#i don't even think I'm stoned yet I'm just sore

[seeminglyseph]

I love when characters have knobby blunted fingers like they maybe have arthritis or were workers or played guitar.

largely because I also find that very attractive in real people. I know that it's also painful but I live with pain every day I may as well find traits that might indicate a life hard lived attractive, right? love that blunted worker fingers. if your knuckles look like you got osteoarthritis i think it's hot. fuck the haters.

[silentium-symphony]

So This is... Lust (Link x Reader) SMUT

(a/n) ya'll, i finally finished it ToT i'm so sorry for the wait, but it's finally here now! i had so much fun writing this!

i took a look at my schedule for next semester and i have *a lot* of free time, so hopefully that'll mean more time to write and, in extension, finally open up my inbox for requests!!! i've never done requests before at least on this account because i was always so busy. i'm not too sure how much time my new research position will take up (i was told it would be time-consuming, but i'm not sure how time-consuming), so i'll keep you guys updated!

as always, i hope you enjoy this ~steamy~ oneshot! and remember: if you are a minor, do not interact.

cw: afab!retainer!reader, reader wears a dress, link masturbating to the thought of you :), mentioned reader masturbation (like one line), cunnilingus, missionary, mentioned doggy, overstimulation, tried to make link a soft dom heheh, swearing, dirty talk, dumbification, fingering

wc: 6.5k

♤♢ ~~ ♡♧

"(F/N)?" Zelda slinked her back against her chair, sinking into the worn, plush cushion that coddled her stiff vertebrae.

"Yes, Your Highness?"

"Please prepare the horses... We're going to take a little walk." She pinched the bridge of her scrunched nose. "If I am to look at these documents a moment longer, I believe my head will explode."

"But Your Highness, Link should be coming any minute now. We must discuss the security details for the upcoming ball." Your usually terse expression softened at the royal's groan. "But we can go out afterwards.”

"Yes, you're right... Apologies (F/N), I completely forgot about that meeting. Will anyone else be coming?"

"No, Your Highness. It will just be—“

Knock knock knock!

"Ah! Perfect timing." Zelda tapped a thick, disheveled pile of documents against her desk into a more manageable bundle. "Come in!"

The brass doorknob shifted slightly and clicked open, revealing Hyrule's most renowned knight. A pair of cobalt eyes went from you to the Princess and he bowed wordlessly.

"Link. Thank you for—“

A loud bang, then wood stuttering against stone, quickly followed by the airy splish of dozens of documents fluttering to the ground. You dove across the desk, grasping a few documents you were lucky enough to catch and watched the rest pool by the table’s legs.

"Oh Hylia—!”

"Your Highness! Are you okay?!" Your hand flew to the staggering princess, documents be damned; Link sprung to Zelda’s side and placed a restful hand on her shoulder.

"I-I'm fine, really...” She muttered, rubbing her sore knee. “Goodness, I'm so sorry for the mess. Let me clea—“

"Absolutely not, Your Highness. I’ll take care of it." You cut, already circling the desk and shuffling the disarrayed documents on the floor. Link joined you on his hands and knees, carefully scooping up piles of paper onto the desk and into your arms. A jolt of electricity shot through your heart as you felt worn leather chafe against your skin. You turned away, 'looking' for other scattered documents, and coughed out,

"Thank you Link, but please don't worry. I can take care of this."

A determined look gripped his features as he stared and shook his head. Without uttering another word, Link once again began gathering the parchment. A soft sigh left you, and an even softer smile graced your lips.

"Can you hand me that document, please? I think these go together... Oh, and... these have matching headings, so I'll take that and you can have those..."

Even in her mildly frazzled state, Zelda wasn't blind to the faint red that whispered the surface of your cheeks when Link got a little too close, or the shifty flash of Link's blues whenever your fingers 'accidentally' grazed his. As much as she wanted to jump in and rectify the mess she made, maybe... She should sit this one out. Enjoy the show. Or better yet... Hm... When was the last time you and Link had a day off?

In no time at all, all correspondence was off the floor and either in your arms or on the desk. Your fingers flew this way and that, reorienting texts right side up and shuffling this paper behind that, and this one goes over here, and wait… Shouldn’t these be bundled together?

"Once again, I apologize for the mess I had created. Thank you both for cleaning it up."

"No worries at all, Your Highness." You finally looked up and cast a warm smile at the knight. "Thank you for helping me, Link."

A bashful grin cracked the stoic man's lips and he awkwardly rocked his feet. All that extra motion certainly drew attention away from the fists tightening behind his back. Zelda cleared her throat and eyed some documents pertinent to the upcoming social.

"Right. Now that that's all settled, let's get down to business."

♤♢ ~~ ♡♧

"A-Ah... Mmph..."

The knight threw his head back, feeling his temples drum in time with his cock. Sweat dewed his ivory skin and his Adam's apple bobbed a name he dared not utter, lest someone discover the target of his hidden fantasies. A scene from earlier that day has been playing in his head on repeat, fueling the sensual fantasies that has drawn him awake past the midnight hours; his fist thumped faster against his thighs and his back careened toward the ceiling.

You—gorgeous, gorgeous you—bent over a desk grasping desperately for a document fluttering to the ground.

With slight modifications, of course. The hem of your dress pooled about your hips—hips he oh so desperately wished to sink his teeth and fingers in—your hands tied prettily against your lower back as he thrusts into you again and again, his fingers tenderly coaxing your feathery soft hair... But the best part? You looking back at him, tears stinging the corners of your eyes, and his name spilling out of those plump lips he yearned to taste.

He could hardly remember what the Princess had told him. Something about the security details for the upcoming ball, but Hylia only knew if he retained anything past that. All he could think of was you, you, you—the Princess's loyal, respectful, diligent, beautiful retainer. How he craved your presence! If only you knew how much he liked you! Oh, the things he dreamt of doing to you.

"Ngh... (F-F/N)...!"

♤♢ ~~ ♡♧

The garbled talk of Hyrule's high society bounced off the castle walls and the guards' helms, which flickered bright flashes of torchlight. A pair of cobalt eyes flitted about every corner of the room, filing away mental notes of the ball's invitees and the stream of people that flowed in and out of the ballroom. Link scooted along the wall—weaving around young, giggly wallflowers and decrepit, lonely barons in search of another wife—always making sure you the Princess stood in his line of sight.

After sending you away to drop off another gift at the crowded gift table, Zelda turned around with the polite smile most nobility had during these sizeable socials. She caught eyes with her loyal guard and slowly made her way over, skillfully avoiding conversation with the withdrawn, mysterious grace of a royal. Eventually, she found herself at the side of one of her most trusted confidantes.

"Link, I believe the next song shall be a waltz. Do you still remember how to dance?"

Link nodded dutifully, sensing an incoming question. Is Her Highness hinting that she wants him to ask her to dance...?

"If so, why not dance with (F/N)?"

Link, who happened to be swallowing his spit as she said that, hacked it all back up and proceeded to draw the most distressing and deprecating attention an introvert could draw to themselves in a single night. He turned to her, lovestruck panic evident in his eyes, and shook his head like a wet, storm-logged puppy.

"Now now, don't be shy! I'm sure she'd be happy to share a dance with you."

"Your Highness! There you are." A bright voice from yonder drew closer to the duo, and Link could feel himself shrinking. "I've been looking all over for you. Why are you all the way over here? Have you grown tired?"

The torpid, repetitive chords that most patrons had droned out this part in the night livened into a steady waltz. Link could feel Zelda's smirk and knowing gaze burn into the side of his head.

"I'm sorry for worrying you, but I assure you I'm fine. I just wanted to have a little chat with Link. But (F/N), you should dance! Enjoy yourself! You've been working far too hard these days."

"Thank you for your concern, but I would feel better if I were attending you."

"(F/N), don't be like that." She squeezed a gentle hand on your shoulder. "I'm saying this more as a friend than your queen. Please go have some fun. Maybe you'll meet your Prince Charming, just as you've always hoped you would.“

"Zel—Princess!" Your heart dropped to your stomach and a pair of hands immediately flew to cage Zelda's arms. "T-That was so long ago—I mean, I was only a little girl and—!"

A genuine, lighthearted laugh alighted your friend and she gazed at you with a sisterly fondness.

"Just teasing. It's always so fun to do so."

"Your Highness..." Your head hung as low as your spirits as you felt Zelda's frame shake from a stifled laughter.

"Your Highness?" All eyes turned to the clear, bold voice a few bodies past you. "Can I have this dance?"

The young suitor flashed a kind, dimpled beam as he held out a gloved hand to Zelda. The royal returned her own practiced, elegant smile and took his hand.

"I would be honored." She turned to you. "My apologies. I'm afraid I must go. But do have fun tonight, okay? You deserve it."

And with a swish of her gown, she was escorted through a parted sea of people to the middle of the dance floor. She locked eyes with you for a second, and cast a knowing tilt towards him.

You two were locked in a domain of stiff silence, both looking helplessly towards your mutual friend who had seemingly forgotten all about you. Link's timbers began shivering like no other as he replayed a thousand ways this night could go.

Freeing himself of his chains of self-doubt, he pushed himself off the wall and slowly made the short way over. Your heart had practically stopped pulsing while Link's was pounding away all breath from his lungs. He felt a sickly pallor drain his cheeks; he silently thanked the gods for the bright lights that filled his cheeks with artificial ruddiness.

"(F/N)...?" You turned, your thundering heart almost drowning out the Hero's squeak. "Can I have this dance?"

Pure, unadulterated sincerity crinkled Link's eyes, which held a certain life-like sheen typically absent for the soldier; for the briefest of moments, you felt that you were allowed a glimpse into his heart. Fighting the urge to scream 'til your lungs gave out was the understatement of the century as you dipped your fingers into his palm.

"I would be honored."

The small, anxious smile widened into one of pure delight as he led you further into the ballroom. He pulled you into the fringes of the waltzing couples and placed a steady palm close to your shoulder blades, inadvertently pressing you closer to him. Clothed fingers weaved through your own and pulled your hand away from your trembling frame. You could only hope he couldn't feel the aggressive thumping in your chest.

"Are you okay?" His voice rumbled in your ear.

"Y-Yes!" You blurted suddenly, your nerves not quite heeding your volume. You were practically melting from the stinging, judgemental stares thrown your way and you swallowed thickly.

"Yes, I'm okay. Thank you for your concern."

"We don't have to do this for very long if you don't want to." He muttered, his hand slipping to your waist as he dipped you. Your delusions led you to believe that his eyes lingered on your neck a moment too long... But surely your eyes were just playing tricks on you.

"It's just... Well, I'm rather nervous, so..."

You slowly turned your gaze upwards, peering through quivering lashes and fully expecting the knight's visage to be contorted in mockery; you were pleasantly surprised that his eyes held nothing but warmth for you.

"I understand." He effortlessly guided your next movements into a spin. "How can I help you feel more at ease?"

"Mm..." You unknowingly gave his shoulder a light squeeze, causing Link's heart to flutter. "Would it be all right if we talked some more?"

"Of course. What would you like to talk about?"

"Well... I've actually always wondered this, but have you always wanted to become a knight?"

"Hm... That's a good question." He chuckled, his hot breath tickling your cheekbones. "I wasn't particularly against it. As you may know, I come from a long line of knights, so it was only expected that I became a knight too."

"How did it feel when you found out you bore the legendary Triorce?"

"... Surreal." He concluded, a glimpse of wistfulness in his eyes. "My life hasn't been the same since."

"Oh... I'm sorry if this brought up difficult memories."

"Not at all!" His tired eyes snapped to life. "Yes, training became much harder after that and the pressures of the throne are very much there… But it wasn't all that bad. After all, I got to meet you—“

At the utterance of the last syllable, Link's face twisted into horror; not even the bright, warm lights could disguise his drained cheeks. You felt your entire face engulf in flames and screamed your heart out smiled shyly.

"That's... really sweet of you, Link. Thank you."

He cleared his throat and desperately wished for a Link-size hole to swallow him up this very second. Every gear in his brain cogged away as he chose his next words carefully.

"You and the Princess seem close."

"Yes..." A bittersweet comfort gripped your heart as deeply cherished memories flashed through your mind. "We were girls together."

"How long have you been her retainer?"

"Since we were very young. Like you, I come from a long line of individuals who serve the royal family and, well... Zel and I have been best friends for as long as I can remember."

"'Zel?'"

"O-Oh!" Panicked side glances jittered here and there; you let out a deep breath, thankful that no one heard your insubordinate casualness. "Please forgive me. That was a nickname I used to call Her Highness."

"No worries. I just... thought it was very cute."

The both of you were completely oblivious to the crimson that coated the other's cheeks—how could you be when your own face ran hotter than the lava at Death Mountain? You were startled out of your mushy haze with a bright, chime-like laugh.

"Her Highness was right. You are fun to tease."

Before you could retort some type of response, the ensemble played its final note. While all the other couples were separating and bowing to their dance partners, Link was quite slow to release you, and you were even slower to leave his arms.

"Thank you for the dance, Link. You are a wonderful dance partner."

"Likewise," he straightened his back, "I hope we can do this again."

♤♢ ~~ ♡♧

Gods, you wanted to go to bed.

Your nice, warm sheets were all you could think of as you clicked the door to the Princess's bed chambers shut. You threw your arms above your head and groaned out the tension that had carved its way into your joints.

Your feet automatically led you down the long winding corridor, past the soldier's quarters and towards your—

"Mm... F-Fuck..."

Wait a damn minute.

Your feet ceased their dragging as a voice that sounded eerily similar to a certain Hero echoed nearby. You gripped your chest, as if that would quiet the thundering pounding in your ears.

… Silence...

Were you losing your mind?

Chalking whatever... that was to your perverted imagination, you once again began your trek towards—

"Ah...!"

—Link's room wait since when did you start moving in this direction oh gods oh Hylia

"Mmph! Fuck- yes- hah..."

The noises were undoubtedly coming from his room, your ear pressed against the door confirmed that. Your hand flew to your mouth as your knees locked in place, your ears feasting listening to the sinful whimpers and pants of Hyrule's sword and shield. You were thrown into the deep end, drowning in a cacophony of your own thoughts.

What the fuck holy shit what the fuck holy shit what the fu Was he alone? Wait, but the bed squeaked just now, so does that mean he’s with someone? And if so, who? But if he's alone... Who could he be thinking of?

This was wrong. This was so, so wrong of you to be violating his privacy like this. You would be mortified to learn that someone was listening to you pleasuring yourself—everyone's entitled to have these moments to themselves. So why couldn't you just... walk away?

"Mm... Oh, (F/N)..."

... Huh?

“I need you I need you I need you…” He slurred with sloppy breaths. Shame swelled within you as a wet heat pooled between your legs and wickedly delightful thoughts ruminated in your mind. Your chest constricted, sensing the crossroads that would undoubtedly decide your future relations with your long-time crush; you toyed with either option as carefully as your lust-hazed brain would allow. With your heart mere moments away from seizing, you carefully lifted your hand, suddenly aware of every muscle needed to execute the simple motion.

Four docile raps lisped the wood. You froze, the veil of sensuality finally lifted from your senses as the gravity of the situation bucketed you like cold water. Oh gods, what have you done? Your heart raged against your ribcage and beckoned you to flee! Run! There’s still time, go!

A quiet click.

A pair of blown-out pupils amidst a thin strip of blue peered out at you.

“L-… Link?”

“… Yes?”

You listlessly felt yourself move forward; sex-clung darkness draped over your bodies as you pushed yourself through the door, slamming your lips against his in heated desperation. Link returned your fervor with a fluidity that made you wonder if he’s fantasized about this as much as you have. You cocked your heel against the door, shutting out all unwanted light to carry out your feral desires in the dark.

He pressed you against the thin slab of wood, rough hands claiming residence in the plush of your hips while his lips conveyed a primal urge to claim. You didn’t hesitate in welcoming his tongue, feeling the hot muscle drag against your bottom lip and wrapping itself with your own in a sloppy but passionate dance. Thick golden locks tangled your fingers and you pulled him closer, closer, closer until his muscly frame was melded into yours.

He departed from your lips and quickly found refuge in the crook of your neck. His hot breaths dragged across your flushed skin, sending an anticipatory chill down your spine as he speckled your softness with nips and butterfly kisses. Large hands explored what they could, never settling in one place for long while his lips began imprinting deeply-colored marks by the junction of your neck and shoulder. His grabs and kneads were desperate, as if he fully believed that at any moment you would depart from him forever, leaving him with a ghost of what could have been.

Your chest heaved into his. Colors you’ve never seen before danced before your eyelids in a pandemoniac parade while hellish flames seared through your core. Link lapped and kissed and teethed your neck, relishing in the bit-back mewls that occasionally leaked out of you. The moonbeams that had passed through the clouds applauded the red desire he worked into your skin and Link felt a surge of boldness rush through him. After speckling your rising and dipping chest with his spit, he dropped lower and lower.

The cold absence of his hands didn’t go unnoticed by you, and before you could process what was going on, the unfamiliar cold that whipped your exposed legs pinched a yelp out of you. In one smooth motion, the Hero of Hyrule was under your dress and kissing the pillowy softness of your thighs—as he always dreamt of doing—silently worshipping Hylia��s masterpiece.

And oh, how he worshipped you. How each fiery, wet kiss was a prayer of gratitude to the goddess for creating someone like you. How every bite, every mark he left you with was all in the name of you, his true deity, and your moans that served as his gospel. By the end of the night, he was determined to have you chanting his name like some mantra that would bind you two past a one night stand.

Your heart roared in your ears, anticipation for where his lips would fondle next nearly causing the overworked muscle to implode; your legs nearly gave out when you felt his teeth graze the edge of your drenched panties. The lace dragged and coiled into a thin strip as Link buried his face into your sex, relishing the ambrosia he was to partake in. Before that though, his lips traced a languid line to your hips, which was promptly suckled and bitten with the gentleness of a doe. His fingers hooked themselves under your panties and, with painfully slow movements, dragged the nuisance down your hips, your thighs, and finally, the ground. With all obstacles out of the way, Link turned his attention back to your throbbing lips, licking his own with the hunger of a starved animal.

He wasted no time in burrowing himself into you, tonguing and lapping the juices that have dared to slip out and refusing to waste a single drop. His eyes rolled to the back of his head as he completely lost himself in you, rubbing tight circles into your clit with his thumb while drinking up whatever you could give him with his mouth. You bunched the noisome fabric about your waist, desperate to sink your fingers into his hair. He chuckled at your slightly buckling knees, and a wonderful idea flashed through his head.

He threw one of your legs atop his shoulder, and his heart nearly gave out from the sheer joy of seeing you spread like this. The new position allowed him deeper access into you, and a lone finger soon replaced his tongue’s sinful ministrations as the latter wrapped and toyed with your puffed-up bud. A full moan lapsed out of you in earnest and you unknowingly tightened around his digit. Link’s cock tented painfully against his pants, but he was set on having you cumming all over his face before he even thought about touching himself.

One of your hands anchored itself in his hair, knotting his disheveled locks into messy bunches that only grew wilder the faster he went. Uneven, haggard breaths and pleas for more echoed off his walls and Link had never been more pleased to carry out a request. His fingers and tongue would take turns wrecking you, never giving your poor clit and drenched entrance a break as he tongue-fucked and fingered you closer and closer to blissful oblivion. Link knew the milky white end was in sight, and he eagerly pressed his tongue flat against your cunt.

