him again, even though you’re the one talking. “Pay attention, this part is so good.”

Oscar’s smile doesn’t fade for the rest of the night as he pulls you back into his side, knowing that while this is the first, it definitely isn’t the last time he’s watching these movies with you.

– nose kisses

Oscar is the first and only person to kiss you on the nose, and you’re glad. It’s become such an Oscar thing that if anyone else did it you’d feel wrong.

The first time he did it had been a complete accident– all the lights were off already, you were both exhausted, and he was just trying to give you a goodnight kiss, but completely overshot your lips and ended up getting your nose instead.

“I’m too tired to apologize, I’ll do it in the morning,” he grumbled, and you had simply snuggled closer to him.

“S’alright, I liked it.”

After that it became the place he kissed you the most. He gives you a nose kiss first thing in the morning and last thing at night. At this point, he kisses your nose more than anywhere else, including your lips. You ask him for a kiss, and he kisses your nose.

“A real kiss,” you whine, and he furrows his eyebrows at you.

“That was a real kiss.”

“On the lips, like a normal person, please.”

Oscar crosses his arms over his chest. “Now hold on, I thought you said you liked it.”

“I do!” You protest. “It’s very sweet, but sometimes I want to actually kiss my boyfriend.”

He gives in easily, but the nose kisses are never ending. Posing for a picture? He wants to kiss your nose. Saying goodbye? You’re getting a nose kiss. He’s about to get in the car to race? He’s kissing your nose before he puts his helmet on.

While you love getting “real” kisses, Oscar’s nose kisses are more precious to you than any other kind of kiss.

note: here is the prompt list i used for this; this was a different format than how i usually write so i hope it was good! this is also the first full fic i’m posting that isn’t in the 3k word range which is shocking jdjfkfkf

requests are OPEN, and my inbox is always open for comments, criticism, and conversation! feel free to pop in!

reblogs are greatly appreciated <33

dividers by @/saradika !

tags (i’m sorry if i couldn’t tag you!): @venusacrossthestars @67-angelofthelordme-67 @emails-i-can-send @nelly187 @cixrosie @fangirl-dot-com @sainzluvrr @imheretoread @mellowarcadefun @yourbane @monsieurbacteria6 @c-losur3 @papayatori @ssprayberrythings @namgification @maih23 @evlkking @witchycarmen @ilovethispookie @maxverstappenfan79 @sya-skies @mia-rrrs @customsbyjcg-blog @hauntedphotographybookstaco @bigheartsthings @northpizzasposts @notturlover @riv3rbank @gesfjjsl @oliveisunstable @lily1sposts @sadbut-true0 @lilcowboy0 @alltoowelltaylor @kimis-gloves @superheroreader @alexmarie29 @anedpev @lalalaphie @waitingforsmartpeople @arrowenchantress @zillygoose @its-cat-eyes @gxllumsriddles @fionaschicken @mrsgeorgerussell63 @bre013 @lizzypiastri @blldsnjs @samantha-chicago @homosexualjohnwayne @opheliabluewolff @catbat011 @drivelikeiido @what-is-happening-helpp @decafmickey @tania2748 @steviesscoops @annahowardsworld @nessacarty1 @tswizzleismother @anythingforourmoonsy @meko-mt @solonelystill @tomriddleswhorecruxes @sammykiszkalover @landosgirl

[banddaidz]

"You're my little toy, and I don't like to share."

Katsuki Bakugou x Reader

WARNING⚠️: Dub-Con, Smut, Bullying, Debatably Bad Writing, I spelled Katsuki's name wrong and im too lazy to fix it.

You've been warned <3

Y/N walked into class with a sense of dread, her heart beating in her chest like a trapped bird. She knew what was coming, the same old routine that had become a sickening part of her school life. Katsuki Bakugo sat in the back, his eyes narrowing as she approached her desk. He was the epitome of toxic masculinity wrapped in a high school uniform, and she was his favorite target.

"Oh, look who it is," he sneered, as she tried to ignore him and focus on her book. "The useless little shit with the weird hair."

The classroom grew tense as all eyes shifted towards them. Y/N felt her cheeks burning with humiliation as she sat down and turned to face the front of the room, hoping that would be the end of it. But she knew better. The chair creaked as Bakugo leaned back, his fingers finding their way to the locks of her hair that fell just in front of her shoulder. He tugged, not hard enough to cause pain, but enough to make it clear that he was there, watching her, claiming his territory. The sensation of his touch made her skin crawl, but she didn't dare show it.

Mr. Aizawa, their homeroom teacher, strode into the room, his sharp gaze scanning over the students. He had a way of silencing a room without saying a word, his very presence demanding respect. He looked at Y/N with a flicker of concern, but she quickly dropped her gaze to avoid his scrutiny. She knew he'd noticed the tension between her and Bakugo, but she didn't want to make waves. Not today.

The lesson began, and Y/N found it impossible to focus. Her mind was racing with thoughts of the last time she had been alone with Bakugo, the way his hands had felt on her body, the way he had claimed her so roughly and without care for her feelings. She couldn't reconcile the monster he was in public with the one who sought her out in private. It was as if there were two of him, and she didn't know which one she hated more.

Mr. Aizawa's voice was a dull hum in the background as she took furtive glances at the clock, counting down the minutes until she could escape. She felt his eyes on her, but she kept her own gaze averted. The last thing she wanted was for him to ask questions she didn't have the answers to. Or worse, for him to see the dark circles under her eyes, the bruises she had hidden with makeup, the tremble in her hand as she held her pencil.

When the bell finally rang, signaling the end of class, she bolted up from her seat, her books clutched to her chest like a shield. She had become an expert at navigating the crowded hallways without drawing attention to herself. It was a skill she had honed out of necessity. She didn't want to give Bakugo any more opportunities to torment her today.

Mr. Aizawa's eyes followed her as she slipped out of the room, and she felt a pang of guilt for worrying him. But she didn't want his pity. Or worse, his intervention. That would only make things worse with Bakugo. She knew he wasn't the type to back down from a challenge, and she wasn't about to give him one.

Y/N's footsteps echoed in the empty hallway as she made her way towards the exit, her eyes darting to the windows that lined the corridor. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the floor that seemed to stretch out and grab at her ankles. She picked up the pace, her heart racing faster than it had during the most intense training sessions with All Might. The thought of Bakugo following her home was both terrifying and exhilarating. Her body responded in ways she didn't understand, a betrayal that made her stomach churn.

When she stepped outside, she took a deep breath of the crisp evening air, trying to shake off the feeling of being watched. The schoolyard was empty, the other students having already dispersed to their various after-school activities or homes. She started walking, her eyes scanning the surroundings for any sign of him. It was a game she had played many times before, a sadistic dance of cat and mouse that she never wanted to be a part of. But she couldn't shake the feeling that today was different.

Sure enough, she heard the telltale sound of his footsteps, the heavy tread that seemed to shake the very ground beneath her. She didn't turn around, didn't acknowledge his presence. Instead, she picked up her pace, her sneakers slapping against the concrete as she hurried towards the safety of the bustling streets. But she knew he was there, his shadow stretching out behind her like a dark promise of what was to come.

Y/N reached her house with trembling hands, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She fumbled with her keys, the metal cold and slippery against her sweat-slicked skin. Finally, she managed to get the door open and stepped inside, ready to slam it shut behind her. But before she could, a firm hand gripped the edge of the door, preventing it from closing. She froze, her heart hammering in her chest.

"Going home without saying goodbye?" Bakugo's voice was a low growl, and she felt his hot breath on the back of her neck as he leaned in. His smirk was palpable even without looking at him, the condescending tone of his words like a knife twisting in her gut. "That's not very nice, is it?"

Y/N swallowed hard, her hand clutching the doorframe as she stuttered out a response. "I-I didn't want to bother you." She could feel the tremor in her voice, the fear and anger warring within her. She wished she could turn around and tell him exactly what she thought of him, but she knew better. Instead, she took a shaky step backward, giving him enough space to enter.

Bakugo's grip on the door tightened, and he stepped inside, closing it behind him with a soft click that seemed to echo through the empty house. He moved closer, his hand sliding around her waist, his touch feather-light despite the heavy presence he exuded. "You never have to worry about bothering me, sweetheart," he murmured, his breath warm against her ear. The endearment made her stomach turn, but she forced herself to stay still, to not flinch away from his touch. His fingers trailed up her side, tracing the curve of her ribs, his thumb brushing against the side of her breast. It was a possessive gesture, one that made her skin crawl.

"Do you not like it when I play with you?" His voice was a low purr, the question laced with a hint of challenge. "Or do you hate me for it?"

Y/N stiffened in his embrace, her eyes squeezed shut as she tried to keep the tears at bay. She hated the way he talked to her, the way he treated her like she was something to be used and discarded. But she knew better than to show her true feelings. "I just... I don't understand why you have to be so cruel in front of everyone." Her voice was barely a whisper, her throat tight with the effort of holding back the emotions that threatened to spill over.

Bakugo's chuckle was dark and low, his grip on her waist tightening ever so slightly. "It's simple," he murmured, his breath hot against her cheek. "I do it to let them all know that you're mine. No one else gets to touch you, no one else gets to talk to you. You're my little toy, and I don't like to share."

With that, he began to undress her, his movements slow and deliberate. He pulled at the hem of her shirt, lifting it up and over her head in one smooth motion. His eyes roved over her exposed torso, lingering on the swell of her breasts that were just visible above the lacy edge of her bra. "Look at you," he whispered, his voice thick with something that might have been desire, or perhaps just the thrill of the power he held over her. "So pretty, but so fragile." He flicked the clasp of her bra open, letting it fall to the floor.

Her breath caught in her throat as he cupped one of her breasts, his thumb brushing over the nipple until it peaked. "You're like a delicate little bird," he murmured, his voice a dark caress that sent shivers down her spine. "So easy to break." He bent his head, his hot mouth closing around the sensitive flesh, his teeth grazing her nipple. She bit back a moan, her body responding despite herself. His other hand traveled down to her jeans, unbuttoning them with a practiced ease, the fabric parting to reveal the matching lacy underwear beneath.

With a rough shove, he pushed her backward, her legs giving out beneath her. She landed on the couch with a soft thump, the cushions molding to her body. He stepped closer, his hands sliding down her thighs, pushing them apart. "Look how wet you are for me," he said, his voice a mix of satisfaction and mockery. "You can't help but want it, can you?"

Bakugo's touch was like fire on her skin, setting it alight with a need she couldn't control. She hated herself for it, for the way her body responded to his cruelty, but she was powerless against the desire that surged through her. His hands moved to the waistband of her underwear, tugging them down her legs. He stepped back for a moment, taking in the sight of her exposed to him. "Spread your legs," he ordered, his eyes dark with lust.

Y/N obeyed, her cheeks burning as she parted her thighs for him. He smirked, his gaze shamelessly roving over her most intimate parts. She could feel the wetness pooling between her legs, and she knew he could see it too. It was a humiliating reminder of the power he held over her, and she felt a mix of anger and arousal that she didn't know how to process.

"You're so eager," he whispered, his breath hot against her neck as he leaned in to kiss her. His hand slid between her legs, his fingers pressing into her soft flesh with a possessive hunger. She gasped as he touched her, her body responding despite her mind's protests. His thumb found her clit, circling it with a maddening slowness that had her squirming on the couch. He chuckled darkly, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of her neck. "So sensitive," he murmured. "You're going to scream for me tonight."

The sound of his phone ringing shattered the tension, a harsh electronic intrusion into the intimate moment. He didn't bother to move his hand, keeping his fingers deep inside her as he reached for his pocket with his free hand. The phone's screen lit up with an unknown number, and he brought it to his ear, his expression bored. "What?" he snapped into the receiver, not bothering with a greeting.

Y/N's body tensed, her breath hitching as she tried to remain quiet. The sensation of his fingers moving within her was almost too much, her walls clenching around him involuntarily. She felt a bead of sweat trickle down her spine as she waited for him to finish his call, her eyes darting around the room for any escape. But she knew there was none, not now. His thumb brushed against her clit with purposeful strokes, sending waves of pleasure through her that she didn't want to feel but couldn't help but crave.

Her eyes squeezed shut, she bit down on her lower lip to muffle the sounds of her moans. It was a futile effort; she could feel the tension coiling inside her, building towards the inevitable climax. And just as she felt the first sparks of orgasm, his call ended with a curt, "Later," and he hung up, his grin wicked as he looked back down at her.

With a sudden jerk, he pulled his hand away, leaving her panting and desperately unsatisfied. The wetness between her legs felt cold and exposed in the absence of his touch. "Looks like we'll have to continue this another time," he said with a smug smile. "I've got somewhere to be."

Y/N walked into class with a sense of dread, her heart beating in her chest like a trapped bird. She knew what was coming, the same old routine that had become a sickening part of her school life. Katsuki Bakugo sat in the back, his eyes narrowing as she approached her desk. He was the epitome of toxic masculinity wrapped in a high school uniform, and she was his favorite target.

"Oh, look who it is," he sneered, as she tried to ignore him and focus on her book. "The useless little shit with the weird hair."

The classroom grew tense as all eyes shifted towards them. Y/N felt her cheeks burning with humiliation as she sat down and turned to face the front of the room, hoping that would be the end of it. But she knew better. The chair creaked as Bakugo leaned back, his fingers finding their way to the locks of her hair that fell just in front of her shoulder. He tugged, not hard enough to cause pain, but enough to make it clear that he was there, watching her, claiming his territory. The sensation of his touch made her skin crawl, but she didn't dare show it.

Mr. Aizawa, their homeroom teacher, strode into the room, his sharp gaze scanning over the students. He had a way of silencing a room without saying a word, his very presence demanding respect. He looked at Y/N with a flicker of concern, but she quickly dropped her gaze to avoid his scrutiny. She knew he'd noticed the tension between her and Bakugo, but she didn't want to make waves. Not today.

The lesson began, and Y/N found it impossible to focus. Her mind was racing with thoughts of the last time she had been alone with Bakugo, the way his hands had felt on her body, the way he had claimed her so roughly and without care for her feelings. She couldn't reconcile the monster he was in public with the one who sought her out in private. It was as if there were two of him, and she didn't know which one she hated more.

Mr. Aizawa's voice was a dull hum in the background as she took furtive glances at the clock, counting down the minutes until she could escape. She felt his eyes on her, but she kept her own gaze averted. The last thing she wanted was for him to ask questions she didn't have the answers to. Or worse, for him to see the dark circles under her eyes, the bruises she had hidden with makeup, the tremble in her hand as she held her pencil.

When the bell finally rang, signaling the end of class, she bolted up from her seat, her books clutched to her chest like a shield. She had become an expert at navigating the crowded hallways without drawing attention to herself. It was a skill she had honed out of necessity. She didn't want to give Bakugo any more opportunities to torment her today.

Mr. Aizawa's eyes followed her as she slipped out of the room, and she felt a pang of guilt for worrying him. But she didn't want his pity. Or worse, his intervention. That would only make things worse with Bakugo. She knew he wasn't the type to back down from a challenge, and she wasn't about to give him one.

Y/N's footsteps echoed in the empty hallway as she made her way towards the exit, her eyes darting to the windows that lined the corridor. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the floor that seemed to stretch out and grab at her ankles. She picked up the pace, her heart racing faster than it had during the most intense training sessions with All Might. The thought of Bakugo following her home was both terrifying and exhilarating. Her body responded in ways she didn't understand, a betrayal that made her stomach churn.

When she stepped outside, she took a deep breath of the crisp evening air, trying to shake off the feeling of being watched. The schoolyard was empty, the other students having already dispersed to their various after-school activities or homes. She started walking, her eyes scanning the surroundings for any sign of him. It was a game she had played many times before, a sadistic dance of cat and mouse that she never wanted to be a part of. But she couldn't shake the feeling that today was different.

Sure enough, she heard the telltale sound of his footsteps, the heavy tread that seemed to shake the very ground beneath her. She didn't turn around, didn't acknowledge his presence. Instead, she picked up her pace, her sneakers slapping against the concrete as she hurried towards the safety of the bustling streets. But she knew he was there, his shadow stretching out behind her like a dark promise of what was to come.

Y/N reached her house with trembling hands, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She fumbled with her keys, the metal cold and slippery against her sweat-slicked skin. Finally, she managed to get the door open and stepped inside, ready to slam it shut behind her. But before she could, a firm hand gripped the edge of the door, preventing it from closing. She froze, her heart hammering in her chest.

"Going home without saying goodbye?" Bakugo's voice was a low growl, and she felt his hot breath on the back of her neck as he leaned in. His smirk was palpable even without looking at him, the condescending tone of his words like a knife twisting in her gut. "That's not very nice, is it?"

Y/N swallowed hard, her hand clutching the doorframe as she stuttered out a response. "I-I didn't want to bother you." She could feel the tremor in her voice, the fear and anger warring within her. She wished she could turn around and tell him exactly what she thought of him, but she knew better. Instead, she took a shaky step backward, giving him enough space to enter.

Bakugo's grip on the door tightened, and he stepped inside, closing it behind him with a soft click that seemed to echo through the empty house. He moved closer, his hand sliding around her waist, his touch feather-light despite the heavy presence he exuded. "You never have to worry about bothering me, sweetheart," he murmured, his breath warm against her ear. The endearment made her stomach turn, but she forced herself to stay still, to not flinch away from his touch. His fingers trailed up her side, tracing the curve of her ribs, his thumb brushing against the side of her breast. It was a possessive gesture, one that made her skin crawl.

"Do you not like it when I play with you?" His voice was a low purr, the question laced with a hint of challenge. "Or do you hate me for it?"

Y/N stiffened in his embrace, her eyes squeezed shut as she tried to keep the tears at bay. She hated the way he talked to her, the way he treated her like she was something to be used and discarded. But she knew better than to show her true feelings. "I just... I don't understand why you have to be so cruel in front of everyone." Her voice was barely a whisper, her throat tight with the effort of holding back the emotions that threatened to spill over.

Bakugo's chuckle was dark and low, his grip on her waist tightening ever so slightly. "It's simple," he murmured, his breath hot against her cheek. "I do it to let them all know that you're mine. No one else gets to touch you, no one else gets to talk to you. You're my little toy, and I don't like to share."

With that, he began to undress her, his movements slow and deliberate. He pulled at the hem of her shirt, lifting it up and over her head in one smooth motion. His eyes roved over her exposed torso, lingering on the swell of her breasts that were just visible above the lacy edge of her bra. "Look at you," he whispered, his voice thick with something that might have been desire, or perhaps just the thrill of the power he held over her. "So pretty, but so fragile." He flicked the clasp of her bra open, letting it fall to the floor.

Her breath caught in her throat as he cupped one of her breasts, his thumb brushing over the nipple until it peaked. "You're like a delicate little bird," he murmured, his voice a dark caress that sent shivers down her spine. "So easy to break." He bent his head, his hot mouth closing around the sensitive flesh, his teeth grazing her nipple. She bit back a moan, her body responding despite herself. His other hand traveled down to her jeans, unbuttoning them with a practiced ease, the fabric parting to reveal the matching lacy underwear beneath.

With a rough shove, he pushed her backward, her legs giving out beneath her. She landed on the couch with a soft thump, the cushions molding to her body. He stepped closer, his hands sliding down her thighs, pushing them apart. "Look how wet you are for me," he said, his voice a mix of satisfaction and mockery. "You can't help but want it, can you?"

Bakugo's touch was like fire on her skin, setting it alight with a need she couldn't control. She hated herself for it, for the way her body responded to his cruelty, but she was powerless against the desire that surged through her. His hands moved to the waistband of her underwear, tugging them down her legs. He stepped back for a moment, taking in the sight of her exposed to him. "Spread your legs," he ordered, his eyes dark with lust.

Y/N obeyed, her cheeks burning as she parted her thighs for him. He smirked, his gaze shamelessly roving over her most intimate parts. She could feel the wetness pooling between her legs, and she knew he could see it too. It was a humiliating reminder of the power he held over her, and she felt a mix of anger and arousal that she didn't know how to process.

"You're so eager," he whispered, his breath hot against her neck as he leaned in to kiss her. His hand slid between her legs, his fingers pressing into her soft flesh with a possessive hunger. She gasped as he touched her, her body responding despite her mind's protests. His thumb found her clit, circling it with a maddening slowness that had her squirming on the couch. He chuckled darkly, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of her neck. "So sensitive," he murmured. "You're going to scream for me tonight."

The sound of his phone ringing shattered the tension, a harsh electronic intrusion into the intimate moment. He didn't bother to move his hand, keeping his fingers deep inside her as he reached for his pocket with his free hand. The phone's screen lit up with an unknown number, and he brought it to his ear, his expression bored. "What?" he snapped into the receiver, not bothering with a greeting.

Y/N's body tensed, her breath hitching as she tried to remain quiet. The sensation of his fingers moving within her was almost too much, her walls clenching around him involuntarily. She felt a bead of sweat trickle down her spine as she waited for him to finish his call, her eyes darting around the room for any escape. But she knew there was none, not now. His thumb brushed against her clit with purposeful strokes, sending waves of pleasure through her that she didn't want to feel but couldn't help but crave.

Her eyes squeezed shut, she bit down on her lower lip to muffle the sounds of her moans. It was a futile effort; she could feel the tension coiling inside her, building towards the inevitable climax. And just as she felt the first sparks of orgasm, his call ended with a curt, "Later," and he hung up, his grin wicked as he looked back down at her.

With a sudden jerk, he pulled his hand away, leaving her panting and desperately unsatisfied. The wetness between her legs felt cold and exposed in the absence of his touch. "Looks like we'll have to continue this another time," he said with a smug smile. "I've got somewhere to be."

Y/N felt a surge of disappointment, mingled with relief, as he straightened his clothes and made for the door. She watched him go, his confident strides taking him away from her and back into the night. She wanted to be angry with herself for the way she had reacted to his touch, but she couldn't help the feeling of emptiness that settled in her chest as she listened to his footsteps fade into the distance.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

GAAHHH it's been so long since I written a full fic and I miss it so much. I'm planning on making a post of what I do and don't write so it will be easier to get requests in the future. This lovely request came from an IRL friend of mine, and I decided to write it....a month after she asked...

Anyways Requests are open and I will write anything within reason, have a great day!

[anna-hawk]

You tell me you hate me [Yeah, I bet you do]

Shane Walsh x F!Reader

Summary: You and Shane never got along, yet desperate circumstances make you cross an unexpected line.

Warnings/Tags: Post ZA, Canon typical violence, Enemies to lovers, Near-death experience, Hate sex, Bearded Shane

WC 9,7k // Explicit 🔞

Written for the Beardthal Bash 2023

Read it on AO3

“No… Absolutely not.” 

You crossed your arms resolutely as you stared Rick down, the man standing across from you at the large table in the Greene dining room. He closed his eyes and rubbed over them as he sighed your name pleadingly. 

“Listen, I know that you don’t like him-”

“Trust me, it’s very much mutual,” you ground out under your breath with your top lip curling up in distaste. 

“So you know I wouldn’t be askin’ you if I had another option,” Rick continued without missing a beat. 

You gave him a surly look before looking down at the large map lying unfolded on the table. Various circles and other notes were scribbled all over it, highlighting spots with existing or possible food, ammunition and fuel supplies, as well as information on walker hordes and so on. 

“Everyone is gone doin’ something else and… I’d go myself if Judith wasn’t-”

“No, you can’t leave her alone,” you cut in, your voice softening at the mention of the baby. “She needs you.” 

You gritted your teeth as you thought. 

Running across the Greene Farm several months earlier with your little group of four friends, you hadn’t expected to find a lasting shelter and people that would quickly become the next best thing to a family. Especially since things had been tense, to say the least, when you’d arrived. Between Rick and Shane, in particular, since the two leaders of the group hadn't always seen eye to eye. Shane had been less than thrilled at the idea of letting you join, while Rick had tried to convince everyone that having more people around to help would be beneficial to everyone in the long run. Hershel Greene had been the one to put a stop to the argument, reminding Shane that he’d decided to open his doors for them just a couple of months earlier and that he’d be doing the same for you. Shane had left the room in a huff, muttering about more mouths to feed. While you’d understood his concerns, his aggressive behavior had your hackles rising instantly and fighting down the urge to snap back. Still, you’d felt beyond relieved to be invited to stay. Shane had ultimately stopped complaining when your group had proven its worth more than once over the following weeks. 

With you personally, it was an entirely different story. You and Shane never managed to get along. After that first day, the man’s attitude had kept rubbing you the wrong way. Simply put, he was an utter asshole, and you’d made sure he was aware of it any chance you got. Whether he liked it or not. Whenever you were in the same room, discussing chores and missions alongside Hershel, Daryl, Rick and Hunter, one from your original group, you’d end up sniping at each other. Whatever the one said or suggested, the other would find something to complain about. It wasn’t like you couldn’t admit that he came up with clever plans or that he was generally good at keeping everyone safe, it was more his snide remarks and the way he tried to mansplain everything. It made you feel like you needed to take him down a peg. 

A few weeks after your arrival, things changed between Rick and Shane on the day you all found out that Lori was pregnant. Rick had almost lost it at the idea of them having a child in this terrible new world, especially after coming so close to losing Carl, as you’d found out a few days after settling in. Yet, while the close call had clearly done something to Rick and Shane’s friendship, maybe triggering their fights because of how they suddenly viewed things, this news changed their relationship again. You didn’t know what had happened between them after they’d found out, but things had gotten better between the two men. While their relationship had slowly been mending, you sometimes felt like Shane was only able to get along with Rick again because he was fighting with you instead. 

Looking at the map now, you checked the distance separating you from the nearest general store that you knew still had food and other goods, like baby formula, among other things. A pang of sadness ran through you at the reminder that little Judith didn’t have her mother anymore. 