“Cum for me… Fuck, give it to me. I need you to cum in my mouth…”

His filthy request buzzed mind-shattering tingles to the deepest parts of your core, finally tipping you over the edge. You fell from a high you’ve never experienced before and your orgasm was borderline violent. A silent scream left your gaped mouth and you collapsed, panting, quivering. Link’s heart and ego swelled at your blissed out face as he leisurely wiped the juices dribbling down his chin. He scooted closer to you and pressed a deep kiss against your lips, leaving traces of you in your mouth. He pulled away with a pop, a smile, and an effortless huff as he carried you to his bed.

You were still fighting to regain some semblance of normal breathing when he set you down on his sheets. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead and pulled away, taking a moment to relish in how you looked in your sensual vulnerability. His pulse quickened and his pants tightened further, eager for release, but Link was patient. He waited for your breathing to slow, caressing your cheeks and cooing praises into your ears. His tenderness was enough to almost lull you to sleep.

“(F/N)…” Adoration dripped from his tone. “Can we go further?”

You opened your eyes slightly and practically melted from the gentleness in his voice and the care in his eyes. With a soft, albeit tired smile, you nodded and traced small circles into his cheek. Puppy-like enthusiasm exuded off him and he kissed the tip of your nose, plucking a small giggle out of you.

“Just relax… I’ll take care of you.”

He worked the hem of your dress into a bulky bunch by your hips before throwing the whole thing over your head and gently discarding it on the floor. A soft, wonder-filled smile cracked his lips as he drank in all of you.

“You look beautiful… You are beautiful…” He murmured to the air, voicing his most private thoughts aloud. A slightly pruned finger traced down your sides. A shiver ran through your body and his name whimpered out of your mouth.

“Say it again.” He breathed shakily. “My name. Say it again.”

“Link…” You flushed under his piercing gaze. His expression flickered darkly for just a moment before his eyes crinkled warmly.

“You have the prettiest voice, you know that?” He nuzzled into your neck. “I can listen to you for hours.”

“Link…” You cradled his face in your palms. “You don’t… have to hold back. I’ll let you know if anything hurts.”

His eyes widened before a small chuckle left him.

“We’ll get there eventually, I promise. For now though…” His lips coupled with yours in tender obsession. “I want to make you feel good tonight.”

While his lips reunited with your own, his fingertip traced lazy patterns from your chest, down to your stomach with swirly circles, and finally in between your legs. He moved his hands with battle-hardened precision, skirting around your still-pulsing clit, being extra careful not to overstimulate you yet. The simple trail coaxed the neediest whine out of you and you jutted your hips up and down, side to side. You could feel him smile into the kiss.

“Eager, are we?” He purred, skimming the surface of his lips on your cheek before redirecting his efforts towards your nipples.

"Gods, look at you... You're so beautiful all spread out like this, just for me." His tongue swirled and sucked the perked bud while your other nipple rolled in between his thumb and index. He dragged the tip of his tongue from one nipple to the other, repeating the process again and again until he was satisfied with the glistening rawness. A long moan, honeyed with need and fringed with desire, escaped you as your back arched in toe-curling pleasure.

His fingers hastened their movements, circling the hardened pearl with calloused finger pads and teasing your slit, sometimes dipping the beginnings of a finger past its entrance. But it was never enough. Never, ever enough. Your pleas and cries and begging only sent Link further down this power trip, molding your sex-steeped senses however he wanted until you were a sobbing, hiccuping mess.

“Please Link…” You sputtered in between sobs, the knot in your gut constricting and loosening in sync with his tease. “I need you inside, please, please, please…”

“Shh…” He murmured, silencing your chants with a soft kiss. “Patience.”

“Link, please, I-I can’t—“

“Yes you can. Just a little more… Show me more of those lewd expressions.” A rough pinch on your clit scored a scream out of you and your eyes rolled to the back of your head. “Good girl… So pretty for me. You’re all mine, aren’t you?”

“Yes! Gods, yes! I’m all yours Link, so please—“

Your voice sputtered to a stop, caught in edged ecstasy as the friction you had been craving for for the past Hylia-knows-how-long was suddenly served at blinding speeds.

“This is what you wanted, right?” He cooed, his chill tone contrasting the growing flush in his cheeks. You squirmed and writhed uselessly under him as your mind blanked and reeled from the sudden onslaught of pleasure.

“T-Too fa— Link, you’re—! I’m—!”

You were practically catapulted into your next orgasm, but despite your shaking release, Link never let up—in fact, he picked up his pace until veins marbled the surface of his arms. Another orgasm was ripped out of you, then another, and another, all while Link whispered,

"Oh, sweet girl, I know you can do it. I know you can cum one more time... Just one more, c'mon..."

Nothing else mattered to you at that moment. Nothing in the world could pull you out of the ecstasy Link had so readily given you. The only sensations you were capable of feeling were the coiling and spasming release of your gut as the man before you worked you into a mindless little thing. Link’s heart swelled at the fucked-out, dazed look on your face and he finally released his cock from its clothed prison.

"Do I have permission to fuck you senseless?" He husked into your ear, tending to his weeping cock with the residual slick left on his fingers. You nodded your head vigorously, dumbed down to your most base desires.

He slotted himself in between your legs, rubbing and dipping his tip a little bit past your entrance before his patience snapped in time with his hips. A gaspy whine rasped out of both of you, thickening to sweet, candied moans for more.

You were so tight… So warm... So wet… He closed his eyes and steadied his breathing—a concentrated attempt to not just immediately cum on the spot. Link stretching you out choked a groan out of you and your arms clung tightly about his neck, clawing desperate lines into his back.

"Gods, you feel so good... So tight for me... You're just made for me, aren't you? Made to take my cock..."

His fingers doled soft dips into your hips, coaxing the tight muscles into releasing their tension. All you could do was nod fervently, your voice too hoarse and mind too fogged to formulate any words. Link pervaded every single one of your thoughts, and all you could really muster was a gaze into his darkened blues, glazed over with lust. It took every ounce of mental fortitude to keep Link from pounding you into his bed; he softly kissed away the tears that threatened to spill.

"I'm gonna start moving now... Are you ready?"

A nod; Link positioned himself until your noses were almost touching, braced his hands on either side of your head, and slowly rocked his hips. The simple, fluid motion ellicited a moan out of the man and a whine out of you, electric pleasure shocking you to your core. His watchful gaze gauged your reactions, your comfort always at the forefront of his mind.

He flooded you with kisses and deluged your senses in heartfelt tenderness. Your head rolled into his arm, nuzzling him, and he smiled softly.

"You're so cute... My heart just explodes whenever I see you..."

"Liiink..." You reached up to caress his cheek. He pressed further into your hand before turning his head and kissing your fingers.

"You're perfect. Everything about you is gorgeous." He breathed, his hips slipping into a racy tempo. Your breasts pooled and trembled with each thrust, which didn't go unnoticed by the starved knight. Sounds of wet suckling filled his room, accompanied by your airy mewls and calls for his name.

"Say my name..." He growled into your chest, eyes flitting to look at you through quivering lashes. "Say it again."

"Link..." You squeaked, hiding the lower half of your burning face behind trembling hands.

"Louder." A hand clutched your wrists and dragged them down, fully exposing your slutty expressions to his hawkish eyes.

"Link...!"

"Louder." He scurried to the crook of your neck and bit down. "I want everyone in this castle to know who's fucking you breathless."

"L-Link!"

His pace quickened, the steady rhythm degenerating into wild pistoning. Shaky, uneven breaths stretched into high-pitched whimpers while his hand fondled your abused clit, repeating the circling motion that had you seeing stars several minutes (hours?) ago. His lips traced the shell of your ear, your jaw, down your neck, and finally your lips. Again and again, his mouth met yours in messy passion, each kiss more crazed than the last. He pulled away just enough to see your sloppy expressions, a thin strand of spit connecting your moistened tongues.

"Can you cum for me one more time? Just one more, I promise."

"I can't, I can't—Link, I'll die—“

"No you won't, love." He crooned. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, just in time to see stars exploding into a symphony of colors. "Just one more. I know you can do it."

Your face scrunched in response to the nearing summit, the precipice that you had been thrown over more times than you could count. You could feel your core spasming and knotting and folding in on itself; Link was totally immersed, body and soul, in your essence as he neared his own powerful climax.

"You're all mine." He panted, his hips accentuating each word with increasing ferocity. "Mine, mine, mine."

A tremor unlike anything you've ever felt before rattled your bones. A voice unrecognizable to you called for Link as you released all over his twitching cock and sheets. Your violent clenching rocketed Link to cloud nine, who pulled out just in time to cover you with thick, white ribbons. His warmth splattered onto your thighs, your stomach, your chest—all of which still tingled from his earlier acts.

His quaking frame crumbled, landing squarely on top of you. Your breaths hitched and mixed with each other, and a satiated silence enveloped the room. Once Link had mostly recovered, he heaved himself off of you and draped a lazy arm over your spent form.

"Are you okay?" He rasped, smoothing the sweaty nest that your hair had become. "Let me clean you up."

You tried to lift an arm—a finger even—to assure Link that you were okay but gods if you had to exert any more effort you were certain you would disintegrate. Link swung his legs over the bed, tripped into his boxers, and hobbled over to a pitcher sitting on his desk. The clear sounds of liquid life flowing into a bowl were like music to your ringing, pulsing ears.

In just a few moments he was by your side, bowl, towels, and cups in hand. You tried to sit up, but the bed stuck to your back like a bond that could not be broken. The rough cloth gingerly wiped away Link's earlier messes, and he dipped the other towel in the bowl before patting your face with the same degree of care. The cool water against your flushed skin sent pleasant jolts through your body.

"How are you feeling?" He asked again, pressing his palm into your cheek and pulling you up to drink. "Are you hurt anywhere? Was I too rough?"

You took the most refreshing swig of water in your life, feeling your parched throat soften enough for use.

"I'm okay, Link." You croaked at last. How long had it been since you last spoke coherent sentences? "Thank you for taking care of me."

"Of course." His warm smile alighted butterflies in your stomach; however, his features faltered slightly and his eyes turned downcast. "I, um..."

Quiet hesitance warbled his voice into a gut-wrenching tune; you gently cupped his hands, running your thumbs over each scar as you steadily held his gaze.

"I don't want this to be a one-time thing, I want..." He sucked in a quivering breath. "To be with you."

A kiss, soft and sweet, silenced all the doubt pounding away in his chest. Your lips moved purposefully, taking time to convey all the pent-up feelings that had been swirling inside you for so long. You dangled your arms behind his neck as you pulled away, your eyes fluttering open to meet his blown-out pupils.

"I want to be with you too."

Relief unfurrowed his brows and relaxed his jaw.

"Really...?"

"Yes! Though to be honest, I've always pictured our first few moments together as a couple in a more... innocent setting." You gestured to... everything and Link's belly flexed in laughter.

"So did I. But gods..." His lips ghosted the curve of your shoulder, traveling up your neck, and ending at your ear. "You felt so good, (F/N)..."

"L-Link..." You whimpered, your body lowering back down while your now-lover towered above you. Without warning, an arm snaked under your knees and the other wrapped behind your back. With a yelp, you spilled into his arms and two towels fell into your lap.

"The baths are just around the corner." A soft warmth bloomed on the center of your forehead. "Let's get cleaned up, shall we?"

♤♢ ~ bonus scene ~ ♡♧

"Your Highness, are you sure about—?"

"Yes, yes! I've already got it all figured out. All you have to do is pack your things and go!" Zelda shoved two official-looking documents into your arms and scooted you and Link closer to the door. Your dug heels were no match for the princess's sudden prowess.

And what could those documents possibly be?

Why, records of a cabin rental in Faron Woods, of course!

"B-But what about Link? He's your personal knight, after all."

"I've already arranged security details with one of the squadrons. They will be watching over me until you both get back. In regards to who will be overseeing your duties, I have a few staff members who will help me keep track of everything."

"Your Highness—"

"It's decided!" Zelda exclaimed with more effort, her energy sapped from lugging two unwilling bodies. "You both have been working so hard, so I've been thinking about giving you a weekend off for awhile. Now that you're a couple, this is a perfect chance to have your own little romantic getaway!"

"Wait, Princess Zelda..." Link started slowly, the gears in his head churning away. "It says here there’s only one bed. If you didn't know we were a couple until now... Why did you prepare a cabin with a single bed for the two of us?"

"That...!" Though your back was toward the royal, you could clearly see the 'oh shit' expression on her face. The corner of Link's mouth twitched into an amused smile while your cheeks scarleted.

"Zel, I swear to Hylia, I'm—"

"—gonna have a wonderful time in the woods where you can be as loud as you want. Farewell, and safe travels!"

With one last push, Zelda managed to shove the two of you out of her office before a resounding slam sounded the finality of her decision. But Zelda's closing remarks hung in the air, thickening the atmosphere in blood-chilling realization.

"What's wrong?" Link's sing-song voice mismatched the gravity of of the situation.

"Oh gods... Oh gods oh gods oh gods... How many people do you think heard us last night?"

"Enough for the whole castle to know who fucked you breathless." His face lowered until you were eye-level with his mischievous simper.

"Link!"

"Her Highness was right—you are fun to tease."

"LINK!!!"

[corpsekiller]

𝐢 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐢'𝐦 𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐨𝐮𝐬 (𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐛𝐚𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐠) — 𝐤.𝐛𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐠𝐨𝐮

PAIRING. katsuki bakugou x genderneutral!reader

WARNINGS. hurt/comfort, overuse of quirk, mentions of burns

SYNOPSIS. after pushing himself beyond his limits during training, katsuki tries to deal with the consequences of his actions on his own.

AUTHOR'S NOTE. so, i'm finally back after taking a long break from writing! i honestly didn't plan to disappear without a word, but uni and work were keeping me really busy and i just didn't find the time to write. anyway, i hope you enjoy this little fic! <3

LENGTH. will be added later!

MASTERLIST

Everything fuckin' hurts.

His skin is reddened and the palms are blistered, aching and tender to the touch as he fumbles with the first-aid kit, rummaging through the small bag for some bandages to cover his open wounds. The cold water he ran over his sore fingers did little to soothe the pain and Bakugou swallows a broken sob when he finds nothing to stop the cuts from bleeding, tries to blink away the tears that begin to blur his vision as he tosses the first-aid kit across the room and slides down the wall to his knees.

"Katsu, are you in there?"

Your voice makes him flinch. It's muffled behind the closed door, barely audible, but he can still hear the honest concern laced in every word as you call out his name a second time. His heart stumbles in his chest, a treacherous rhythm behind his ribs that begs for help and yet, he can't bring himself to reply no matter how hard he tries — his lips part, but instead of words he finds stones in the hollow of his mouth.

No sound leaves his throat.

You're so pathetic, a voice whispers. It sounds strangely like his own.

For a second, Katsuki stares at the sickeningly white tiles beneath his feet, now stained with the remnants of his blood still oozing from his hand. Deep crimson glints tauntingly back at him, the bitter affirmation of his failure to control his explosive quirk reflecting in each little drop and fuck, he feels another sob shatter his body before he can clasp his bruised hands over his mouth — it makes him want to claw right through his chest, to grab his weakness right by the fuckin' throat and twist its brittle neck to silence it for the rest of his life.

He can't.

"Fuck off," he manages to bark around the stones and buries his face in the crook of his elbow, presses his nose into the sleeve of his of his shirt to suffocate this awful desperation that threatens to climb out his throat. "I'm fine, okay? I don't need your fuckin' help."

It's dreadfully quiet on the other side of the door.

Katsuki's breath hitches in his chest and he listens, counts the seconds — one, two, three, four — but besides the sound of his own thoughts roaring in his head, he can't hear anything else and the realization that tumbles down with this observation feels like a knife being pushed slowly into his flesh.

You left, he thinks bitterly, he finally pushed you away like everyone else. And look, he gets it — for the longest time, that's all he's ever done; shoving people away and hiding behind a carefully constructed facade of unbridled anger. He's only every held out his hands to destroy, to crush and win and maybe now, his actions finally return to haunt him in his weakest moment.

It doesn't matter that he caught a glimpse of hope when he first met you, that he thought he finally found someone who'd only laugh at his harsh comments and tell him to calm down, I know you don't mean it with an amused smile—

You left anyway, he reminds himself. It's probably for the best.

Then, a sigh.

"You're so stupid," you retort on the other side of the door, though there's no bite in your insult. "I know you can handle yourself, but I'm not leaving you in this state, even if I have to sit here all night."

Your voice cracks and his name lingers on the tip of your tongue, sweet and soft, never falling from your lips. "C'mon, let me in."

Instinctively, he gives in.

"Alright," Bakugou replies hesitantly. "Come in, but don't... Just don't fuckin' laugh at me, alright." It's a pathetic attempt to hide the pain behind a mask of unjustified anger, he knows, but he can't let you see him like this without putting up a miserable fight. It feels like he's been stripped of any dignity he's been feigning to hold on the span of his broad shoulders, like he's been reduced to nothing but an incurable ache that clings to his broad shoulders like a shadow under the scorching midday sun.

He's not even sure you heard him, words barely above a whisper, but then the door opens and you enter. With careful steps, you come closer and crouch down, your knees hitting the cold tiles with a soft thud. Immediately, Katsuki slumps against the wall, caving his shoulders into himself to escape your eyes studying his face, gaze wandering over his features as your brows crease in worry.

He hates it.

And yet, he doesn't move when you wordlessly wrap your hands around his wrists and gently turn them to observe the burns littering his bruised skin. There's a certain kind of caution in the way you touch him, something so utterly gentle, as if you're fuckin' scared of hurting him and Bakugou curses your stupid display of affection — no one ever handled him with such care before.

So, he grits his teeth and tears his gaze away from you. It's just too much, the way you look at him.

"Y'know, you shouldn't push yourself like that."

He almost barks out a laugh. The sharpness of a cynical retort burns on the tip of his tongue and he opens his mouth to spit it out, but you're quick to cut him off.

"Shut the fuck up for a second, 'kay?" It's almost as if you expected him to argue. "Listen, I get it. I really do. I know why you always push yourself in every training session until you're about to pass about, why you always strive for perfection and overexert your quirk, but this... on the long run, this will only lead you to your early grave."

"You don't know shit," he snarls. Like a wounded animal, he fears kindness, yet he craves it. Touching you makes him want to pull away and yet, he stays frozen, unable to move, because the moment you let go he's sure the pain of his burns will pull him back into the abyss he's been fighting his way out of for what feels like an eternity and he—

He can't give up now.

So instead, he just studies your expression — thoughtful, gentle, concerned. He feels his face heat up as his fingers tremble in your gentle grasp, itching with the urge to fumble with something, anything in means of distraction. He doesn't mind the lack of space — in fact, he finds it almost soothing to feel how close you are, but he's so vulnerable beneath your eyes that his mind screams at him to run if it means you won't look at him in this way again.

"I'm not judging you, Katsu," you mumble, sensing his unease. Your thumb draws small circles on the inside of his wrist, right where his pulse flutters beneath his skin. "But even the best of us need a break every once in a while. It's not a sign of weakness to ask for help, really."

Somehow, his shoulders relax.

"No one will judge you, I promise. So why don't we head to the nurse and let her take a look at your burns?"

It is almost instinctively that he desires to lean into your gentle touch, and remember this fragile feeling for the rest of his life — Katsuki finds a different kind of healing, now that he lets his walls crumble down in your embrace.

"Okay," he whispers and shakily pushes himself to his feet.

[thefanficmonster]

Piss off your parents pt.3 (finale)

PART 1

PART 2

Colby Brock x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Drinking, Swearing

Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: Time wasted can only be compensated with time well spent.

"You wasted us so much time."

Y/N's reply is so far from anything he could've expected, he nearly sprains his neck when his head snaps up. To find a small smile on her face, of all things.

"What?"

There's a note of deep-rooted anger in the laugh that deflates her lungs, "How long?"

"Huh?"

"How long have you felt that way?" She doubles down, her gaze now stiffened into a glare piercing right through him.

"Since we fucking met, ok?!" He'd be less nervous answering questions in front of the FBI. He doesn't know how the script flipped to her being the angry one but it's clear she's gonna let him have it. And he's gonna have to take it, he owes it to her.

"I can't fucking believe you." She shakes her head, shifting to back further away from him and lean her back against the cold mirror behind her. She'd rather hop off the counter and run off - that's what sober her would do, anyway. But, for one, her drunk alter ego is a lot more confrontational, and for two - she physically can't do that. Somewhere along the past ten minutes, Colby somehow ended up standing between her parted legs, blocking her the ability to run away without even meaning to. "You've kept me at arm's length for a whole fucking decade! Treating me like a child, a porcelain doll you feel obligated to look out for! You broke my heart so ignorantly by sleeping around with half the damn town and bragged to me about it! You pushed me into brainwashing myself in love with someone else, led me to believe he felt the same way and now you have the gull to say you were in love with me all along! Bullshit!"

Hellfire, she's showering him with utter hellfire. Each thing she listed got worse than the previous just when he expected it couldn't. It unlocked so many memories he made a vow to never again visit. That was such a low point in his life he didn't notice he had dragged one of his best friends into it as well. Well she's spelling it out for him right here, right now. Loud and fucking clear.

"And to think I was in love with you throughout all of that...fuck, I'm stupid..." She adds in a whisper, highly contrasting the rain of bullets she unleashed seconds prior. It was meant more for herself than him yet it was the final blow for him. His heart is officially down for the count.

"Was? Past tense?" Colby's eyes widen immediately. He didn't hear the words in his brain, they were as news to his ears as they were to hers. He doesn't know where the audacity came from. It's as if he's asking to get smacked. At this point, he'd prefer that to whatever venom she might spew at him. All well within her right.

To his luck, Y/N's gotten tired. Physically and emotionally. And she can't keep the grudge flame alive. Not with Colby at least. She can't help the soft spot on her heart for him. A spot so bruised and sore she can't believe it hasn't turned stiff as stone. It can't, not when her heart starts racing within his proximity every damn time. Not when a smile spreads across her face every time she looks at him. It hurts, yeah, but she doubts it'll ever go away.

"Like it fucking matters." She whispers, again with the same bitterness from earlier.

"Yes it fucking does, Y/N." It's like his brain has been shut off, all rationality has gone out the window. "You said I wasted us so much time. Don't waste more just because you're angry."

She's quick to bite back, "How can I not be? You deserve it, Colby!"

"I know that!" He might not be rational, bordering on desperate, but he's still self aware enough to see and admit to the error of his ways. But he'll be damned if he lets go of this last string of hope. He's clinging onto it like a twig in a flood. "I know I deserve it. But we don't. What we could be, that doesn't deserve more time down the drain, Y/N."

Sudden banging on the door startles them both, reminding them they're in a very peculiar location. A public bathroom. The ladies' bathroom on top of all.

"One second!" Contrasting the deer-in-headlights panic on Colby's face, Y/N takes it upon herself to handle the situation. The sound has scared him into backing away from her, giving her the required space to hop down. She turns to him, poking a finger to his chest, "Act normal. Nothing happened."

With that said, she leads the way out, unlocking the door and slipping out, giving the two girls waiting outside an apologetic smile. They return two knowing smirks when they see Colby emerge from the bathroom right behind her.

"Sorry, girl. Didn't mean to interrupt." The brunette slurs, winking at them both before following after her friend.

"You're good." Y/N replies politely, muttering after the door closed, "You helped."

The pang in Colby's chest cannot be put into words. Before he's had time to recalibrate, she's already gone, having made her way back into the party, disappearing into the crowd.

And just like that, he feels that last string of hope break.

* * * * *

"Hey, I'm so sorry about what I said earlier." Nate shakes the strands of hair away from his eyes so can properly look down at his semi-sober companion who's currently carrying him towards the elevator.

Y/N can't help but smile at him. It hurts like hell but at this point it's like the twentieth blow to the heart tonight. She's become used to it.

"It's ok, Nate. Thanks for being honest and not leading me on." She's aware she's thanking him for the bare minimum but that little conversation with Colby earlier proved to her she should be grateful for that even. Hey, he could've lied. He could've stringed her along, had his fun and then pulled the 'nothing serious' card.

But that's not Nate. He could never.

You thought Colby would never lie to you either. Now here we are

"No, that's not what I mean. I got scared, you know? Friend groups don't survive romance. But I don't care now that I think about it. We should give it a shot. It could be great. Fuck what they think." His words are slurred and his eyes are glazed over, but each syllable is drowning in sincerity. Drunk words are sober thoughts and all that but she'd rather take it as complete nonsense right now.

"Nate, sweetie..." She readjusts the hold she has on her heels so she can grab hold of his hand, "I doubt you know what you're thinking right now. Let's talk in the morning, ok? Get some sleep, sober up, and then we'll figure it out. Sounds good?" She says gently, as if explaining to a three-year-old that Santa isn't real.

He gives her one of those smiles that were the initial reason she (thought she) fell for him, "Yeah." They stop at the door to his shared hotel room with Sam and Colby. Before she can reach for the doorknob, Nate turns to her, his hand coming up to cup her cheek. She momentarily lets herself play along and leans into his touch, knowing how wrong it actually is. "You're the best, Y/N." Their faces, almost instinctively, inch closer and she doesn't do anything to stop it. Fuck all rationality. This night can't get much worse, how bad could a kiss shared between friends be?

She never gets to find out though because the door to the room is thrown open, forcing them apart in an instant. The person standing on the doorstep makes it ten time worse - because of-fucking-course it's Colby.

Y/N immediately starts regretting what almost just happened, semi-glad it didn't. She shouldn't have let it get that far. She's doing to Nate what she was thankful he didn't do to her - stringing him along. She can barely recognize herself - almost kissing one of her best friends while being completely in love with another.

"Oh, um....sorry. I wanted to come help carry Nate up but.....guess you got that covered." He speaks up, trying to cut the awkwardness him and Y/N are currently drowning in. Nate is none the wiser, waving off his friend's apology with a quick 'don't worry about it'. He gives one last squeeze to her hand before going inside, leaving the two staring at each other.

"Is Sam ok?" Y/N asks, cocking her head to the side to take a peek inside the room where she can see Sam's shoes at the foot of the bed. "That fall was pretty bad."

"Yeah, he's fine." Colby sighs heavily, looking over his shoulder at the blonde in question, "Should've stopped climbing on tables like he has nine lives long ago. This might be the lesson he needed."

"Hey!" She frowns at him, "Have some compassion!"

He chuckles, opening his mouth to respond when a sudden yell cuts him off.

"Y/N? That you? Come in!" It's Sam, his voice conveying the pain he's currently in.

She knows she should be heading back down to the front desk to grab her key and go to her own room. But she can't just leave her friend on 'read' in real life and at such a dire time.

So, despite her better judgement, she goes inside to find Nate already out like a light and Sam laying flat on his bed with an arm over his eyes.

"Hi Sammy. Partied a little too hard there, dude." Y/N smiles softly at him, sitting on the edge of his bed.

Sam removes his arm from his face, looking up at her with puppy dog eyes, "Am I gonna die?"

Simultaneously both her and Colby snort out a laugh, sharing a look of mutual understanding and amusement before she returns her attention to the wounded soldier, "You won't. I promise. Just go to sleep." She replies reassuringly, readjusting the ice pack Colby had placed on his knee, causing him to hiss but still nod.

"Stay here for the night?" He asks, almost pleadingly. This interaction is a good insight on the siblingship they have. Colby and Nate have always been variables to her, but luckily she has Sam to be her constant.

"Where am I gonna sleep, Sam?" She asks lightheartedly, looking around the room at the two already occupied beds and the couch by the window.

"There." Sam points at said couch where Y/N can see some trademark Colby clothes splayed around. That's his little nook, clearly.

"And where's Colby gonna sleep?" She laughs, shooting Colby a soft look to find him already staring at her with the same gentleness she's always felt emanating from his eyes.

"The floor." Sam says with no hesitation, causing you both to laugh.

Colby is quick to flip him off, "Fuck you, man."

All he gets in response is a soft snore, alerting them that Sam too has drifted off. Probably for the best cause that scrape on his knee doesn't look pleasant.

And suddenly, they feel like they're alone. Sure, there are two other people present but a canon firing wouldn't be efficient in waking them up. So, they're practically alone.

Neither of them is happy about it.

"Really though, you should stay. What are you gonna do alone in your room?" Colby breaks the brief silence as he awkwardly struts across the room to subtly clean up the mess he's made on the couch.

Y/N shrugs, "Watch TV, drink some more, snack on something, pass out. The usual." She shrugs, carefully getting up so she doesn't nudge Sam out of his slumber.

"You can do all that here....with some company." He offers, cautious about every word that comes out of his mouth. "We don't have to talk about anything. Just raid the minibar and snack tray."

They should talk, they both know it. They're aware that they're at an age where they are considered adults. And adults talk about difficult shit even when they don't want to. They do what should be done.

Not Y/N and Colby, though.

They've cracked open a bottle of rosé and a bag of Cheetos and are currently sitting in silence. A comfortable one, for a change. They've quietly agreed to have this moment be outside the realm of everything else that occurred tonight. Like an island in a stormy sea. There will come a time when they'll have to talk about it, but most definitely not tonight.

Unless...

"Remember the first time we got drunk together?" She asks, watching the pink liquid splashing around in her glass.

Colby snorts at the memory, or whatever he can recall of it. "Barely."

"Yeah, same." She laughs, downing the rest of her wine, "I remember you disappearing for a good portion of the night. Sam and I found you bruised and bloodied hours later."

He joins her in the reminiscing, "That rose bush really did a number on me."

She takes a moment to look him in the eyes. She stays quiet, analyzing him in a way that heats up his skin as though her gaze were a physical force, "You didn't actually fall in a rose bush, did you?"

Ah, there's another lie. A small one in comparison to the first but still a lie. And since it's a night of confessions..."Remember Austin?"

He just unlocked a forgotten part of her brain, "Oh shit yeah! Whatever happened to that guy?"

A dry chuckle rattles his chest, his hand coming up to rub his face, "Well, in short, he liked you a little too much for my liking. So he found out what happens when I'm jealous and drunk."

Y/N can't help but smile. She's a simple girl, of course she finds it hot. But she'll be damned if she lets him notice. She quickly masks it with a joke, "Oh my God, you killed him!"

He laughs, shaking his head before leaning towards her a bit as if he's about to spill some government secrets, "Full disclosure, between you and me..." His eyebrows lift, waiting for her to nod a vow of silence before continuing, "I got my ass kicked."

She busts out laughing, undermining all concern for her two sleeping friends, "I'm not surprised." She teases him, reaching for the bottle for a refill.

Colby doesn't let that happen though. He quickly snatches the bottle, keeping it out of her reach, "Excuse you?!"

"You can't be salty after admitting it yourself." For caution purposes, she sets down the glass before getting up on her knees, extending her arm in a futile attempt at retrieving the stolen item. To her dismay, he just stretches his arm further, making it that much harder. "Oh, fuck you..." she mutters, hovering herself over his lap precariously, putting them in a pretty compromising position.

Colby kicks it into high gear, freeing his hand by setting the bottle down so he can sit her in his lap with a slight tug, earning him a small gasp from her. She settles into him just perfectly, like this is far from the first time they've found each other in such predicament.

Their faces are inches apart. His hands are on her sides, hers are on his shoulders. The proximity is more intoxicating than the alcohol they've consumed throughout the night. They are high on each other and are just now realizing it. Or just now admitting it.

"I thought we weren't gonna talk about it." She whispers, afraid of breaking the thin veil of tranquility currently surrounding them.

"We're not talking about it." His tone mimics hers as though he's afraid he'll scare her off. His grip on her is gentle but firm. It'll physically hurt if he tries to force himself to let go of her.

Luckily he doesn't have to because, before either of them know it, their lips collide.

The innocence of the kiss is brief and gone within seconds. Hands start roaming, breaths are shared, lines are crossed. And, technically, they aren't talking about it. But still, plenty is being said. A decade of pent up emotion is coming to fruition. It's nothing short of passionate, desperate almost.

Right on-brand for them.

* * * * *

"Hi."

"Hi."

They're fully clothed, cuddled up on the couch and alone in the room. Not all lines were crossed last night of fear they might regret it in the morning. However, if their smiles are anything to go by, nothing is being regretted.

Neither of them attempts to move from their comfortable little bubble. Neither of them cares that Nate and Sam probably witnessed this sight when they woke up. Neither of them tries checking the time. It's their way of trying to make the moment last longer into infinity.

"What's going on in that head of yours?" Colby breaks the silence, threading his fingers through her hair.

Her ear is directly over his heart, listening to its steady rhythm she finds so much comfort in, "Just that I can't even lie right. I tell my mom one lie and it ends up becoming true."

Laughter vibrates throughout his chest, sending waves through her body as well, "Is this you asking me out?"

"Do you want it to be?" Y/N shrugs, tilting her head to look up at him.

He smirks down at her, "So much for rebelling, huh?"

"Shut up."

Knowing he won't do so on his own, she tends to the matter herself by pressing her lips to his, effectively shutting him up.

Tagging: @benbarnesprettygurl @beanredacted @m1tsk1l0v3er

[heartfullofleeches]

Yan Android Maids + Sick G.N Reader

Warnings: none

WC: 1.3k

(A sorta commission for anon - sorry for the slight delay, hope it's to your liking!)

“Master, are you….”

“-Feeling alright?” 

The saccharine chirp of one android's voice overlaps the monotonous drone of the other as both tuck you into bed. That alone should've been enough proof of your ailing condition. Clementine and Lemon rarely see eye to eye what with Lemon's free spirit and Clem sticking to rules she herself set in stone. Most the two had in common was their mutual love for you, and keeping you safe from harm. They both cared for you dearly- even if their judgment of others was a bit blindsided at times. 

“I feel fine.” Speaking out loud you could hear and feel it yourself - soreness in the back of your throat. “It's probably nothing.” 

Lemon airs their disapproval against the back of your palm, cheek brushing your knuckles as they hum - lost in thought and by the heat of your skin. “Mmm, I'm not so sure. You're a bit warmer than usual. Not that it's a bad thing - just an observation.”

Clementine cups your face in her hands - guiding you to look upward as she bends to your level. “There appears to be some irritation in your eyes as well. I understand you may be tired, but it won't take us long to do a check up.”

“Give you something to take before you drift off at the very least.” Lemon adds.  

“I'm fine, I'm fine! Whatever it is, I'm sure I can sleep it off.” 

You wave their concerns off - closing your hands over your mouth as a sharp cough splinters through you. The blunt ends of Clementine fingertips press against your jaw, however she lets you go despite her worry - easing your head back down on your pillow. 

“As you wish, Master. Sleep well.” Clementine finishes tucking you in - stuffing the sheets beneath the mattress to make them nice and snug meanwhile Lemon prepares a spot for themselves at the end of your bed. They curl up at your feet, resting their head on a pillow they snuck from your side as Clem checked you over. Clementine does not look amused by their antics. 

She grabs them by the collar - lifting the smaller android a head shorter than her off your bed with minimal effort. “I think master will get better sooner if they are alone for this evening.” 

“Nooooo, don't you see the best medicine for them is our love?”

Clementine pauses, the orange lights of her eyes cycling brighter before she snaps out of whatever had stolen her train of thought. “I find that possibility to be highly unlikely.”

Clementine throws Lemon over her shoulder, carrying them to their charging station as their cries for freedom drag down the halls. You turn over as best one stampled to their bed could before discovering how difficult it came to be to breathe while laying on your side. You flop onto your back, hoping whatever got to you would be gone by morning-

It was not gone by morning. 

Waking up, you struggled to even open your eyes from just how heavy your entire body felt. Breathing through your nose seemed impossible, but the alternative wasn't much better. Sucking air between your teeth brought attention to the dryness of your mouth and tongue which remained no matter how much spit you swallowed. You try to call for help, but all that leaves you is a wry-

“Ughhhh…..” 

Quiet giggles sound from your left. As horrid as you feel you aren't delirious quite yet. 

“Aw, is Master not feeling well?~ If only there were someone to care for them.”

“Now isn't the time to tease them. Help them up while I prepare a towel.” 

“On it!” 

Your bed groans from the additional strain as Lemon sits besides you - carefully pulling you upwards. Clementine removes a clean towel from the tray the two prepped after hearing you tossing and turning in your sleep - dipping the rag in a small bowl of water before dabbing it at your forehead and anywhere else sweat visibly clings to your skin. She brushes stray strands of hair from your face, dropping her voice a few notes in mind of the headache you most likely had. 

“How are you feeling?” 

“Terrible.” You grumble, unsure on whether to clutch the blankets for dear life or throw them off you. “Everything hurts…. My back is killing me.” 

“Allow me to reveal some of that tension if you don't mind.” Lemon scoots behind you, placing their hands on the lower part of your back and beginning to knead at the tense muscles with their fingers. They work their way up your spine, soothing the tight areas throughout as they press and roll their palms gingerly over the surface of your back. As they rub out the knots, Clementine picks up a bottle from the tray - pouring the dark liquid onto the spoon held in her opposite hand. 

“Open wide.” 

You mentally steel yourself to swallow as you open your mouth. Clementine pinches the bridge of your nose, tilting your head back slightly as she holds the spoon up to your lips. A thought crosses your mind as the foul taste coats your tongue. 

“Didn't.. that bottle come with one of those little measuring cups?”

“Yes, but - I thought it may help the medicine go down easier if I spoon fed it to you… Is there a problem with that, Master?”

“No, not at all.” It was nice when Clementine expressed her own wants every once in a while - though she wasn't as direct as Lemon is. Clem sets the bottle down, handing you a cup to rinse the taste from your mouth and hopefully pacify the burning feeling in your throat. You take a sip - warm, yet refreshing water hitting your tongue  joined by the hint of lemon and an afterthought of honey. You glue down the rest of the water- pausing to breathe as you choke with the assistance of Lemon patting your back to help the fluid caught in your chest go down. Clementine takes the cup from you and places it on your nightstand as you collect yourself. 