“Can’t I just go on my own?” you mumbled, knowing full well that you couldn’t with how far and dangerous the road was. 

“Told ya she wouldn’t like it.” 

Shane stepped through the dining room doors and joined Rick’s side, his eyes on you and a scowl tugging down his lips, the expression almost hidden in his beard. Almost. This winter had proven to be colder than the previous ones, and both Rick and Shane had let their beards grow out. While Rick’s was lighter and less long, Shane’s beard was thick and matched his curly dark hair. 

“Sure, because you like the idea of spending hours alone with me in a car,” you sneered with a roll of your eyes. Shane’s nostrils flared, and his eyes darkened unhappily at the prospect. “Yeah, thought as much,” you scoffed and returned your attention to Rick, who sighed at the two of you but focused on the map, understanding that the matter was settled, and you would go with Shane. 

“‘kay… You’ll need to take the pickup. Hershel said that the generator’s nearly out of fuel, so are a couple of the cars, and that place…” He pointed at the gas station across from the general store. “Still had some of the bigger gas cans the last time we checked it.” 

Picking up the list with the items you were supposed to find off the table, you quickly scanned it and nodded before turning your back on the men. 

“Meet me at the car in an hour,” you told Shane without a backward glance, it was late morning and the quicker you left, the sooner you’d be back and out of each other’s hair.  

His lack of answer was answer enough, so you left the room to get ready for the trip. 

Back in the room you shared with some of the other women, you dressed according to the situation before you headed to the makeshift armory to pick out a couple of guns and knives. 

“Going out too?” 

You turned to find your friend Nicole standing in the doorway, one of her arms in a sling. She’d nearly gotten bit by a walker the previous week and thankfully only came out with a sprained shoulder. 

You nodded briefly and returned your attention to checking the bullets in the magazine and adding a few when you noticed that it wasn’t full. 

“What’s wrong? I’d have thought you’d be happy to get out of here for a bit.”

You huffed out a small laugh through your nose at her remark. She really knew you well. 

“I’m going with Shane,” you said simply, as you turned around, knowing that it would be enough to explain your mood. 

Sure enough, she grimaced. “Oh.” 

It was no secret to anyone how Shane and you felt about each other. But you were actually the odd one. As with most people in the group, except for Dale, since the older man had a penchant for being nosy, and you didn’t enjoy that about him either, Shane actually got along with Nicole rather well. It was the same for her sister Jasmine, and just as much for Hunter. They’d been as angry as you about Shane’s behavior at the start, but they’d all warmed up to the man quickly enough after a while, and it had gone both ways. Jasmine and Shane had even flirted around for a bit, before Hunter had come through and snatched her away, much to Andrea’s relief, who’d seemed to carry a torch for Shane for a while. Objectively speaking, you’d have been interested as well had Shane not been… Shane. While you shared most of your thoughts with Nicole, you certainly hadn’t admitted to finding Shane attractive. Even less about how good the beard looked on him.

“Yep.” You finished with the guns and put them into their holsters at your hips, along with a knife, while the other one went to an ankle. 

“Shit… I’m sorry. I wish I could go and-” she started, fidgeting with the sling at your situation. 

“Hey, no, no.” You gently grabbed her by her good shoulder and clasped the hand of the injured one as you gave her a reassuring smile. “It’s fine, don’t worry, okay?” 

Nicole sighed and nodded. “Maybe… try not to kill each other?” she smiled feebly, as you let go of her, and she watched you walk past her and to the main hall. 

You snorted loudly. “No promises there.” You briefly turned towards her again and gave her a small smile. “See you later.” 

Your last stop was the small box sitting against the entrance door wall, containing all the car keys. Opening it, you grabbed the key ring for the pickup and made your way outside, glad that the weather was sunny even if the temperature was rather crisp. 

Before the whole hour had gone by, Shane joined you at the car, rifle slung over his shoulder as he stalked towards you with a duffle bag in his other hand. 

“Where are the keys?” he barked, putting his stuff in the bed of the pickup except for the rifle. 

You lifted a fist in front of you and opened the palm, letting the keys dangle from the ring sitting around your finger. 

“I’m driving,” you smirked, snapping your hand closed before Shane could get the idea of taking them from you.

“Ah, Christ,” he groused, throwing you a dirty look before heading towards the passenger side and climbing in with the gun. 

Grinning in satisfaction at his reaction, you took your seat behind the wheel and started the car. You drove down the small dirt road that led to the gate and found Dale checking the perimeter. He picked up his pace to reach the gate and opened it for you. The older man grinned at you before he noticed Shane, his smile turning into an apprehensive expression. You opened the window as you rolled up to him. 

“Rick said you’d be heading out but…” he said as he looked through the window, his voice trailing off. You could still hear the ‘I didn’t know it would be with Shane’ part. “You be careful, alright?” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Shane grumbled with a roll of his eyes, while you just gave Dale a tight smile and a nod. 

Nodding in silence, Dale stepped back while you pressed the button to get the window back up and drove through the gate. 

“Meddlin’ ol’ man,” Shane muttered to himself, as he stared out his side of the car. 

You didn’t say anything, agreeing with him for once. 

After driving for a long while in complete silence without meeting any walkers, you turned at an intersection. Shane sat up straighter from the slumped position he'd been in and looked around himself. 

“What are you doin'?” he snapped.

You glanced at him with a raised eyebrow. “Driving to the store?” you replied with a tone that clearly stated ‘duh’. 

“Exactly. You shouldn’t have turned here. See, this is why I should’ve driven cause-”

“Oh, fuck you, Shane,” you bit back. “FYI, if you’d checked the map, you’d know that this is actually a shortcut. Trust me, this’ll save us at least twenty minutes.” 

“Trust you,” he rumbled under his breath, while his eyes kept checking your surroundings. 

You lifted your eyes heavenwards and sighed, mentally preparing yourself for his explanation of why he did, in fact, not trust you at all. To your surprise, though, he didn’t say anything else and only put his chin in his palm, his elbow on the door as he looked ahead. 

As promised, you arrived at the store earlier than through the original route. Since Shane had accepted your decision without too much complaining, you chose to pay him back by not going ‘I told you so’, like you actually wanted to. Instead, you parked at the gas station and slowly got out of the car, your knife in the hand under the one holding the gun. Throwing a quick glance at Shane, he nodded at you in silent understanding as you both moved to the front of the car and then took each one side of the building to inspect it. You came back to the entrance at about the same time, and Shane pushed the glass door open with a little more noise than necessary to lure any potential walkers out. Shane went in first, while you checked your back before following him inside. 

A gurgling sound came from your left. Two walkers slowly stumbled towards you, one in a more advanced state of decay than the other. You and Shane quickly took them out with your knives before you made your way through the couple of aisles to check for any potential items of interest. After several long minutes, in which you did find a few useful things like batteries and the likes, Shane walked up to you with his own large canvas bag in hand. 

“Let’s get this ball rollin’, beautiful, and get the gas,” Shane suggested, as he leaned against the aisle you were inspecting with his shoulder and jerked his chin towards the entrance door. 

“Don’t call me that,” you huffed in annoyance without looking at him as you put one last item in your bag. 

You heard him scoff. “What, you prefer I call you dick or bitch or somethin’?”

Facing him with an exaggerated roll of your eyes, you stared at him with an unimpressed expression. It wasn’t the first time he’d done something like that. Shane was someone who easily used endearments and pet names, and you knew that it sometimes just slipped out, but considering your relationship, it simply didn’t sound right.

“Well, at least it would be more honest, wouldn’t it? But how about just calling me by my actual name?” 

Shane gave you a long look before he shook his head and laughed through his nose. 

“Y’know, just ‘cause you’re a fuckin’ pain in the ass and I could sometimes…” He made a strangling motion that had you actually snorting because that feeling sure did go both ways. “Don’ change the fact that you are.”

“Are what?” you asked suspiciously. 

“Beautiful.” He shrugged and gave you a quick once over. 

Not having expected that reply at all, your eyebrows lifted high on your forehead. You knew, without a doubt, that he was absolutely honest. Shane wasn’t someone for false pleasantries, and especially not with you. 

“Let’s just go get the gas,” you said after a couple of seconds, as you shook your head in bemusement. 

Shane only nodded and followed you outside to find the gas cans and cylinders. He drove the rear of the pickup closer to where they were stocked to make loading the car easier. There were quite a few cans left, and you felt lucky that your group had stumbled upon this little town on your way to the farm, the place recluse enough that it hadn’t been fully raided yet. Once you were done with the gas, you jogged across the road to the general store and repeated the same process as before to make sure that there was no threat. This time the coast was clear, and you separated again, with each taking a piece of the list to search for what you needed. 

You didn’t know how much time went by, but you did take your time filling the four large bags you had with you. The weather could change any day and the less frequently you needed to leave the farm, the better. Meaning that stocking up as much as possible was the way to go. Seeing how Shane meticulously scanned each aisle, he was thinking the same thing. Coming back to the front of the store, you noticed movement out of your peripheral vision and snapped your attention in that direction. Your eyes widened in terror as you took in what was happening outside. 

“Shane,” you hissed urgently, not daring to look away from the large horde that had slowly snuck up on you and was spreading through town. “Shane,” you said more loudly and finally turned to look at him.

The horde was still far enough away that none of the walkers would have been able to hear you, but you weren’t taking any chances. 

“What?” he snapped, only for his eyebrows to lower in confusion as he saw your expression. 

You saw the second he noticed the horde as his eyes looked past you and they widened like yours had. 

“Fuck,” he hissed, while quickly joining you and checking the scene, the two of you crouching down to be out of sight and peaking around the aisle. 

“There’s no way we can reach the car,” you muttered before throwing a glance at Shane, who was still looking outside, but nodded in agreement. 

You watched the front of the horde surround the pickup as it went past the car and continued ahead of the road. 

“They should just walk past us,” Shane said in a low tone, one hand on his rifle anyway, ready to aim. 

You were about to hum in agreement, when there was a commotion at the gas station and several loud crashes came from where the gas cans and cylinders stood. A few cylinders rolled into the direction of the store, and you cursed yourselves for leaving the empty ones standing next to the pickup instead of putting them away. Some of the walkers must have knocked into them as they passed. To your horror, the noise caused the horde to shift its focus, and some of the walkers began turning towards the store. 

“We gotta move,” you gasped out, as neither of you were able to hide quickly enough and you realized that a handful of walkers had seen you. 

To your surprise, Shane shot forward to the entrance, jumping over the register, instead of following you to the back. About to yell at him for his actions, you saw him locking the doors right before a small dozen of walkers crashed against the windows. 

“That’s only gonna buy us a little time,” he panted, as he ran back to you and you both grabbed the bags to hurry to the other side of the store. 

Sure enough, a few seconds later you could hear thudding sounds coming from the front, as well as cracking glass. If the whole horde pressed against the front side, the glass panels would shatter underneath the pressure, and they’d be able to get in. As the noises got louder and louder, you tried to keep a level head to think. There was an exit at the back, but it was locked, and you wouldn’t have the time to pry the door open before the walkers got in. Or the noise of you trying to open it would lure others around to stop you from leaving. Shane seemed to come to the same conclusion as he stared at the door and then at you. 

“The stairwell’s blocked too,” you sighed, as you leaned against an aisle. 

The store had another floor, with private rooms, you guessed, since the door leading to the stairs had a sign with “Private – No entry” on it. Shane nodded in acknowledgement and leaned back across from you. You felt strangely calm at your imminent death. 

“Can’t believe I’m going to kick the bucket with you,” you chuckled, as you breathed out slowly. 

Shane barked out a sharp laugh. “Could’ve been with Dale,” he smirked, knowing that this was one of the few things you agreed on. 

You snorted loudly and nodded. “Mmh, small mercies and all that, I guess. ” 

Shane hummed, while you leaned your head back and looked at the ceiling. And frowned. Some of the styrofoam tiles had fallen off, showing the metal of the air vents, the cabling… And a large hole to one side, revealing parts of the stairs above. It looked like the wall the stairwell was in had collapsed for whatever reason, and the fallen debris had caused the ceiling to break through. With several of the aisles knocked over and the general state of the store, you hadn’t bothered to check where the rubble lying on the floor had come from. 

“Shane,” you breathed, pointing to the hole in the ceiling. 

His eyes followed the direction your finger pointed at, then he turned to get a better view after realizing what you’d seen. 

“Come on,” he said urgently, as the first crashes of glass started. 

Shane jumped on top of the aisle closest to the opening in the ceiling and reached down a hand for you to pass him the bags. The list fell out of one of your bags and fluttered to the ground. About to grasp Shane’s proffered hand to help you up as well, your eyes picked up one word on the list. The item that you’d been about to get right before you’d seen the horde. 

“Be back in a sec,” you yelled, turning tails and running off, ignoring the sounds of the undead as they walked inside. 

“The fuck are you doing?!” Shane bellowed after you.

You skidded to a halt in the desired aisle, coming face to face with a walker who stumbled in our direction. With a well-placed hit of your knife to his head, it fell to the floor, leaving you to pick up what you’d come for. Turning around to run back to Shane, your path was blocked by three walkers this time, and others coming from the right. Cursing, you turned to the left and then right again, ducking the outstretched hands of some other walkers following you into the aisle you’d just walked in. One of them managed to grab the back of your coat, but before you could turn and do anything about it, another one came in from your other side. The sound of a gun shot rang through the whole store as Shane aimed from his spot on the aisle, taking out one walker after the other as they came at you. This allowed you to jerk free of the loose grip of the now dead walker and dash towards the back of the store, jumping over bodies and avoiding the moving ones, one arm still holding on to a tall container.

“Move, move, move!” Shane barked at you, as you ran up to him at full speed. 

You threw him the container, which he quickly put next to him, before you jumped and caught his hand, the momentum helping him pull you up faster. Shane tugged you upright and shot the walker trying to grab your feet as soon as both of his hands were free again. 

“Get the fuck up there!” he yelled over the noise without looking at you. 

Shane had managed to stash the bags in the opening and you did the same with the container before you grabbed onto the bars that used to hold the large, styrofoam squares to lift you through the ceiling. It took some maneuvering since you had to move over the vents to get to the hole in the wall, but it was doable. After another shot rang out, you got into the best position to aim at the growing throng of walkers gathering at Shane's feet, the aisle rattling precariously now. 

“Move!” you shouted, taking out a walker that was tall and getting too close to Shane for comfort. 

Shane looked up and instantly jumped into action, sliding the rifle through the bars to stop it from falling. He smoothly slipped through the ceiling as well and stared down at the groaning and rasping creatures. 

“Can you reach the stairs or not?” he asked with his eyes still downcast. 

Satisfied that he was safe for now, you put your gun away and started moving further over the vents to reach the stairs. You had to push broken cinder blocks to the side, some falling and taking out other styrofoam squares. It took you a couple of minutes, but you finally managed to squeeze through the opening and land on the stairs. Which led to a closed door at the top. 

“Come on.” You stuck your head back through the hole to look down at Shane, the man working to get the bags over the vents and towards you. 

You took the bags from him one at a time and grabbed his arm to pull him through as well. He leveled you a questioning stare, one eyebrow lifted, as he saw the closed door. Shrugging, you both made your way towards the door. You reached for the handle with a glance at Shane, who slung the rifle into position. The door was thankfully unlocked and opened with a long creak to reveal a small apartment. You stood inside the door for several seconds, waiting in case something moved towards you. Shane gave you a quick nod, so you stepped over the threshold and checked the place. It looked surprisingly untouched, as if the owner had left before anything happened, or they left at the beginning. Considering the damage in the stairwell, something must have exploded close by, yet thankfully left the apartment undamaged. 

“We got water,” you announced with incredulous excitement as you reflexively tested the faucets in the bathroom

“And canned food,” Shane chimed in from the small kitchenette that was sitting to the left of the apartment, while a convertible couch took up the right side with a coffee table and a TV set. 

“It’s like a luxury hotel,” you laughed lightly as you ducked your head to drink straight from the faucet. 

You heard Shane chuckle at your comparison and hum in agreement. While he retrieved the bags, you walked to the long window in the living area and looked outside. 

“Think we’re stuck here for a while,” Shane grumbled after he’d joined you, observing the mass of walkers milling around everywhere. 

You nodded with a sigh. If there hadn’t been the incident with the gas cylinders, the horde would have probably walked through town without stopping and you’d have been safe to leave at some point. You would have had to find a different way home, but you would have managed. Now, who knew how long it would take for enough walkers to wander off for you to leave without being at too much of a risk?

“Jackpot,” Shane suddenly exclaimed, having you remove your attention from the window. 

You turned to find him holding a camping stove. It wasn’t the safest object to use indoors, but it was perfect to heat some of the cans Shane had found in the pantry. Despite the cold outside and the sun setting, you opened the window a crack to let some fresh air in and evacuate most of the carbon monoxide those kinds of stoves could produce. Shane nodded approvingly at that and turned it on after getting a couple of cans and plates. You’d found a large amount of canned food downstairs, but chose to leave the contents of the bags for the farm for now. Shane also found a few packs of tall candles and lit enough of them once the sun had gone down completely for you to walk through the place comfortably. You ate in silence while you also heated a large bucket of water before you checked the place for blankets and potential toiletries. While you did that, Shane took the hot water into the bathroom to clean up a bit. He came back wearing his jeans and a thick sweater that he got from the store. Before taking his place in the bathroom, your eyes caught onto his damp hair and beard, and the way the sweater hugged his broad shoulders and trim waist. Looking away and shaking your head, you closed the door while Shane looked through the items you’d both taken and reorganized them in the bags to make them easier to carry. With a pile of blankets in hand and feeling much better after getting to take the day’s filth off and dressing into fresh clothes as well, you found Shane sitting on the couch and staring down at the container you’d run back for. 

“You risked your life for baby formula,” he stated, his voice giving nothing away, the fire of the candle creating flickering lights on his profile. 

“We’re nearly out and Judith still needs it,” you shrugged, busying yourself with unfolding the blankets. 

“Do you ever think before you act?” Shane growled at how you dismissed his words. 

“What?” you ground out, facing him again. You must have heard him wrong, right? 

“What’s the point of pullin’ a stunt like that if it gets you killed?” 

“It didn’t, did it, though?”

“Because I was there to cover your sorry ass.”

You threw your hands in the air and sighed explosively. 

“Ugh, this is why I don’t like teaming up with you. You always complain about things that might have happened.” 

“No, what you don’t like it that I’m the only one remindin’ you that your actions can have fuckin’ consequences for you or even for all of us. You – don't – think. You just do your thing and expect us to go with it.” 

“You’re a fuckin’ hypocrite, Shane. Bossing everyone around and just deciding for everyone what’s best.” You strode up to him and stared him down. 

He rose to his feet and met your hard gaze head on. 

“Yeah, but I let people know before I do somethin’. But that’s what you don’t like, right? You're too good, too clever to bother listenin’ to others, let alone me.”

“Only because you treat me like I’m some fucking idiot little girl. I’ve gone through just as much shit as you before we got to the farm, but you act like I know shit…”

“No, no, no, I don’t treat you like some fuckin’ idiot little girl. If anythin’, I treat you like a fuckin’ idiot, period. Woman or not, I don’t give a shit. You’re a fuckin’ piece of work, is what you are. You’re so fuckin’ hot headed and stubborn, you just always expect whatever I say to be some kinda bullshit.” 

You bared your teeth at him. “Cause you keep underestimating me. No matter what I say or do, you never trust me from the start… Fuck!” you spat, your temper flaring white-hot. “You drive me fucking crazy.”

Shane watched you intently as you ranted at him, his mouth pulling up into a lopsided smirk.

“Yeah… but you wanna know what pisses you off even more about all this?” Shane asked, his voice lowering as he leaned towards you, his head tilting to one side. 

“Oh, please, do enlighten me,” you scoffed with sarcasm dripping all over your words, but didn’t pull your head away. 

“No matter how much you might hate me… you still wanna fuck me.”

“What?!” you choked on your laugh as you stared at him incredulously. What the hell?

“Come on, you don’t think I noticed, but I see the way you look at me.” He lifted an eyebrow with his smirk still in place. 

“And how exactly do I look at you, pray tell?” you snorted, your mouth pulling up in amusement despite yourself. That wasn’t how you had expected the argument to go. 

Shane nodded his head from one side to the other as if he were thinking about his answer. 

“Definitely like you wanna fight me… but preferably in a bed,” he leered, to which you rolled your eyes with another snort. 

“Hm, you sound awfully sure of yourself,” you humored him with a chuckle, resisting the desire to cross your arms, not wanting to look defensive. 

Shane’s eyes slowly roved over your whole body. Then he moved just slightly closer until your faces were only a few inches apart. 

“Well, haven’t heard you denyin’ it even once, have I?” he rumbled in a low voice. 

You held his gaze defiantly but remained silent as your heartbeat picked up speed. 

“I’m sure you thought of a couple o’ ways to… settle our disagreements,” Shane continued, grinning knowingly. That smug bastard. 

“Sure,” you shrugged. “But I’m not sure you’d like some of the ideas I had,” you hedged, your tone light but your gaze between cutting and sultry. 

Shane laughed under his breath. 

“Ah, come on, Darlin’. Tell me what got your pussy all wet while thinkin' o’ me?”

Heat slowly spread through your face and body at his crass words and direct approach. 

“Did you think ‘bout ridin’ my face to shut me up?”

You managed to school your expression into being neutrally entertained, since Shane had hit dead center with this one. Hearing him speak your most private fantasies out loud had you breathing faster. You’d thought about riding that stupidly beautiful mouth and nose a few times, for sure, but you weren't going to admit to that. 

“Or maybe you’d be so good at suckin’ my cock with that pretty mouth of yours that I'd stop talkin'.”

Smirking and shaking your head, you inclined your head to one side. “To me, it rather sounds like you thought about it quite a bit.” You’d meant for it to come out as a taunt, but your voice came out more breathy, Shane’s words getting to you. 

Shane drew his tongue over the edge of his upper teeth. “Yeah… Maybe I have,” he replied slowly.

You both stood like that, eyes locked and breathing fast, as if in a sort of stand-off; one waiting for the other to move or say something. To give in. You didn't know how long you stood like that, the anticipation rising until it was practically unbearable. You wanted Shane, you could admit it to yourself, but to him? And what about Shane? Despite what he’d said, did he really—

Then Shane’s eyes fell to your mouth. 

As if that look triggered everything into action, you were suddenly on each other, kissing and biting at each other’s mouths. You wouldn’t be able to know who moved first, but something between you had finally snapped with that one look. Hands fisted in shirts and hair or flew over chests and asses, your bodies in constant movement as every moment of conflict between the two of you poured out in that instant. You each fought for dominance, but neither was willing to give in, and it didn’t really matter anyway. It certainly didn’t matter to you. You only needed more of this. It felt incredibly liberating to push against Shane in that way and have him pushing back with just as much strength; just the feeling of his beard scraping against your mouth and chin had your nerve endings on fire. Both sets of hands simultaneously went to the buttons of each pair of jeans, fingers grappling to get them open as fast as possible before you’d even removed your sweaters. Your lips never stopped their hungry and vicious exploration of each other’s mouths as you both shimmied out of your jeans and underwear before stepping out of them. You took the opportunity of Shane getting a foot caught in one pant leg to push him down on the couch. He’d unfolded it into a bed while you’d been in the bathroom, meaning that he had to brace himself with his hands behind himself so he wouldn’t fall flat on his back. With a smirk, you straddled his lap and crushed your mouth into his again. Shane growled and caught you without missing a beat as he sat up and pulled you further down. His hands squeezed your ass as soon as you could feel his hard dick pressing into your crotch. Slightly rocking your hips and sliding yourself over his length – of course that asshole had to have a dick as big as his ego – your hands went to the bottom of his sweater and pulled it up and off, your lips parting for a brief second. A moment later, Shane did the same with your top. Except not entirely. Instead of pulling it off as you lifted your arms, Shane twisted the fabric around your wrists into a sort of bind, stopping you from freeing your hands. He kept you like that, your hands held behind your head before he tugged them back a bit more, forcing you to arch your back, which pushed your chest out. You were now fully naked and sitting astride Shane, but barely able to move. The various candles around you lit up his face and his wolfish grin right before he bent his head towards your breasts. You groaned as he wrapped his lips around one nipple and sucked on it hard. He bit and sucked, nibbled and pinched at each of them, his free hand playing with the one his mouth wasn’t focused on and drawing moans and small cries out of you. 

As much as you enjoyed his mouth and beard on your breasts, you refused to stay bound and unable to move. While Shane was leaving marks all over your chest, you wiggled and twisted your wrists until you were able to slip one hand free. Obviously, had it been a serious situation, you doubted that you’d have been able to get out of Shane’s hold that easily. Between his distraction and the loose fabric of the sweater, however, you soon had a hand between your legs and on his dick. Shane jerked in your hold, his head lifting to your face while he let go of your other hand. Planting your knees more firmly on the bed and putting your weight forward, you pressed at his shoulders with both hands this time, until he fell onto his back. 

“Got some ideas?” he smirked, his tongue dancing over his top lip. 

“Didn’t you say something about shutting you up?” you asked conversationally, as you pressed a biting kiss to his mouth, before you swiftly moved up his body until your knees were at each side of his head.

The way Shane’s eyes lit up as he caught the meaning of your words had your pulse racing in your chest and heat pooling in your center. He apparently had really thought about this scenario before as well. His arms wrapped around your thighs as you lowered yourself over his face. With parted lips, you looked down as you slid your folds over his lips and up over his nose. That ridiculously gorgeous nose. Maybe broad and faintly crooked, but this combined with the slope of it was what made it perfect for exactly what you were doing. It felt even better than what you’d pictured while getting yourself off. Between the physical stimulation and the view, you weren’t surprised to find his nose and mouth already coated in your juices. 

“You're so much easier to be around when your mouth's busy with something else,” you teased, as you repeated the motion with relish. 

Shane shot you a look that had you bracing yourself for an attack, expecting him to hold you still as he ate you out harshly, but he took you by surprise once again. He did hold you in place, but his tongue oh so slowly slid through your lips, parting them, running around them, teasing your entrance before dragging the tip up to your clit with the faintest of touches. With the addition of his beard that he was rubbing maddeningly over your sensitive skin, this actually drove you wilder than if he’d gone fast and hard. Especially, since his eyes never left yours, him watching you watching him. As he wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked on it with intent for the first time, he stared at you avidly, clearly getting off on the way your mouth opened further on a long cry of pleasure as you flung your head back in bliss. Leaning your head forward again, you fisted a hand in his hair and pulled his head back to rock your hips into his face harder. 

“Fuck yes, there we go, just like that,” you moaned, picking up speed as you rode his face for real this time when two of his fingers pushed inside you. 

The sensations were incredible as you moved up over his mouth and back down onto his thick fingers, the beard meeting them in the middle. But you needed to wipe that smug look off his face anyway, even as you felt the first signs of your release nearing.

“Mmh… I already liked you better with a beard ‘cause I don’t have to see half your stupid face, but this is a much better way to do it. Look how pretty you are now with my pussy hiding your face,” you taunted right after Shane managed to get another long moan out of you.

As expected, Shane glowered at you, which had you grinning in satisfaction. Except that you cried out in part shock and part outrage a few seconds later as Shane pressed the first knuckle of his thumb inside your ass, the finger wet with your essence. 

“You fucking asshole.” You slapped the top of his head, while Shane laughed darkly against your thigh, before he caught your wrist as you came back for more.

“More like your asshole, Darlin’,” he sneered before continuing. “Thought you’d enjoy it with how you always seem to have a stick up your ass.” 

Growling at him, you tugged at the arm he was holding, intending to hit him again, but Shane held strong this time, and instead, he used his shoulders to unsettle you and flip you onto your back next to him. You landed with a gasp and barely had the time to see him slipping between your legs. Since your mouth was still partly open from your hard breathing, it took Shane no effort to press two fingers between your lips and press them against your tongue. 

“Suck,” he ordered, his eyes dark, as he leaned over you, his body pressing yours down. 

You had half a mind to refuse, but it was the fact that you were sure that he was expecting that from you that had you doing as told. The flavor bursting on your tongue had you realizing that those fingers were the ones that had been inside you just a few moments ago. Keeping eye contact, you moaned around Shane’s fingers as you sucked and pulled at them, and felt satisfied by the answering groan you got in return. 

“Fuckin’ Christ,” Shane cried out a second later, as he pulled his fingers back, which you’d just bitten.

You grinned. You never said that you’d do what he wanted all the way. 

Growling and twisting his fingers in your hair, Shane kissed you harshly, his tongue fighting yours as he moved on his knees to shift his hips closer to yours. Feeling him reaching between your legs to guide himself inside you, you suddenly pushed at him. 

“Wait, wait… Not like that,” you breathed quickly. “Condoms. We should,” you trailed off at Shane’s nod of agreement, which you felt glad about because, as much as you hated to break the flow, there was no way that you were taking any chances. 

“Hold on.” Shane got off the couch and quickly rifled through one of the grocery bags. 

You watched him pull out a foil package and tear it open before he fitted the condom over his cock and knelt back between your parted legs. The way he touched you then and stared down at you irritated you. It wasn’t enough. It was too slow, too… You needed more of what was happening before.

You slapped him, the smack resounding in the small apartment. 

“Don’t you dare go soft on me now, Walsh,” you hissed. 

The slap had barely gotten Shane’s face to move, but it had the desired effect. His eyes flashed in warning, which only had you grinning devilishly, before he snarled and one of his hands went to your neck. The fingers curled around your throat, squeezing just that tiny bit that had you gasping in a sharp breath. 

“You never know went to fuckin’ stop,” he rasped viciously. 

Before you could reply, Shane pushed his hips forward and breached your entrance. He slid in with a long thrust, not bothering to give you any time to adjust to the sudden overwhelming feeling of being so full before he was pounding you into the bed. Your fingers scrabbled to get a hold on his shoulders as you screamed, while Shane slid his arms under your knees to pull your legs further apart and fold you almost in two. 

It felt amazing. Shane fucked you with brute force, his hips slapping against your ass, but the way he was staring down at you, focused on your expression, showed that he wasn’t only aiming for his own release. 

“That what you wanted, Sweetheart? Huh? Me fuckin’ that pretty pussy hard?” he whispered roughly against your lips, his beard tickling your skin. 

You took hold of his face and kissed him deeply in reply, moaning into his mouth with his every thrust. 

“Make me scream, Shane,” you half ordered and half begged, your voice low with want. “Do it.” 

With lust sparking inside his eyes, Shane reared back briefly only to throw your legs over his shoulders, and actually fold you in two this time as he picked up his earlier pace. A loud scream escaped you at the first plunge back inside you, followed by another and another. With his hands now free, one of Shane’s hands returned to your throat, the touch sending shivers down your spine as he fucked you without ever missing a beat, his eyes fixed on yours. You came completely undone a few moments later, the sheer force and intensity of Shane’s thrusts throwing you over the edge and into an orgasm that had you crying out as you could only take what Shane was giving you. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Shane chanted as you tightened some more around him, his movements losing their rhythm for a moment. “So fuckin’ gorgeous like this, fuck!” 

You had your eyes shut as the wave of bliss ran over you, but you forced them open when you felt Shane start to shudder on top of you. You needed to see him come, just like he had wanted to see you. Meeting his gaze, which never seemed to have left your face, you slid your legs from his shoulders and brought them to his still moving hips, and squeezed. 

Shane came with a long hiss of pleasure, his eyes fighting to stay open as you watched each other. 

You remained unmoving as you panted and stared at each other, Shane braced on top of you with his forearms at your shoulders while your hands held on to his biceps. Now that the heat of the moment had gone, you began to feel how cold it was getting in the room. 

After a few more silent seconds, Shane got up without a word and turned away. Exhaling a small breath at the complete change in mood, you rolled off the bed to vanish into the bathroom, picking up your clothes in passing. You used some of the now tepid water remaining from earlier to clean up and caught a glimpse of your messy and fucked out appearance in the mirror. 

“What now?” you muttered to yourself as you stared at your reflection and dressed quickly. 

You shook your head decisively a second later. No, this didn't change anything. It was just sex, nothing more. It had been good, more than good, but that was it. You weren't suddenly going to get along only because you'd fucked once. Shane had to be thinking the same, of that you were certain. 

Stepping out of the bathroom, you found Shane, fully dressed once more, sitting on the edge of the bed and leaning over his rifle as he checked it on the coffee table by the light of a couple of candles. He'd also made the bed, and you headed for the side closest to the wall. Shane didn't look up, but it didn’t seem like he was trying to avoid you. You felt a certain measure of relief at that. No awkwardness. Good. 

With how soon it got dark in winter, you didn't know how late it was exactly, but you felt suddenly kind of exhausted. You wrapped the covers around yourself to stave off the cold, and turned on your side to face the wall, your eyes staring ahead for a moment before you closed them. 

“For what it’s worth,” Shane started after several minutes of silence. “I do trust you.”

Your eyes opened at that, landing on the wall again as you stayed where you were. 

“It’s just-” he continued, and you snorted this time, turning on your back to find him facing towards you and not the rifle anymore. You raised an eyebrow; of course there was a but. “You tend to let your emotions get the best of you… Like today, you…” he sighed, and you decided to wait him out before biting back. “Listen, I get it, okay? What you did for Judith? You know I’d do anythin’ for her ‘n Carl. But… I quickly realized that, in this world, you gotta make hard decisions in order to survive. Take a step back from your feelings, analyze, and then act… I know you think I’m an asshole about it, but it’s helped us survive through a lot of bad shit, cause people don’ play by the previous rules anymore,” he paused for a second as he stared at you. “But really? Most of all, all I’m askin’ you is that you talk to me before you run off like you did. Askin’ me to cover you or somethin’, y’know? Warn me.”

Rolling onto your side to face Shane, you rose on an elbow and held your head up with one hand. 

“You’re right,” you admitted after a beat of silence. You were aware that you let your emotions dictate a lot of your decisions, and that it wasn’t always a clever thing. As he’d said, in this world, things were different. Especially playing it solo like you’d done earlier. Now that things had calmed down, you knew that you could have died in the store had Shane not been as quick to react has he had. “Next time I’ll give you a heads-up.”

Shane hummed in satisfaction, and you grinned. 

“But,” you intoned, and Shane huffed out a snort. “As much as I get what you mean, sometimes you can’t ignore your gut feeling. When you just know that something’s up, that the split second decision you’ll make is what’s going to mean either life or death. Sometimes you don’t have the time to analyze anything.”

Shane watched you thoughtfully but nodded in agreement. 

“Look at us, agreeing on somethin’,” he chuckled as he put the rifle down next to the bed and got up. 

“Don’t get used to it,” you smirked up at him. “It’s not because we fucked once that we’re not going to fight anymore.” 

Shane barked out a loud laugh. “I wasn’t expectin’ anything less. The opposite would’ve surprised me more.”

Laughing as well, you watched Shane head into the bathroom and fell to your back again, your eyes closing. You briefly woke to the candles being extinguished and the bed dipping as Shane got in, but you only shifted under the covers and rolled to your other side. 

The next time you woke, late morning light was shining through the apartment window. Shane was standing next to it and looking outside. Stretching as you got out of bed, you quickly headed to the bathroom to take care of morning business before you joined Shane. 

“What’s the situation?” you asked as you looked outside as well and found far fewer walkers stumbling around in the parking lot. 

“This side looks okay, but we don’t know how it looks where the car is,” Shane grumbled. “This floor's not that high, but it’s gonna be a bit of a pain to get outta here if we can’t go back the other way.”

Your mouth twisted in thought, and you were about to suggest that you should go check over the vent, when something crackled with static inside your coat that was lying on a nearby chair. Shane and you stared at each other with wide eyes before you launched yourself at the coat, scrambling to find the walkie-talkie you always carried in case you needed to split up. Shane must have switched his off, but you’d completely forgotten that you’d let yours on. And if it wasn’t Shane talking through it, then it was someone from the farm, and they were close by. 

“Hey … or Shane? Do … guys copy? Over. ”

It was Jasmine’s voice. With a relieved glance in Shane’s direction, you finally got the device out and pressed the talk button. 

“Hey, Jas, we’re right here. Over” 

“Oh, thank God. We were so worried when we got home and you hadn’t come back. Where exactly are you? There are a lot of walkers around here. Over. ”

“We ran into a horde and now we’re stuck on the second floor of the store. The main access’s blocked. If you drive to the parking lot at the back of the store, we’ll be able to see you. Over.” You walked back to the window and looked outside. 

“Okay, we’ll be there soon. Over. ”

“Let’s make a rope with the sheets and get the bags down first,” Shane suggested as he opened the window to the cold winter air. 

Nodding, you both quickly put on your shoes and remaining clothes and each took a sheet to knot it with another. You felt the sudden need to laugh at the moment, feeling like you were in a bad movie and trying to escape prison. 

Shane was just done with the makeshift ropes when you heard an engine getting closer and looked through the window to see a blue pickup driving up to the store. You waved at Jasmine, who was accompanied by Hunter. A few walkers came closer as Hunter drove the back of the pickup towards the building, but Jasmine opened her side of the car and used her knife to silently kill them. Hunter jumped out of his side and you saw Jasmine slipping back into the car and into the driver’s seat as her boyfriend lifted himself into the bed of the pickup to receive the first bag of groceries. You made quick work, only stopping a couple of times to get rid of a few more walkers. With the last bag down, Hunter untied the rope so you could get down yourselves. Shane had wrapped the sheets around a long and thick rod of iron that he’d found in the debris in the corridor. It was longer than the width of the window so you could slide down the rope without fearing that it would slip free. Shane let you go first. As Shane had said, the floor wasn’t high and it took little effort to get into the pickup. Shane followed you quickly, and Hunter hit the roof of the car to indicate for Jasmine to drive. She drove towards the other side of the store and towards your own pickup. You jumped out at the side of the gas station and watched Hunter join Jasmine again before they were off and honking to get the walkers’ attention. It worked as intended, and soon enough you were able to run towards your car and climb inside. 

“Did you use the shortcut? Over,” you asked through the walkie-talkie, while Shane put the key in the ignition and started the car. 

“No, we’re driving east for now. You were talking about a horde earlier and I think that’s what we saw on the shortcut so we backtracked. Over,” Hunter explained, as Shane swerved through the walkers to join your two friends and follow behind them. 

“Okay, east it is. See you at home. Over and out.”

It took you an extra hour to get back to the farm, but you made sure that you wouldn’t lead any walkers back with you. Nicole, who was standing on the porch steps and watching you pull up, drew you into a bear hug as soon as you were out of the car. You smiled into the side of her neck as you squeezed her back. 

The rest of your family came out of the large house as well. Judith was sitting on her father’s hip and sucking on a pacifier while Carl came running towards Shane. 

“Hey, baby girl,” Shane cooed, as he approached father and daughter, kissing her tiny head after he’d hugged Carl and ruffled his hair. 

“You guys okay?” Rick asked, scanning the both of you for injuries. 

“Yeah, we’re good, don’t worry,” Shane said, as he walked up the steps and started explaining what had happened to the people following him. 

“And here I thought that you’d finally killed each other,” Nicole said, laughing at her joke as you began walking up the porch steps with her.

You smiled and hummed, faking a serious look. “It was a near miss,” you grinned as you entered the crowded kitchen.

Shane was drinking down a tall glass of water, and your eyes met over the glass. 

“What was a near miss?” Maggie asked from her perch on a stool. 

“Before they left, I was joking about them trying to not kill each other and I thought that they might have failed when they didn’t come back,” Nicole explained with a small chuckle and got an amused snort from everyone. 

“Yeah,” Shane laughed under his breath. “Sure was a near miss.” 

You looked at each other for a second, faces impassive, but you were both clearly thinking about the same thing. Then the moment passed, and Shane continued the story like nothing ever happened.

After all, it had only been a one-time thing…

[natalievoncatte]

6. Embers

I won’t be writing a ficlet today for the “Embers” prompt because I already have a story by that title that captures it, I think.

[ficbrish]

Threadbare

[AO3 Link]

[Here we go! @flufftober Spring Edition 2024! Thank you for the prompt 🥰 March 11th - New Beginnings]

Rating: Explicit 18+ only!

tw/cw: Sexual content, blood, blood drinking, past abuse, cptsd, choking kink, interrupted masturbation, alcohol, light hurt/comfort

Late in Act III, Astarion finds Vistri cuddling with his old shirt alone in their rooms at the Elfsong.

LATE ACT III SPOILERS!

“...And gave him a taste of a flaming fist! ” Karlach howled, leading the whole tavern in laughter.

Other mugs echoed her pounding on the bar with a dull, banging rhythm. Little golden drops of mead spilled over the tops, dripping down the glasses and mixing with condensation.

Astarion personally never tired of this story of hers. A Flaming Fist had been inappropriately whistling at Shadowheart, and Karlach responded by knocking the man flat on his ass in one swing. While Astarion smiled quietly and nostalgically at her recollection of those events, the other tavern patrons, who’d never heard it before, were an eager and raucous audience.

Shadowheart’s face turned Karlach’s color. Shouting over the Elfsong’s laughter, she protested, “I could have handled it myself. Really!”

Wyll threw an arm over her shoulder, “Come, come, Shadowheart. Was it not a bit satisfying for such a gallant devil to step in and exact your revenge?”

A huge smile spread over her face, “Galant devil could describe any of us.”

Astarion raised his glass, “Cheers!”

Wyll met his delicate wine glass with his own burly mug of mead. Unprepared for how much enthusiasm Wyll would use, Astarion ended up with red all down his front. A collective groan sounded along with wild laughter.

“It’s all right,” he assured Wyll, whose eyes were apologizing faster than his mouth could move.

“Astarion, I’m so—”

Funny thing, how such a sight affected him. Astarion wasn’t used to apologies. Or friendships for that matter. Wyll’s genuine sorrow over such a small inconvenience was like a hearty meal to a starving soul. He couldn’t let the apology continue. It was too painful to witness.

“No, no! It’s all right,” Astarion insisted, “Please don’t put yourself out. I’ll just go change. This tunic is hideous anyways.”

It wasn’t. It was a pretty blue thing with silver thread. But there was a prettier blue thing with silver scales waiting for him upstairs in their rooms, one he was eager to get back to.

Vistri was having a lie down. She wasn’t sick, just exhausted. Her body was fine, but her mind was ragged. Astarion was only reluctantly dragged from her side through her stubborn, repeated insistence to be left alone for a little while. He had the sense she’d been saying it more for his sake than hers. She didn’t want to be the reason why he didn’t spend time with the others.

“You say no one else has my heart, but they do!” she’d said, “You do!”

He’d frowned at the way she used his own words against him. Especially so inaccurately. Astarion was right, there was no one else like her. He’d stand by that forever.

“That’s not—!”

“Yes, it is! Go down there and have fun. Let them earn your trust as I have.”

Raising his brow, he left her with one last tease, “Certainly not in the same way you have?”

His charm wasn’t enough this time. He was dismissed.

Let the others in .

Well, he’d gone down with the others, had a bit of fun, and now he was covered in wine. He had the perfect excuse to go back up and check on her. The fretting in his stomach turned into excitement. 

So much had changed in so little time, after two centuries of endless, torturous consistency, spilled wine was now just spilled wine. He would just change his clothes, maybe wash up a bit, and there would be more waiting for him to wear. Choices.

Sewing was a skill Cazador forced on all his spawn. Keeping them all as cheaply as possible, they had to make every article of clothing last. No matter the care, or the tending, their clothes always ended up degrading into rags and tatters. Astarion was almost jealous of the way his outfits got to age and die. They had a temporal escape, while his torture was bound to be endless.

It also had the side benefit of shame. Sewing was for servants. It reminded the spawn of who they were.

Now that was all over. Cazador was gone. Ended by his hand.

And he had so many new clothes.

He had choices. How bizarre! Astarion was sure he’d forgotten how to make them.

And then he chose her.

A smile brewed on his face just at the mention of her in his thoughts. He took to the steps three at a time, surely looking absolutely ridiculous. He didn’t remember much from his life before undeath, but the more time he spent away from Cazador, the more he realized how much his desire to avoid appearing foolish was part of the weight of those old chains. If he tripped and fell on his face, he would probably laugh from the rebellious feeling of it.

The tadpoles brought him the sun and then Vistri. She helped him find love, true freedom, and then true love.

He decided looking a fool was worth it the moment he stepped through the door. His eyes found her immediately on one of the sofas by the fireplace. The dancing reflections of the flames rolled over the silver scales on her brow in waves. He could see it from the door. She was lying down; her eyes opened at the sound of his entrance.

She seemed a little shocked, “Astarion!”

“Hello, dear!” he greeted with open arms and a wide smile. It felt like ages since they’d been in the same space.

Although, reading her expression, he was a little worried she wasn’t as happy to see him.

“Is everything all right?” she asked, “Are the others—?”

“Just me,” he stated, then dramatically drew attention to his ruined shirtfront, “I’ve been decorated with libations! I need to freshen up. Is that all right?”

“Of course it’s all right! Don’t be silly.”

Vistri was a sorcerer; she was used to her thoughts becoming reality. But her mind was reeling from his sudden appearance. Like he’d stepped from her thoughts, but with an entirely different attitude. The Astarion in front of her was all lightness and soft good-humor. The one in her head was a whole other, harder side of his.

Their storage trunk was near the fireplace as well, by the other sofa. As Astarion walked towards her to rifle through it, she slowly removed her hand from between her legs, careful not to let the movement show under the blanket, which wasn’t even a blanket, but his old shirt.

Gods! It couldn’t be more embarrassing.

He came over to her first, bending down to plant a gentle kiss on her damp forehead. Astarion looked at her curiously, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Vistri nodded, humming a high-pitched, “Mmmm-hmmm.”

His brow was all questioningly screwed up, but he decided to drop it, and started unbuttoning his tunic.

Vistri subtly wiped her fingers on her thigh, then sat up, “Here, let me help you.”

“I’ve got it love,” he insisted, “You just lie down. Say… Why aren’t you in our bed?”

The way she smiled and repeated the words, “Our bed,” in that bright tone allayed all Astarion’s fears in an undead heartbeat. He was welcome. She was just as happy to see him as he was her. Poor love was just worn out.

He sighed and bent back down to kiss her. Her pulse pounded, he could feel it rush at the brushing of his lips. A rumble brewed in his middle and his fangs ached. She gave a little moan without meaning to, losing herself in the power of his affection.

“Don’t get too excited,” he teased, “I’m only here for a moment.”

“Why only a moment?” she asked genuinely.

With a smile, he tucked her braid behind her ear, “Didn’t you want to be alone?”

Her eyes were wide, like a begging dog, “I can be alone with you here.”

Astarion froze. He swallowed heavily, then giggled, “What a silly idea! Doesn’t that defy the whole concept of being alone?”

She pouted, and he rolled his eyes.

“Fine,” he scoffed, sitting down next to her, “I can be—Hang on!”

Upon reaching for her hand, he finally noticed her blanket. Her expression filled with panic at his recognition, and too late, she tried to hide it.

He chuckled with sinister delight, “Why, is this my—?”

“No!” she stubbornly refused.

“Bloody liar! ” he laughed.

“It’s not!”

Vistri was cuddled up with his old shirt. She must’ve taken it out of the trunk and sat down nearby.

“That’s why you’re not in bed! You came over here for my shirt!”

Blushing deeply, Vistri was struggling to accept her fate. She couldn’t get out of talking about her feelings now. Eventually, she admitted, “...I did.”

His query was meant to tease, but there was something… raw and needy in his voice that made it something entirely different, “You were…”

She was nuzzling his old rags like they were something precious. Intentionally. Used her alone time to fish it out of the stuffed trunk, and secretly treasure it. While he was just downstairs in the tavern, missing her, she was up here longing for him.

“You were holding onto my old shirt?”

Vistri rolled her eyes and groaned. She couldn’t meet his eyes.

“It’s ridiculous!” she exclaimed.

Astarion made a “tsk” sound and smirked, “Aw, don’t reject it now, darling. My poor shirt! You’ll hurt its feelings.”

“No! I don’t want that!” she whined, as if that were something possible to really do.

He held it away from her reaching grasp, “Nuh, uh! Apologize first.”

“Astarion!”

“That’s my name, dear. Not an apology.”

Vistri frowned. Astarion leaned in and kissed it into a smile.

“I hate you!” she giggled, playfully pushing him off her.

“I hate you too,” he said lovingly, “Now! Walk me through the process of deciding to take out my shirt. Was this before or after you shooed me away?”

“Must I?”

Savoring the look on her face, he nodded, “You must, dearest.”

She bit her lip, “Okay. Ugh. Fine. You left and I…”

“You what?”

“I missed you! ”

“Hah!” he boasted.

“Arsehole!”

“An arsehole you love to kiss,” he grinned, “Shall I call you butt breath?”

“No!” she protested, laughing, “Please no!”

“Here,” Astarion handed her his old shirt, “Hold this.”

He stood and finished undoing his tunic, then threw off the soiled shirt underneath. Bare-chested, he climbed over to her side.

“Scoot over,” he demanded.

“There’s no room!” she laughed.

He pulled her tight once his body was flush against hers, “We’ll make it work.”

Vistri felt dizzy. Like she was flying.

“Okay.”

Not letting it go, Astarion asked, “So you missed me, and then what happened?”

With his fingers absently drawing figures on her waist, Vistri had no fight left. Sighing, she continued to expose herself, “I started thinking about… When we met, and I first saw you.”

“How you adored me instantly?”

“No, actually. How much I despised you. Like really, really just wanted to… shake you.”

“That’s so romantic.”

She chuckled, “I’m sorry. It’s horrible, but it’s true. But then… I also…” She shifted so they were chest to chest, and she could look at his face as she spoke. Without thinking, her nose nuzzled his as she admitted, “I really liked you.”

He sort of snorted and sighed and called out in the same second, like a baby that didn’t know if it was hungry or tired or perfectly content. That didn’t know whether to coo or cry.

“You did?” he asked, heart on his tongue.

Nodding, Vistri admitted it all, “I think I’ve come to learn… It wasn’t you I was mad at, but everyone else you reminded me of. And part of me knew that, and the unfairness of it made me hate myself more.”

“Wanna know a secret?”

“What?” she chuckled.

“I hated myself and liked you too.”

Grinning, she humorously exclaimed, “And that’s why we had sex!”

Astarion gave a hearty laugh. It was rich and deep, and sounded like relief from a long-ago burden.

Instead of joining his mirth, Vistri’s expression grew more serious, “I don’t believe there’s a single thing I could hate about you. Not now that I know you.”

“Not a single thing?”

“Impossible.”

He caressed the length of her ear, gentle like a caretaker, then kissed her cheek.

“So what was that you were saying, about thinking of how much you hated me when we first met?” he whispered, stroking the side of her face with the tip of his nose.

“I didn’t hate you, I was falling in love. That’s what I was thinking of. Falling in love.”

“With me?”

She laughed, “Who else?”

He kissed her forehead, waiting with bated breath for her to continue.

She breathed deeply, leaning into his kiss, “I wanted to run down and get you, but we can’t be together all the time.”

“Who says?”

Chuckling, she shook her head, “We can’t!”

“And the next best thing was my shirt?”

“The one I met you in.”

He’d almost thrown it out. Now that he had new clothes, he no longer needed Cazador’s old rags.

But he couldn’t. And he was glad he didn’t.

“And then you just decided to relax here? And daydream about me?”

“Uh…” she said way too awkwardly for him to just accept.