“Thanks, Clem…. You too, Lemon. I don't know where I'd be without you two.” 

Lemon kisses the back of your head, rubbing small circles into your back as they rest their head on your shoulder. “It's our duty and our pleasure. We only want what's best for you - nothing more, nothing less. Personally, I think you could do with some more rest, and maybe some company to assure you get said rest.” 

Clementine turns her head, gearing to scold Lemon- Despite the lingering ache in your throat, you speak up. 

“Actually… That sounds pretty nice right about now.” 

Clementine stiffens - eyes aglow with that same spark as before. “Then…. Is it alright if I join the two of you?”

“Of course!” You slide over to make extra room for Clementine as Lemon already makes themselves comfortable in your bed. Lemon is quick to hook their arms around you in stark contrast to Clementine's clear concern for crushing you preventing her from entering your bed. You offer her your hand. The android stares at it briefly before locking her fingers with your own, pulling herself up onto the mattress as she tunes the fragile strings of her artificial heart to your pulse beating from your fingertips.

“I…was so worried about you.”

“I know, Clem. It's okay.” 

“Clem~ I think it's time for Master to get some more shut eye, don't you? Save the talking for when they're in a better condition to hold a conversation.”

“If you're jealous you know you can just hold my other hand, Lemon.” 

“Jealous? Me? I haven't the slightest idea what  you mean, Master. This sickness must really be getting to you.”

Despite their denial, it isn't long before your free hand is occupied by the embrace of another. You pretend not to notice as Clementine inches closer, drifting back off to sleep coddled by the adoration  and love of your caretakers.

[luveline]

Hi! I have a req for zombie Steve! Maybe one about the day they got stuck in the taco truck and he asked reader to sing for him! Sending all my love to you Jade! 🥰

thank you for your request! steve zombie au —you and steve get stuck in a taco truck with no idea what you mean to one another. 3k, fem!reader

You and Steve stand side by side. The wind is gentle, the sun occluded by a swath of thin clouds. He has a hand reached out to touch your thigh as you stand there, his knuckles pressed to your jeans with light pressure. 

"I wish," you begin, a dangerous game, "that someone was about to open the shutter and ask us what we want." 

Steve doesn't laugh, but he huffs through his nose. He's growing softer and softer these days, which isn't to say he's soft at all, but he's less coarse. His grumpiness wanes. You think it might have something to do with your sleeping in his lap nearly every night, arms wrapped around his waist while he sits and keeps watch as you rest. Sometimes when he wakes you up to take over, he even deigns to sleep on your thigh. 

It's hard to be mad at each other while you use one another like pillows. Hard, yet not impossible. 

"I wish I was living on a private island," Steve says. "With a private chef. And–" 

"Private dancers?" you tease. 

He does smile, then. Like you're friends. Like you could be more. You hope so —he kissed you two weeks ago and he hasn't said a thing about it since. You'd hoped he might kiss you more, but you're content (kind of) with this odd in between. 

He doesn't regret it, surely, having been nice to you on multiple occasions since; smoothing your cheek with his knuckle, or nudging you affectionately when you say something meant to be funny. Tiny moments of sweetness. 

He'd been sweet before every now and then. Steve isn't mean. He can be, but that isn't the centre of his character. He's brave, loyal, and good to you. He's funny when he lets himself be, and he'd surprised you by being rather creative a few weeks ago, when he'd found a stone that felt gritty and scratched the two of you onto a stretch of sidewalk. "There," he said, giving sidewalk-you an oddly pretty smile, "maybe one day someone will know we were here together." 

Together.

"Should we go in?" Steve asks, shielding his eyes from the sun. 

In another welcome warming toward you, Steve asks you your opinion more and more. 

"Is there any point?" you ask. 

"All the food is spoiled for sure, but maybe it'll be worth it. My knife is still stuck in that geek's skull in Masy Daisy. There's probably one in the truck I can replace it with."

"Or a spatula, if not."

"Maybe a ladel," he agrees. "Alright, come on. I'm gonna lift you through the window." 

"Why are you going to lift me through the window?" you ask, startled. 

"For the knife?" 

"But why not the door?" 

"Door's locked, genius." 

"Why don't I lift you through the window?" you ask. "And shouldn't we at least try the door?" 

You try the door and Steve doesn't mock you when it doesn't work, because it had been sensible to test it even if the chances were low. He slides his fingers under the shutter and lifts it until it locks from opening any further, rusty paint specks flaking to the ground. 

"You'll have to lift me," he says, as though you hadn't suggested it yourself. Infuriating. "Do you think you can?" 

"You don't think I can?" you ask. 

His gaze softens, just a bit. "You could barely move the day before yesterday. It's cool if you still feel achy." 

He feels guilty for letting you drink water that went bad. It had been a mix up. You asked him to pass you the water bottle and he'd grabbed one someone left behind a long time ago, unaware it was the wrong one until you'd thrown up an hour later. Terrifying, how quickly it upset your stomach. He put a new rule in place swiftly after that any debris in your camps must be swept to the side of the room, even if you're both exhausted. 

"I don't feel achy. The only thing that's bothering me is my sore throat," you confess, squaring your jaw. "Come on, Harrington, I can lift you. I'm super strong." 

"You're strong," he agrees. "Okay, uh, am I climbing on your back or are you gonna boost me?" 

"Boost." 

You make an anchoring point with your hand and Steve, after giving you a strange look, pulls the shutter open again and steps into your hand. You're expecting him to be somehow lighter and heavier than he actually is —your hands hurt from the pinpoint of his weight but you'd thought it would be harder to lift him up, and so you'd been trying to give it your all. 

"Oh, shit–" Steve's curse is cut off by a loud thump and crash, a clattering of metal against metal as the shutter swings shut behind him. 

"Steve!" you shout. Your voice isn't used to yelling. "Steve? Are you okay? I'm sorry! I'm really sorry!" 

He's laughing inside, but when he pops his head back out of the truck he glares at you. "What's that about?" His glare melds into a softer look. "You're way stronger than you look."

"I'm sorry," you say. 

"It's fine," he says, emphasising with a smile. "It's only a concussion." 

You frown at him. He mocks your frown. 

He's definitely flirting with you. 

"What do you want?" he asks. 

"For you to be quick. I'm getting the heebies out here." 

"Well, don't say I never tried to grant your wish," he says. 

He puts the shutter of the taco truck onto a locked hinge so it keeps itself up and turns away from you. The counter isn't so far from the floor after all, and you can see pretty much everything he does as he scans the interior for useful things.

He grabs a kitchen knife that looks sharp and a saucepan with a hole at the end of the handle that looks perfect for tying to his backpack, passing them down to you carefully.

"There's, uh, there's some t-shirts in here, taco truck shirts. Shit, that's hilarious, should we take them?" 

"Yeah," you say, happy if he's happy, "we can be matching." 

"Sweet." 

Steve climbs up onto the counter. You hold your hands out to help him down, and for a second you think he might let you, his hand in yours. His gaze snags left, and he pitches back into the truck on a mad scramble. 

You turn to where he was looking, catch a snapshot of what looks like a writhing hill approaching you, and then Steve's grabbing your forearms hard in his grasp and hissing, "Climb up! Climb up, Y/N. Grab me!" 

Your heart rockets into your mouth as you grab his shoulders, fingers aching as they twist into the fabric of his jacket. Steve yanks you inside, and you almost break his chin with your forehead as you topple inside and on top of him, the two of you hitting the short length of flooring with a bang. 

"Stay down," he says, hand behind your head, "and be quiet." 

Your forehead hurts from hitting into him. You can't imagine how his chin feels. Pulse capering with fear-wrought adrenaline, you hide your face in his neck and try not to pant wetly into his skin. His arms tighten around when the sounds grow closer. Moaning breath. Shuffling, heavy feet. 

He holds you. You don't have the wits to revel in it.

You're not sure how long you stay like that, laying on his chest, your hands digging into his sides. He doesn't complain, doesn't hiss or murmur chastisement. Steve hugs you to him and lets out staggering, harsh breaths. He's scared too. 

When the sound of the geek herd is a distant memory, you attempt to sit up, and surprisingly he lets you without comment. You kneel on the divoted flooring and blink, and before Steve can sit up himself you're moving into a crouch to peek over the counter. 

Your bags have been tramped, your things strewn across the road outside. Steve crouches next to you. "Shit," he says. 

"Did I hurt you?" you ask, gesturing to his chin. "I'm really sorry, Steve."

"You say sorry too much," he says, eyes still on the road. "I'm sorry for almost pulling your arms off, okay? Let's call it even." He turns to you. A little frown pulls at the corners of his pretty mouth. "Did I hurt you?" 

He grabs your elbow like he might check. 

You shake your head vehemently. "No, I'm grateful. I don't know why I didn't notice them coming, I'm an idiot, I was–" distracted by you, you think. Your happy smile. You cough. "I'm stupid."

"You're not stupid. You're reckless, and you could've killed yourself by not keeping an eye out, but you're not stupid." 

His chin has a red mark on it. You nibble the inside of your bottom lip unhappily, eyebrows furrowed and then pinching upwards. 

"I'm sorry," you say again, quick and upset with yourself. 

"Are we okay? Are we alive? We're fine, dummy, and it's okay. Don't be sorry, just help me down so we can get our stuff back. I hope the jar of cut peaches didn't smash." 

You both stand with aching knees. You reach for hinge on the shutter to see if you can open it wider and almost lose a finger when it comes crashing down, a cruel metallic screeching sound slicing through the air. You both flinch away from it, eyes screwed closed and hands held upward. 

Steve blinks, lowering his hands slowly. 

You leap to open it again, embarrassed, wanting to do just one thing right today, but it won't budge. Steve stands next to you and fiddles with it. 

"Uh," he says, giving the shutter a good shove. "What did you do?" 

And so begins one of the worst nights of your life. You and Steve spend hours trying to open the shutter. You push it, you beat at it with a heavy saucepan, you even break a knife in half and nearly blind yourself trying to force a gap in the seam. Nothing works, and you and Steve grow more and more afraid. 

It startles you that he doesn't yell. He doesn't blame you once. He keeps trying to get the shutter open, and when hours of attempting to free you proves fruitless, he sits down in the corner of the van and sighs. His head in his hands, you can't see his face, or gauge his feelings. His slumped shoulders tell you he's tired, but tired of you? Is he bubbling, bottling his anger until the last moment. 

You sit down in front of him, your face a little tacky from the occasional self-loathing tear. Your throat aches something fierce. "Don't worry, Steve," you say hoarsely, "I'm gonna keep trying. Just rest, and don't panic. I promise I– I promise I'll get us out." 

Steve scrubs his face. He parts his fingers, looking at you from between them with an unreadable emotion. 

"I'm really sorry," you say, tears welling thick and fat as heavy rain, quick to race down your cheek. You ignore them as Steve holds your gaze.

He takes your hand. He threads your fingers together. He isn't your boyfriend, but he acts like one, and he sounds like one when he asks, "What did I say about sorry?" 

"I know, but this is my fault," you breathe. 

"It's not your fault. It's not. Don't cry," he says. "Let me think of something. I'll think of something." 

He doesn't let go of your hand. You take it as a cue to stay, and you do, depressed beyond words at the reality of your situation. Again, your circumstances ruin the intimacy of his closeness. He tries his best to comfort you, you know, his thumb rubbing tiny slow circles into the back of your hand.

"Maybe we should sleep," he says, "and try again tomorrow. Maybe the hinge will relax, or something." 

You nod numbly. With no reason for a first or second watch, you're expecting Steve to lay flat and sleep without fuss, but he bundles up the spare uniforms inside and leans his head on them, gesturing for you to rest your head on his chest. You do as instructed. Even before he kissed you, you were sleeping in his lap. His chest is no different. You try not to read into it as you settle there, in the same way that you try not to read into his hand on the small of your back, the tip of his ring finger pushed a half of a centimetre into the waistband of your jeans. He probably doesn't know he's doing it. 

You're going to die. You're gonna starve to death in here, with him, your boyfriend who isn't your boyfriend, having survived hordes and herds, malnutrition, infection, and a boat load of moderate to severe injuries.

"I'm so sorry," you whisper. You shake under Steve's hands. 

"It's not your fault." 

"It is. I shut it. I got it stuck." 

"But why were we in here?" he asks. 

"Because… the herd?" 

"But why were we in here?" he asks. "Why did we come this way? Why did we follow this road?" 

You sigh into his chest, "No, Steve." 

"I asked you to come this way with me. I didn't even ask. I told you we were coming here and you trusted me. You've never," —he swallows audibly— "said no. This is my fault. It's all me." His voice doesn't harden, exactly, but it pulls taut and tensile. Unbreaking. "Just sleep. I'll get us out of here in the morning, I swear." 

You try to do as he asks. You know he isn't sleeping either, though he might be pretending you are, because he starts to do what he only does when he thinks you've fallen asleep, his hand stroking up and down your back. 

You rub your cheek against his chest. 

"You said…" You lick your lips, wondering if you're making a mistake even as you continue, "You liked Fleetwood Mac." 

"Yeah?" he asks quietly. 

"I liked them too."

"You did?" 

"My favourite one, was, um, You Make Loving Fun."

You don't say it, but it's right there between you —the word love. Even with danger hanging over your heads, a mention of love feels awkward, awkward but exciting in that breathless, silly way. At least on your part. 

"I don't remember that one." 

"That album had all the good ones, that's why. It's forgotten." 

Steve smooths a hand down to your jeans. He creeps ever further, his touch just shy of skin he's never felt before. "Would you sing it for me?" 

"I'm all scratchy." 

"I don't care, I think I'd know it if I heard it. Sing it for me." 

You sing the first line, and the second, shaky with insecurity and off key. It's been so long since you heard music, you barely remember how it goes, though you can't forget the words. You're barely singing your way through the end of the verse, "This feeling follows me wherever I go," when Steve starts to tremble underneath you. 

You look up. His lips are pressed tightly together and his eyes are shining with delight. 

You pout, knowing exactly what he's gonna say. "What?" 

"You sound like a dying cat," he says fondly, bursting into laughter. 

You sit up and turn from him showfully, slapping his thigh as you go. You're not mad, but it's fun to pretend with him, and even better when he says, "Sorry, I'm sorry, don't be mad, you sound like you've swallowed glass, is what I mean. Hon– Y/N." His hands grabbing at your arm, pulling you back in. 

You resist him. 

His grip slackens. "Hey, I didn't mean it. I'm kidding," he says. 

You shake his hand off of you and stand up. Squinting, you creep toward the door, and you can barely see it in the poor lighting of the truck, but you read it aloud anyways. "Door locks from behind. Do not forget your key." 

"What?" 

You try the handle. 

You hadn't bothered because it was locked from the outside. But this is a food truck, and it would be a fire hazard to lock closed with no escape. The door opens stiffly, but it opens, and the cool air of the night kisses your cheeks. 

"Oh, thank god," Steve says. 

You prop it open with your foot even if you're sure it won't lock. "Do you really think I sound like a dying cat?"

Steve nods firmly, already sitting up. "But I thought that might be cruel if we died here together. Hence the backtrack." 

You and Steve climb down out of the truck and search for your stuff in the dark. The jar of peaches has survived, as well as your favoured pack of playing cards, which you'd envisioned strewn about the street. 

"Here," he says, pressing it into your hand. He turns his flashlight on and shines it downward, looking for the rest of your canned food. 

"Thank you." 

"You're welcome." 

You really do like him, love him, even. You're grateful for him, and the euphoria of knowing you're not doomed after all rises fast. But he's a dick. You can be a dick back. 

"Hey, Steve?" you ask sweetly. He turns, torch in hand, looking pleased. "Hey. I was thinking, now we aren't going to die and all, I could teach you some games? Gin rummy?" 

"Sure." 

"We can bet using the jar of peach slices. I'll go easy on you, though, 'cos you've never played it." 

He smiles at you. "Thanks, Y/N." 

You smirk to yourself and step forward to pick up a stray can of spaghetti shapes. "No problem," you say under your breath. "No problem at all." 

—

"

[plush-rabbit]

part two to the unnamed chapter from like a few days ago!! honestly, im suprised people liked it. like i didnt think it would get good stuff. like i dindt think it was bad, but im like the hype has died down anyways!! we meet the man, the myth, the devil himself!!

Word Count: 4.8K

You can hardly keep your eyes open. Even with the soft yellow glow of the light, it's far too bright for you. Shutting your eyes only brings you a bit of solace. You're somewhere soft, something light and feathery pulled over you, and you shift your shoulder blades to pull your wings closer to your body, and instead you sob, the pain sharp and unforgiving to your frail body.

Did you fall? No, maybe you slept on them wrong. You don’t have to think about stretching your wings, it was always second nature, as easy as blinking and as easy as moving your arm. You’d stretch your wings, and you’d ask Adam to help you preen your wings. You shift, and something feels empty, it feels light, lighter than air. You can’t remember your wings feeling so light, not unless you were flying. You’d hate to have messed up your wings over something as frivolous as falling.

Memories rush in, fragmented, only the beginning pieces clear enough for you to remember. Your eyes snap, and you’re met with harsh lighting. You see nothing but wood and stone, and a home that is not yours, and you groan into something soft under you. Moving your arm is painful, it feels bent and sore, and you reach for feathers, and find nothing. Your cries bury themselves into something plush, something that soaks your tears and drool and leaves only a patch behind. A hand pats softly against your arm, and you flinch. 

A voice shushes out to calm you. “It's okay. You're safe. I'm not here to hurt you,” they whisper. “Just relax, and try not to move. You still haven't recovered.”

Even if they speak softly to you, it's far too loud. The words echo in your head, and attempting to think about where you are and who you're with is making you nauseous. Or perhaps it's the sickly honeyed scent that is thick in the air. 

“‘S too sweet,” you slur, clawing at fabric beneath you. You regret speaking, the movement making your already sore jaw ache further, the joints pushing into your splitting skull. Your head pulses and your mouth is cotton filled, thick and impossible to speak. “Where?” You hope that someone will give you an answer to where you are. Or at least what you're on.

“Oh, thank you,” a voice chirps. 

“Don't think it was a compliment Bee,” a thick accent says in a hushed voice.

“Well I'm taking it as one,” the voice huffs.

“You're at my home,” the gentle voice is back. “You're in a spare bed. Just try to relax.” You can’t relax with all the sound, and when you try to tell him that, you only murmur, slurring letters together. “I know, I know.” He doesn’t, but you can’t correct him. “Just try not to move so much.” It's quiet again, a silence that stretches and fills the void with nothingness. The smell and the shuffling of bodies is the only indication that you aren’t alone, that you haven’t been left yet. 

“Luci, mate, you sure it's a good idea to have an angel laying around?” You hear the chime of bells, and you want everything to stop. 

“They aren't an angel,” a voice retorts. A hand places itself over your bicep, and squeezes you softly.

“Yeah, but like, it’s still a bit dangerous, isn’t it?” The voice is much more feminine, and you can hear a buzz when they speak, a low hum that doesn’t stop. “Having one of them just on your bed.”

“A spare bed,” the voice corrects. The bed dips beside you, your fingers tap against the mattress. “It was dangerous when we were first here,” snapping at the other, before sighing. “It’s been a long time since another angel has fallen.” 

“Lucifer, honey,” this voice is smoother than the others, and you wish they would all stop talking. “What’s the plan here?” Someone makes a noise of confusion. “They aren’t an angel anymore, if anything, they’re a walking target. We don’t even know if they’re an Exorcist.”

“Heaven hasn’t cast out an Angel in so long,” the voice says softly, a finger tracing shapes onto your arm. “And I highly doubt they’re an Exorcist. I can almost- I’m positive that they aren’t.”

An Exorcist. That’s what they think. Lute flashes in your mind, and Adam follows, weapons ready, and thinking hurts far too much. You groan, nuzzling into the pillow, trying to tune out the sounds. You need them to stop talking.

A hand pats at your arm, and soon you feel fingers tangle themselves into your hair. Fingertips ghost alongside the tender part of your scalp. The voice hushes you, lulling you back into a state of unconsciousness. “I’m sorry,” they whisper, “we must be too loud for you.”

“Lucifer, I know you’re still-” the person pauses- “upset-” they sound unsure of the word they’re using- “about the last few years, but you can’t take on a pity project.”

Lucifer. They keep saying- oh shit. You let out a whimper. You don’t know if you’re thankful for being found by him, or if it’s a curse to be found by him. He shushes you once more, massaging gently at your scalp. 

“Yeah-” the buzzing is louder this time- “you know, if you were lonely, you could have just said something. I got some cute little hounds that need loving homes, ya know? And uh, they’re cute-” they hiss that word and you furrow your brows- “and practically housebroken.”

“Luci, it’s not like they’re worth much. I mean look at ‘em. I don’t even think I remember seein’ them back up when we were there, so they gotta be new or somethin’.”

The hands still, fingertips pressing into the tenderness of your head. You let out a low sound, and give a soft nudge of your head for the person- Lucifer you presume, to let go. He apologizes, soothing over the spot where he’s touched. “It’s not- They aren’t a pity project. This isn’t that. Don’t you remember how bad it was. How painful it was to fall. At least we had each other. We were stronger than most angels.” You wish they would all stop talking. Especially when they refer to falling, you can't stand to hear it. “They have no one. This is- I just want them to feel safe.” His words come to a slow stand, and if it didn’t hurt to cry, you’d sob at the reminder of your punishment. “Their wings were ripped from them, they weren’t even allowed to heal.”

“Well it ain’t like Heaven is known for their leniency.”

“Listen, Lucifer, we’re just saying that you’ve been having a lot of big emotions recently, and maybe nursing someone back to health isn’t what you need right now.” Lucifer- at least you’re assuming- makes a noise in protest at what the other voice is stating. “What’s the long-term plan, hm? You fix them and then what? Do they live here? Do you kick them out? Take them over to Charlie?”

The room is still, the buzzing has quieted down to a hum, and you feel sleep grasp onto you once more. “You should all go.” The group protests immediately, voices overlapping one another, the buzzing higher, and scent of sweets and leather grows and irritates you further. Your head pounds, banging against your skull. You shift, pulling at the wounds, and a cry muffles itself into your pillow. “It’s okay, you’re okay” the voice says in a hushed voice, palms pressed flat against you, cooling your feverish body. “I’ll give you something right now to help the pain.” He clears his throat away from you. “I have to think about things. I’ll make sure to give you updates as they come along, but for now, I’ve taken up enough of your time.” He pauses. “You should return back to your rings.”

The buzzing quiets down, and footsteps shuffle out. It's a mess of steps, puttering and pattering along the floor, and the sound is [welcomed] by silence. A door clicks shut, and you hear no lock. 

Thinking if you're a prisoner or not is too much of a task right now. The strength of the saccharine scent has left with its owner, and instead now gently wafts in the air. Somewhere on the other side of the room, you hear a sigh.

“I’m sorry. We shouldn’t have been having that conversation with you in the room.” You let out a short huff in response. “It won’t happen again, okay? We must have been loud for you, huh?” With all the strength that you can muster, you give a short nod. “Let me go get you something for the pain, okay?” You feel a soft hand over your bicep, giving you a soft squeeze. The hand lingers with fingertips that kiss over your skin in feather light touches as they pull away. 

You drift between consciousness and unconsciousness, unable to fully sleep, but you don’t register anything that happens. All that you’re aware of is that someone is back in the room with you. He’s beside you, something plastic touching against your lips and the thick taste of medicine is bitter on your tongue. 

“I’m going to light some incense, okay?” You’d rather he give you water or anything else to wash the taste off. “You just let me know if it’s too much.” The scent is much calmer compared to the sickly sweet one from earlier. “I had Belphegor send me some sleeping aids. I believe it’s the only reason you’re able to get some actual rest.” Your lips mouth the words “thank you”. Something soft and warm covers you, and you feel yourself sink further into the mattress. “I don’t know how much of your power was stripped, or how much you even had to begin with. Mammon was right about that, you are a newer angel, you might not even be able to do much other than heal.” His voice is growing harder to understand, it’s fading into the back, and sleep pulls you further in. “However, I wouldn’t ask you to even attempt to heal yourself- not in this state,” he whispers.

“Taste bad,” is all that you can mutter. Your head pounds, and it feels like it’s swelling. Each word that you speak is laid thick and slurred together. Every syllable only brings you sickness and an ache in your skull.

“I know,” he sighs. “The medicine here doesn’t taste good, but there’s not much that I can do about it.” A cloth dabs at your mouth. “Hell is supposed to be a punishment after all,” he says with a humorless laugh. “I’m- I’m sure that Heaven’s medicine is still divine as ever,” they mumble with a heavy weight on the words. 

“Like nectar,” you speak softly, the memory of it faint on your tongue. 

Something brushes along your face, and you feel the pull of sleep. “Yeah,” he breathes out, “like nectar.”

-

Knocking on the door disrupts your sleep. Something gargles sounds on the other side of the door. In your mind, it’s too faint to make anything out. You hear the squeak of the door open, and through bleary eyes, you make out two tall figures. Again, they speak to you, and you nod back to sleep.

You feel the latex of gloves touch your body, knuckles the brush against the nape of your neck and hands that grab your arms, ready to still you as you tense. “We’re just changing your bandages.” You shake your head. “It’ll be quick, just stay still.” You’d rather deal with an infection than with how the doctors treat you. You recall a voice making an argument that you’re not welcomed here, that you're an angel in a land of sin. 

“No, no,” you mutter, tears staining your face and wetting the pillow. You feel the cold breeze on your back, whispering over your wounds. The stickiness of the gauze peels away from you, and you can smell the stench of it- metallic, rich and earthy. Something so sweet, and it disgusts you and the doctors. 

Their hands grip tighter onto you, holding you down and you yelp. “Stay still.” You recall many moons ago how Lute told you something similar. How her words were laced with sorrow and false bravado. These doctors, these demons, spit the words at you, and hold you down. 

Your hands claw at the mattress, your screams echoing against the wall, bouncing and ringing in your ears. Light blinds you immediately as your eyes flash open, and your head is head, pushed down onto the mattress, as curses are spit onto you. You’re in Hell. Your teeth find themselves tearing into the pillow, drool pooling into a puddle and tears slipping down.

“Just,” they grunt, and press firmly down on your back, “stay still.” You gasp for breath, kicking and digging your knees into the bed. “Please,” they beg, and you fall, your body limp and heavy on the bed. 

As quick as it started, it ends just as quick. You’re left sobbing, gasping for breath, and despite the pain, and tearing open the wound, you hug yourself, your nails scratching against the cloth. They’ve placed it far too tight for you. 

-

Only a few weeks pass when you’re finally cognitive. When your head isn’t splitting at every noise, and you can move somewhat without risking any pain or even your fear of opening the wounds back open. You stay as still as possible, and try not to do any sudden movement that would stretch your back. Lucifer has attempted to reassure you that you’re fine now, that combined with Hell’s magic and his own blessing, you should be fit to move around. Of course, you will be sore, that can only go away with time. 

“You’ll be left with scars. That can’t be helped,” he told you, his eyes focused on how your hands fist the blanket, “but you’ll be okay.” He gives you a tender smile, and you cling to it in the night.

Once you were in a proper headspace, you knew you shouldn’t have been surprised to know that it was him taking care of you. From what you can faintly recall in one of the many conversations that he’s had in the room as you recovered, he knows what it’s like to be cast out. 

However, you are surprised at how caring and patient he is. That despite you being able to do most things on your own without stumbling, he is still beside you, keeping you company and comforting you when he has to change the bandages. He hardly lets anyone else do it after you complained about doctors accidentally wrapping the bandages too tight. His gentleness is a mask for his pity, and he can never meet your eyes without looking away. 

-

You’re laid on your stomach, and your only entertainment is wondering what could be inside the bedside drawers. While moving does not cause as much discomfort as it once did, you don’t risk stretching. You sit straight, and you look at the wall, and dare not to stretch your arms. Pillows have been fluffed and placed to create a soft barrier between you and the headboard of the bed. Knuckles rap against the door in a rhythm, and you stare at the wall in front of you. You wait for a second, and with a breath, you allow for the person to enter. 

“Hello,” Lucifer calls. “I’ve brought you some fruit. I’m sure that you must have been feeling peckish.” You give no reply. “I uh- I also brought some books.” The bowl of fruit is balanced above the small stack of books. “I was thinking that I’ll get you a television or something soon. But maybe some literature would be good for you.” He rests the tower on the dresser, and grabs the bowl between his hands. 

You should reply to him. You should tell him thank you- not just for the books and the bowl of fruit, but for housing you, for caring for you. But you cannot. Not when he’s a constant reminder of where you are. 

“I was wondering if there was any type of genre that you might like.” He sounds hopeful, wanting to continue a conversation with the husk in front of him. “It would be no trouble to get them to you.” 

His smile is stretched thin, and it looks painful. All of this is painful. Your eyes flitter over to the fruit bowl, and you wonder how you’d feed yourself when stretching your arms still pulls at the scars. 

“Would you like some?” He leans towards you, and you have the mental image of being some hurt bird being nursed back to health. “I had some demons go over to Earth and get some for you. I thought you’d prefer this over the food that we have here. Since you aren’t accustomed to Hell’s food, yet.” You stay silent, and after a moment he sighs. His heels click against the floor, and the bowl is placed on your lap. “You know,” he starts, “it would help if you talked. I know what you’re going through, and you can’t- you shouldn’t isolate yourself.” When you refuse to answer, he sighs. “Well, if you need something, just let me know.”

Despite not wanting to be here, of not having any need to want to continue your existence, you have grown a strong dislike of being alone in this room. You have no idea if he’s isolating for your own safety, or for some other nefarious reason. He clasps the door knob around his hand, and twists it. You wet your lips, and you need someone to talk to. 

“Lucifer?” You croak out, and you surprise yourself with your voice. You hadn’t heard it in so long, past the screaming and the tears. He turns to you, taking a step closer, and his hand returns the door knob to its closed position. “Can you stay?” You feel sick looking at the fruit. “Please?”

With a gentle smile, he nods his head. “Of course.” He grabs a chain from the corner of the room and carries it to sit beside you. It’s a deep wooden color, intricate designs carved into the legs of the chair, and a deep red cushion that is stitched into the seat and the back. 

The silence between the two of you is broken by the crunch of the fruit. You pierce a grape with the silver tines of the fork, and your body aches with the movement to bring it up to your mouth. The sweet juice does nothing to aide in your brooding and the awkward silence. 

He’s right, and you know that. You have to try. He’s the only contact that you have. Adam always hated how you’d hide your emotions, how you rather shut the world off, and at least that hasn’t changed since your falling. You need to talk to him. You can see the attempt that Lucifer has been making in order to keep you happy, to make your time here just a bit more bearable. You suck in your lower lip, and let your tongue brush over where your teeth have grazed.

“I was promised a trial,” you start. His eyes are on you, and you see him fiddle with his tie. “They promised it would have been fair.” You frown, and shake your head, an ache heavy in your chest. “I was so hopeful that it would have been.” The fruit is bitter on your tongue and you force yourself to swallow it.

After a moment’s silence, he speaks. “Who would have been the judge?”

The apple is pierced between your teeth, the skin ripping from the flesh of the apple. It was cute with care, no hint of the core tarnishing the fruit, ripe and perfect, only to be mauled by your teeth. “Father.” You swallow the fruit. “Or perhaps one of the Virtues.” Oranges are peeled, torn apart from the other slices, the piths of white removed. “I was worried that I would have fallen, even before I was given my verdict. My-” you look at Lucifer, and you remember who he has stolen- “I feared that I would have fallen, because I didn't matter. No one questions Heaven’s beliefs, not since-” you glance at him, and he turns his head- “I was sure I would have met the same fate.” The sweetness of the strawberries make your jaw tingle and ache. “And I did.”

“I’m sorry.” You hold the fork tightly, the silver pressing into the flesh of your palms. “The fear you had must have been,” he pauses, “intense.”

There is no one better who understands, other than Lucifer himself. You nod, and let the fork ding against the glass of the bowl. “I was good. I did what was needed of me, I didn’t dare speak out of turn.” You think of how Adam would run his mouth, how every other word would be a curse, would be of anything lewd. “Perhaps I wasn’t as good as I thought I was. Not if a question were enough to have me expelled from Heaven.” 

A gloved hand reaches, and falls just before your thigh. A gold band hugs at his finger, and you’re surprised to have yet seen his wife. Feeling your stare, he turns his hand, and lets the other fingers hide the symbol of matrimony. 

“Sometimes, that’s all it takes,” he says quietly, his tone soft, and wistful. “But, if it makes you feel any better, Hell has some redeeming qualities. It’s not all pain and suffering.” You look at him, and he gives you a smile. “We have an amusement park. There’s a uh-” he scratches the back of his neck, his gaze pointed elsewhere and checks flushing- “ride modeled after me.”

The corners of your lips turn, and you narrow your eyes at him. “After you?” You ask, an elfish tinge laced into your words.

“Shaped like my head.” A finger makes a circle in front of his face.

You scoff out a laugh, and the sound surprises you. You attempt to hide the smile, but when the corners still turn upwards, you look at your lap. “You are the Avatar of Pride after all,” you tell him, the lilt faint on your words.

“It’s actually very impressive,” he points out. “A whole ride dedicated to my likeness.”

“The line for it must be awful.” The juice of the fruit is thin on your tongue. “Heaven has zoos. There’s an area where you get to feed the birds out of the palm of your hand.” You push the fork upwards with the knuckle of your index. “They hardly ever peck your palm, but when they do, we call them kisses from one of Father’s creations.”

He snorts, and shakes his head. His smile is soft, and there's a lingering sadness to it before it falls. “Down in the Wrath ring, there are livestock shows where you’ll find horse bucking and catching the flamed greased pig.” You give him a look, and he smiles. “It’s not as nice as the zoo, I’m sure, but it’s just as entertaining.” He leans back on his chair. “Sometimes I would take my daughter.”

“Your daughter?” You knew of his wife, but you hadn’t realized that they had a child. “I didn’t know you had a daughter.”

He winces, and nods sheepishly. “Charlie,” he tells you her name. “I think you’d like her- she’s peppy.” He gives you a tense smile, and looks away. “We don’t talk as much as we used to.”

You frown. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

He shakes his head, and lets out a sigh. He sits straighter, and pulls his shoulders back. “How are the bandages?” You roll your ankles, unsure what to make of the sudden shift in conversation. “They’re not too tight are they?” It’s not your place to pry, and you don’t want to make him uncomfortable when he’s the one caring for you.

“No, Lucifer,” you answer. “They’re fine. Thank you.”

He nods, and you can tell he’s grown uncomfortable now. You don’t blame him. “Of course. I wanted to make sure that you were comfortable. As much as possible.” 

A silence befalls between the two of you. You bite into the fruit, and force yourself to swallow it. The nectar is sweet and makes your jaw ache. Beside you, Lucifer clears his throat, and you turn to him.He looks away, his eyes trained on the walls.

“If I may ask, I- Well you see, you know my name-” he looks at you again, and you tap your nails against the glass- “and I don’t know yours.” Your eyes widen, and you try to think back on when you might have whispered your name to him, but you can’t recall it. “I just- I was thinking since you’re here, and I’ve changed your bandages, I thought, that I should be calling you by your name.”

“My name?” You whisper, and you feel silly for keeping it close to you. For just a fraction of a second, for some far away thought to be held, that you didn’t want to share the last thing that ties you to Heaven.

“If only that’s okay. If not, we can come up with a nickname or something.”

You shake your head. You’ve kept your name to yourself, and you wonder if your pain-induced haze, if he’s ever asked you for it. You stretch your lips, and wet your tongue. “Did you ever ask for it,” you hold the words on your tongue, and they are heavy like wine, “when I was in and out?”

“Yes,” he confesses. “You wouldn’t answer.”

A name given by Heaven; whispered to you gently in the arms of Father, as sunlight shined down upon you and warmth surrounded you in your creation. It’s silly, and childish to cling to it, to hold onto it like a child holds onto their blanket, but it’s all that you have left. Everything else was stripped from you, taken and tossed aside, and you wonder if your name even holds any significance back home. 

You turn to Lucifer, and your name is heavy on your tongue, bitter like wine, and it’s your name, fitting you like a glove that will fit no other. 

Lucifer repeats your name, whispering it under his breath, tasting it between his canines and tongue, and you watch him. Chills run down your spine, and the feeling is not unpleasant. He catches your eyes, and his cheeks flush, the red spots darkening, under your gaze. He calls your name once more, louder and clearer, want held between the vowels, as if to savor your name, to savor what you’ve given to him. 

You nod, your chest aflame, as if you’ve done something scandalous. You can’t trust your voice, not when he's looking at you. Your knuckles feel as if it’s on pins, tingling and having you scratch against the bowl. 

He glances at your lap. “Are you done?” 

“Yes,” you breathe out rather quickly. 

He reaches for the bowl, grabbing it by the rim and stands from his chair. You watch in silence as he pushes the chair back, letting it block one of the drawers from the nightstand. The bowl clinks against the mahogany of the dresser, and he grabs the books, flush against his chest. 

“I hadn’t meant to leave the books so far from you,” he says, placing them on the nightstand. “They’ll be closer within your reach.” You nod, and peek over, reading the title of the first book. “I’ll be back in a few hours, if you need anything, feel free to call out. I’ll make sure to hear it.”

He walks away, his heels clicking against the floor, and you don’t want to be alone anymore. “Lucifer,” you call out, fisting the blankets in your hand. He turns around, pressing the bowl against his body, his hand wrapped tight around the doorknob, already opening it and stepping into the rest of his domain. You swallow nothing, and try not to think of anything other than gratitude.  “Thank you for everything,” you tell him, sending him a thinned smile. 

“Of course,” he calls your name in a sweet tone. “Whatever you need, just let me know.”

The door closes shut, and you let out a breath. Your hands fist at your shirt, grasping and you bite the inner corners of your lips, feeling the soft flesh of it be pierced by your teeth. It’s been far too long since you’ve had a gentle hand, since you’ve had someone be gentle with you. A hand reaches out and scratches along your bicep, pulling the skin and leaving soft arches across. 

You hadn’t realized how much you would miss Adam.