Brow raised, Astarion repeated, “‘Uh? ’”

“It’s just so incredibly lame!” Vistri looked horrified.

“Then I have to hear it!” he giggled, thrilled to have her in this little trap she set up herself.

“I was… Oh gods! ” she rolled her eyes, “Can I just… tadpoles?”

He laughed, “It’s so embarrassing you can’t speak it?”

“Yes.”

Laughing even harder, he agreed. He put his forehead to hers even though they didn’t need touch for brainworm-to-brainworm communication. Relaxing into his embrace, she let her memory play out through his senses.

Vistri was thinking of him, and Astarion found beauty in himself he could only see through her eyes. Like freedom, it was overwhelming. A goodness he could drown in. That she could drown in. He was her, and she was him.

Knots in her stomach, tied like strings of fate, spelling his name in her blood.

Rushing, pounding, flowing. Her heart.

Stillness. Serenity. Bliss.

After lying down on the couch, she held his shirt to her face and breathed into it. Even washed, it smelled like him. Like his heat and his lusts and his heavy soul. She kissed its loose threads like it was his chest, where his heart was. Imagined his arms around her like they were now.

Astarion felt Vistri loving him; fell into her blurred line of desire and devotion. He could taste it on her tongue as he kissed her now and felt her love him through that too. Past and present blended, and they shared all of it like one being. In her memory, her hand traveled between her legs at the thought of his laughing face. Then there was the sincerity in his eyes as they both kneeled over his grave. I want you, spilling out of his lips. She was touching herself, thinking of him, adoring him, with the shirt she’d met him in clutched to her throat. As they lived through it together on the same sofa, he kissed her again and again.

She didn’t even mean to break the connection, but his mouth was too distracting. He just couldn’t help himself. It felt like coming home after two centuries.

“How rude,” he muttered, “I seem to have interrupted.”

“It’s fine,” she said breathlessly, “I’m glad you came back.”

He chuckled warmly, “Darling I was just downstairs. At your insistence!”

“I know,” she said plainly, holding him tighter.

His heart ached, still absorbing what he’d just felt and seen through her memory, “You… Thinking about me–how you love me–makes you…?”

Unable to look at him, she buried her face in his chest, “I told you it was lame!”

Helping her out of hiding, he lifted up her chin, “I don’t think it’s lame.”

His tone sounded like he thought it was the most extraordinary thing. A miracle that couldn’t even be perceived, even with it plainly in front of him. It tore her heart open, but filled it rather than took.

Astarion kissed her neck, “I think it’s quite hot actually. Makes me want to finish what you started.” Vistri felt the heat of her blush again, and he moaned, “Fuck! I love when your blood rushes.”

He scraped his fangs hungrily against her skin. Her heart grew heavy with the weight of his need. She wanted to be the reason he felt better. Stronger.

“Go ahead, Astarion,” she said comfortingly, “Have a bite.”

He kissed her neck, from her chin down to the base of her throat, and bit into the muscle that connected her shoulder. Vistri gasped, surrendering to the sharp pain, and to him, leaning into his bite. Her blood dripped between them as it rolled messily off his lips.

Just allowing himself a taste, Astarion released Vistri from his fangs, licking up the remnants and kissing her wound until it closed. The hunger wasn’t sated, but he was dizzy with power nonetheless.

“Are you all right, love?” he asked, still concerned despite knowing how much she loved it.

“More than all right! Are you—?”

He met her warm smile with one of his own, “More than all right.”

“Good.”

No other partner ever cared. Neither had ever been asked genuinely what they wanted or who they were. No one else but them, making such questions a lyrical aphrodisiac for them to exchange.

Astarion could read her arousal in a thousand different languages. His tongue could feel it in her frantic heartbeat. His teeth could smell it in her glistening sweat. She was a meal ready to be devoured, prey begging to be taken. His hands traveled along her waist, and she twitched pleasantly. All the places that usually tickled made her shiver with want.

Vistri was always so ecstatic that it was him touching her this way, and no one else, that her skin would cry if it could. He could have clumsy hands and awkward touches, and still his embrace would make her shake. Astarion could easily bring ecstasy to her, even if he didn’t know what he was doing, just because it was him.

But gods did he know what he was doing! He played her body like it was one of her instruments, and all he did was fondle her torso.

His fingers lingered just under her waistline as he rubbed his arousal against her thigh. Throbbing under his pants, Astarion let his hand dive into her knickers. The wet lace made him groan.

“You’re soaking,” he sighed, licking his lips, “Might I have another taste?”

Whimpering as he teased her sensitive skin with brushing fingertips, Vistri pleaded, “Yes!”

First, he undressed her one article at a time, unwrapping her like a gift.

It was better than being alone. The whole purpose of her rest was to not think. She didn’t want to disappear, not anymore. She wanted to be present, but out of her head, and this was so much better. However, her heart still ached and missed him. Demanding more touch, more feeling. 

Being wanted by Vistri was the prettiest sight. Astarion had only ever known admiration, not adoration. Images of her in her memory ran through his mind; and with them came echoes of her emotion as she’d nuzzled into his old shirt, desperate for his lingering smell, pretending it still held his warmth. As the monster in his head screamed to devour her, he slid a finger up and down her soaking slit.

Following the roll of her hips, he almost lost himself in their rhythm as he teased her clit. Her desire was one he’d never known, a love he’d never felt. Vistri gave herself to everyone, but never like this. It was the same for him. Everyone had him, but no one knew him like this. Between them, old habits were entirely new.

Crawling his way down her legs, he had another taste. Vistri’s hands caressed his head and her fingers wrapped around his ears in a way that made him hum with security.

She cried out at every lash of his tongue.

He whined licking her, the rushing blood just under her skin overwhelmed his senses as much as her taste. It made him feel alive. Pangs of need made his fingers tremble as they pushed into her, stretching her. She moaned, a song promising this would always be his. He wanted to fuck her until he saw stars.

And it felt good to want. The desire he felt was his. All his.

“Astarion,” she called out his name in a breathy voice, her body tensing with pleasure. Even without tadpoles, he knew how close Vistri was.

The next words from her lips yanked his heart out of his chest and brought it to his sleeve.

“Yours. I’m all yours.”

He’d planned to pleasure her in so many ways, but those words took away his will to perform. They didn’t need ecstasy as much as each other. She’d touched herself thinking of his laugh and his expressions; of his being, not his figure. Vistri just wanted him.

Lifting his head up, he asked, “Can I—?”

“Get back here!”

She pulled on his shoulders as he rushed to her lips, climbing her torso. She was so small, but it felt like miles. Ages until they were face to face.

His mouth was like a bully, commanding hers about. Vistri struggled with things like self love and acceptance, but could adoringly savor her taste on his tongue. It was so sweet mixed with his underneath. Astarion took her by the wrist to rub her hand along the outside of his trousers, almost growling as rutted into her palm. Being used by him was the best thing in the world, just as being used by others was the worst. Her ecstasy from it was as sharp as her bruised soul.

One long, deep, “Uuuuh,” from Vistri was the final snap in Astarion’s composure. One hand went to her neck as the other started undoing his laces. 

He licked along her jaw, and spoke in the crook of her throat as it called to him, “Do you know what it means? When you say you’re all mine?”

“I know what it means,” she looked him squarely in the eyes, seriously, which was unusual for either of them, “I say it because I know what it means.”

When there was enough give, Astarion pulled his trousers and pants down in one motion, just far enough to reveal himself. He spread her thighs apart and rubbed his aching cock along her belly to show off how deep he’d go.

Writhing, wanting him, she uttered, “Fuck, I love you.”

Astarion buried himself in her, saying he loved her too. Vistri screamed his name so loudly it probably answered what was taking him so long to change to the others downstairs.

“Wait, is the door locked?” he asked, suddenly remembering.

Vistri groaned, realizing it wasn’t, “Shit. Nooo.”

It was a rare occasion for their rooms at the Elfsong to be empty of everyone but them. Anyone could come back at any time, and they were in the middle of the room.

“Well, we don’t want to make an unsuspecting audience out of Shadowheart’s parents. Do we?”

Cackling, she suggested, “Or Withers.”

Astarion giggled, “Old bastard might try to join.”

Vistri’s laughter made her shake and pulse so pleasantly on his cock, he didn’t want to leave.

“Go lock it,” she could barely get the words out, overtaken by hilarity. Like she was wearing that cursed amulet again. 

Sighing with frustration, he reluctantly pulled out of her and got up, tearing the rest of clothes off of his legs. Her slick covered his whole length, making the air cool on his dick as it bounced with his steps.

At the sound of the lock snapping shut, Vistri stupidly called out, “Please!”

He stood by the door smiling with his arms crossed, “Please, what?” The crimson-violet scream of his skin, his retreated foreskin, and the precum pooling at his tip betrayed his casual nature.

“Fuck me!” she begged.

He smirked and held up two fingers.

Vistri buried her face in the side of the sofa to hide her laughter, “I cannot stand you!”

Wishing to see her face again, Astarion dropped his game and broke into a full run. She squealed as he leapt to her, and then cried out as he tore through her again. He savored the look on her face. Her eyes spilled the truth of her heart. Their expression exposed her even though she wasn’t trying to hide anything. Vistri belonged to him, gave herself over to him to use and take care of at whatever whim. As long as she was his .

“What was that about not being able to stand me?” he smirked, distracting himself from the pleasure shaking his spine like a tree in a rough storm. He wanted Vistri to find ecstasy at least once before giving into his.

Running her hands along his chest and stomach made him almost whimper. Vistri licked his earlobe and kissed his ear before whispering, “I lied. I actually adore you, and want you all the time.”

Roughly, he pushed her down into the sofa. He wrapped a big hand around her delicate neck and held it firm, like a brace. Slowing his thrusts to an unbearably slow pace. A teasing rhythm.

“Do you adore me now?” he asked. It was impossible for even Astarion to tell if he was asking out of seduction or sincerity.

“Even more,” she promised.

A devious smile tugged at the corner of his lips, “Turn around.”

After tucking pillows, and his old shirt, under Vistri for a better angle, Astarion playfully bounced his hard cock against her ass. They both laughed at the smack, but grew serious as he began to touch her from behind. She rocked back into his palm so deliciously he had to angle himself against her. With a slight push, he was covered to the hilt. They shivered in tune with each other. Vistri felt ripped open at his thrust; his hands firmly holding onto her hips grounded her.

She reached back for one of them, and his finger twisted around one of hers as they met.

He froze, “Is this still what you want?”

“It is all I want,” she answered, caressing his finger.

Even though Vistri couldn’t see his smirk, she could hear it, “Then let’s give the others an update on our whereabouts.”

He roughly pumped his hips, angling deep.

“Astarion!”

He wanted them to hear it, everyone her voice could reach; hear the news that she was his. Going faster made her louder.

“Astarion! ” 

“Yes,” he groaned, as he felt her tightening around him, “Yes.” It was a word he wasn’t used to meaning, and the truth of it felt like the sun tingling like home on his skin.

Gasping through the edges of death, in unison, too quickly, they cried out.

Astarion wanted to see the stars, and there they appeared behind both their eyes. They never really knew why it was called a little death before they met. It became clear the first time they transcended flesh and spirit together under the thrall of an all-consuming ecstasy. In that bliss, they were gone from the world, and in coming back to it, were reborn into their shaking embrace.

He rocked his hips gently, even when there was nothing left to spill into her. Just because he didn’t want the moment to pass yet.

As Astarion sat back on his knees, Vistri turned around and covered his face with a flurry of breathless, grateful pecks. He chuckled, and wrapped his arms around her. Vistri threw hers over his shoulders too and pulled him tighter.

“Never leave me alone again,” she half-joked.

Astarion was so happy his words had a sobbing laugh under them, “Oh, I’m never leaving you alone again!”

They squeezed each other even closer at the same time. Never wanting to let go.

Miraculously, nothing got on the couch. So all they had to clean off was each other. After freshening up, they crawled into their bed. Which wasn’t really their bed. It was rented. But, unless tents and bedrolls counted, this bed was the first sort of home they’d claimed together.

“This is my favorite part,” she said as she nuzzled into his chest.

“What are you talking about?”

Vistri hummed happily and sighed, running her fingers along his arm, “This.”

Smiling, he bent to kiss her head. She gave another happy hum.

“You’re perfect,” she said.

“No, I’m not,” he chuckled, shaking his head.

Looking up, she poked him on the nose and refuted his denial, “Yes, you are!”

Astarion smirked and made a show of trying to bite her finger. Vistri squealed, laughing.

“No, don’t bi—”

A series of loud, rapid bangs on the door snatched them from their lighthearted moment, and instinctively, they got ready to fight. Each made a protective gesture over the other. Astarion sat up and pulled her closer by the waist, as she positioned her body in front of his.

Drunken shouts answered them before they could call out and ask who was there.

“—en it!”

“‘S’locked! ”

“OY! WHY’S THE DOOR SHUT?!” That would be Karlach.

Vistri smirked at Astarion.

Brow raised, he remarked, “Looks like this time, we forgot to unlock the door.”

She snickered, “Ready to let them in?”

He made a show of thinking about it for a moment as kicks and insults shook the door, “Hmmm, I don’t know. I think we should make them wait.”

The burst of laughter that left Vistri was loud enough for the others to notice, and the muffled shouting now included their names.

Astarion rolled his eyes and got out of bed, “You’ve done it now, love.”

As he walked to the door, he took a look back at Vistri, who had sunk back into their bed, holding her sides in a laughing fit. He felt as free as she sounded, and so full of happiness Astarion couldn’t feel his feet on the ground.

Vistri was wearing his old shirt. She’d insisted on changing into it when they got dressed. Telling him she didn’t want to spend a second without him wrapped around her.

The sight made him smile so broadly his cheeks ached.

[witchofsparkles]

Vampire Ghost and hunter Soap fic I wrote a while ago. I'm posting the full fic down below, it's also on AO3. You can check the tags first on AO3 if you like.

Soap aimed his crossbow for the deer bowed its head. It was oblivious to the human and the bow in his hand, didn't realize the fate that was on the way to claim its reward.

Every living thing was a fuel to the another. The energy never disappears but it changes. The deer's life was going to be the human's. There was a circle to complete. The circle of life.

But when Soap released the trigger and waited for the deer to shake with the arrow's force, it went into something taller and slender. Something more human. Soap watched the deer to run away into the depths of the forest and slowly walked to the prey. It was a human. At least his body was, Soap couldn't see the face of him because of the skull mask covering most of it. He squated next to him to check his pulse. Yes, Soap was a hunter and a killer if it came to it, but he wasn't out to kill innocent people. If he didn't see it necessary to his survival, every breath was God's to take.

Soap reached for the man's neck, to see if he is alive and thought he faced the death itself. The man reacted with the speed of light and Soap found his neck between the man's hand. The pulse he wanted to feel was the man's, not his own.

"Hey, calm down. It was an accident, are you okay?" Soap eyed the arrow's entry point and saw it was just under his shoulder. It shouldn't be life threatening. The man was still breathing harshly like a caged animal, so Soap put his hands on the man's. He hoped to calm him down, but the hand squeezed his neck more. "You're going to kill me." Soap managed to whisper through his clenched jaw but he started to see the stars. "I can't breath."

That brought the man's senses back and he relaxed his hand around Soap. Then leaned back to the tree behind him, kept watching Soap who was struggling to breath between coughing fits. "I was going after the deer. What were you doing there?"

Soap stared at the injured man and waited for an answer that seemed like would never come. But he spoke, with a powerless but deep voice. It was almost like he was using his all strength for a couple words. Soap didn't know who was in a worse condition: Soap who just got choked or the man who got shot with an arrow. "Going after the deer."

Soap sat down with a grunt, face to face with the man. After a careful and long watch, Soap pointed to the arrow on the man's shoulder. "Do you want me to take it out?"

The man didn't answer.

"You were going after the deer too? I don't see any weapon. You would catch it with what? Hopes and dreams?" That granted Soap a stare. He could imagine the man was raising an eyebrow. But he didn't answer, again.

"Do you have anyone at home that can cook and nurse?" The man's eyes met with Soap's and they stayed like that under the setting sun for some time. Soap couldn't see the man's eyes, they were in the shadow under the skull mask but he could see his mouth which had scars around. Soap found it sad, for some reason. It looked like the man never smiled in his life. That made him come to a decision and Soap raised to his feet. Then under the masked man's questioning eyes, he extended his hand. "Come. Let's get that wound cleaned up."

The man followed him after a brief moment, Soap guessed he was weighing his choices and walked especially slower. But when he heard the silent footsteps, Soap picked the conversation from where he left. "So. What's your name?" That stretched the silence, rather than putting a stop to it. Soap turned his head back to see the man. "I'm Soap. It's John, actually but people call me Soap. I'm taking Tarzan home, I think I deserve a name."

The man was holding the arrow stable with his hand while following Soap down the hill and he didn't raise his eyes when answering. "Ghost." Soap nodded to himself as if it was the most satisfying name he heard and Ghost frowned behing him. If he knew why Ghost was given that name, he wouldn't be looking so carefree.

They came to Soap's house, which was more like a hut than a house. There were only two rooms inside and they were small. Soap's head was just under the door but Ghost had to bend slightly to protect his head. Soap left Ghost in the room with a couch, a small table and two chairs. On his right were two kitchen cabinets with a sink and a stove. Enough things for a man who lives alone, Ghost thought. When Soap returned to the room with gauzes and medicines, Ghost went to the couch without giving Soap time to say anything. If he wanted to get the arrow out, who was he to stop him? But Ghost didn't know how to explain that he stopped bleeding long ago and the only thing preventing the wound from closing was the arrowhead still buried into his flesh.

And yet, Soap didn't face any opposition when he held the shirt to cut it away. The white shirt was wet with blood and Soap expected to see an injury under it, but the under the dried blood was just an arrow. Soap grabbed the arrow with his right hand and put his left on Ghost's chest to stabilize himself. The injury that stopped bleeding was in the vicinity of things he could maybe explain to himself, but not feeling any heartbeat under his palm was not. While pulling the arrow out with force, Soap did everything he could to not start shaking like leaf under Ghost's gaze and the heart that wasn't beating. And the worst, he invited him in.

Soap looked at the arrow in his hand. Ghost didn't make any sound when Soap was forcing the arrow out. His hand was aching from gripping it too tight but Ghost didn't make any sound.

Why would he, if he wasn't a human?

Soap took a deep breath. He needed to calm down. If Ghost wanted to kill him, he wouldn't be alive now. And there they were, Soap's knee on the couch between Ghost's thighs and his hand on his chest. He didn't look like he was going for Soap's head.

"Okay. The arrow is out and apparently you don't need gauzes, " Soap said nervously. His eyes were still on the hole, which supposed to stay open for at least a week. The flesh was already mending. Ghost's lips curled with a cold smile. "What?"

Soap took himself back quickly, almost stepping on his own foot. His heart was beating like caged bird in his chest. "You don't have a heart." Ghost's smile stayed but Soap knew it didn't reach his eyes. It didn't even reach his lips. It was only there for a show. "Ouch. I just told you my name."

Soap waved his hand after he huffed a short, unamused laugh. "It wasn't metaphorical. Your heart literally don't beat. Who the fuck are you?"

Ghost wasn't sitting anymore, he got to his feet and closed the gap between them. Soap hated how he had to lift his head a little to see Ghost's eyes and how it made him feel like a prey. He remembered three hours ago, how he thought this man was lying there like one. "I'm a demon you welcomed in." Soap's mind haywired and he actually laughed. It came from inside, from his belly and his whole body shook with the force of it. He noticed this whole thing was a sick joke but he was standing face to face with a probably immortal or already dead creature -given the fact that he had no beating heart. He had his own doubts of the origin of him, but to hell with it. He just pulled an arrow out of a myth, he had his reasons to lose it a little.

"Oh please. Who are you? Dracula? Go sit down when I'm prepping the meal. Even the demons get hungry."

Soap turned his back to Ghost and went to the kitchen, as if his heart was not about to leave his ribcage. He wasn't aware what he was saying until after he already said it and only thing he was sure about was that Ghost could most likely rip his head of when he was reaching for the pan. And yes, the demons would get hungry but what did they eat?

Ghost watched Soap from the couch he was sitting. He had a thoughtful look on his face. Was he really so fearless or so stupid? Soap didn't know what he was, he only got the vague idea of him being not human and said fuck it. Why was he treating Ghost like a human? Like someone who deserves any kindness of heart? He didn't have a heart.

Ghost didn't need kindness. He didn't need to rest. He didn't need his wounds to be cleaned. He didn't need to eat. Not normal, human meals, at least.

He needed to feed like every living creature. With or without a heart. But he only needed the souls. The flesh wasn't on the menu.

"What do you want to eat? I couldn't hunt, thanks to someone, so I don't have any meat." Ghost didn't look away from Soap's back and Soap shuddered under the realization of being watched. He had to ask what Ghost was eating. He had to know.

"Nothing. I don't eat. I... devour." Soap's hand froze on the ladle and he had to stop himself from reaching to the knife. He turned to face Ghost, who was still sitting where he left him. There wasn't any emotion on his mouth, the only part on his face that Soap could see. "Devour what? The souls of the innocent?" Soap's voice was mixed with mock but one could feel the tension behind it. Ghost sent him a little smirk as a prize of getting it right. "Enemies and the animals first. But if I have to, innocents are okay too."

"You're just pulling my leg now." Soap made a sound that indicates he didn't buy it. But the longer he looked at Ghost's unwavering eyes, the more he lost his confidence. "You're telling the truth. What the fuck?"

Ghost shrugged, and crossed his arms on his chest. "So. What's for the dinner?"

After an uncomfortable dinner which Ghost just watched while Soap was drinking a tasteless soup, he left Ghost in the room and went to bed to the next room. The idea of locking the door crossed his mind but he didn't. If Ghost wanted to take his soul away, a wooden door with a key on it wouldn't stop him. So he just left the door unlocked but closed, then went to bed. He thought he wouldn't be able to sleep with the fact that a soul sucker vampire was in the next room, but he drifted the moment his head touched the pillow. He dreamed of ghosts and souls.

The days turned into weeks like this. Soap didn't ask for Ghost to leave. It was out of fear at first but then he just liked to have a company. He didn't take his mask of, he didn't eat and sometimes he left for a couple of hours but he was always back before the night. Soap even found himself forgetting that Ghost wasn't a human. He was just there with his sometimes inappropriate jokes and sometimes silence. But these last days, he was mostly on the silent side and it made Soap feel... worried.

"Ghost, you good?" Ghost was on the couch, just lying there and dangling his feet from the armrest. He didn't voice an answer but nodded. Soap pressed the matter, cause Ghost's skin was looking paler than normal. "You look sick." Soap waited. Ghost would talk when he wanted to, not when he have to. While waiting to be taken into consideration of answering, Soap had a disturbing idea. "When was the last time you ate something?"

Ghost finally looked at Soap. He looked into his eyes. Soap bit his lip. "Was it before we met? Were you going for the deer because of it?" Ghost sighed. "Yes, Johnny."

Soap didnt dwell on the nickname. Not yet. "But you left almost everyday. You didn't find any animal?" Soap followed Ghost's stare and looked out the window. It was snowing. "I don't go for every animal. The sick ones are already dead, the healthy ones are gone."

"How big should it be?" Soap asked with urgency. If Ghost was half sick as his face, Soap was scared that he was gonna die in two days. Ghost didn't make a sound and for a second, Soap thought he just withered away in front of his eyes. The thought of Ghost dying made his breath caught in his throat. "Is a chicken okay? I don't know, a sheep?"

Ghost turned his head to the side and stared at Soap. He looked so helpless and panicked. Ghost smiled to him. It was a genuine one, and Ghost knew Soap noticed that too. He knew it from how Soap's posture changed. How he tensed first, then relaxed. How his shoulders sagged with relief for a moment. "Whatever you can find. A soul is a soul."

It did matter. Yes, a soul was a soul but the smarter the creature was the more fullfilling it would be. A cat's soul would do it for him, for two days. Maybe. A crow? About a week. That's why, the other ones were always hunting humans. They were the epitomes of wit. The emperors of the food chain. But he didn't have the luxury of a choice. He was already hungry and weak when he met Soap. After that, with every passing day with no soul, he got weaker. The weaker he became, the lesser he could go out to hunt. And because the village was small and they didn't know him, he couldn't go to the other houses to see if they have any animal. The last time he left the house, he had to sit under a tree not too far from home so he could go back. At first, staying with the human was a wise choice for him. If he couldn't hunt, he could always take Soap's soul. After some time, he couldn't bring himself to even think about it. The image of Soap between his arms, his soul leaving his body to feed Ghost, his blue eyes closing forever to keep Ghost's eyes open.

It sounded so sick and so wrong.

He found himself at the bring of death, so he could keep Soap alive.

When Soap came back, his hands were empty and there was a shocked look on his face. Ghost knew something was wrong. He sat up quickly and saw the stars for a moment. Soap was still standing in front of the door that closed after him. "They... They're all dead. Everyone. All of them." Ghost frowned. He took Soap's hand without thinking about it and got his attention. "What's happening? Tell me. Slowly." Soap nodded and dropped himself next to Ghost on the couch. There was a distant look in his eyes. "I- The village was too quiet. I followed the road down, I walked till the woods. Every door was closed. There was no one outside. Even the kids. Kids are always outside. I knocked on the doors, no answer. Then I saw blood on the path. Just droplets. Followed it through, it was going inside a house. The door wasn't locked so I went inside." Soap stopped talking and pressed into his eyes with his palms like he wanted to erase the scenes from his brain. Ghost put his hand on Soap's back and slowly circled. He hoped to bring some peace. "All dead. Went from door to door. All dead. Kids, animals, even the bugs. All dead. I found blood on only few of the bodies. The rest was... just sleeping. They didn't look dead. They looked like sleeping."