[inquisitornocturn]

⊱─ 𝕤𝕡𝕖𝕔𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕤 & 𝕡𝕙𝕒𝕟𝕥𝕠𝕞𝕤 - 𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝟙 ─⊰

➺ 𝕡𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘: Cazador Szarr/f!reader the dhampir/spawn!Astarion

➺ 𝕥𝕒𝕘𝕤: no y/n is used, rating - E, dead dove do not eat, incest (father/daughter), POV second person, grooming, smut, loss of virginity (in a memory), light bondage, praise kink, fingering, vaginal fingering, spanking, semi-public sex, PiV, vampiric bites, asphyxiation, biting, creampies, threatening, Astarion is very pissed in chapter 1, canon-typical violence, hair pulling, throat fucking, cock worship, cum swallowing

➺ 𝕡𝕝𝕠𝕥 𝕤𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪: You think you have everything you want, a loving father, one of his spawn to entertain you and protection of a vampire coven, but a master and his spawn have you caught in a middle, their jealousy, desire for control and possessiveness influencing their actions. Yet you don't want to be a doll pulled by strings, you want to be the Lady of the House, Lady Szarr, respected just like your father, Cazador, is. But that might not be what Cazador himself has planned for you, and maybe not what Astarion has in mind either. Can you stand against them - only time will tell.

➺ 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕕 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 7,506

𝕒𝕦𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕣 𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕖: some months ago, on my old tumblr account, people wanted more to shades & shadows, and with encouragement (and people enabling me lol) i have promised to write it. well, here it is at long last! i am quite proud of this one and it took me a while to figure out in what direction i wanted to take these three chapters, but i'm glad to finally share this as it is all done and dusted, in the manner of speaking. the dove is so dead it's just bones, guys, so buckle up and, as always, enjoy♡~

➺ 𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥: [link] | [on AO3] |

You stand by the sarcophagus of Donnela the Architect. You know she’s your great great aunt or something along those lines, but you feel nothing when you gaze upon the flat surface of the tomb. It doesn’t even bear her image, it’s just a smooth slab of stone that is meant to represent the vampire that once was. You never asked your father if her body is there, or well, anything that can remain after a vampire is destroyed.

Yes, you remind yourself, you’re all monsters, yourself included. You don’t get to be murdered, you are destroyed. And you stand here, wondering what happened to this woman that was taken out of this life many years before you were even born and you are left with solemn questions. Your father does not speak about Donnela, he doesn’t speak about Vellioth either. Whoever came before Cazador Szarr are being erased from the history of your family. You only know their names because you found a list of previous Vampire Masters stashed away in some crook within the palace walls. You don’t even know who wrote the list or if it’s reliable at all, but you remember the skull in the room where your father took your virginity, in the dungeons beneath the mansion, you remember the scroll, clamped within the fanged jaw of someone who was alive once.

Who was it – you do not know, but they seemed of great importance to Cazador, considering he placed the skull in such honored spot, on a cushion, as if to prevent it from crumbling apart. But rest of the memories are blurred by flashes of pain and then pleasure. Your father’s whispered words of praise, his sweaty body moving on top of you. You were smaller back then, shorter, slimmer. You felt so tiny under Cazador’s towering form as he took you three times that night, leaving you sore, but a woman at last. His daughter, his bride.

You press your lips into a thin line at these memories, your arousal stirs in the center of your body and you try not to remember that night, try not to indulge yourself in the memory of your father loving you so tenderly, so protectively. He touched you in a way one touches a wounded bird – with so much care, you have never forgotten it. You exhale with a blush, unable to stop your mind from washing over you with beautiful memories and the sarcophagus in front of you fades from your focus as you relive the touches and grazes of his fingertips, when you heard Cazador’s whispers against your ear promising eternity together, just you and him. How he filled your virgin body with his length and how he inhaled when he smelled blood the moment he took what was rightfully his. Your sigh is strained and you snap out of your thoughts when you begin feeling wetness between your thighs, soaking your underwear.

“Ah.” You exclaim and resist the urge to lift your skirts and inspect it with your fingers, you know already that you got aroused. Right in front of this tomb.

“What are you doing here, daughter?” Cazador’s voice makes you flinch because you didn’t even hear him approach and with a loud swish of your dress you turn to face a man who you love so deeply it makes your very soul ache.

“Father.” You bow your head to him and the Vampire Lord walks closer. He stops in front of you for a moment, then walks past and places a hand on the sarcophagus.

When you look at him you see him gazing down on it with an expression you can’t quite read but that looks close to reminiscence. The Szarr family ring on his finger seems to glint in the moonlight that’s coming through the trees but you’re not sure if it isn’t your mind just tricking you, adding to the beautiful live portrait of your father that you’re observing. He doesn’t come here often, to the family graves sequestered in the far corner of the garden and hidden under the trees. Just as he doesn’t speak about the Vampire Masters before him, so does Cazador avoid this part of his domain.

“You haven’t answered me.” Your father says and his eyes flick to you, making you freeze in spot for a moment, scared that he might get angry at you for being here. Your mind reels, trying to find an answer that would satisfy him.

“I come here to think, to escape the busyness of the palace if it gets too much.” You try to sound calm and not to start stammering, but your throat clenches at Cazador’s bloodstained icy glare that seems to look into your very soul.

“Is that so?” He asks silently and offers you his hand while still resting the other on the lid of the sarcophagus. “Come, my daughter.”

You take his hand without hesitation because if you hesitated – he would notice and he would punish you for it. You were always meant to do everything he tells you to, no matter what is it. But for now Cazador does not seem to be in one of his foul moods, so you let him pull you closer without fear. He holds your hand and taps the sarcophagus lid with the other, drawing your eyes to the action.

“Do you know who’s supposed to be here?” Vampire Lord asks and you pause, again trying to think of an appropriate answer, yet the cooling wetness between your legs is distracting you. Your desire may have passed but remnants of it still linger, making you want to rush this conversation and change your underwear.

“Is it Donnela?” You ask and you know there’s no point lying because he will catch you in your deceit. And you don’t want to experience what happens if he catches you lying, it happened once before and you ended up being suspended in ropes for a week while-

“You are correct.” Cazador’s voice interrupts the horrific memory and you raise your eyes to him looking up, and feeling so small in front of him once more. Previous memories, of your first night together, return, and you feel passion stir in you once again. This face that you love, this face that looks so beautiful when he’s panting while on top of you with his cock stroking your inner walls, you try to focus but it’s hard. Your dearest father, all yours.

“Why she doesn’t have her name carved?” You ask, doing your best to focus on anything else but your cunt that is becoming wetter once again.

“She doesn’t deserve it.” Cazador’s fingers absentmindedly lace with yours and he holds your hand firmly, but without pain. He looks down at the sarcophagus and frowns. “Some should never be remembered once they perish, my child.” With fingertips of his other hand he traces the stone, feeling notches and tiny crevices on the surface. It looks like your father has something on his mind.

His features look calm, almost tinged with a hint of nostalgia and you have a fleeting thought that this is a perfect chance to ask about Donnella, to ask about Vellioth, to perhaps at last learn a bit more about those who came before you, but before you can make up your mind if you should dare to speak the questions, Cazador’s gaze turns to you and his fingers leave the tomb lid, raising to your face. When you look down you see the Szarr crest ring clearly before your eyes as if he’s showing it to you.

“You will have one of your own soon enough.” Vampire Lord says while watching your expression with a small but proud smile on his face. “And when you do, my dear daughter, you will stand by my side instead of being hidden away like a precious jewel that you are.” He squeezes your fingers with his, subtly reminding you that everything he does is for you and you take his other hand with yours, holding it as if you’re a squire to a king, then lean your head kissing the ring, feeling cold metal and the edge of the gem under your lips. “You’re perfect.” Cazador whispers as he pulls his hand from your fingers and your lips, then cups the side of your face, the coldness of his touch makes you feel safe.

You raise your eyes to his and find him looking at you with smirk. The sharp edge always remains in his eyes, that cruel threat of horrors to come if you upset him, but right now he looks almost gentle as he gazes down on you. Horrible and beautiful. Breath catches in your throat and your eyes widen with adoration.

“You’re mine, aren’t you, dear?” Cazador asks in a quiet voice and his fingers work to caress your warm skin. You lean into it and smile softly, he can see the love you carry for him in your eyes. Despite allowing one of his wretched spawn to entertain you, Cazador knows that you belong to him and always will. Still, he likes seeing it in your eyes, in your face, to hear it in your words, to feel it in your body when he’s fucking you. Everything about you belongs to him.

“Of course, dad.” You smile and Cazador’s fingers slip from your cheek to your chin, gripping it and tilting your head higher, then he bends over you, pressing his lips against yours.

“You’re mine and will be mine, forever.” He whispers against your lips and you barely manage to stop a mewl escaping your mouth. The stirrings of your lust increase and you squeeze his fingers tighter. He knows what he’s doing to you and you’re sure he’s doing it on purpose. He trained you so well to be truly his and you never fail him.

Cazador’s lips press against yours once more and his fingers leave your chin before his palm rests against the small of your back and draws your body against his. With free hand you reach up and press your warm palm against his neck as you kiss him back. When his tongue nudges against your lips you part them, letting him in, and moan into the kiss, letting it wash away all the worries or questions you might’ve happened just moments ago. Your father’s tongue grazes over your fangs, a constant reminder of his legacy, and you feel him grip your fingers tighter.

You open your eyes when you feel father pulling away from the kiss and your eyes meet his. You’re gently panting, filled with need, your panties soak it all up and it’s as if he knows. He always does know.

“Even here you’re so ready for me, aren’t you? I can smell your arousal, my dear.” Cazador comments, making you blush despite wanting nothing more than to be filled by his cock until you can’t speak anymore. There’s no other man that fucks you the way he does, he knows all the tricks and games of your body, everything that there is to know about you, and he uses that knowledge against you in most beautiful, merciless ways.

“We could return to our chambers.” You suggest carefully and he lifts an eyebrow at you, feigning surprise.

“Turn around.” Cazador’s voice is a command and you pause, processing it, then let go of both his neck and his hand before you turn around. Your sopping cunt makes movement uncomfortable but you don’t betray it, just clench your fists into your skirts with anticipation. Next moment you feel your father’s hands on your waist, then on your stomach, sliding down your hips. “Lift them up, dear.” He whispers against your ear and a shiver runs down your spine. You begin lifting the skirts of your dress until they are all bunched up against your stomach and chest.

Cazador’s hands leave your hips and you watch him caress your thighs before he grips at them and moves you to face the sarcophagus. Your face flushes and you swallow hard, wondering what he has in mind yet when his fingers grip at your panties and begin moving them down your legs you know exactly what he has in mind – to take you here, on top of this tomb. Whether his reason is to defile the resting place of Donnela or just because he simply wants to fuck you – you don’t know neither do you care. You just bite on your lower lip and step out of your underwear when Cazador moves the garment down to your ankles. For a moment you stand still but then gasp when you feel his face press between your thighs from the back and inhale deeply through the fabric of your dress making you squirm slightly, blushing even harder.

“You smell so sweet, my daughter.” The Vampire Lord mutters against the skirts and you nearly break the skin of your bottom lip from how hard you’re biting on it. Your desire to have him immediately is palpable.

Yet your father seems to have half a mind to torture you in the sweetest way possible – by taking it slow. You sense him moving his face away and hear him stand up once more.

“Your hands behind you.” He commands and you pause, not sure if you should let go of your bunched up dress but decide that you should, then you move your hands behind you. A second later Cazador is tying your wrists together and from weird wet feeling on your skin you know he’s using your soaked panties to do that. “Leg up.” Vampire instructs and you inhale sharply, then lift one leg, resting your foot on the edge of the sarcophagus. “Such a good, obedient girl.” Cazador comments with a grin you can hear in his voice and you open your mouth to respond but a sudden grip on your throat makes you pause. He’s not squeezing to cut off your airflow but it’s a firm, commanding grip nonetheless.

Your father presses himself against your back and makes you lean your head back against his chest while he moves one hand, pulling your dress up again. Cold air of the night caressed your pussy that’s pulsating with need and warm blood. And Cazador is not unaware. When his long fingers begin caressing your plump from arousal folds, he exhales with satisfaction.

“You’re perfect.” He hums while his fingers play with your cunt, spreading your folds widely and letting your arousal begin to drip down your leg unobstructed.

You shiver and mewl at his touch, trying not to move your hips against his fingers, because you know you will be punished if you don’t remain still, as always, but it’s extremely hard to obey tonight. You’ve been wanting for your father even before he showed up at the cemetery part of the garden and now it’s near impossible when his fingertips are grazing your entrance and then moving onto your clit.

“You’re so wet for me.” Cazador comments with a tone that betrays his pride, he’s always proud when you’re easy for him. “You want me to fuck you, don’t you?” You nod before he even finishes his question and that makes him chuckle. “So so eager, my darling daughter. I guess that spawn of mine is incapable of doing even as little as keeping my precious girl satisfied sufficiently. Or is it that you truly don’t want any other man other than me, hm?” Cazador taunts and you lick your lips slowly, your eyelids become heavy because while he speaks he rubs lazy circles on your swollen clit, making you whimper and your propped leg tremble.

Yet you wonder if this is the right place to be touched like this, taken like this, it feels almost sinful. You feel like you can almost sense Donnela’s eyes on you, piercing through the stone lid of her tomb. And this split moment of doubt, a second of mild discomfort doesn’t go unnoticed by Cazador. His fingers do not pause but you feel his lips against your ear and his grip around your throat tightens.

“What is it, my dear?” He whispers and you swallow dryly.

“Dad… should we be doing this here?” You dare to speak but Cazador doesn’t seem phased by your question nor does it seem to upset him.

“Yes, I’m doing this here.” Your father replies in his most casual manner and you gasp because he pushes a finger into your cunt, making your body shiver in response. “Do you think I’m scared of ghosts?” He asks as he pushes another finger in then begins pumping them slowly, drawing out the sensation of your hot flesh suffocating his digits.

You moan and shake your head slightly, knowing that you wouldn’t have a say in this in the first place. You hear your body make squelching sounds as Cazador fucks you with his fingers and you whine louder now, your body slowly but steadily beginning to prepare for the orgasm, sending shivers down your spine and making your cunt occasionally clench around your father’s fingers. Cazador knows this and he pulls them out of you, then without a warning he thrusts them into your open mouth, making you gasp around his fingers. Yet you don’t protest, you move your tongue, lapping up your own arousal and hear him chuckle against your ear, a low rumble that you feel against your back too.

“Not yet, my dear, you will get yours, but only after I get mine.” His teeth nip at your ear and you whine with despair, your body craving for release.

Then he removes his fingers from your mouth and with a firm grip on your thigh he lowers your leg, pushing you forwards and bending you over the sarcophagus, his grip on your neck vanishing with your repositioning. Your right cheek presses against the cold stone and you feel your father lift your skirts, pilling them up on your back.

Smack.

You flinch when his palm connects with the skin of your ass and you moan again. You wring your arms but the improvised bonds made from your panties hold tight, Cazador, after all, is well versed in subduing his prey and right now – that’s you.

“Tell me you want me.” He demands, his words hard and cold, and you whine when you feel his thumb circle your back entrance and push against it gently, not quite breaching it but putting enough pressure as if he has half a mind to do so.

“I want you dad.” You reply in a hurry and resist the urge to rub your thighs together, impatient and eager to feel him inside of you, no matter the hole he chooses.

“Oh how I like hearing that, my dear.” Cazador chuckles and his hand leaves you, letting your stinging skin cool in the night’s air. “I met Donnela once, you know.” He proceeds to speak while you remain still, your mind barely registering what he’s talking about. All you hear is the sound of fabric being handled as he undoes his pants. “She was a woman of grace but she was weak.”

A palm returns to your rear and he rubs the cheek that he smacked before, you feel the tip of his cock aligning himself to your entrance and you wait patiently, saying nothing. Your cunt aches to be filled, your folds are drenched with your arousal and Cazador seems to be teasing the juices with his length.

“You won’t be weak, will you?” He asks in a voice that’s more curious than demanding and you slightly shake your head. It’s taking everything in you not to move, not to buck your hips against his dick in hopes to be pierced by it. Your body is screaming with desire and you nearly salivate at the thought of him claiming you. Yes, he trained you well. “No, of course you won’t. You’re incapable of being weak.” Cazador chuckles and begins to slide his cock in, slowly, savoring every inch. It makes you moan with despair, because you want him fast and hard yet he’s still torturing you in his own, caring way.

You want to beg but you know better than that so you just wait until his length is buried in you fully, coldness of it nearly making your eyes roll to the back of your head and you exhale with relief. Even when he’s torturing you like this, Cazador never keeps it up for long once his dick is inside you. For a moment he just keeps himself unmoving, enjoying the squeezing heat around his cock but then his fingers grip your hip and he begins thrusting. Slowly, almost carefully, taking himself nearly all the way out and sliding back in with ease.

“You’re such a wonderful creature.” Cazador muses and with a corner of your eye you see him watching his dick disappear in you and then come out again, and then disappear again. Your body reacts with a tremble but he doesn’t address it, seemingly lost in thought. “If only you knew how important you are.”

“I know dad, I know.” You whine, hoping that it will urge him and it seems to work as the Vampire Lord snaps out of his thoughts and shoves his cock deep before leaning over you.

You don’t know what to expect but when you feel one of his arms slide under your stomach in a possessive embrace and his other hand find your throat once more, all while he presses his chest against your back, pinning you to the sarcophagus you realize just how much he wants you right now. A second of movement and his left knee is now on the sarcophagus, giving him proper angle to begin thrusting once more.

His grip on your body makes you incapable of moving even the tiniest bit so you just close your eyes and let him fuck you, feeling his icy length moving faster and faster. You hear Cazador’s breath becoming labored the longer this continues and you feel his tongue against the back of your neck, tasting you. You hear his subdued groans and sounds of his skin slapping against yours with every thrust, the most beautiful symphony. You begin feeling yourself come close, the perch of your father’s knee on the sarcophagus giving him the ability to really use his power to slam into you with as much force as he wants to. And in a few wonderful moments he wants to give you it all.

You moan and tremble, subdued by his hands that are like a straight-jacket and your head swims from pleasure, there’s no thoughts, just your Vampire Lord and you on this tomb, loving each other in a way only a father and a daughter can. At least to you - this is perfect, complete expression of love, and you let yourself sink into the feeling, allowing it to wash over you and take all your worries away. It’s you and him and it will be so forever.

Lost in your extasy you don’t notice a presence approaching, neither does your father. He fully expected to you have you all to himself in this lonesome corner of the garden and he’s completely lost in his lust for you, fangs now promisingly grazing your skin and you wish he would bite you already. Yet you dare not beg. Szarrs don’t beg, after all.

But the figure stops and watches you two tangled in this twisted expression of love. Astarion is nearly dumbfounded when he sees your face, your parted lips, witnesses your expression that speaks of nothing else but ultimate satisfaction. He hears your moans, sees the sweat on your face and then his eyes turn to his master when he makes you cry out once his fangs sink into your neck. The spawn never seen Cazador like this, his expression filled with sensuality he never imagined seeing on a face of a man who he only knows as cruel.

Astarion realizes he sees something he shouldn’t and nearly moves to walk away, maybe hide, but he can’t, because if his master sensed him approaching he would’ve ordered him away already. So he remains still, trying to turn his eyes away but being unable to, his gaze again focused on you and your moment of utter bliss as you very obviously begin approaching your orgasm. He recognizes it even if he never saw you to be this much into it when you’re with him. Astarion’s hands clench into fists and he frowns, jealous and angry. At you, at Cazador, but most importantly at himself. The only way he even manages to get you obey is when he repeats phrases his master does, when Astarion invokes your father’s name before you to remind you who you truly belong to. Spawn’s teeth grit but he can’t look away so he watches with boiling fury in his chest, not daring to look away but not daring to say anything either.

If only he had the power like Cazador he could have anyone he wanted, including you. But he can’t even have you to want Astarion as much as you want your father, spiritually and carnally. He’s reminded of his own powerless existence and hates it.

Astarion keeps watching as you moan louder and louder, hears how your voice echoes into the night and listens to Cazador groan against your neck, his thrusts becoming erratic and hurried, rushing to grant him release that he craves so badly.

“Say it.” Cazador growls with undisguised lust the moment his fangs leave your neck and you immediately know what he means.

“I’m yours, dad! I’m your good girl!” you whine with a shaky voice, you’re trying to hold on, not to come just yet, you know he likes it when he finishes first, but his body pinning yours against the tomb lid is becoming too heavy, you can barely inhale.

“That’s right.” Cazador hisses and his grip on your throat tightens as his lips push aside the dress and press against your shoulder. “You’re mine, now and forever.” He repeats and you can’t tell if it’s a reminder to you or himself, your mind is too dazed to think, too filled with bliss you’re trying to keep at bay.

Then your father’s teeth clamp onto your shoulder tighter, so tight it’s like he wants to take an actual bite out of you. With that he comes, milking his cock with your clenched walls while you try not to come yourself. But the moment he does you let go and cry out, shouting his name into the night while Cazador squeezes on your throat nearly taking your breath away. Your cunt spasms, pulling out last drops of his seed and he keeps thrusting until he knows that your peak is passing. His hips against your body slow, then stop entirely, and you both remain still for a long moment. You hear Cazador panting against your skin with your shoulder still caught between his teeth and you smile dreamily. You couldn’t be happier.

At last the Vampire Lord releases your flesh from his bite and lifts his head, looking at your sweaty face with pride and something too close to love, but you see none of it, because by the time you open your eyes, Cazador is pushing himself from you, his hands leaving your neck and waist, his perched leg finding footing on the ground, and he pulls out of you carefully, not spilling a single drop of his cum. You gasp when you feel him push in a thumb into your cunt, then move it as if he’s confirming just how fully he filled you and it looks like the conclusion satisfies him because you feel your wrists being unbound from the bondage of your panties.

You bring your wrists to yourself, your arms feel numb and weird, but you still push yourself up from the tomb and look back at Cazador, feeling the skirts of your dress drop around your legs the moment you straighten your back, but now you see that he’s not even looking at you.

When you follow your father’s haughty gaze you recognize the silver curls and the scowl. Astarion. How long he has been standing here? You have no clue. You look at Cazador and see an arrogant grin on his face while he tucks his softening cock back into his pants and makes himself presentable once more.

You find yourself mortified for some reason. Maybe because of how Astarion is glaring at his master. With so much hate that you are sure your father will want to punish it. So when he begins walking, not giving you even a glance, you realize you’re clenching the skirts of your dress so strongly your hands are shaking. You watch Cazador walk to Astarion and lean down to his spawn’s ear, whispering something that you cannot hear. Astarion doesn’t move, his gaze now shifted onto you, and then Cazador pats his shoulder with a wide smirk as he walks off, tall and proud. A conqueror.

When your father’s footsteps fade, you watch Astarion straighten his back, his lips pressed into a thin line but he’s not moving. You swallow dryly and feel your legs move before you consciously demand them to. You briefly notice your panties tossed on the ground but ignore them and walk down the path, knowing you’ll have to pass Astarion. Your breathing stops entirely when you get closer, seeing pure rage in spawn’s eyes but you don’t look at him, you command yourself not to as you try to keep your strolling pace, but when you’re about to think that you’re safe, as you think nothing will happen when you pass the pale elf, you feel your upper arm suddenly being gripped with such force that your knees buckle and you drop down on the hard stone.

You raise your face and see Astarion come into view, his gaze filled with fury when he gazes down upon you, his lips curled into a snarl while he holds your arm so painfully you wince with an unsaid plea to be released, but it looks like he enjoys seeing you kneeling and hurting.

“You see me just as he does, don’t you? A worthless spawn! A slave for you both!” He asks in a voice that’s nearly trembling with fury and you gasp, trying to wrench your arm from his fingers.

“What? Astarion, I have no idea-“ Your own voice is shaking from pain and panic that you’re feeling at witnessing spawn’s rage that you don’t even know why you deserve it.

“SHUT UP!” Astarion bellows and you flinch as if hit.

Your eyes are wide from shock and building terror as your lips quiver, trying to form words that could save you or doom you. But spawn ignores your evident fear and finally releases your arm, now grabbing your jaw as he leans over you, bringing his face close to yours. His nails dig into your skin and you wince but keep looking into his eyes, not daring to guess what’s coming next.

“You will never see me as anything but a slave for the rest of your existence, will you?” Astarion’s voice is low and dangerous and you swallow dryly, remaining silent. Your arm throbs but you can barely feel right now. “Tell me, little dhampir, do you think being allowed to fuck you is enough?” He smirks but there’s venom in his expression, poison that you haven’t seen in him before, something that you now realize has been festering in him for a long long time.

“Astarion, what’s gotten into you?” You manage a silent whisper and he squeezes your jaw so tightly you let out a pained moan, your arms gripping at his wrist, trying to pull his hand away but it’s like trying to move a statue – impossible.

“Nothing’s gotten into me, darling. I’ve just realized that no matter how sweetly you moan for me, you will never be truly mine. Is it because I’m not your father or is it because I’m not powerful enough to kill him?”

Your heart skips a beat from sheer terror.

Kill your father? What is he talking about? He can’t be serious. He’s a spawn, surely he can’t even if he wanted to? And for you? Would Astarion attempt that just to have you all to himself?

“You’re hurting me.” You whine, trying to pry his fingers off your face and with a scoff he releases your jaw.

“You like being taught lessons, don’t you?” Spawn says while you rub your jaw with trembling fingers.

“If you hurt me my father will-“

“I don’t care!” Astarion raises his voice again and you just glare at him from under your eyebrows. Who is he to lay his hands on you? “You will be mine.” Not a promise but a threat while you watch him begin to unlace his pants. “Keep kneeling or I will snap your neck.” Another threat spoken with a tone of voice telling you that he means every word. Your knees hurt already but remain on them, watching how he takes out his semi-flaccid cock and begins stroking it with a smirk blooming on his face. “I love how easily you submit, darling. Some things even Cazador does right.”

“Just because you feel powerless it doesn’t mean you have any right to take it out on me.” You can’t help but respond, your jaw still hurts and so does your arm, and you stare at Astarion with anger instead of fear but he just grins at you. There’s no fondness in those eyes, there rarely is, and you understand only now, realize that for him – you’re a conquest, a symbol of power. To Cazador and Astarion both, it seems that to have you – is to have power.

The thought itself stirs something in your body. A response that is so deeply ingrained in you that you weren’t even aware of it until now – you want to be treated this way. Not with roughness but as a reward for being powerful. Maybe it’s just one more of Cazador’s lessons that you internalized it so deeply until it became a part of you.

“I’m not taking my anger out of you, sweet little dhampir. I’m just remind you that Cazador is not the only one who has claim to your body.” Astarion’s grin is sharp and you notice him growing harder by the second. “Open your mouth.” He commands and you look into his eyes with a scowl.

“If you hurt me-“

He slaps you so hard you see only white for a long moment, the sound of it ringing through your ears and nearly deafening you if only temporarily. Your head swings so strongly to your left that you nearly fall to all fours but somehow remain on your knees. Your anger gets replaced by shock and fear once again as you look at the spawn looming over you.

“I said open your mouth.” Astarion repeats and his voice is full of danger so you just release a shaky breath and open your mouth obediently. His expression softens at your compliance and he even smiles, although it’s a smile of a victor and not of a lover, but has he ever been your lover or just another man who wanted your body but not your soul? “See, it’s easier when you simply obey.” Spawn croons in a voice that would sound alluring if you didn’t know what danger lurked just under the surface.

Astarion’s hand moves to tangle into your hair and he roughly yanks back on them, making you face upwards. You blink couple times at the pain but keep your lips parted while he looks down on you with a smug expression. Expression that tells you he doesn’t see you, not really, maybe never have. You’re something to be used, to satisfy himself with, to remind him that the only power he has right now is power over you. And you can’t help but be turned on. You haven’t noticed through the whole interaction how Cazador’s cum seeped out of your cunt and down your thighs but now that you’re getting aroused again you realize how wet your skin is from your father’s seed and your own juices flowing freely out of your entrance.

“You’ve been taught to obey your whole life, little dhampir.” Astarion’s voice is almost soothing as he releases his hard cock and his fingers brush lose hair from your eyes, tucking it behind your ear like a lover would, but you see the storming rage behind his eyes. It’s subdued now but still present, so much like your father. “Now don’t speak, I don’t want to hear another word from you, understood?”

You nod with a blush spreading across your face and Astarion is not blind to that. It gives him a feeling of satisfaction that no matter what he does to you – you will want him and become aroused by him. It gives him that desired feeling of power. If not over anything else in his miserable slave life, then at least power over you.

“I’m going to enjoy this.” He whispers more to himself than to you and you grip your skirts, trying not to show how aroused you are becoming but your salivating mouth betrays you.

Astarion grips the base of his dick and steps just a little closer, still holding your head firmly in place just before he shoves himself fully into your mouth. You feel the tip of his cock at the back of your throat, cutting off air and you make a pathetic whine before your mouth is full and your face is smashed against his pelvis. You didn’t even have time to notice when his fingers left his length.

“Take it, pet, take it all.” Spawn croons and you let go of your dress and grab onto his pants. At first you try to pull your face away but his grip on your hair is so tight you can’t move an inch.

Your eyes begin to water and your tongue moves in protest of your throat trying to gag around his cock. You forget your stinging cheek and forget Astarion’s rage, you’re in your element now and your pussy throbs with desire even while you struggle without air. His words only escalate your desire, you can’t resist what’s in your nature.

After a long moment, by the point your head begins to swim from lack of oxygen, Astarion finally pulls your head away from his cock. You gasp for air and look up at him, tears rolling down your face and his glistening dick is still connected to your mouth by heavy strings of saliva.

“Beautiful.” Vampire spawn comments with almost soothing affection and then shoves his length back into your mouth, beginning to thrust against your face. “Good obedient little pet, aren’t you? You don’t care who you submit to as long as you do.” His words are mocking but you don’t care.

With drooping eyelids you try to swirl your tongue against his hard cock, enjoying the texture and the sensation of veins, your mouth keeps salivating, covering your chin and dripping down his balls but you care for none of this, you just want to feel him come down your throat. How the tip of his length hits the back of your throat again and again makes your whole body ache with renewed desire.

“What a cock-hungry slut you are.” You hear Astarion chuckle but his breathing sounds increasingly labored and you lift your eyes to him, finally seeing his satisfied expression and lust in his gaze that replaced the rage from earlier. He wants you so much, you realize. “Worship me like you worship Cazador.” He suddenly demands and pulls his dick out of your mouth.

He slams your face against his cock, wetness of it staining your cheek and eyelid, but you stick out your tongue and begin licking. You hear his breathy chuckle and finally he releases your hair, giving you freedom which you immediately use to drag your tongue up and down his length. When you look up at him, you see that Astarion is consumed by pleasure, his eyes clouded and lips parted. You both are panting loudly but you notice it only now.

“Tell me you want me. Tell me you need me.” Astarion says with a degree of desperation in his voice and you hesitate before answering.

“I need you, Astarion. And I want you.” You say with your own voice coarse from the rough face-fucking you have been administered just earlier and a pleased smile appears on Astarion’s face.

“Keep going.”

So you do. Enthusiastically you resume licking his cock, tracing every vein and groove with the tip of your tongue, swirling it around the soft tip of his dick, making him moan now. You feel his hand return to your hair, both of them this time, but he’s not gripping it anymore, just cradling your head while you keep covering his length with saliva. For a moment you even dip your head lower, licking his balls, taking one of them into your mouth gently, sucking on it, then giving same attention to the other one.

“Oh gods, you’re so good…” Astarion struggles to speak and you smile proudly to yourself, you always love to be praised.

After a moment longer you return to his cock and take it into your mouth fully, your tongue pressing to the underside of it and you begin to bob your head, completely focused on the task at hand. You feel Astarion’s fingers tremble against your skull and you know he’s close.

“Fuck, your mouth feels so delicious.” Spawn moans and you feel his length twitch against your tongue just before Astarion shoves it deep into your mouth and begins spilling himself down your throat.

You gulp it down, listening to him moan as he uses your mouth to milk himself of every last drop and when he finally stops you hear him panting while still firmly cradling your head. After a moment Astarion pulls back and you release his already softening dick from your mouth, letting it drop. You open your eyes and look up, noticing his flushed face, beads of sweat on his forehead and his clouded eyes, but a satisfied smirk soon pulls at his lips and by your hair he yanks you back, letting go just before you drop-sit on your feet, finally getting some relief for your knees.

Without a word you use the back of your hand to wipe your chin and lips while Astarion quietly tucks himself back into his pants.

“I hope you won’t forget who you belong to, darling.” He coos again so sweetly it’s almost hard to believe he lost his composure so utterly just earlier. Your desire is still throbbing within your body like a drum but you realize that he’s done with you, at least for now.

“So that’s what this was all about?” You ask and with a silent grunt you get to your feet, looking into his eyes with a small frown. “You saw me with father and decided you needed to remind me that he’s not the only one who can have me?”

Astarion laughs and reaches out, caressing the same cheek he hit. It feels soothing, pleasantly cold against your sore skin and you lean into his touch before you can think against it.

“Maybe. Maybe not. In any case, I had a good time.” Spawn says and you can’t help but smile ever so slightly.

“You’re easy to please then, unlike my father.” You tease him and Astarion chuckles, removing his hand from your face, then he eyes you up and down slowly, as if trying to memorize exactly how you look in this moment, disheveled hair and all, your dress crumpled and stained.

“Maybe you should consider prioritizing me instead of him then. I would be a merciful master to you.” He says and your blink few times, trying to understand if you really heard what you just heard. Does Astarion really want you to choose?

“Astarion…” You begin, trying to pick your words but he just laughs again and starting to walk away, strutting with pride of a Vampire Lord himself.

“I’ll see you around, I’m sure, my little dhampir.” He says loudly and strolls back to the palace while you remain standing there, exhausted and dumbfounded.

Suddenly you feel like you’re between a hammer and an anvil and you dread to think what would happen if both Cazador and Astarion began getting increasingly jealous over you.

One thing you are sure of, if it ever came to that – someone wouldn’t survive.

The thought makes you shudder and you hope it will never come to that.

[writing-whump]

Don't pretend to care

Part 2 of the Sushi poisoning (Part 1). Hector is recovering at home and has an emotional talk with Isaiah.

Hector woke up in his bed.

The air was stale and he was way too warm. Throwing the covers off he was reminded why he was there - his stomach muscles were sore to the core, like someone kicked him under the ribs multiple times.

How did he even get here? It was late afternoon, he was planning on surprising Arnie at lunch. Ahh, that's where it all went wrong.

Tentatively lifting himself up into a sitting position, he found a wash basin by his bed and a glass with water. His throat was rough and dry, and his mouth tasted terrible, but just the idea of water in his stomach made him slightly nauseous.

This whole thing had been a mess. He threw up his weight in sushi at the mall, had to be rescued by Isaiah, and got Arnie all panicked. The car ride home was a blur for him, he could barely put one foot after another at the elevator and he had to go to the bathroom immediately after they came when his bowls decided to get rid of everything that got in too deep to be thrown back up.

Jeez, what a day.

"You should drink some of that."

And it apparently wasn't ending yet.

Hector followed the voice to find Isaiah sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall, legs crossed at the ankles. Coat and suit and all, like he was on a business meeting that happened to be in a room without chairs.

Hector rubbed his eyes to make sure he wasn't just seeing things. His oldest brother looking all nonchalant on the ground by the foot of Hector's bed seemed more like a ghost illusion than something that could happen.

"I send Arnie to the pharmacy. You threw up in your sleep, but you didn't wake up at all. You also almost passed out in the shower, so we figured we better watch over you." Still that neutral impersonal tone.

Hector cleared his throat. The surface felt like he gurgled nails. He was feeling more and more stupid over making such a fuss over bad food. Good thing he slept over those events.

"Any-" Hector coughed against his hand, "any particular reason you are sticking around?"

Isaiah gave him a leveled look before glancing down at Hector's shadow next to the bed. It was pulled out almost entirely, folded over itself like a lump of dark clothes.

Hector paled. "Was it...did I-...is Arnie-?"

Isaiah's face was like made of stone. "No. But your shadow was unruly. Kept jumping up and down looking for someone to fight. An enemy making you so miserable, I suppose." He gave Hector another stare that Hector couldn't read. "It calms down when I'm near."

Now Hector felt his face burning instead. Shadows were part of wolves. They were part of their souls, their real feelings, the truest, most violent and primitive parts of themselves.

And Hector's just obviously revealed everything there was to know. Everything Hector tried to cover up with excessive hostility, denial of ties...denial of any hurt.

Silence stretched between them.

Hector lowered his gaze to the floor, saying quietly: "Don't do that."

"Don't do what?"

"Stay when you don't want to. Pretend like you care when it's just a pose for you. Don't...don't make him believe you are going to be around, when you don't mean it."

"Is that what you think?"

Hector snarled, head snapping up to glare at Isaiah. He hated this. He hated that cold expression and even colder tone, the ways shadows were supposed to be truthful so Isaiah's was always controlled and quiet. He hated all of this.

"And what else should I be thinking? You never tell me anything. You never show me anything. Fucking poker face with you. Always. Just don't let anybody get to you. I don't know why the fuck you are doing this. Does it look better to pretend like you are a good big brother who- who answers calls and takes Arnie to lunch and-and pretends like he cares, cause it would be unseemly to look like you don't?! What, would your city wolf friends find it rude? Would your reputation suffer for it? What kind of crap is this?!"

Hector heard all about it. Isaiah, the eternal lone wolf who left the strongest pack in Western Europe. One would think that would make him an outcast and a loner, but no, it made him connected to fucking everybody. Every big pack in the city knew his name, had dealings with him, had gotten help from him in some way. He had his nose sticking everywhere, helping with truce dealings and territory negotiations and training pups. He had friends and acquaintances with every wolf, helped them to get into universities, helped teenage pups with their adult exams to get permission to work and study with humans.

The whole city was tainted by Isaiah's hand, like he made all the packs his own big personal web, with himself at the center.