Ghost's body froze. He could feel Soap's skin under his palm and the heat radiating from it, but rest of his body was frozen. "Like sleeping. Are you sure?" Oblivious to Ghost's state of mind, Soap nodded. He was looking at his own hands. "Yes. No injury. They were all clean except the ones with blood. I think they tried to fight against whatever it was."

Ghost didn't talk for a long time and Soap's mind was occupied with the images of his friends bodies. Then he snapped his head to look at Ghost. Ghost was lost in thoughts but Soap figured it out. He figured it out long ago, deep down he got what was happening but only now he could voice it. "Ghost. Is it only you? The vampire?" Ghost nodded slowly and the nightmare turned into reality. Soap clenched his fists to slow his breath down. So he wouldn't start shouting. "How many? Ghost. How many? Did I do this to them? Did they follow you? Or were they looking for you? Are you a part of a pack? Did you do this?" Soap's voice raised through the talking and he was yelling at the end. He didn't realize he was standing in front of Ghost till he looked down and saw Ghost's head hanging low.

"I left them a long time ago. They turned me into this monster, and feed me the souls. The humans. It was mandatory for them, to feed on humans. They always went after the smartest ones, in wit and in emotion. After they made me eat the soul of a child, I left. And I brought the bastards with me. Their souls. It's a funny thing, how we think when the heart stops the soul leaves. It's normally like that.Any human would lose their souls when their heart stopped. But with us, it's different. Our hearts stopped long ago, but we still live. It's like we tricked God into thinking we're still alive, even after hundreds of years. Or we're all so wicked that even God doesn't want to claim our souls. When I ate the other ones' I tasted rotten blood. It was the most disgusting thing I've ever eaten. But when I was feeding on them, I also fed on the souls they took. I tasted fear, sadness, happiness, hope, love... I tasted it all. Then I tasted my own mother. My brother and his finance, my nephew. These bastards put their hands on my family."

Soap couldn't move. Couldn't breath. He felt the tears stinging his eyes. He let them fall, and stream down his face.

"Among them, I found who did it. And I sliced him. Carved him with a knife. You see, Johnny, I was a soldier before. They turned me because I was too good. The perfect soldier. But I would die one day. So they turned me into this beast. I know how to torture and how to make people scream with pain. But he was already dead and I already took his soul. So I carved a message on his body." Ghost took a knife out of his pocket and showed to Soap. "This is the only thing that was left from my old life. I want to end the new one with it too. Unless someone from them or God himself doesn't want to get my soul, I will keep walking this earth till the apocalypse come and take us all. Or maybe, one day, I will be strong enough to do it myself."

Soap was still looking down at Ghost. Ghost, who was sitting like a stone while telling Soap his life. The horrors he experienced. He squatted down. It was like the first day they met. Soap wrapped his arms around Ghost's body and pulled him close, his head was just under Soap's chin. Ghost trembled and took a deep breath, like the weight on his shoulders lifted with the touch of Soap. He leaned to Soap's chest without realizing and the hard edges of the mask sinked into Soap's flesh.

Soap didn't move, but Ghost knew it hurt. He took the mask out, then hugged Soap back with force. Like he was trying to run away from the world into the Soap's chest. Like he was trying to get into it, to nest in his ribcage and become the neighbour to his heart. Soap stroked his back, and let him pour it all out. If he wanted to stay, he was going to let him stay. Let it be in his house, or in his heart. Both were his home.

Ghost took himself back from the Soap's hug and for a moment, he didn't lift his head. It was an integral part of Ghost, Soap couldn't possibly imagine how hard it was to take it off in front of someone else. "I put this mask on after they force me to take that child's soul. I couldn't look at myself in the mirror. I was an entity with a damned soul and no heart. I was a ghost." Ghost looked up at Soap and it made Soap's heart jump. Soap saw his brown, more like auburn hair with blond strands here and there. And saw his brown eyes, which turned into pot of honey under the sun. His mouth was always on display, with scars around it that made him look like a mistreated porcelain doll. But the cheekbones were new. The cut starting from under his eye and ending right before where the mask sits was new. The freckles across his face were brilliant, like God took a look at it and decided it would be a nice location for another desert. For Soap to get lost and see a mirage under his eyes.

Soap took Ghost's hands into his and didn't look away from his eyes. Then kissed the corner of his lips. Lifted corners with a smile was the prize. Ghost held his face with both hands, then put his thumbs under Soap's eyes. He drank from the oceans, that clenched his thirst. Then he went for his lips, and not like a shy thank you. Ghost devoured Soap's lips. The human Ghost thought that he would eat his soul away was taking his' through the lips. And Ghost was giving it away willingly.

The moment ended with a bang on the door and they froze on the spot. Ghost went for his mask again, and Soap ran to the kitchen to get a knife. "Simon... I know you're here, dear." Ghost's hand stopped at midair with the mask. After hearing the name, he lowered his hand and dropped the mask. Soap wasn't listening the man shouting outside the door. His eyes were on Ghost. And when Ghost handed Soap the knife he was carrying with him, he snapped. "What are you thinking?"

Ghost didn't speak. But his eyes and face did. "Absolutely not. You're not fed. You're weak. And you give the knife to me? No." Ghost put the knife in Soap's palm and made him clench his fist, then put his hand on top of it. "I've been alive for 200 years, Johnny. And you're the best thing ever happened to me." Soap shook his head furiously. "No. Ghost -Simon. No. I won't allow it. Stay. We can figure it out."

Ghost listened the sounds. There were at least three of them. In his best, Ghost would take them down at the same time. But now, he was weaker than a kid and he knew they came after him, not Johnny. He wasn't going to put his life in danger. Ghost leaned in for another kiss before getting up to his feet. A kiss of goodbye. Soap wanted to tear down the walls with his fingers.

Ghost left like a summer breeze in the middle of the barren winter.

Soap's grip around the knife tightened to the degree that the handle left prints in his palm. He got up and went to the door. He wasn't going to let them get Ghost alone. Even as a mere human, he knew he could do something. He was a hunter, he could do some damage. When he grabbed the knob with determination, the door opened wide with a bang. A man with a red hair with blood on his face was standing in front of him with psychopatic smile. "Hi, Johnny. Let's take a walk."

Soap used the knife Ghost gave him on the red haired man. He stabbed his arm but it didn't make him leave Soap. Instead, he bent Soap's arm to his back and took him out of the house. Soap didn't realize how far they come till they stopped and only then he noticed the speed they had. The man almost flied him to the woods with his speed. When they stopped, Soap took a look at their surroundings and his eyes stopped at Ghost. He was bleeding from his arms and his face, Soap saw a hole on his chest which made his heart stop. Ghost's wounds would close by itself normally, but his body was too hungry to do so. He was going to die soon. "Ghost..."

Ghost's unseeing eyes focused on Soap and his eyes widen with fear. He struggled under the grip of the other man. "Soap! No! Why did you take him? This is between us!" Ghost's cries didn't reach to the red haired man. He just laughed. "All these fightings made me hungry. I bought a snack on my way back." The man turned his look from Soap to Ghost, then his smile turned into something more wicked. "Oh. I almost forgot. You didnt eat for so long, right? I will leave this for you. I know you don't like it, but a cut on the body will do the job. It did before."

He touched Soap's cheek and made a little cut with his fingernail, just enough to draw blood. "Soap, did you know he hates to take human soul? But the beast does like it. Blood is the link between the body and the soul. If you bring it out, we always want to taste it. Some of us want it more than the others. Especially if you're too hungry. Too weak. If you're at the door of the underworld, the beast will do anything to keep its soul inside the body. To keep it from dying."

Soap locked his eyes with Ghost, and saw the color leaving his face. He was living up to his name now, his face was as white as a ghost. Soap could see him struggling, trying to lock his jaw, close his mouth, dig his toes into the dirt to keep him from moving. But Soap also could see the beast was winning. Ghost was too helpless, he didn't have enough strength to hold himself back. The man standing at Ghost's side let him go.

Soap closed his eyes. He didn't mind dying. He didn't mind it because he knew his soul was going to live in Ghost. He was going to let Soap in, like Soap did with Ghost weeks ago. Soap was okay with it.

He embraced death with open arms.

But it didn't come. He felt the grip on his coat loosen and he planted on the ground face first. He tasted dirt in his mouth but his soul was where it should be. He stayed on his knees and hands first, then looked around. The man with the red hair was on the ground and his eyes were looking at the trees above, empty. He was dead. Rather, his soul was sucked out of him. Soap searched for Ghost and found him on the other side, the man who was holding Ghost was now between Ghost's arms, his limbs stopping moving by the time goes.

When Ghost finished his job, he tossed the body to the side like a trash. He left the mask home, so Soap saw his face as a whole. He looked phenomenal with the dried blood on his cheek and the franzy look on his eyes. But he felt scared too. This was the beast. The monster. Even though Ghost could take his last breath away from his lungs, Soap still reached a hand to him when Ghost got closer. "Simon..."

Ghost squatted and took Soap's hand, then lifted it to his face and pressed his cheek on it. Then kissed his palm. "Yes, Johnny. I'm here."

Soap let Ghost wrap him into a hug. They stayed like that for a moment, till the tension of fear leave both of their bodies. Soap nudged his head into Ghost's neck and spoke in a muffled voice. "Simon, is it over?" Ghost nodded over him. "It is. We can go home now."

Soap grabbed Ghost's shirt and held him down with himself. "Everybody is dead. There's no home." Ghost kissed the top of Soap's head. "Wherever you are, there is my home. We can leave, if you want. To somewhere better."

Soap chuckled under him. "To somewhere with unlimited access to little innocent animals."

"That too, yeah." Ghost parted away and saw Soap still holding the knife he gave, grabbing it to death. Ghost unclenched his fist, then took the knife away. It made a deep cut on Soap's hand, the blade was dripping blood. Ghost wrapped the wound with a piece of the red hair man's cloth, then clened the knife on his shirt. Soap shook his head when Ghost wanted to give the knife back. "No. It's yours. And no one's dying. So you can take it."

Ghost refused, and put the knife back on Soap's good hand. "My life is always in your hands. You can kill my kind with a stab to the heart. I never had the courage, never bring myself to try. But if one day-" Soap stopped Ghost from talking with a kiss. He kissed Ghost like this was a war and Soap was determined to win. Ghost breathed into Soap's mouth and Soap tasted Ghost's soul. He tasted love and murder. Both had traces of blood.

"If you ever, ever, talk about dying again. I will kill you. Just a warning." Ghost laughed and bit Soap's lower lip. "Mhm. I'm warned."

Five hundred years later, a man with a wide hat stepped next to a disturbed tomb. He had a shovel in his hand, and the grave was getting swept by men and women with shovels and all kinds of tools. "Price!" The man turned to the sound of his name. "Gaz. What's it?" Gaz pointed to a grave that was six foot away. "Take a look at this."

They were called to a graveyard because a sick bastard was burying his victims' bodies with the already dead people. Price greeted the people working on the other graves on his way and went to the one Gaz pointed. "Would you look at that?"

Price lowered himself and tried to take everything in. There was two bodies in the space of one, so he thought it was the psycho's doing but when he gave his attention he realized it wasn't the case.

What was left from them were only the skeleton but a trained eye could see it. One of the bodies was almost in a manner of hugging the other. The hugged one had nothing and probably died of natural causes because Price couldn't see any trauma on the bones. He was probably too old, if you take the sternum's width. But the other, the one that looked like it was hugging, had a knife between his ribs, stuck there till eternity.

Price took his eyes from the grave and plunged the shovel into the ground, taking a load of it and filling the grave. "Let them rest, son."

[samandcolbyownme]

Which snippet would you like to see become a full fic next?

Here’s the list

[mantisgodsaus]

Some Experimentation With Shapeshifting

Roughly 1.3k words of fucking around and finding out. Shapeshifting clothes is quick and easy and saves effort on fitting your non-shapeshifting clothes to your currently-shapeshifting body, especially when you are attempting to mimic a body you haven't seen in anything less than a cloak. Just... don't think too hard about the biology caused by it. Or the processes happening to your biology currently, in general.

---

"Can you... feel it, when I poke your sleeve?" Siffrin tentatively asked. Odile tilted her head, pinching a handful of shapeshifted cloak between her fingers.

"...a little bit. There's some sensation in them, but anything that I've mentally designated to be clothing seems to be mostly numb. Most of the feedback that I get from it is... more from how it affects the rest of my body than from how it affects the garment itself. Like... fingernails. I suppose. Or hair."

"Are they attached to your body, or just kind of... floating?"

Odile paused from where she had been feeling her sleeve between her fingers. "You know, I don't think I've tested."

The cloak, as it turned out, was attached at the hollow of her throat, right where Siffrin's flared into the collar. While the form had sleeves and pant legs, beneath the coat, the mimickry of Siffrin's close-fitting shirt could only be lifted off of the "skin" for a few centimeters past the sleeve's start, merging with the outer layer of the body past that - before the arm cut off entirely beneath the cloak.

And that phenomenon, really, deserved its own journal page. While Odile had never seen Siffrin's body under the cloak, she had expected this form to at least have a facimile of a human body beneath its "cloak" - this body seemed to default to... "simpler" structures, for lack of a better word, where shapeshifting abilities failed to fully capture a form, but this form simply had nothing.

Odile had experimented for long enough to have a decent idea of this body's quirks. Without direction, her shapeshifting would often lean towards simplified, almost stylized forms, like an artist would do in a sculpture. If she didn't specifically focus on getting it out right, most forms would come out with limbs and segments made of only the component shapes, with little in the way of additional detail. Hair and fur would clump into "tufts", hands would lack definition in joints and fingerprints, skin would look as if it were sculpted from clay or dark glass, failing to wrinkle or pinch at joints as it should.

Without a model directly in front of her, attempts at shapeshifting into a human often came out like... a human-sized doll, or something similar, but when she'd tried to shift into Mirabelle, she'd at least had a torso beneath the mantle. With Siffrin...

At first, it seemed like everything that went under the cloak simply vanished into the cloak's shadow. When she had tried to lift the cloak up, however, it had... stopped lifting, after a certain distance. While not the most odd thing that one of her forms had done, it was worthy of note, and thus investigation. Since it attached at the neck, she couldn't precisely lift the collar to check beneath herself, but when she had lifted an arm as far as it would go before the fabric fell back on itself and asked Siffrin to check, they'd just said that they couldn't see anything but darkness.

As it turned out, that was a rather accurate description for it.

As far as either of them could tell, the torso and upper arms of this body simply... didn't exist. While she felt like she had a torso under the cloak, the only thing that either of them could make out was all-obscuring darkness, and as Siffrin quickly discovered, the torso that the cloak's fabric moved around simply... wasn't there.

Attempting to reach under the cloak, both for her and for Siffrin, resulted in a spectacularly strange feeling of resistance. Like the air itself was becoming solid and pushing her back. Legs, arms, and neck simply faded into the darkness, seemingly dissipating after a certain distance. Attempting to touch where the limbs faded only produced more of the same hard-air effect, starting to push them back sometimes more than a centimeter above where the limb "should" be. Some quick experimentation quickly proved that it was possible to stick a hand "through" her thigh, with some effort, though by the way that Siffrin shook their hand out afterwards she suspected the effort involved had at least bruised their fingertips.

Throwing things at the darkness felt no different than throwing things at any other part of her body, it turned out. While hitting the tail of the cloak only had the feedback of something hitting her clothing, the area that something had to impact to hurt was a lot wider than it appeared to be- and wider than the apparent outline of her "body" through the cloak, as she discovered after a few minutes of Siffrin intentionally missing and her feeling the impact anyways. Siffrin's dagger hurt even when poking the space "between" her arm and her body, when she couldn't feel absolutely anything there until Siffrin stabbed into something previously unfeeling and immaterial. Stabbing into the cloak acted much the same way.

It took roughly two hours of experimenting with this effect before Isabeau walked in on them experimenting with trying to stick things under the cloak (an object held by a third party was repelled the same way that hands were, but unattached objects simply went through the unnatural darkness like nothing was there) and roughly fifteen minutes of intensely awkward explanations before Isabeau agreed to help write their observations down.

...after dinner, that was. Since, apparently, they'd been at this for long enough that they'd both forgotten to eat.

[tortellini-bandit]

- Oh My God They Were Roommates: Chapter 2

Word count: ~4.2k

Description: Henry tells Pez what’s going on. Alex and Henry have sex for the first time

Edited by: @morbific-or-felicific

Chapter 2

“Kill him, kill him, kill him!”

           

“I’m not going to kill him, you soulless demon. What if he has a wife and kids?”

           

“Oh, so it has to be a wife, huh? Why can’t he have a husband?” Alex scoffs. “Homophobic much?”

           

“Alex,” Henry says slowly, like he’s explaining basic math to a small child. “I’m gay.”

           

“Sounds like an excuse to me.” Alex turns back to the screen, the fluorescent light from the TV glinting off his glasses, and distracting Henry for perhaps a moment too long. “Come on, look what you’ve done, he’s getting away!”

           

Henry sighs, also turning back to face their television.

           

Recently, Alex has taken to attempting to get Henry to play some sort of video game called “Skyrim”. Which, from what Henry’s gathered so far, involves running around mindlessly and attempting to find civilians to kill with a very large axe.

           

For the next hour and a half, Alex continues to get him to commit several war crimes. Henry continues to refuse to hurt any innocent people. Alex is getting progressively more frustrated with Henry about this. And every once in a while, Henry will find out a useful bit of information.

           

“Why didn’t you tell me you can wield magic in this bloody game? You should have led with that!”

           

“Because magic is lame compared to that two-handed battle axe you’ve got in your hands right now.”

           

“Magic is not lame-”

           

That argument goes on for a while. It ends in Henry’s triumph when he threatens to stop playing altogether if Alex doesn’t let him wield magic instead. He feels rather smug about it.

           

Henry’s relationship with Alex hasn’t changed since they fucked in their kitchen two weeks ago.

           

Alex still makes Henry a cup of Orange Pekoe with a splash of cream when he makes his coffee in the morning. He still falls asleep halfway through truly horrible comedy movies he spent half an hour convincing Henry to watch with him. He still sends Henry Instagram reels at all ungodly hours of the night and day, even when Henry is sitting in the same room as him. He still leaves lists, most of them completely unintelligible, scattered about their flat for Henry to collect and place in a neat pile on Alex’s desk. Still places a pillow under his head and a blanket over him when Henry falls asleep on the couch, reading, at 3:00am because he couldn’t fall asleep in his cold, lonely room. He still plucks the book carefully from Henry’s slack grip, marking his page, and setting it on the coffee table.

           

Well, nothing’s changed except now sometimes Alex will slide off the sofa during their movie nights, unbuckling Henry’s belt, and taking half of him in his mouth at once. He’ll bring Henry right to the edge over and over for what feels like hours, not letting him fall over it until he’s writhing on the sofa, crying and begging, movie long forgotten. Only then will Alex finally let Henry spill down his throat. He’ll open his mouth, showing Henry his cum on his tongue. And then he’ll make Henry thank him.

           

Nothing’s changed except now sometimes when Henry comes home, stressed and tense after a long day, Alex will put him on his knees. Will fuck his face, will pull his hair a little too roughly and squeeze the sides of his throat until he’s choking and gasping for air. He’ll call him a whore for enjoying it. And Henry’s mind will go blissfully blank for the first time all day.

           

Nothing’s changed except now Henry has gotten a taste of what it would be like to have Alex. Have all of him the way he wants him.

           

Nothing’s changed except now Henry can no longer shove down his emotions as easily as he could before. He finds himself staring at Alex more and more often. Expression open and raw, before he catches himself, schooling his features and forcing his gaze back to what he’s supposed to be focused on. His book. His essay. The breakfast he’s making.

           

“Hey, dude, I don’t mean to complain when you’re cooking for me and everything. But those eggs are looking a little… black.”

           

Henry startles, looking back down at the pan on the stove and realizing that Alex is right. What he’s been pushing mindlessly around in the pan now resembles a charred mess more than it resembles scrambled eggs.

           

 “Damn,” Henry swears, turning the stove off and removing the skillet from the burner. He stares ruefully at the blackened eggs, unable to meet Alex’s eyes. He didn’t miss the way Alex called him “dude” before. Like they’re just friends. Like they’re “bros”. Like Henry doesn’t know how Alex tastes. Like Henry doesn’t know the exact cadence of Alex’s breaths right before he comes. Like Henry can’t still feel the bruises on his inner thighs that Alex hasn’t let heal since he gave them to him.

           

Like Henry hasn’t been in love with him since he was nineteen.

           

“You seem distracted lately, sweetheart.” Alex’s lean body presses against Henry’s from behind, his arms wrapping around his waist. He can feel the small rise and fall of Alex’s chest with his breaths. Can feel his warmth through the fabric of their shirts. Henry shifts, leaning his body back against Alex’s, closing his eyes, relishing the small comfort.

           

In these moments, Henry can almost pretend that Alex actually wants him too. Can almost pretend they live together because they want to, not because rent is cheaper this way. That Alex wants him, and only him. That Alex isn’t just using him as a body to warm his bed because it’s convenient. At least until he finds someone he actually wants to spend his life with.

           

“Just tired. You know how I get when finals are coming up.”

           

Alex hums, pressing his lips into the spot in between Henry’s shoulder blades.

           

He suppresses a shiver.

           

After a long moment, Alex pulls away. “Come on, we can still get breakfast on the way if we leave now.” Alex looks mournfully at what was supposed to be their breakfast. “And perhaps pick up a new skillet.”

           

“Sod off.” Henry shoves at him playfully. “I absolutely did not ruin our frying pan. It just needs to be washed.”

           

“If by ‘washed’, you mean ‘thrown out entirely’, then yes, I completely agree.”

           

Henry rolls his eyes, but he knows the gesture comes across more fond than anything.

 

***

           

“My darling Hazza.”

           

Henry sighs.

           

“Do you mean to tell me that you’ve been letting our dear Alexander bend you over every possible surface of that sad excuse for a flat for two weeks, and you’re just telling me now?” Pez screeches.

           

Henry winces. “Technically speaking, he hasn’t bent me over any surfaces. We haven’t done anything past blowjobs.”  

“You know better than to think I’ll let you off the hook on a technicality.” Pez’s voice comes out so high pitched that Henry is impressed it didn’t crack.

           

“See,” Henry exhales, suddenly very tired, “this is why I didn’t want to tell you. Because I knew you’d overreact.”

           

“Overreact?” Pez looks like he’s fighting the urge to strangle Henry. Henry can’t really blame him. He’s also had the urge to strangle himself quite frequently these past few weeks.

           

“Mate, you’re having ‘casual, no strings’ sex with the man you’ve been in love with since the moment you laid eyes on. And that’s not even mentioning the fact that you bloody live with him! What are you going to do when all of this inevitably goes down in flames?” Pez throws up his hands in frustration.

           

“I don’t know, okay?” he snaps. He pushes himself angrily to his feet, going to stand by the window, watching the snow flutter gently to the ground, illuminated by the halos of light cast from the streetlamps.

           

 “I don’t know,” he says quieter.

           

“Haz.” Pez comes to stand beside him, voice softer this time. It’s lost its sharp edge of frustration, replaced by something else.

           

Pity maybe.
           

“I think you should break it off now, before this has a chance to hurt you any more than it already has.”

           

“I can’t do that.”

           

“Why not? Can’t you see what this is doing to you?” Pez implores.

           

“I can’t, alright?” Henry’s almost yelling now. “I can’t because this is as close as I’m going to get to having him.” He draws in a shaky breath. “He’s going to move on, he’s going to find somebody else, and this will all just be an amusing memory he looks back on sometimes, but for me.” He pauses for a moment, collecting himself, fighting the sting in his eyes. “But for me, this is everything. I would never forgive myself if I gave this up just to save myself a little pain.” Henry can feel Pez’s eyes on him, but he stares resolutely out the window.

           

The snow has picked up little, falling in delicate bunches rather than individual snowflakes. “Because right now I can pretend that this is more than it is. And that’s worth more to me than trying to protect myself from any future heartbreak.”

           

Pez stares at him for a long moment before finally speaking. “Then I think you should tell him how you feel.”

           

Henry whips his head around at that, staring incredulously at his best friend.

           

“I think he might surprise you,” Pez says gently.

           

“No. No, he won’t surprise me. He’ll stop whatever this is immediately. He’ll conveniently never have time for our movie nights anymore. He’ll start to look at me with pity in his eyes. ‘Poor Henry fell in love with his best friend who will never feel the same.’ And what if he moves out to try to make it less awkward between us? I’ll never see him again. I’ll lose any part of him I ever had.” Henry hangs his head.

           

“Oh, Henry.”

           

In the hollow silence that follows, Henry knows he’s right.

 

***

           

When Henry walks through the door of their flat, shoulders curled inward on himself, eyes downcast, melted snow dripping from his hair, Alex is by his side in an instant. “Baby. What’s wrong?”

           

Henry’s heart soars in its metal cage at the nickname.

           

“Nothing. It’s just– it’s nothing.”

           

Alex’s hand starts rubbing soothing circles over Henry’s shoulder. “Do you want me to make you some tea? Or we can get wine drunk and blast music; fuck the neighbours.” Alex tilts Henry’s chin up with gentle fingers, forcing him to look into his kind eyes. “Tell me what I can do.”

           

Henry juts his chin out, meeting Alex’s steady gaze, and says what he’s wanted to say for years.

           

“Fuck me.”

           

Alex’s eyes dart back and forth between Henry’s, searching for any sign of doubt. “Are you sure?”

           

Henry almost laughs. There’s very little else he’s more sure of than this. “Yes. Please, Alex. I– I need this.”

           

“Fuck, okay, yes. Yes, of course I’ll fuck you, baby.” Alex gently cradles the side of his face with his warm hand.

           

“I– I need you to be rough,” Henry tells him. “I need you to use me. So I don’t have to think.” He pauses. “Please, Alex.”

           

Alex’s pupils dilate, expression changing. Shifting into something less kind. Something crueler. “Yeah? You want me to put you on your back and give you a good fucking, princess? Split you open on my cock until you forget every word that’s not my name?”

           

“Yes,” Henry breathes.

           

“Yes, what?” Alex snaps.

           

A bolt of lightning shoots up the length of Henry’s spine. “Yes, sir.”

           

Alex smirks. “Such a good little slut.”

           

Henry shatters.

           

Alex lets his hand fall, taking a step back. His eyes languidly travel the length of Henry’s body, deliberating. “I want you on your bed,” Alex says. “Waiting for me come fuck you.”

           

Henry’s breath hitches. He nods.

           

“And if you touch yourself before I get there.” Alex’s eyes narrow. “Then you don’t get to come. I’ll fuck you open, and then leave you desperate and alone. Begging for more. Understood?”
           

Henry nods again.

           

“Good.” He jerks his head in the direction of Henry’s bedroom.

           

 Henry steps out of his shoes, shrugging off his jacket and hanging it on the hook. Alex lazily tracks his movements. Then Henry walks off down the hall without a backwards glance. Leaving Alex to stare after him.

           

One he’s in his room, he strips down to his boxers, folding his clothes and placing them neatly on his desk chair. Impossibly, he’s already half hard. From the way Alex had looked at him. From the anticipation of what’s to come. He lays on the bed, propped against his pillows, watching the door. He aches to wrap a hand around himself, to take the edge off, but Alex’s warning rings in his ears, stopping him.

           

He isn’t kept waiting long. When Alex walks through the door, forgoing knocking, he’s holding a condom, a bottle of lube, and– a length of rope. Alex’s eyes glint with something bright and dangerous when he sees Henry’s gaze linger on the rope.

           

Henry’s no stranger to being tied up, but this rope is rather thin. The kind that will dig painfully into his wrists if he pulls too hard. The kind that will leave marks tomorrow. If he’s lucky.

           

“Having second thoughts, princess?” Alex taunts. His tone is mocking, but Henry can hear the genuine question underneath. He’s giving Henry an out. Even though he’s the one who asked Alex to fuck him. To use him. Like he’s nothing more than Alex’s personal plaything.

           

Henry shakes his head. “No.”

           

“Good.” Alex’s smirk returns. It’s a little crooked and positively lethal. Henry wants to sear the image into his mind.

 

Alex approaches the bed, setting the condom and the lube on the night stand, but keeping the rope. Henry lifts his arms above his head, bracing them near the headboard, staring up at Alex expectantly.

           

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” Alex breathes.

 

Henry’s heart stutters in his chest.

           

The bed dips when Alex braces his knee against the edge, leaning over Henry to tie his wrists. The rope is surprisingly smooth against his skin as Alex ties practiced loops, pulling them taut. The knots is just this side of too tight, so Henry knows there will likely be bruises tomorrow. He’ll probably have to wear a long sleeve shirt to cover them.

           

He doesn’t want to. He wants to show them off. He wants the world to see. Wants everyone to know that Henry was tied to headboard and used. Wants them to know it was Alex who gave him these bruises.

           

Alex, who has the body of an Olympic swimmer. Alex, with his infectious laugh. Alex, with his perfect curls he spends half an hour styling every morning. Alex, with his adorable glasses he refuses to wear to class, but insists on wearing when he’s playing video games because it ‘enhances the experience.’ Alex, who could have anyone, but who chose Henry.

           

For now.

           

Alex climbs onto the bed, hovering over Henry, arms braced on either side of him. He leans down, and for one utterly insane moment, Henry thinks Alex is about to kiss him. He doesn’t, of course. They don’t do that. Instead, he moves higher, and Henry gasps when he feels Alex’s warm tongue tracing patterns just below the delicate skin of his wrists. It takes him a moment to realize that Alex is tracking the path of his veins with his tongue.

           

“Alex, please.”

           

“Did I say you could talk?” Teeth dig painfully into his forearm. “Do you need me to gag you just to make you behave?” Alex soothes over his mark with his tongue. An apology.

 

A shiver runs the length of Henry’s spine, and he shakes his head, not making the mistake of speaking out of turn again.

 

He wonders if Alex would actually gag him. He wonders what else Alex might do if he talked back. If he was a brat. But that’s something to test another time.

 

***

 

“Fuck, Henry. You’re so tight.”

 

Henry gasps at the stretch, suddenly overwhelmed when he feels Alex push into him in one long, slow movement. So much bigger than his fingers. He writhes on the bed, instinctually pulling at his restraints, but they don’t so much as budge. The thin rope digs into his skin, and he almost moans at the dull sting.

 

Alex stops when he bottoms out, giving him a moment to adjust. His curls are falling into his eyes, and Henry aches to push them out of his face, but he can’t. So, instead, he settles for watching the pleasure painting Alex’s beautiful features, and the strain of his arm muscles from where he’s hovering over Henry, keeping most of his weight off. Henry almost wishes he wouldn’t.

 

He wants him closer, though he knows that’s physically impossible right now. But it doesn’t stop him from wanting Alex to break open his chest and make a home for himself, curled around Henry’s pathetic little heart.

 

He gives Alex a small nod, almost imperceptible if you weren’t looking for it, but Alex sees and understands.

 

He pulls almost all the way out before slamming back in.

 

Henry almost blacks out from the intense combination of pleasure and pain, hands scrabbling for purchase against the headboard.

 

Alex starts to build a brutal, punishing rhythm, the bed banging unceremoniously against the wall. And for one, hysterical moment, he worries about the neighbours. Within the next moment, he isn’t thinking much about anything.

 

“Ngh–” A strangled moan is torn from his lips.

 

“God, Henry, you’re so, ah, desperate for it, aren’t you? Desperate for me to fuck your slutty little hole, aren’t you?” Alex rakes his blunt nails down Henry’s side, and he cries out. “Use your words, princess.”

 

“Yes, yes! I need you. Need your cock. Harder, please,” he begs.

 

“Fuck, you’re such a perfect little cockslut. Just for me, isn’t that, ah, right, princess?”

 

Henry’s back arches off the bed, very nearly coming from those words alone.

 

Yes! Yes, yours. Only ever yours.

 

“I’m going to wreck you for anyone else. No one’s ever gonna be able to fuck you like I can.” As if proving his point, he changes his angle, hitting that spot he was purposefully avoiding before.

 

“God, yes.” Henry’s tongue lolls out of his mouth, and stars explode behind his eyes. He’s pretty sure he’s drooling onto his pillows. His cock is red and angry and weeping where it’s trapped between their bodies, and the small friction in the drag of Alex’s body against his is everything.

 

His body feels like a livewire. Every sensation, every filthy word coming out of Alex’s perfect mouth feels magnified, somehow. But he also feels like if he moves the wrong way, he might shatter.

 

“Look at you, princess.” Alex’s thumb catches on the tip of Henry’s cock, smearing precum. “You’re so wet.” Alex *fists his cock, too hard, and Henry cries out, thrashing. His body trying to get away from the overwhelming stimulation, but his restraints, and Alex’s strong, warm hands keep him firmly in place.

 

“Please, Alex,” Henry whines.

 

“Please what, sweetheart?” Alex flicks his wrist, and Henry arches into his touch. “Please fuck you so hard you’re limping for a week?” A particularly hard thrust sends Henry’s thoughts scattering from his mind, and he’s too slow to catch them. “Answer me.”

 

“I–I don’t, ngh–”

 

“Please give you a collar of pretty bruises so everyone knows that you’re mine?” Alex grabs a fistful of Henry’s hair, yanking his head back, forcing him to meet Alex’s dark gaze. Mine to fuck.” Another hard thrust. “Mine to use.” Another. “Mine.”

 

Yes, yes, yes!

 

“Christ, I’m gonna– Alex, I’m gonna–”

 

Alex squeezes the base of his cock, effectively stopping his building orgasm. Henry cries at the loss.

 

Alex draws his mouth up right next to Henry’s ear. “You don’t get to come until I say you can.” Alex’s voice is quiet, dangerous. It makes Henry want to record it so he can listen to it again and again, long after their little arrangement has ended. “Do I make myself clear?”

 

“Yes, sir.” Henry voice sounds pitiful, even to his own ears.

 

Alex smirks. “Good.” He changes his angle again, somehow managing to get deeper than before. “Good bitch.”

 

“God, Alex, you’re, ngh, so big.” Henry can barely string two thoughts together anymore. Too lost in the feeling of being fucked open like this, of being forced to just take it. He can practically feel Alex in his throat.

 

“Fuck, princess, I’m, ah, close.” Alex attaches his lips to Henry’s collarbone, sucking at Henry’s skin like his goal is to leave a bruise so dark, Henry couldn’t possibly hide it. His hands are leaving bruises in the shapes of his fingerprints, and he’s making good on his promise to give Henry a necklace of bruises.

 

Alex wraps his hand around Henry’s cock again, strokes fast and rough, and electricity sparks at the contact.

 

“Yes, god, yes! Please. Let me come, I need, ngh, to come.”

 

“God, you’re so pretty when you’re begging for it.”

 

“Alex–”

 

“Open your mouth for me, baby.”

 

Henry blinks, uncomprehending, and Alex wrenches his head back with his tight grip curled around Henry’s hair. “I said open your mouth.”

 

Henry complies, and Alex flashes his teeth in a cruel grin before spitting in his mouth. Henry gasps, eyes rolling back in his head. His whole body shudders, and he wants. Wants to taste Alex’s lips against his. Wants to feel his tongue in his mouth. Wants Alex to bite at his lips until he tastes copper. Wants Alex to want him.

 

“Swallow.”

 

Henry shudders, swallowing Alex’s spit in his mouth.

 

 

Removes his hand from Henry’s hair, wrapping it around Henry’s dick, now slick with Henry’s precum, and his cock is nailing his sweet spot with almost every thrust. Henry knows he’s letting out little whimpers and moans, but he’s so close to the edge, if Alex doesn’t let him come, he’ll shatter underneath him.

 

“Fuck, fuck, Henry, I’m gonna come.” Alex’s breaths are coming in a staccato. He scratches his blunt nails roughly across Henry’s scalp, fucks into him once, twice, three times, and comes. Henry doesn’t think he’s wanted anything more than he wants there not to be a condom separating them; he wants to feel Alex, hot inside him.

 

Alex fucks Henry slowly through the aftershocks, still stroking him lazily, and Henry sobs at still being denied his release, unsure how much more he can take.

 

Then. “Come for me, princess.”

 

Henry cries as he comes, vision going white, streaking his cum across his stomach and Alex’s abdomen. He thinks he even feels some up by his chest.

 

Alex continues to stroke him until he’s whining and trembling and fighting to get away from the overstimulation.

 

When Henry comes back to himself, he notices Alex is staring down at him and stroking his hair softly. The expression on Alex’s face makes him look away. He looks– he looks like he’s never seen anything as beautiful as what he’s looking at right now. Henry can’t bear to look at him, not knowing it doesn’t mean anything. Knowing it’s just the post-orgasm haze.

 

Alex doesn’t say anything, just stares at Henry for a moment longer, and then starts to move. He pulls out slowly, placing a gentle kiss to his temple when he notices Henry’s grimace of discomfort. He ties the condom off and tosses it in the bin and shuffles up the bed, leaning over Henry to untie him.

 

When he’s free, Henry sits up, bringing his wrists to his face, examining the damage. There’s definitely a little bruising, though it’s not nearly as bad as it could have been, and there’s no rope burn. He’s rubbing his wrists, trying to soothe the tender ache when Alex gets up and leaves.

 

Henry’s not really sure why he’s surprised. They’re not dating. Alex doesn’t owe him anything. He asked Alex to fuck him, and he did. He shouldn’t have expected anything more.

 

A minute later, Alex returns, a warm, wet cloth in his hand, and a soft smile on his face. Shame floods Henry’s body. Of course Alex wouldn’t just leave someone after something like this. That’s not who Alex is.

 

Henry offers him his own shaky smile in return.

 

 

“You made quite the mess here, Your Highness.” Alex gestures to Henry’s cum that’s cooling on his stomach.

 

“All for you, dear.”

 

Alex tips his head back and laughs. A real laugh. Not the one he uses when he’s trying to charm someone, or flirt his way into getting what he wants. Henry watches the elegant column of his throat, his Adams apple bobbing.

 

Alex uses the cloth to gently wipe away Henry’s cum, and Henry hisses when he reaches his sensitive cock. Alex kisses over his hip bones in apology.

 

When he’s done, he stretches out on Henry’s bed like he owns it, smiling sleepily at him.

 

“Are you coming to bed, Your Highness?”

 

“It’s my bed, you insolent arse.”

 

“Exactly.” Alex grins

 

Henry exhales a long breath, gets up to flick off the light, pulls on a pair of boxers, then lays down, somewhat stiffly, next to Alex. He’s not entirely sure why Alex isn’t leaving to go back to his own room. But then Alex sighs contentedly and slings an arm across Henry’s waist before promptly falling asleep, snoring in his ear. Leaving Henry to stare at the ceiling, and wonder if he’ll still be here in the morning.

 

Eventually, some hours later, he falls asleep too.

[arieslost]

home to you | op81

oscar piastri x fem!reader

summary: oscar does what he should’ve done a long time ago.

word count: 2,978

warnings: healing sunburn right at the beginning, a touch of angst

masterlist — join my tag list here!

this is a PART TWO! read part one here :)

© arieslost 2024. DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT PERMISSION.

Your sunburn is peeling.

Oscar’s been watching you absentmindedly pick at it for the last ten minutes as you recount your day to him. He’s paying attention to what you’re saying, of course, but now he’s worried that you might accidentally hurt yourself.

“Stop doing that,” he says when you pause to catch your breath, reaching for his phone as if he could put his hand through and stop you himself.

“What?” You frown, and then look at your shoulder. “Oh, right. It’s weirdly satisfying though.”

“This is why you can’t go to the beach by yourself.” Oscar sighs. “You never put on enough sunscreen.”

“I know,” you reply quietly.

As much as both of you have tried, neither of you can help the awkward undertones that seep into every silence you share now. Oscar knows you love him, and you know that he doesn’t feel the same way.

You think he doesn’t feel the same way.

When he saw that look on your face that morning in the kitchen, it reminded him of the way he stared at you on prom night. Oscar didn’t get asked to the senior prom, but you did, and you had turned the offer down. Oscar asked you why, and you told him that you only wanted to go with him, otherwise you weren’t going. You’d dragged him back and forth from your table to the dance floor all night long, and it all would’ve faded into the mush of fleeting high school memories if your favorite song hadn’t come on. Oscar remembers every detail of how your eyes lit up, how you cried, “I love this song!” even though he knew you did, and how you’d grabbed his hands and started dancing with a refreshed energy. He felt like time had stopped and his world revolved around you, and it felt right.

So yeah, he knew the moment you gave him that look that not only did he still love you, but you finally, finally felt the same way. And, for the second time, he’d epically fucked it up.

He often wishes that he could go back and confess to you like he wanted to that night. You’d stayed over because you were too tired to drive home. You were both single. It was the perfect time. But now it’s four years later and he’s sitting in the hotel bathroom on the other side of the world, his girlfriend asleep in the hotel bed, and you on the other end of his phone screen picking at your sunburn that he could’ve prevented had he spent more time with you on vacation.

“You doing okay, Osc?” You ask, pulling on a hoodie of his that you stole from him before he left for his very first F1 race. “Aside from the races, I mean. I know you’re doing great with those.”

“Yeah, I’m alright.” The words come out with practiced ease. “I’d rather hear about how you’re doing though.” I miss you like you wouldn’t believe.

“I think I’ve told you everything like five times now,” you giggle. “I could tell you about the guy that came up to me in the grocery store this afternoon and took a painstakingly long time to ask for my number, but that’s not a long story.”

Oscar’s heart stops. “What?” He replies, teeth gritted, before he clears his throat and lightens his tone. “I mean, what?”

“Yeah, it was kind of strange. He started the conversation by asking me how you were doing, obviously, because you’re so cool and famous-” Oscar flips you off when you roll your eyes, and you laugh. “Anyway, I guess that was his icebreaker, because then he just abruptly segued into grilling me right there in the cereal aisle about my life and how he ‘couldn’t believe he’d never seen me before.’” You recount dramatically. “I’m telling you, Osc, it was nonstop cheesy line after cheesy line. I felt so bad for him I let him have my number.”

“So, he used me as an in and then harassed you until you gave him your number?”

You nod slowly. “Pretty much.”

“You better not actually be considering going out with this guy.” Oscar scoffs.

“Oh, no, I’m not!” You rush to clarify, and he can see a faint blush rising on your cheeks. “I mean, it’s not like I’m waiting for anyone-anything. He was just weird. I only gave him my number so he’d leave me alone… I blocked him when he texted me.”

“You’re horrible,” he starts laughing now, relieved that this guy never even stood a chance. “I love it.”

“You’re supposed to be encouraging me to get out there and find a boyfriend, loser. Brush up on the best friend manual.” You complain, pulling the hood over your head and hiding your face from him so he can’t see how much it hurts to think about finding someone that isn’t him.

He doesn’t notice anyway; he’s distracted by the sound of the covers moving and his girlfriend yawning.

You hear it too, and glance up at the camera. “You have to go?”

His heart breaks at how sad you look. “Yeah, sounds like she’s actually waking up this time. Sorry, honey.”

You shrug, and he knows you’re trying to appear unbothered. “It’s okay. We got, what, an hour and a half? That’s a whole extra 45 minutes or so.”

“You’re allowed to tell me how you really feel, y’know.”

“Damn it, Oscar. You just see right through me. I don’t know why I even bother.” You sigh, covering your face with your hands.

“I don’t know why, either,” he attempts to joke. “Look, I-”

“Oscar? Where are you?” His girlfriend calls, and you stiffen up at the sound of her voice.

“Be there in a minute!” He responds, turning his attention back to you. “I’ll call you again as soon as possible, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Bye, honey.”

“Bye, Osc.”

You hang up first.

“I love you,” he whispers to his blank phone screen, and gets up to start his day.

You say it back to your own blank screen and go to sleep.

Oscar comes to the steadfast conclusion that he wants you and only you at his side at his home race, and not as a friend.

Breaking up with his girlfriend still looms over him. He lies awake for way too long at night trying to figure out the nicest way to do it, but his thoughts always end up taking a detour to you and how he wishes it was you sleeping next to him instead.

Despite the struggle going on in his mind, he goes through the motions of PDA with her for all the cameras and other drivers in the paddock to see. Lando is the only one who realizes what his issue is.

“Mate, you have to figure this out.” The older driver said out of the blue as they were lounging in McLaren hospitality after qualifying.

“Huh?” Oscar frowned at him, tearing his eyes away from his texts with you. “I know I fucked up that quali, but it’s not like I can’t improve.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about, you muppet.” Lando rolled his eyes, and said your name like it’s obvious. “You just have to break up with the girl you’re with now so you can have the girl you really want.”

“You say that like it’s so simple.” Oscar mumbled, looking at the text from you that had just come in.

Just focus on the race, Osc. Quali’s behind you, it doesn’t matter anymore. I’ll be cheering you on, what could possibly go wrong??

“It is, if you think about it. Besides, you’ve been acting so weird lately she might already think something’s up.”

“Gee, thanks. That makes me feel a lot better.” Oscar groaned, sinking lower into his chair.

“Always here for you, mate.”

“I was being sarcastic.”

“I don’t care.”

That enlightening conversation gets Oscar to finally work up the courage to tell his girlfriend those dreaded words following the race– “We need to talk.”

He waits until they’re in the hotel room after dinner to say it so there’s no audience, primarily because he knows that she’s prone to throwing fits when things don’t go her way. The memory of her losing her mind when he took you to breakfast during vacation comes screaming back to him at the speed of light.

She doesn’t say anything at first; instead, she takes her time removing her shoes and taking the pins out of her hair. Oscar can’t stand the silence, so he starts speaking again.

“It’s about-”

“I think I know what this is about.” She interrupts him.

“You do?”

“I’d have to be stupid not to know, Oscar. You’ve been off for the past few days, it’s only with me, and every time I wake up you’re hiding in the bathroom on the phone.” She holds up a hand when he opens his mouth. “I know it’s her, and I’ve known since that vacation. You don’t have to tell me.”

“You’re… you’re not gonna yell?” He can’t hide the surprise in his voice.

“It won’t get me anywhere, will it?”

“It never did.”

She smiles matter-of-factly. “I guess I have to work on that.”

She packs her things without argument. Oscar offers to buy her a plane ticket somewhere, but she waves him off and thanks him anyway before walking out the door.

The Australian Grand Prix is in two weeks. Oscar doesn’t think before he calls you.

“I’m coming home. I need to see you.”

Your heart has been in your throat ever since Oscar called you this morning. He was so hasty that he didn’t even tell you when he was coming, so every little movement you see outside your window has you running to see if it’s him or not.

He doesn’t show up until almost 9:30 at night. You can hear the engine of his car as he flies through your neighborhood with practiced ease and nearly drifts into your driveway. Your stomach is jumping with nerves and excitement; you didn’t think you’d see him for another two weeks, and despite the awkwardness that your feelings have brought to your friendship, you want nothing more than to hug your best friend.

He starts impatiently knocking on the door as you nearly trip down the stairwell in your rush to let him in.

“Hold on!” You shout, fingers shaking as you unlock the door and wrench it open. “Are you trying to break my door?”

“Jokes later, let me hold you,” he says, reaching for you and meeting you in the middle of the doorway as he pulls you into his chest for a tight embrace.

You melt into him immediately, your arms wrapped around his neck and your nose pressed to the warm skin that peeks out of his hoodie. “I can’t believe you’re here,” you mumble, squeezing him.

He shivers, kissing the top of your head. “I’m here, baby.”

I’m sorry, baby. You think about that so much that it shouldn’t hurt anymore. It sobers your mood a little.

“Why, though?” You ask, pulling away a little to look at him. “Don’t you have things to be doing?”

“I may have forced them to clear my schedule by coming home without telling anyone.”

“Oscar!” You exclaim. “Why? You could get in trouble!”

“Can we talk inside?”

“Yeah, of course. C’mon.” You take his hand and lead him into your house.

He takes off his shoes, leaves his suitcase in the hall, and goes to your living room on autopilot, where he flops down on the couch and lets out a long breath. You sit next to him, knees bumping together as you look at him with a reasonable amount of concern. “You’re acting weird. What’s wrong with you?”

“I broke up with her.” He says, rolling his head to the side so he’s looking at you. “So, nothing’s wrong with me.”

“Bullshit, Osc, it seemed to me like you really liked her.”

“You didn’t, though.”

“Who cares what I think?” Your brain fully computes his words. “Wait- actually, no. I’m not even going to act surprised by the fact that you knew that.” You sigh.

“I care what you think. I care about you. A lot.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I don’t think you do.” He sits up straighter now, turning his whole body to face you. “Like, in a romantic way.”

You blink at him a couple times. “No you don’t.”

“I don’t?” He repeats incredulously.

“You can’t. You don’t.” You say. “You’re lying.”

“I’m lying?” He says through a laugh. “You’ve known me your whole life. When have I ever lied to you?”

You press your lips together. The only time he’s ever lied to you is when he planned your surprise parties. “I’m gonna need you to do a really good job explaining yourself, otherwise I’m kicking you out. You can’t do this to me, Oscar, you know how I feel-”

“Yes, I do, and I’d love to explain if you’d stop spiraling for a second.” He interrupts, taking your hands to ground you.

You’re once again having the dilemma of wanting to push him away and pull him closer simultaneously. The pressure of his hands holding yours succeeds in calming you, so you allow it.

“The whole reason I knew how you felt in the first place is because of the way you looked at me in the kitchen. You didn’t notice, but I looked at you the exact same way at the prom.” He says, gauging your reaction by how your face contorts slightly as you try to remember the prom at all, aside from the fleeting memory of forcing him to slow dance with you. “That feeling like time stops? Like-”

“Like I got hit by a truck,” you recall, looking down as he runs his thumbs over your knuckles.

“Right.” He nods. “Look, the bottom line here is that I screwed up by not telling you then, and if I had, we would’ve been dating for years at this point and this conversation wouldn’t even be happening.”

You feel like you look like a fish out of water with how your jaw is opening and closing, searching for something to say in response. “Osc-”

“If this makes you change your mind, I get it.” He continues. “But the whole reason I came here is to tell you that I love you. I’m in love with you and I have been since we were 18.”

You go to muster up something to say in response when he says one more thing. “Oh, and I’m tired of only being able to see you through the phone. That’s the other reason.”

You can’t help it– that, paired with his polite cat smile, his flushed cheeks, and his confession has you dissolving into giggles. That quickly morphs into laughter that sends you leaning so far forward your head is practically in Oscar’s lap, but he doesn’t seem to mind because he’s laughing too.

“I hate you so much,” you gasp out, pushing yourself back up so you can look at him when you tell him the complete and total truth. “I’ve been in love with you since we were 14.”

“Shit, that means I have eight years to make up for, not four.”

“Sucks to suck.” You say, easily falling back into your age-old banter.

“You sound like Lando,” he says, wrinkling his nose. “And I was gonna ask if I could kiss you.”

“Ah, shoot. I ruined it.”

“Hmm, no. I’m gonna ask you anyway.” He shifts closer to you, brushing your hair out of your face with both hands. “Can I kiss you? Please?”

You start nodding before he even finishes asking, maybe too enthusiastically, but it’s Oscar. He knows you. He wants you. You don’t need to be embarrassed.

The press of his lips against yours is soft, gentle. You always thought that if you ever kissed Oscar it might be too weird, but the only thing you feel now is right.

It feels right to thread your fingers into his hair. It feels right to let him tug you closer, closer, closer, until you have no choice but to straddle him so you can be as close as he wants you. It feels right when his hands slip under your shirt and lightly run over the skin of your back, when his tongue meets yours, when you give his hair an experimental tug and he moans into your mouth.

The only thing wrong about it is that you have no choice but to break the kiss in order to breathe, but even then you don’t move far from each other, breaths mixing in the minimal space between you both.

“We could have been doing that for a long time,” Oscar sighs, throwing his head back against the couch.

“We have all the time in the world now that we stopped being idiots and confessed.” You point out.

“D’you think you can come to the race in a couple weeks? We can take it slow with this, no one needs to know… I just want you to be there.” He asks.

“Of course, Osc, are you kidding?” You run your hands over his shoulders and down to where his hands rest on your hips. “Though, if you win, I can’t promise no PDA or anything.”

“I’d expect nothing less from my girlfriend.” You can feel him tense up a little, like he’s expecting you to react negatively, but he relaxes immediately when your smile lights up your whole face and you kiss him again.

“I love you,” he whispers against your lips.

“I love you,” you whisper back.

No one else needs to hear it just yet. You only need to tell each other.

note: i sincerely hope this made up for any tears i may have caused with the angst in the first part. this is the first time i’ve ever been inspired to write a part 2, and i think it’s because i desperately needed it to end happily. thank you so much for all the love on falling for you; i never expected it to get as much attention as it did!

requests are OPEN, and my inbox is always open for comments, criticism, and conversation! feel free to pop in!

reblogs are greatly appreciated <33

dividers by @/saradika !

tags (i’m sorry if i couldn’t tag you!): @venusacrossthestars @67-angelofthelordme-67 @emails-i-can-send @nelly187 @cixrosie @fangirl-dot-com @sainzluvrr @imheretoread @mellowarcadefun @yourbane @monsieurbacteria6 @c-losur3 @papayatori @ssprayberrythings @namgification @maih23 @evlkking @witchycarmen @ilovethispookie @maxverstappenfan79 @sya-skies @niallerswolf @fangirl-dot-com @hood-jabi @vellicora @k-pevensie28 @cami26cami @arian-directioner @vildetry06 @hauntedphotographybookstaco @bigheartsthings @northpizzasposts @notturlover @riv3rbank @gesfjjsl @oliveisunstable @lily1sposts @sadbut-true0 @lilcowboy0 @alltoowelltaylor @kimis-gloves @superheroreader @alexmarie29 @anedpev @lalalaphie @waitingforsmartpeople @arrowenchantress @zillygoose @its-cat-eyes @gxllumsriddles @fionaschicken @mrsgeorgerussell63 @bre013 @lizzypiastri @blldsnjs @samantha-chicago @homosexualjohnwayne @opheliabluewolff @catbat011 @drivelikeiido @what-is-happening-helpp @decafmickey @tania2748 @steviesscoops @annahowardsworld

[milomaybe]

Pits

You’ve had a bad day, so you go to the only place you feel completely comfortable being an ass. Could be a oneshot could be a story, who knows at this point. Angst. Reader has no gender. Highschool au, human au, reader is not called y/n

I need inspiration to keep writing this and improving my writing skills. I have no idea how long I'll keep this going or if I'll even post this fic again but here.

To say you were pissed would be an understatement. Your hair was charred at the ends from a failed chemistry lab, your favorite jacket was soaked in rain water. At least the water helped with the burn somewhere your mind tried to reason. It was minor but still hurt like a little bitch another part said whilst wishing you’d snapped at the careless classmate who did it. Instead of walking home to your house you made the short trip from the bus stop to Monty’s place, not even bothering to stop by yours to let your parents know where you were headed. Well, they probably knew where you were anyways.

You opened the door and let it slam closed.

“I’m home!” In response you heard a loud grumble from the kitchen. Instead of heading to greet your friend you immediately went down to the basement and began setting everything down. Carelessly you changed into some of his clothes and went looking for the stray bag of chips you knew he kept down here despite his housemates' protests. He stomped out of the bathroom and stared at you for a second. It must’ve been one of his housemates in the kitchen. You simply rolled your eyes at the blush creeping onto his cheeks as you kept searching for the chips.

“Do I even get to ask?” You only made a noise of discontentment when you realized the chips were gone and you found the empty bag instead. “What’s there to say?” you sat on the couch with a huff. It was clear as day he was finding some form of entertainment in your disdain and instead of comforting you he sat as well and started flicking through channels. He knew you’d blow up eventually, just like him you were a ticking time bomb of rage. All it took was him to glance at you with a raised eyebrow for you to cave and start shouting.

“Okay what the actual fuck man?!!?”

“Excuse me?”

“DUDE! You can clearly tell I’m pissed off and you aren’t saying shit!” To which he laughed and that only made you wanna explode even more.

“You know I love it when you’re pissed,” Your face was red with anger at this point but he continued, “The hell am I supposed to do. I’m shit with feelings and you know it!” Fists balling up with raise you went and punched him hard in the shoulder he laughed even harder. “Look mate, we aren’t gonna get anywhere by talking.”

He began to stand up and wander over to where his golf clubs were stashed. He grabbed a pretty hefty one and handed it to you before setting up his mattress on the wall. “Go nuts, just don’t hit the walls” He turned off the tv turned up the radio and you fucking beat the shit out of that mattress. You went at it for at least a good thirty minutes before finally stopping.

“Better?”

You grunted in response. You dropped the club and sat back on the couch, only to lay your head on his shoulder. He wrapped an arm around you and turned off the music. The silence filled the air as you watched the storm from out the window. You could feel him staring at you. "Get caught in the rain again?" "...yeah."

You hate how many times this has happened before. How many times you've had to come here so you didn't blow up on some innocent bystander. guilt gnawed at your stomach, and your rage had completely fizzled out leaving you in a… melancholy mood.

You tried to find a spark of emotion to express because that's what you and him do around each other, express everything… but it's gone. You're just… tired and hungry.

The hungry part was normal, eating food was always a battle of whether to let you enjoy the satisfaction or to try to make yourself feel better 'for longer' by not eating. The chips were the only thing that sounded good today and they were gone. A bird passed by and ate a worm, you frowned.

"Hey…"

For once he was trying to be gentle. He moved slowly closer to you, well as close as he could. He knocked his knee against yours successfully pulling you from your mind.

"Hm?"

"Let's go get food."

"I'm not hungry."

He just kinda sighed and closed his eyes for a moment,"you were looking for chips earlier, you probably haven't eaten all day." He wasn't lying and you just scooched further from him on the couch, in his mind it proved the point, "... Please?"

As if on cue one of his housemates called from upstairs, "MONTY! COME GET FOOD!"

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“Do you want to willingly come or do I have to drag you?”

You sorta half rolled your eyes and watched him stand up. His eyes were open and held mischief and destruction, you realized he was being completely serious and would 100 percent carry me upstairs and make sure I your head would get knocked against the doorway thus not wanting a concussion you stand but very grumpily.

You both make your way up the stairs except you kind of freeze when you reach the top. Freddy, one of the popular kids from school, stood in front of you. Unfortunately he got caught in the cross fires when people were trying to put you out. You only had a few classes with him but you knew him well enough from that experience. He smiled awkwardly and looked at monty. “Are you two gonna eat?”

“I’m not-” “Yes.”

Freddy raised a curious brow at Monty but he didn’t question it. All of you made your way to the dinner table and you all sat together. It was awkward to say the least.

You didn’t talk much, trusting Monty to keep the conversation going while you picked at your food. In all honesty you wanted to back bydownstairs, to hide away in the little angry safe space that you two have created for each other. Eventually dinner and dishes were done and Monty dragged you back downstairs. You were afraid you’d disappointed him.

“Hey- fuck- I’m-” He got mad at the words and kicked the couch in frustration before turning back to you- “You’re really feeling like shit huh?”

You couldn’t look at him. Afraid he’d be angry or harsh about your feelings. Everyone was always rude or harsh about your feelings.

“I’m just feeling… sensitive” You heard him choke back a laugh. “What kind of uh… sensitive?” “just… hurt?” You could hear him sigh, he sat on the couch and you made a move to leave.

“I’ve gotta go home before my parents kill me. I’ll see you tomorrow,” and then you left. You didn’t bother to grab your bag or clothes, even after you got home you didn’t put burn cream on your neck or back. You just laid in bed and dealt with the pain. Your parents didn’t come home that night. Only showing up while you were getting ready for school.

Once more, you felt the familiar feeling of anger bubbling up. You were angry… again.

[leviackermanscleaningbuddy]

Hey heyyyy so i read ur "Inked Petals and Message Tones" and omg that was sooooo gooooooood...like i finished it in 2 1/2 days is it ok if i suggest/compliment/ask here about it? Cuz ao3 for some reason doesn't allow me to

If not, then feel free to delete the message

Lovee your work and take care of urself <33

Um, Absolutely.

I will take any and all opportunities to talk about my og baby here.

PLEASE TALK TO ME ABOUT IP&MT!

[coleranchdorito]

The Death Of Peace Of Mind

I was asked to post my new fic on here so those that can't get on AO3 may enjoy, sooooo, here it is!!! Bare with me, I've never posted fic on here <3

Summary: Bakugou Katsuki has been told nearly his whole life that he's a talentless witch. Someone with no affinity for magic. Three years after the death of his mother, High Priestess Mitsuki, Katsuki decides to perform a familiar summoning ritual--against the better judgement of his friends. Inevitably, the summoning goes wrong and he ends up calling upon Tsukuyomi: The Crow Demon. In exchange for the demon's true name, Katsuki agrees to a warlock pact for actual power. Now, Katsuki has to figure out how to maneuver through his life with a demon essentially attached to his hip--a demon that very much doesn't care to keep himself a secret. But, what happens when he accidentally start falling in love with said demon? And said demon starts to feel emotions that he doesn't quite understand?

Word count: 3152

Content Warning: Minor gore later on, demon summoning, talks of child neglect and abuse (but it's never shown)

Ship: Bakugou Katsuki/Fumikage Tokoyami

Chapter 1: August 2nd

Katsuki keeps glancing over at the book laid open on the floor beside him–sucking his bottom lip between his teeth as he tries to copy the drawing on the page with a piece of white chalk. 

Deku had advised him against this. Having gone on an entire muttering rant about the dangers of summoning anything, especially a demon or familiar. Katuski still wanted to try, though. Wanted to prove that he has actual talent and he wasn’t accepted into the coven just because of his mother. 

Katsuki bites down a little too hard on his lip, wincing from the sting. “Shit.” He drops the chalk and presses a finger to his lip, sucking lightly and tasting the coppery tang of blood. Shifting his sitting position, Katsuki stretches his legs out and looks over the sigils on the floor with a sigh. 

“What are you doing?” 

Katsuki jolts and looks behind him, finding Todoroki standing in the doorway with his hands on his hips. “What does it look like, Candy Cane?” 

Todoroki rolls his eyes as he moves further into the room, pausing when he finally sees all of the sigils drawn on the hardwood floor of Katsuki’s bedroom. “You can’t be serious, Kat.” Todoroki grimaces and glances over at the book to Katsuki’s left. “Are you really trying to summon something?”

“Just a familiar!” Katsuki blurts out. Todoroki’s eyebrows shoot up and Katsuki curses under his breath, grabbing the book from the floor. 

“You know it’s dangerous to do this, right?” Todoroki sighs. “Not only that, but it’s incredibly stupid and you can get yourself killed.”

Katsuki rolls his eyes and focuses on the book resting on his lap.

Todoroki wasn’t a witch–he came from a long line of elementals–but he’d been friends with Katsuki and Midoriya long enough to know what they were doing. Most of the time, at least.

“You forget my mother had a familiar.” Katsuki moves his right hand towards his mouth–hopefully hiding the fact he’s biting his thumb nail. It’s a nervous habit he’s had since he was a kid. “If the old hag could do it, so can I.” 

Katsuki can see Todoroki move out of the corner of his eye. The elemental crouching next to him to better get on his level. “Why do you keep comparing yourself to your mom?” 

“Because,” Katsuki’s head snaps up and he holds Todoroki’s gaze. “I have to prove that I have talent. I was grandfathered into the coven she ran and now that she’s dead, I have to prove that I’m worthy.”

“That’s not true.” Todoroki replies and Katsuki huffs out an angry sigh, turning back to his book. 

Deku had also told him that he didn't need to prove himself worthy of the coven. All twenty members had respected High Priestess Mitsuki's decision when she welcomed her son without any test of talent. Mitsuki was gone now–had been for three years–and the new High Priestess, Nemuri, didn't even bother with testing members. But, his mother's cruel words would always linger in his mind: “No talent, but it would be an embarrassment if I don't allow your entry.”

No one but Midoriya knew Katsuki had a difficult time with performing magic–no affinity for it. But, he worked hard, learned everything he could and if he got this summoning to work, he’d prove to himself–and his dead mother–that he was a talented witch.

“You don’t know what the truth is, Sho.” Katsuki mutters. 

Todoroki sighs and places a too warm hand on Katsuki’s right shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “Do what you feel like you need to, but please be careful.” He looks at Todoroki over his shoulder and the elemental gives him a small smile. Todoroki gives his shoulder another squeeze and leaves the bedroom, closing the door behind him. 

Katsuki glances down at the book in his lap again, biting the inside of his bottom lip and tapping his finger on the page he’d been looking at for an hour and a half. Maybe Midoriya had been right about this being a mistake? 

“Even if the summoning works, you don’t know what you’re summoning!” Midoriya stands before him in the foyer, eyes wide as he pleads for Katsuki to stop. “You’re just opening a doorway and you can’t control what comes through!”

Katsuki sniffs and picks up the chalk, placing the book back on the floor and sitting on his knees. 

He doesn’t care if all he’s doing is opening a doorway. Katsuki needed to prove that he was a witch, even if it was just proving he could do this to himself.

An hour later, Katsuki wipes his forehead with the back of his arm and sets the piece of chalk next to him; it’s so worn down by now that it wasn’t even useful anymore. He pushes himself off the floor–shaking the pins and needles from his legs–and limps over to his alter. 

“Salt, ritual dagger,” Katuski murmurs to himself, picking them up as he goes. “What else?” He walks back to the circle and carefully places the items in his hands on the floor, turning to read over the passage in the book. 

Six black candles placed equal distance around the circle. 

With a nod to himself, Katsuki looks towards the trunk he keeps all of his spell components in at the end of his bed. He’s positive he has six black candles inside that would be perfect for this. Digging through the trunk, he finds them easily and quickly places the candles around the circle, lighting them as he goes. 

After that, Katsuki picks up the box of salt and pours it around the circle and candles, stepping inside before closing it. Placing the box at the edge of the salt circle, Katsuki kneels on the floor in front of the last sigil he’d drawn. 

He reaches over and picks up the ritual dagger and curses to himself when he notices his hands are shaking. 

You can do this. You HAVE to be able to do this.

Katsuki raises the ritual dagger to his hand and inhales deeply as he quickly slashes it across his palm. He exhales roughly with his teeth clenched and cups his hand to let the blood pool as he looks down at the final sigil for the summoning ritual. 

The only one that needed his blood to activate.

“Hope this fucking works.” Katsuki mutters as he holds his hand out over the chalk drawing. He slowly tilts his hand, the blood spilling from his palm and…

Nothing happens.

Katsuki furrows his brow in frustration, glancing at the book to his right on the floor.

Place hand directly on sigil.

He’d just done it wrong, like a novice. With an eye roll and an angry huff, Katuski opens his hand fully–hissing from the burn of the cut–and slaps his hand onto the sigil.

For a few moments, nothing happens. Katsuki moves to look at the book again, almost positive he’s done something else incorrectly when the temperature in the room drops to freezing. He can see his breath puff out in a cloud as the candles extinguish and the circle and sigils begin to glow with a faint blue light.

The floorboards creak as if someone is walking towards the circle and Katsuki’s eyes dart around in fear. A liquid gurgle fills the room and he glances back at the circle as black sludge bubbles from the center, filling the circumference of the chalk circle.

“Fuck.” Katsuki leans back and tries to pull his hand from the sigil, but he can’t. It’s like he’s glued to the floor as the black substance continues to bubble. 

A black, taloned hand breaks the surface in the middle–Katsuki bites his tongue to keep from screaming. A second hand follows behind the first and both make contact with the floor as something pulls itself out of the black pool. 

Katsuki notices the glowing red eyes before anything else. They almost burn into him as they lift higher and higher–the beings head almost scraping across the low ceiling as the rest of its body pulls free of the goo.

The second thing Katsuki notices, when he’s finally able to pull his eyes away from the monster’s, are the very bird-like features it has. From the talons that first appeared to the feathers and beak on its face. Its entire form is still black, almost like it’s coated in the black substance it crawled out of or it’s made from shadows.

The more Katsuki takes in the hulking form, the more his skin starts to tingle.

“Why did you summon me, witch?” The voice echoes everywhere in the room, including within Katsuki’s skull. 

He winces and shies away from the being, but he can’t move far with his hand still glued to the sigil on the floor.

The creature moves, placing both hands on the floor–still within the chalk circle–and leans forward as much as it can. “Answer me.”

“I need a familiar!” Katsuki chokes out and his face burns with embarrassment. He sounds pathetic. 

The creature tilts its head to the side, considering him. “You want a familiar?” Katsuki nods, trying to swallow around the lump in his throat. “So you summon the Crow Demon to provide one? Or to be one?” 

Katsuki’s eyes widen as more fear floods his body, the realization finally sinking in. 

Midoriya was right. Katsuki shouldn’t have attempted this, he couldn’t control what had come through. 

“I wasn’t trying to summon you,” He wheezes out, still trying to pry his hand from the floor. “I promise I wasn’t.” The creature only watches as Katsuki feels his panic trying to swallow him whole. 

His mother’s familiar had been a demon of some sort, but it had always been in the form of a cat. Katsuki had never feared it, had loved the creature the more he thought about it, but this wasn’t that. This demon before him had palpable power. It had status. 

The creature narrows its blazing red eyes as it considers him. 

“I can’t do this.” 

Katsuki blinks.

The creature leans away from him and, with a wave of one of its taloned hands, its form begins to shrink. The shadows that covered its form recede and within a span of minutes, an arguably handsome man with a slight frame, wearing what looks to be a simple black chiton stands before him. 

“What’s your name, kid?” The man puts his hands on his hips and tilts his head to the left, watching him. 

Katsuki blinks again. His brain is taking extremely too long to process that the man before him is the crow monster from not even five minutes ago. His skin is pale in color–his shoulder length, soot black hair and black chiton making it almost glow in the dark of Katsuki’s room–and his eyes are the same red from before, just in a more human form.

“Hello?” The man snaps his fingers and waves at Katsuki, pulling him from his thoughts.

“It’s Katsuki,” he’s finally able to say. “And I’m not a fucking kid. I’m twenty five.”

The man laughs, crossing his arms over his chest. “Considering how old I am, you’re still a child.” 

Katsuki furrows his brow. “Why were you the one summoned?” He couldn’t think of another question to ask as he tried to search his brain for why a crow demon sounded familiar.

The man steps forward, careful to not step too close to the chalk line and glances at the book on the floor. “Well, you summoned me directly.” He points to the book and Katsuki looks over at it. 

Sure enough, the page is on how to summon Tsukuyomi: the Crow Demon. 

“That can’t be right,” Katsuki mutters and grabs the book with his free hand, flipping the page and finding the original familiar summoning spell he’d intended to use. “Fuck. No, no no.” The book falls from his lap, crossing over the chalk line in the process.

Tsukuyomi bends down and picks it up, flipping through the pages with a laugh. “Oh, you human witches are an entertaining bunch.” He glances up and Katsuki meets his gaze with a frown. “You do know summoning familiars is a dead practice, right? No one has done one of these in decades.” 

“My mother did.” 

The demon raises an eyebrow. “Like I said,” he closes the book rather roughly. “Decades.” Tsukuyomi tosses the book towards Katsuki and he dodges it, but just barely–his hand still glued to the floor. “So, Katsuki,” he shoots the demon a glare. “You wanted a familiar. Do you want me to create you one or would you like me to be one?”

Katsuki freezes as confusion floods him. He could have a specialized demon as a familiar? 

“How could I have you as a familiar?” Tsukuyomi smiles at his question. 

“Simple, little witch,” He snaps his fingers and a scroll appears on the floor just inside the chalk line in front of Katsuki's hand. “We draw up a contract.”

A contract. 

Katsuki looks down at the scroll before him and narrows his eyes. He’d been told stories about encounters just like this his entire childhood and in every story the foolish mortal lost their life and their soul while the demon continued to wreak havoc. 

“What are your terms?” Katsuki asks, glancing up at Tsukuyomi.

The demon smiles and it feels like ice water in Katsuki’s veins. “Read it first,” Tsukuyomi glances down at the scroll. “And mind the fine print.” Something about the tone of the demon’s voice has him even more on edge. 

Katsuki grabs the scroll with his free hand and adjusts how he’s sitting, using his foot to unroll it. The writing isn’t the scrawling script that you usually see on television or in video games–which Katsuki is grateful for–but it is extremely lengthy. 

Most of it is odd, technical legal jargon, but he reaches a term that makes him pause. “Wait.” Katsuki furrows his brow as he continues to read over the rest of the contract. “This is a patron contract. I just wanted a familiar.” 

Tsukuyomi raises an eyebrow. “That’s what a familiar is.”

“No.” Katsuki snaps and looks up at the demon, anger seeping into his tone. “My mother had a familiar, I know what they do. They help you with spell work and ingredient gathering and protect you and–”

“Grant you added power,” Tsukuyomi crosses his arms and leans forward with a smirk. “Guess your mommy didn’t let you in on that juicy tidbit, did she?”

Katsuki’s mouth goes dry and he drops the contract. “So familiars are just…patrons?”

Tsukuyomi squats down, getting on Katsuki’s eye level and shrugs. “Not quite.” He grabs the contract from the floor and glances over it. “Familiars make contracts with mortals to boost their innate abilities, adds to them. They also do everything else you listed, but in return for their services, they feed on the mortal’s life force. Resulting in the mortal’s death.” He holds the contract out towards Katsuki again. “Tit for Tat, basically. Mortals get boosted powers and minor demons gain souls to elevate their status down below.” 

“But your contract is different?” Katsuki feels like he’s catching on. The contract he’d just read over sounded like a patron contract, something warlocks agreed to for a wellspring of power. Katsuki had only met one or two warlocks in his life and they’d been almost as terrifying as the dark entities he could sense following them. 

“Well, of course,” Tsukuyomi waves the contract in front of Katsuki. “I’ll grant power beyond your wildest imagination without that nasty stipulation of feeding off your life force.”

Katsuki glances at the contract again, knowing better than to reach over the chalk line. It’s the only thing keeping him safe. “But I’m a witch, I already have magic. What good will becoming a warlock do?” 

Tsukuyomi’s neck seems to go slack as his head falls to the right, an eyebrow raised as his eyes rove over Katsuki’s form. “You don’t have a lot of innate magical ability for someone claiming they’re a witch.”

“But I did this ritual! How could I do that without any magic?” Katsuki’s becoming agitated. All of this was pointless and he wished he’d read over how to send the abomination back to Hell. 

“Oh,” the demon laughs. It sounds like breaking glass. “You don’t need any magical ability for a summoning. The sigils do all the work to open the doorway.” Katsuki’s shoulders droop and Tsukuyomi grins. “What’s the matter, Katsuki? Did you think you were special?” 

No. Katsuki had never thought he was special, his mother had made sure of that. He’d just hoped that this summoning would prove something to himself, but all it did was show him that he’s just as useless as Mitsuki had always said. 

Deeply inhaling, Katsuki reaches out to take the contract from Tsukuyomi and nearly jumps out of his skin when a black taloned hand wraps around his wrist. 

“If you accept this, you’ll have power beyond anything you could ever imagine.” Katsuki nods and Tsukuyomi’s hand tightens slightly. “But, sacrifices will need to be made. Your life will change and not always in a positive way.” He nods towards the contract and Katsuki glances over at it, the words glowing a faint blue. “You read my conditions, you know what I might ask of you.” 

“I do,” Katsuki swallows. “But I have a condition I want met before I agree.” 

Tsukuyomi narrows his eyes and nods. “Go on, little witch. Name it.” 

Katsuki breathes in slowly. “Give me your real name.” The demon raises an eyebrow. “Names hold power. You know mine and I want to know yours.”

“How do you know that Tsukuyomi isn’t my name?” He smirks and Katsuki rolls his eyes.

“Demons aren’t stupid enough to put their real names out into the world like that.” He could pull back right now and figure out how to break the connection. Katsuki didn’t have to go through with this, but–

“Fine.” Katsuki blinks. “My name for your agreement to the pact. Deal?” 

Katsuki glances at the contract again. He swallows, looks back at the demon before him, closes his eyes and nods. “I agree to your deal, demon.”

When he opens his eyes, Tsukuyomi is grinning like a madman. “Oh, little witch,” The contract flairs bright blue for a moment and vanishes in a cloud of ash. “You won’t regret this.”

Katsuki’s skin starts to tingle and he’s finally able to pull his hand from the floor. His vision starts to dim as what feels like fire shoots up his spine and just before he feels his consciousness start to slip he blurts out, “Your name! Now!”

The demon stands, holding his head high as he looks down at Katsuki. “Fumikage.”

Katsuki relinquishes his grasp on the material plane. 

[ficbrish]

Smoke Rings

[AO3 Link]

[Here we go! @flufftober Spring Edition 2024! Thank you for the prompt 🥰 March 13th - Spring Cleaning]

Rating: Explicit 18+ only!

tw/cw: Sexual content, cptsd, blood, alcohol, weed/mushrooms, smoking, sex while high, post-battle scenery, gore, death, hanging reference, an unserious small dick joke, vague reference to past incest and CSA

After the game, but before the epilogue, Astarion and Vistri find a new home in the Underdark.

END GAME/POST-CANON SPOILERS!

Exhausted and ragged, they looked at each other in disbelief and clasped hands.

Their last enemy had been cut down; the fortress finally won.

“I believe we have a home now, darling.”

Astarion’s voice was strained from shouting, and moisture clouded his ruby eyes. His words echoed hollowly, but they were real.

A home, in the Underdark. That kind of life had been snatched from Vistri at the vengeful end of a serving fork. Dear Uncle Hurzeth really should have learned to shut his mouth, but like most religious men, he wasn’t known for his humility or impulse-control.

Vistri’s name and birthright burnt to ash upon his funeral pyre; stuffed in the gullet of his perverse corpse. In seizing justice, retribution wrapped around her own throat like an executioner’s noose, diminishing her to the life of a wandering Surface vagabond. Never to have a home in the violet gloom again.

Until the Nautiloid came along playing matchmaker and diviner of fate.

Their homecomings were each other’s exiles. As she reunited with the permanent dark, Astarion was banished to it. All that illithid nonsense allowed the sun to lovingly grace his skin without burning it to cinders. Now sans tadpoles, or the sacrifice of seven thousand other vampire spawn, his bright star once more turned to poison.

Luckily, Vistri was all the sun he ever needed. She dwarfed the real one in comparison to how she brightened his days and left a pleasant tingling on his skin. Its daylight cast shadows, while her spotlight chased away all shade. Its radiant touch whispered and dissipated rather quickly, hers shouted and echoed endlessly.

And even when it was the other way around, Astarion turned Vistri’s prison into a sanctuary. Maybe it was Sune herself who blessed them, for the love they found taught them the true meaning of home.

Standing back to back in the blood-soaked corridors of their brand-new ancient fortress, all they’d really gained was an address.

And a place to keep their stuff.

And host parties at.

…And for teaching and protecting all the others who’d broken from Cazador’s heavy chains.

Tiredly they turned and fell into each other’s arms, bracing themselves against their weariness. The rush of battle still flared through every muscle as their heightened senses filled with nothing but the other. Relief vibrated into a livid need, so furious at death that it came alive.

Her whimper wouldn’t have been half as charming if she wasn’t so completely oblivious to it building in her throat. He dwarfed it with a moan, taking her lips tenderly between his.

Breaking apart, she sighed and swore, “I’d let you take me over these corpses.”

“Wouldn’t be very sanitary though, would it?”

She giggled senselessly and twirled from his embrace to survey the room. Unsuccessfully clearing the ecstatic happiness from her lips with a smirk, she said, “It’s a fucking dump.”

Astarion threw his head back and laughed with such relief it sounded like sobbing.

Having carved a path of carnage all the way from the gates to that final corridor, they had a clear way back to the others. The halls seemed a lot longer when they were fighting their way through them. And populated with more vampires.

At some point along their macabre stroll, Astarion suddenly stopped them. “But where are all the spawn?” he asked warily.

“Perhaps they’ve met up already?”

Uneasy shivers skirted his neck. He felt them despite being just out of reach. It was enough of a warning for him to suggest they continue carefully, slowly. Even if there was nothing to worry about, a little caution couldn’t hurt.

The reason for his misgivings became apparent as soon as they approached the courtyard. Apparently everyone had met up already. A veritable feeding frenzy played out before them. Ravenous spawn were covering the cadavers like carrion. It was like the Shadowfell had descended, warping them into a Domain of sickness. The risen dead devouring a small village.

They thought they’d learned everything to know about the Dhampir, but clearly their education was just getting started. Astarion was one vampire, and that’s all they were used to. This was a horde. No stranger to the sight of him ripping off a bandit’s head and drinking from it like a chalice, Vistri still froze in fear at the scene before them.

Growling instinctively, Astarion stepped in front of her. Territorial feeders, the spawn were spaced like pieces on a freshly set lanceboard. Even so, the crowd was denser over by the gates, where most of the carnage was concentrated. His siblings feasted among them. He couldn’t help the sense of superiority that dawned on him at the sight.

He might not have ascended at Cazador’s death, but in observing his brethren’s lowly acts, thought himself lord of them all. The blood they supped on was dead and dull, no matter how fresh and warm. Astarion had Vistri. He didn’t steal, because she gave. She came to him willingly, and her blood ran with drow and dragon, so vibrantly full of life it was as powerful as a storm.

Vistri pitied them. How hungry and desperate, how alone they all were. She looked at Astarion in a new beloved light. He was the one who brought them together, the one who would guide them all to be better. 

Astarion was the first one to get away, to learn to control his nature. He was the one who killed Cazador. He was the one who broke their chains, giving them another chance. He was the one who had something to teach all the rest.

He felt such a bitter disgust; none of them should ever be this desperate, this starved. Feed, he thought proudly, looking out, Feed to your fill. They’d do better than animals and cooling corpses soon enough.

Realizing they were senseless of anything but the bleeding bodies stacked in front of them, Astarion scooped Vistri into his arms like a bride to carry her across the courtyard.

“You will not be afraid in your own home. I’ll make sure no one gives you a reason,” he said it so surely, it was more a statement of fact than a promise.

As he walked past the growling, slurping spawn, Vistri hid her face in his breast like a nervous child. The world was dangerous and threatening, but she was safe in his arms. Still, the relief she felt was full-bodied when they passed under arches and retreated into the fortress.

He carried her though the blooded halls of time-forgotten stone, unsure of where he was headed. Just somewhere else away from the others, away from the marks of battle. Astarion searched until he was satisfied he’d found a corner that could be entirely theirs. It took him far down the corridors, climbing stairs where he saw the opportunity.

Arms aching, he gave up on perfection and settled for what seemed like it would do. As they crossed the chosen chamber threshold, he kissed Vistri’s cheek and said, “Welcome home, my love.”

She giggled as he set her down with an, “Ooof! ”

The room was too spacious to be a closet, and contained no hints of its purpose. There were chairs everywhere, some broken, none matching. A desk was placed haphazardly near the middle, or maybe it was a table. Wooden crates were stacked to the side in a disorderly way, like they’d been quickly stashed and forgotten. Vistri wanted to open them immediately. She spilled out of Astarion’s arms and tumbled towards them.

“Let’s see what we’ve got here!” she said, rubbing her hands together. She hit one with an ice cantrip.

“Careful!” he chuckled as the air around them chilled and wood cracked.

The crate didn’t open, the side just sort of froze.

“Blast!”

Spotting the way Vistri frustratedly pulled her foot back for a kick, Astarion picked her up and pulled her away. She fussed in his embrace like an angry cat.

“By the gods, you’ll break whatever’s in there,” he chuckled, “Let me do it.”

Vistri crossed her arms, “Fine.”

Alas! There was wine. After he put her down, he pried the crate open with one of his knives, revealing dozens of bottles inside.

“I could have done that!”

He chuckled warmly, “My dear, you would have shattered them.”

Hopefully it was good wine, because every bottle was the same. Knife still in hand, he twisted off the cork and tested the first sip. 

His face screwed up with bitterness, “Just give it a little time to breathe.”

Tittering at his reaction, Vistri yanked the bottle from his grasp and took an impatient sip. “It’s not… entirely rubbish,” she said, warily giving her judgment with a thoughtful expression.

“Give it a minute!” he laughed.

Defiantly, she took another sip.

“You little minx,” he smirked, snatching the bottle back. After setting it down on the floor, Astarion looped his fingers with hers. He sighed against her lips before kissing them. Vistri forgot all about the wine, even as their tongues tasted of it.

“Astarion,” she said, and he thought she was just saying his name until she continued, “Is there something else I can offer you to drink in the meantime?”

Her offer brought to mind the courtyard below. He was better than that because she allowed him to be better. She barely let him say it first, always begging to be drunk. In the way that other lovers would ask, Have you eaten today? Vistri tilted her neck and inquired if he wanted a bite.

Resting his forehead against hers, he said, “I am feeling a bit peckish.”

Vistri jumped blissfully into his arms. Her heart beat ecstatically in anticipation as Astarion brought her over to that table in the middle of the room. She felt like a cloth being draped across it. Her legs opened as he climbed over her.

Before he pierced her with his fangs, she pulled him into a rough kiss. His thigh pushed hers wider apart. He felt himself grind into her, his hips swaying in tune with hers. Their song eventually spilled off her tongue, and Astarion moaned too, making it a duet.

“Bite my lip,” she suggested.

Smiling, he submitted to her suggestion, as gently as he could. With the point of his fang, he sliced her open, groaning as the first drop of blood hit his tongue. Astarion feasted like a king among peasants. Vistri wriggled willingly, longingly under him. She kissed him as he sucked her lip and nibbled it, coaxing her nectar to trickle forward. While part of him reached a point of satisfaction, another starved. Ravenously, he pushed into her mouth. They passed her blood back and forth on shivering tongues.

“Astarion,” she sighed as he let go of her lip, and this time she was just saying his name.

Their fingers tumbled with their lacings; their knuckles clashing together in the rush to free themselves from their leathers.

“Can—?”

“Yes!” she pleaded.

It felt like laying claim; to each other, this fortress, their power, and life itself. The tight, stretching ache of one another ripped through their senses with the thrust of his hips. Pleasure sighed through every pore, rushing like a white river over their skin.

Ecstasy erased their sense of self, dissolving them together in its realm. They were safe now. They could spend their lives this way. They were home.

Free.

Little did they know that table had been stashed there over a weak leg. It gave out from the power of their movements, and the whole thing collapsed. Shrieking as they fell, it turned to laughter as they realized neither were hurt.

“Are you okay?” she laughed, and he kissed her in response.

“I almost broke my dick!” he cackled breathily.

Vistri got up first, still giggling, and offered a hand, “Careful, you’re surrounded by wooden stakes.”

She was little help with how weak her limbs were, both from the edge of fulfillment, and their sudden shock that’d blossomed into overwhelming hilarity. They burst into another round of it when he slipped and almost fell back into a broken table leg. Vistri had to catch him with her spectral mage hand.

Stumbling over the trousers they’d pushed down to their thighs, they chased each other to another corner of the room. Astarion caught her and spun her around into an innocent kiss that easily descended into depravity.

His arms felt like mush and their muscles begged screaming for some rest, but Astarion lifted Vistri up again anyway to push her back into the wall. Her thighs wrapped around his waist, taking care not to leave bruises as others did. He hadn’t asked for that yet. But at his command, she’d tighten into a vice-grip and leave behind a physical reminder of their embrace.

Gravity turned the wall into a bed. Like the arches bearing their new home, they found a force and a balance when pressing together that held up their wary, rutting bodies. Staring into Vistri’s violet eyes, Astarion found himself falling into the abyss.

“Wait,” he absently whispered, slowing his movements.

Caressing his cheek, worry infecting her tone, she asked, “Is something wrong?”

His chuckle was a growl, “More like too right.” He kissed her and groaned, “I’m not done with you yet.”

Trapping her hips against the wall, he held them still and started to gradually rock his. Only allowing as much as the tip was a delicious torture.

“More,” she groaned.

As her desperation serenaded his ears, Astarion could feel her tightening and shivering around him, begging to fill her completely. He wanted to give in as much as she did. Controlling her was sweet, but controlling himself was even sweeter. His denial was power, and it subjugated both of them.

“Cum for me first, and I’ll give you more.”

Faster, he pumped in and out, growing in tempo until her screaming rang painfully in his ears. She was already on the verge of it, and seemed to let go at his command. Her pulsing pleasure was rough on his tender head, overly sensitized from repetitive penetration. Love and vice sparked through him and a wonderful pressure built behind his eyes.

He wasn’t going to last much longer. As Vistri surrendered to ecstasy, she dragged him along like a sweeping wave. She was still tapering off the feeling when, unable to wait, he finally buried himself to his root.

Unintelligibly crying out at his thrust, they quickly lost themselves. Gazing eye to eye, they saw past reds and purples into the depths of their exposed hearts. It overwhelmed them, like a cleric beholding their god. Together, they fell into fulfillment with a swooping terror that felt like losing one’s balance, and crashed into a brand-new plane of existence that banished all fear and held only the two of them.

Once they were back to reality, within these unfamiliar walls of their new dwelling, they sunk and sat up against the wall, holding each other tight. Vistri nuzzled her cheek against his and sighed with spent contentment.

“…You know you don’t have to stay,” Astarion said, his voice a shaking heart, “I-If you no longer wish to.”

The dreams already dying in his eyes in anticipation of his fears made her chest physically ache. Vistri caressed his beloved face without thought, just a need to save him from the horror.

“Oh, Astarion,” she chuckled sorrowfully, “Oh, my love.”

He closed his running eyes and felt her lips land softly across his cheekbones.

“I want you,” she whispered on his face, “All I want is you. Only you.”

Unable to bear witness to more of her affirmative words, he stopped them with a long, thankful kiss.

Her rare heart sat clearly in her expression. It was gift-wrapped, tied with red string, and addressed to him lovingly; his name written along the side.

“How dare I doubt you?”

“Exactly,” she giggled, “How dare you!”

Others still haunted their ability to convey and receive messages of genuine love. Having already pushed their limits, they sat embracing one another in pleasant silence.

Until Astarion muttered, “Almost forgot!” and got up to grab the wine they’d left over by the door.

Vistri excitedly ran after him, light on her feet like a fey.

Raising the bottle high between them, he toasted, “To our home.”

She took a smiling sip, then passed it back to Astarion. Swallowing felt like making a vow.

“Well, what do you think?” he asked, no bitter flinch present in his expression after his swig.

“You were right,” she smirked warmly, “Some things are all the better for waiting.”

v---v                v---v                v---v                v---v                v---v

They figured the hard part would be the conquering, but that was more like Spawn City Tutorial. After the initial looting and corpse-burning, there were some celebrations. Then the real work came. Starting with turning the captured fortress into a real home. Scrubbing, mapping, sweeping, dusting, assessing masonry needs, livestock needs, stocking, mopping—Cleaning! Cleaning!

“Cleaning! Enough cleaning!” Astarion exclaimed one evening.

Vistri giggled wildly as he wrestled her for her scrub brush. Their excited shouts bounced sharply across the barren, ancient stone. Successfully snatching it away, he chucked it out of the nearby window.

Running over to the sill, she chuckled, “Darling, we’ll have to fetch that.”

He scoffed, “I’ll make Petras go fetch it.”

“You can’t always bully Petras,” she laughed.

“Yes, I can!”

Turning to Astarion with a cheeky smile, she leaned against the window and asked, “Do you remember this chamber?”

His pout overturned into a devilish smile. He knew exactly which chamber this was.

“Oh, I think about it daily,” he smirked, joining her over by the window.

He couldn’t read the expression in Vistri's eyes, they were so far away, but her distance seemed filled with possibility instead of escape.

“We have a house,” he repeated, just to hear it out loud again.

“We do! We have a house!”

Flinging an arm over her shoulder, Astarion looked out and surveyed the scenery below with his beloved.

“Well,” she stated shakily, “We did it.”

She turned to him with a beaming expression that shined so bright it was like the sun sat right here in the Underdark gloom. More than joy, there was want and adoration screaming through her eyes. To be its witness, no, to be the direction in which it was pointed, made his undead heart skip happily.

Their old tower loomed over the glow of wild mushrooms like a proud lord. Who knows how many had peered through the same window. Who knows if they would be the last, or if others would eventually come to conquer them too. Who would they be? And what would they think, looking out over the same shades of grey?

“I like it because it’s ours,” she said. Astarion shrugged her closer and blessed the side of her forehead with a rough peck.

He pulled something from his pockets with his free hand, “Do you have a light, my dear?”

Gale and Halsin weren’t the biggest smokers, but they were inventive ones. What started as a few collaborative pipe blends turned into a shared hobby, and they took to it with the enthusiasm of two middle-aged men who had recently discovered model chariots. Before parting for the Underdark, Waterdeep, or the Shadow Curse-no-more Lands, they’d left the remaining team with tears, bear hugs (figuratively and literally), and a few packets of pre-rolled parting gifts.

Instead of filling for a pipe, their masterwork blend was artfully wrapped up into a smokable stick, like a cigarillo. The casing was as well-crafted and loved as their herbal fungi blend, made of dried fruit peels and layered in with rose petals that were kept magically fresh.

Vistri asked them what the blend comprised of many times, and although it was no secret recipe, she’d always ask once the stogie was already lit. There was a bit of timmask dust in there for sure, but the herbs were lost to the blurry memory of their excitedly recited list. The elevated joy that sparkled in Gale and Halsin’s eyes as they spoke stood out to her more than their words.

“You have the most brilliant ideas,” she smiled.

“I know,” he smirked, placing the stick between his lips.

Astarion leaned over as she snapped her thumb, making a small flame shoot out of it in the way Karlach taught her. Cupping his hands around it, he met her fire and inhaled. Tufts of smoke blew out the end of the cig, and drifted in tendrils from Astarion’s nose like a dragon’s breath.

Taking it between two noble fingers, he passed the gift from his lips to hers. Vistri smiled and took an eager pull. She coughed on her exhale, making Astarion giggle.

More than euphoria, the instant effect brought a giddy sort of security. Nothing was wrong with them or the world, a state they’d only found in each other’s embrace. It was nice to live in for a little while, and taught them existence isn’t inherently bad or painful.

Looking out the window, Astarion remarked, “I don’t think Petras could even run that far.”

Vistri’s chortle was so sudden she almost snorted, “Of course he can!”

“Poor fucker would get lost and need a break every few steps. Unless he had Dalyria with him, of course. Then maybe the five minute walk would be such, and not turn into a tenday’s journey across the yard.”

Too thick in the midst of giggling to answer, Vistri went for another puff and ended up choking on the smoke.

“Heavens! Are you ever gonna learn how to hit that?”

Over a series of coughs, Vistri fought to speak, “Astarion! ”

He grabbed the open wine they’d snuck into their cleaning session and handed it to her, “Have a drink of something. You sound awful!”

Suppressing another cough, she took a defiant swig.

“Good. Now pass that my way—Not the wine! You keep that. That funny, little cigar.”

As he took another puff, Vistri regained her breath and said, “It’s too small to be a cigar.”

Astarion, being Astarion, heard small and cigar in a sentence, and jumped on the cliche, “My, my! Imagine being told its too small to be considered a willy.”

“Astarion!—And don’t you dare take another jab at Petras! Poor Petras.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything about Petras in that regard!”

“Because you know,” she said, raising her brow and reaching for the cig, “I bet he has a big—”

“Can we not talk about my brother’s Todd Johnson?”

She could barely breathe, “Todd Johnson?! ”

Wrestling her for another smoke, Astarion fell into her laughter until his ribs started to ache. Growing weak from it, he gave up the fight and sat back wiping his eyes. Vistri finally passed it over, grinning victoriously.

He placed the dwindling cigarillo between his teeth and flashed a smile to meet hers. Then with a cat-like pounce, suddenly bent to throw her over his shoulder. 

Upside-down her cackling reflected off the floor and continued bouncing between the ceiling and walls. Most of the furniture that was in the room previously had been dumped or moved elsewhere. Sound carried louder and longer than it had the day before, making their laughter haunt the stone like specters.

They could have been a thousand lovers.

“Sit with me, darling,” he cooed, his words slurred with the cig still tucked between his teeth. Halfway gone, it was now just a little longer than his fangs when fully-retracted, about to bite.

Two other chairs remained, but he chose their favorite. Its upholstery had a fresh, weathered look that reminded them of Astarion’s old clothes. Well-tended to with a consistent, loving hand, its rich fabrics held on despite their decay. It made them wonder which discarded body in the courtyard those hands had belonged to.

At least their life’s work wasn’t wasted. Lovers now took it as their preferred perch. They sat so lazily on it, it seemed to swallow them.

With another puff, Astarion released a thick ring of smoke into the air in front of them. Vistri rewarded his trick with kisses to his cheek and a round of applause, delighted by the way it slowly floated by.

“Every day your mouth shows me new wonders.”

“Does it?” he asked, leaning in for a kiss with a raised brow.

“Mmmm, it does.”

Placing a hand along her hip, he commanded, “Face me.”

Moving to straddle him, Vistri turned and settled over his lap. Her thighs spread wide over his; her knees sunk into the cushion cracks. The way she centered her balance over his middle sent another kind of high coursing through their senses. Reaching for the stick smoking in his hands, she wove her fingers into his to smoothly steal it.

A glint in her eyes, she inhaled. Letting the smoke slowly crash over his face, she leaned in to place her mouth on his and blow the rest of her hit into it. Astarion moaned, tasting her under the heavy scent of burning plants.

“How considerate of you,” he exhaled, grinning.

“I try my best.”

Pushing her hair back, Astarion looked suddenly thoughtful, “Do you ever wish it were just us?”

“All the time,” she chuckled, “But they need us. You know they do.”

He raised his eyebrow, “To their credit, none of them have tried to steal a bite.”

“I think that credit is due more to my magic and your promised fury.”

“Maybe a little of that too,” he smirked.

Warmly, she planted a kiss on his forehead. A silent, I’m so proud of you.

As reluctantly as Astarion played it, Vistri knew he relished his new role. It was important to him to be better than Cazador, but more than that, she knew he needed them all to get better together. That’s just the type of person he was, no matter how hard he tried to avoid it.

Another smoke ring danced in the air above their heads. Then a series of smaller ones.

Vistri was beaming at him, “Look at you, love. So amazing.”

“You’re very high.”

She snickered, “No, I’m not!”

“It’s okay, my dear,” he chuckled, “I’m right there with you.”

They broke into ugly laughter that clashed like two very different songs being played poorly on the same stage. Their ridiculous levity sounded like the echoing cries of some cursed reptilian god.

The stone thanked them for silence when Astarion took her lips between his. With gently rocking hips, he showed Vistri the extent of his desire. She was wanted, needed. Craved.

“You make me feel like a king,” he whispered along the crook of her jaw. Then chuckling, he continued, “I know how it sounds, of course. But I don’t know other words to say it. Not now.”

Her hands glided over his chest, rubbing it in absent-minded patterns, “I am a most willing subject.”

“Are you, now?” he asked, knowing the answer from the warble in her voice.

At the nodding of her head, Astarion untied his laces. He watched Vistri take another inhale of their dying nub. Cool air defied the heat he felt in the oven of their laps as he pulled his twitching dick free of his breeches.

The old robes she wore allowed for easy access, and she adjusted them to tent over their laps. Pulling one hand in through her sleeve, she caressed his cock. Pressing his silky skin against her rolling hips, Astarion gasped pleasantly at the brushing of her lace knickers. He brought a hand of his own to keep under her robes. His finger gently traced its patterns, feeling her labia thicken under it from his gradual strokes.

Vistri hadn’t planned for a moment like this. She figured she’d feel better wearing such plain rags if her finest knickers hid beneath them. The delighted surprise in his expression almost disappointed her. He should really know her better by now.

Rubbing each other under her robes, they passed the last of their treat back and forth with their free hands. On the final pull, Astarion brought her close to share it. Her exhale turned into a kiss; his tongue shyly met the tip of hers.

“Is it all right?” she asked, “We’re quite intoxi—”

He didn’t even mean to interrupt her. The consideration in her query was a splash of oil on his fire, further igniting the blaze.

“It’s all right,” he kissed her, “Are you all—”

“Yes,” she nodded, still unbelievingly grateful for his returned care.

Her eager hips rolled into his teasing finger. Arousal coated the inside of her knickers. It was beginning to soak through to his skin. He moaned, and pulled the bunching lace tight so her folds spilled over the sides, swallowing the string of lace between them. Grabbing his cock, he rubbed his head against her wet skin and the rough line of lace that ran down her middle.

“I could burst just from this,” he sighed.

His finger slipped under the lace, pulling it taught like one of his bows. Upon releasing it, her cry sounded in tune with its smack. She was caught prey, waiting only for death.

Placing her roughly used knickers aside, he lined himself up against her soak. As he pushed in, Vistri lowered herself to take in his length. Gasping from the squeeze and stretch, their high made every familiar ecstasy ten times brighter. Riding each other’s waves, they sunk into multiverses of gluttonous sensation.

“Shit. You feel like magic.”

“I am magic.”

Chuckling together in their embrace, their rutting didn’t cease.

It got faster. Harder.

Deeper. Like they were digging to the core of each other, prying open the gilded chest that housed their very souls.

Climax came over them so strongly it made their lips pull back and shiver. Pulsing together, their shouts dissipated to whines; bliss stuffing their throats.

Fighting overstimulation, they maintained a slow rocking of their hips. Not wanting to stop. Ever. His seed started to spill out of her from their movements and pool over his balls. From whence we came, we shall return.

Astarion thought the joke was too delicious not to share.

Pointing to the mess, he recited, “From whence we came, we shall return.”

Vistri laughed so hard, she tripped going to fetch them a fresh rag.

They made out after casually cleaning each other up.

Passionately, like lovestruck teenagers who’d just discovered it. Loving words and adoring vows came tumbling out of the hot ache. Promises for this new life; dedicating joy to each other’s names.

As sudden as it started, it stopped. Their furious need became a tight embrace, like fingers grasping the edge of a cliff. Beating together in sorrowful song, their hearts found an impossible happiness; a new music.

“I think I rather like this room,” he said in a tone that was light despite its heaviness.

Humming pleasantly, Vistri nuzzled into his chest, “Let’s make it ours then.”

A room of their own. Their chambers.

“We already have," Astarion chuckled, "A couple times, in fact.”

[samandcolbyownme]

The very first snippet to become a full one shot is ….

This has been one of my most popular snippets between here and Wattpad, so if you haven’t already, check out the snippet here and I’ll get the full fic out asap!

[ocwreads]

To Know Your Mind, Your Soul

@/neoncaskets- AO3