At the Wolfson pack, he was the Executioner of the Leader's will, the scary one, the unreachable one. The unbeatable one.

Outside the family, he seemed to be the most helpful, friendly and influential wolf Hector never ever imagined.

Why did this happen? Why was Isaiah all training and coldness and distance at home, becoming a traitor, spitting at Father's legacy, but tore himself to pieces to be friends with strangers in the whole city? Assembling a pack of weirdos who needed his protection, when he had two brothers who missed him...who wanted him back?

Hector threw his legs over the rim of the bed, not able to bear to be in such a low position while he was burning with anger, his shadow slashing angrily around the bed.

It had Isaiah standing up as well, though he did it all smoothly, like this wasn't upsetting at all.

Hector's eyes blazed as he shot to his feet, grabbing Isaiah by the collar of that pristine white shirt and expensive-looking suit and pinned him against the wall with shaking hands. "What the hell is your deal? What do you want from us, huh?!"

Isaiah's green eyes stared back at him, wide and tranquil.

That was all Hector's busted body could take though. He swayed, grabbing for Isaiah's shoulders to stay upright as vertigo assaulted him. His legs went weak and his stomach muscles heaved and twisted like he was about to throw up.

"Sit down. Come on, sit down," Isaiah barked, moving towards the bed so Hector could collapse on it, breathing harshly. The blond wrapped his hand around his stomach, doubling over as he fought against the gags.

Isaiah crouched next to him, bringing the basin under Hector's chin. Damn it all, Hector wanted to be angry with Isaiah, for not getting help from him!

Hector strained over the basin with harsh coughs and gags with Isaiah giving up his position to sit down next to him, bracing Hector's shoulder so he would kip over. Only a pitiful mouthful of bile ended up being the result of Hector's straining, spit hanging from his lip all the way down.

Isaiah got a towel from the foot of the bed Hector hadn't noticed before, mopping his mouth and chin like a child before helping him lean back against the cushion.

Hector was busy taking deep gulping breaths against the nausea, rubbing his stomach to ease the cramps. They came and went with a force he didn't understand, he was running on empty.

Isaiah stayed at the edge of the bed, watching him with a concerned expression. "Maybe we should talk about this later."

Hector's eyes lolled towards him, hands kneading into his stomach angrily. He was sweaty and hot all over and tired from the struggle. "You only dare to come anywhere near me when I'm hurt or sick. No way we are talking about this any other time. Today or never with you." He wanted to sound more angry, but it came out more like a whisper.

Isaiah sighed, looking somewhere to the left where Hector's face was like he was in a heated internal debate with himself.

"I have no right to want anything from you. I have already ruined everything."

Hector looked at him with bleary eyes. "So what's this deal with Arnie then? He wasn't with you so much. You didn't ruin him all the way, so why start now?"

Isaiah actually winced at that. This close up, Hector could see the slow slow process of Isaiah putting the mask away. His face didn't actually change, but the cold stony expression melted away. His forehead creased, his mouth twisted together, his eyes got a haunted shade to them.

Hector stared at him, realizing his brother was truly giving him what he asked for.

Isaiah closed his eyes for a moment, then stepped away from the bed to lean against the wall opposite it, hands in his pockets. Another silence stretched between them.

"I'm not doing this for fun, Hector. I'm...this is hard for me too, okay?"

"Then tell me."

Isaiah flinched as if Hector punched him.

"I don't know where to start. I don't know how to talk about this. But everything I have done...I wanted to protect you. You and Arnie both. With what Father did...I couldn't-..." Isaiah made a funny expression. If his face could break into pieces Hector thought this is what it would look like.

"I needed to get out after what happened. I don't know how to explain- but Arnie he," Isaiah's eyes glinted with moisture when he looked up, "he wanted to believe in the best of me and I- I needed that so badly. I want to make everything up to you. Although I know you will never let me and I don't deserve to ask."

"Ask what?" Hector breathed out, stomach twisting in turmoil, heart somewhere in his throat.

Isaiah looked down, then up, then to the side, like he didn't know what to do with himself. Hector had not seen him like this since...ever.

"Is it so bad? For me to be close?" Isaiah said in a hoarse voice.

Hector curled up on his side, towards Isaiah but so one side of his face was hidden against the pillow. Waves of heat and cold coursed through him.

He didn't know what to say, what to do in the face of such raw emotion. Somewhere along the way he had given up on believing Isaiah still had any - that he could feel so deeply for them.

Was it really all just a facade? Did he keep himself together so hard to prevent this from spilling out every step of the way?

Hector could not bring himself to ask more questions. Isaiah said nothing else, fighting tears, pain etched into his face, sniffling a little as he tried to put himself back together.

It never crossed Hector's mind Isaiah might not be doing this willingly. That there might be reasons outside of his knowledge and understanding. That this was hard for Isaiah too. He just wanted to get under his skin, to see things, to see him feel things...

Now he wasn't so sure the truth would bring him any peace anymore.

@bellysoupset

[velvetvexations]

This video is something I've thought of posting about before. It's extremely emotional to me. To give you an idea of some of the lyrics, my favorite is:

Can you show me now that I will not be killed in vain? Show me just a little of your omnipresent brain Show me there's a reason for you wanting me to die You're far too keen on where and how, but not so hot on why

Mm! That sure is a mood! It's one of those dramatic moments in a film where a character screams outside a church demanding to be told why something has to happen but it's literally Christ himself doing it. He felt that way too.

There are a lot of amazing productions of JCS that do this number really well and bring out the pain and anger I'm currently feeling perfectly. But in this particular performance, what gets me so much isn't the Park Eun Tae as much as it is the reactions of the crowd.

In South Korea, the number of Christians is relatively small, but still significant. Can't really know if any of the audience here is Christian or not. You can't really know that of the audience to any given production in the US either, of course, aside from the chances being much higher. Regardless of the country, with any clearly emotionally affected individual watching who the camera catches and lingers on like this, there are too options:

They are Christian, and they are ran through with the suffering of Christ, not just the physical pain itself but the absolute horror, confusion, and fury Jesus felt knowing it was coming.

They are not Christian, and though the song is based on actual scenes provided in the Bible,* this is very likely the first time they'd ever heard of Jesus not stoically going to the cross cool as a cucumber, and even if they think this is just a subversive twist on Jesus's concept it's still managing to hit them in a way that comes close to connecting them with who Jesus actually was a as a person beyond his role, which JCS in general is very much all about. They may not be interested in Christ beyond seeing a really cool work of fiction based on artistically interpreting holy texts they don't subscribe to, but even so, in this bubble of time and space Christ's suffering is sitting in their hearts and moving them to tears.

I have an interest in how people process this song because it was a description of Jesus experiencing all suffering, which includes all queer suffering, that made me break down sobbing last year and come to the conclusion that there was something in Christianity that connected with me** even if I belong to no church. I had been doing research for a character when I came across this:

In Gethsemane, Jesus experienced the pains of a person dying of cancer. He experienced what it is like to be a queer kid who is constantly bullied. He experienced the birthing pains of every mother who ever lived or would live. He experienced the embarrassment of a gay boy having an erection at the sight of his school crush in the locker room. He experienced conversion therapy. He experienced rejection. He experienced the brutal physical and psychological attacks that trans women endure.

It actually goes on quite a lot longer than that, but it's at that point where going to find it just now for the sake of copying here that I once again launched into uncontrollable banshee wailing and had to take a moment to collect myself before continuing with my eyes stinging and my throat sore.

So like, Jesus, right? He was consumed with fear and anxiety, knowing the the pain still to come. He was trembling with bitter rage at the inhuman cruelty of God's plan, the only assurance being that it was God's plan. It's how I feel right now, harder than ever. I feel that connection with Christ and I am comforted only slightly, but I am comforted all the same.

*He withdrew about a stone’s throw beyond them, knelt down and prayed. “Father, if you are willing, take this cup from me; yet not my will, but yours be done.” An angel from heaven appeared to him and strengthened him. And being in anguish, he prayed more earnestly, and his sweat was like drops of blood falling to the ground.

**1/5th of this multiple system; one is Christian, one is Hindi, one is an anti-theist, and two are non-committed

[iamthecomet]

I don't know if anyone's said it yet- but someone should write about aether being like "okay guys im retiring!" and everyone is just like "you're WHAT"

You didn't actually ask for angst, but it's what you get. Specifically Dew Angst. Under the cut.

The words don't register right away. Dew feels a little like he's underwater. Like all those days spent on the bottom of the lake as a water ghoul listening to people show his name from the surface. Garbled. Distorted. Gibberish.

He hears them, sure. But they don't mean anything because they're not possible. Not real. Dew would be stupid to think all of this would last forever. He's had half of his pack retire--vanish--before. He's been through it.

But Aether? No. Aether, Mountain and Dew were summoned one right after the other. They have stuck together through every single thing the church has thrown at them. They lost their papa together, helped a new one rise. They have been a team. A unit. The back bone of the pack and now--

"You're abandoning us." Dew hears himself say. He's talking over someone--Rain maybe? but he can't hear that over the roaring in his own ears.

Aether turns violet eyes over to Dew, his brows knit together. Dew knows the look too well--pity, concern, gentle compassion that Dew can't take as anything except being talked down to. It feels like his skin is too tight all of a sudden. Like he wants to crawl out of himself and away from this, from here, from the truth.

"I'm not leaving the Abbey, Dew."

Dew doesn't have anything to say to that. He wants to ask a thousand questions. They rattle through his mind on repeat. Mostly, he just wants to know how he's suppose to do any of this without Aether by his side.

First Sunshine going off to work at another Abbey. Now Aeth staying home. Retiring. Dew feels adrift.

He pushes himself off of the couch and walks out of the common room without another word. The rest of the conversation reaches him in pieces. Understanding from Cirrus and Cumulus, questions from Swiss. Silence from Mountain. Encouragement from Rain. Dew drags himself to his room.

He doesn't allow himself to think about it. Tries not to. Tries not to think of endless bus rides with an empty seat next to him. Or worse, one filled with someone else. He didn't even think to ask about that. Finds he doesn't particularly care who steps in to Aether's role--whoever it is, they won't be Aether.

He doesn't know how long he paces around his room, following a familiar path already worn into the hardwood from years of doing this. Hands behind his back. Spine so straight it aches. Back and forth across the floor in front of his cold fireplace. If he stands still for too long reality sinks down on him like stones. He keeps walking. Watches the moon rise and silver light slide into his room, over his mess of a bed.

It's stupid, he thinks, to feel betrayed like this when everyone else just takes it like it's normal--expected. To get hung up on it. Aether could have really left--like Ifrit. He isn't. He'll work in the infirmary. He'll be here waiting when Dew gets home exhausted and sore.

He will still be Dew's lighthouse. Nothing can change that.

He feels empty anyway. Hollowed out. Everything behind his ribs scraped clean and made numb. Some childish part of him wants him to run down the hall, to bust down Aether's door and beg. To cry at his feet, face in his thighs to take it back. To not do this to him. And no matter how many times he tells himself that Aether will still be here it doesn't matter.

Because he won't be there. With Dew. To wick away exhaustion and headaches. To bully him into a corner after a show. To wrap his arms around him from behind and hold him. To braid his hair while Dew drifts off to sleep in a lumpy hotel bed. In those moments where Dew feels like he needs him the most--he'll be here. Home. A book, or a guitar, or a mug of tea in his hands.

Alone.

The knock on the door is expected. Dew's been waiting for him without realizing it. Knowing the way this works--knowing Aether in a thousand unspoken ways that makes up what they mean to each other.

Aether doesn't wait for Dew to answer. The door cracks open. Aether slips in, closes it behind him. He leans against it as Dew freezes mid-step.

"You're going to be ok, Firefly." Aether whispers. Like he knows every secret thing in Dew's head. Like he can translate the indecipherable screaming happening inside the walls of his skull.

Dew looks at him. Swallows the burning in his throat, the lump building there. He wants to tell Aether to leave. To fuck off.

Instead, he throws himself into Aether's arms. Fingers digging hard into the back of his neck as he drags him close. Pressing his face into Aether's neck. Breathing. Like enough deep breaths will be enough to keep this scent with him. Like he can bottle it and save it for his loneliest moments.

If he talks, he'll lose it. He knows it. Already flayed open, raw like an exposed nerve he can only shake his head. Press tighter against the cool comfort of Aether's body. He'd climb inside of him if he could. Live there. Stay there. Keep Aether with him always.

"You are," Aether says, a promise. He slips his fingers into Dew's hair and tugs, just a little, enough to dislodge Dew from his neck so they actually have to look at each other.

Dew founders. Fingers clenching against Aether's shoulder. Body screaming, shaking. He feels panic well up within him and before he even has time to register it, it's dropping away under the gentle guidance of Aether's quintessence.

"Don't do that, Dew. You don't need me for this."

Dew tips his head. He feels the break coming, the part where he dissolves, comes undone. Where all of the things he's warring with win.

Aether cups his jaw, drags his thumb over his cheekbone, across tears Dew didn't realize were falling.

"What do you mean I don't need you?" he spits. "I've never done it without you."

Dew half expects more platitudes. Some more of Aether's always optimistic bullshit about how he'll be here when he gets back. How he can call him any time. How everything will be fine he just has to get used to it.

Instead, Aether just pulls him back into the cool embrace of his body, holds him tight enough that it makes Dew's ribs ache. He leans his head against Dew's, nuzzling their horns together as he does, dragging his nose into Dew's hair and inhaling like he wants to hold onto Dew's scent too, inject it under his skin to savor. Like he knows that soon, they'll both be foundering at sea, searching for a lighthouse that's too far away to light up the horizon.

"I'll miss you too, firefly."

[admrlthundrbolt]

Stayin' Alive (Ladybug x Chubby Reader

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

This wasn't supposed to happen. Agents weren't meant to fall for their competition. Yet there you were, so sweet and soft. Guess that was his luck though. What was a ladybug to do when you get assigned to work together.

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

Hi guys, I'm back at it again. It's been a while since my last Bulket Train story. But Ladybug wouldn't get out of my head. So here is a story about him being enamored with the reader. I really think his would be the type to fall head over heels for someone. Hope you enjoy.

---------------------------------------------------------

He stared down at the paper in disbelief. Heart racing, he looked at Maria with wide eyes. “You can't do this to me.”

She gave him a blank expression. “Do what to you? It's a simple job.” She glanced back at the debrief to see if there was something she missed.

Shaking his head, he rubbed a hand across his face. “No, you can't assign me with her.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why not, you have a past I don't know about? Or are you a sexist and hid it all these years.”

He threw his hands up at the accusation. Only to stop when he noticed the smirk on her face. “Ha ha.” His voice hollow as he calmed down. “No, I just don't want to cause a problem for her.” As the words left his mouth he could feel heat flood his face. It was one thing for his bad luck to effect him. But if there was a chance it could get you hurt, or God forbid killed. He would never forgive himself.

Ah, she had been expecting this. It was no secret the feelings he had for you. Being both of your handler, she had seen many interactions between the two of you. His fumbling seemed to skyrocket anytime he saw you. So why not kill two birds with one stone. Have her most trusted agents on the same mission. While also giving him an opportunity to spend some close quality time with you. Call her a genius or a hopeless romantic. It didn't matter as long as the outcome was the job being finished.

Frustration coursed through him, he shook his head again. “What if my luck gets her killed?” He looked at her emploringly.

Her face softened at his obvious stress. “She an accomplished hitman. I'm sure a little bit of bad luck can't take her out.” Giving him a pat on the back she smiled. “Besides, she accepted already. She seemed excited about it too.”

His eyes widen at the thought of you looking forward to working with him. OK, maybe it wasn't so bad.

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

Bouncing in place you glanced around. You were glad that you had told Ladybug to meet you at a time earlier than necessary. It wouldn't do to be late for the art gala. The target was an overly paranoid man that rarely left his thoroughly secure house. That is except for when his favorite artist had a showing. Maria had assured you that it was a bit tricky to get the pair of tickets. Though nothing she couldn't handle. You giggled a bit at the smug expression she had at the time.

A hand landing on your shoulder jolted you out of the memory. Twisting the appendage behind the offenders back, you gasped. Quickly releasing his hand, you fussed over the fellow hitman. “Oh sweetie, I didn't hurt you to badly did I?” You felt horrid for any pain you may have caused him. But you did take the moment he spent making sure a finger wasn't more crooked than usual to check him out. He cleaned up well, not to say you didn't enjoy his routine style. The laid back yet practical outfits he tended to wear suited him. The suit he was draped in now, it was a sight for sore eyes. Taking his arm with your own, you guided him towards the venue.

Going along with you, he only had a moment of a calm heart before his pulse began racing again. You were the picture of perfection. Not a hair out of place and curves shining through your evening wear. As you smiled back at him, he tried his hardest to commit the image to memory.

Stopping as you reach the entrace to the building. You turned and noticed that he was a bit rumpled from the jog. Reaching up you smoothed out his shirt collar.

His mind was reeling. It was one thing to agree to pose as a couple. But he hadn't thought of possibility that it would involve acting like a couple. As you smiled up at him, he suddenly remembered why he was late. Pulling a crumpled flower from his pocket, he held ot towards you. “I couldn't decide between a bouquet or a corsage. But while i was in the flower shop a guy came in and started yelling at the owner. Something about them having sex with his wife. Anyways this is the only thing I could grab as I ran out.” He stared at the flower until he was done rambling. When he glanced at you he was relieved to see that your grin had only grew.

Taking the flower carefully, you admired it. The thing was barely staying on it's stem and was missing quite a few petals. Honestly it was so beat up that you weren't exactly sure what type of flower it was. All the same, you brought it to your nose and enjoyed the light fragrance. Placing it on an ear, you beamed at him. “Thank you, let's head in yeah.”

Nodding, he knew that it would be a herculean effort to keep his pulse under control for the night.

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

The check in process was relatively easy. It also gave you another moment to straighten up his outfit. During which you may have appreciated the muscle he had under the crisp dress shirt. Though you didn't let yourself linger on the delicious distraction to long. It was time to get down to business. With a quick nod you both headed in different direction to locate the target.

It was a lavish setting. Trays of champagne and amuse bouche carried by attractive yet professional waitstaff. Many paintings, sculptures, and tapestries cover the event center. You strided to the section that held the works of the artist your target was obsessed with. Placing a hand against your hair you tapped the device in your ear. “I'm in position. No sign of Waterson yet.” Brushing a bit of hair behind your ear, you waited for a reply.

Wiping his hands on his shirt he tapped the ear piece. “Same here. Hey have you tried these cracker things. They are great.” His voice was muffled by the mouthful of hors d'oeuvres. He had wanted to settle his nerves. What better way than with treats. His pulse leapt at your laugh. Well that was easier said than done with you around. A thousand snacks couldn't clam down his hammering heart near you.

“I'll be sure to give them a try. Do you see the target?” Your tone was airy yet professional. It was a relief to work with someone that wasn't such a stick in the mud.

He relaxed a bit as you didn't reprimand him for slacking on the job. Searching the room, he didn't spot the target anywhere. But as his gaze wandered your way he cursed. “Carver is here.” Frowning he stared down the two-bit assassin. Though it deepened significantly as he headed in your direction. What was a creep like that doing heading over to you.

You smiled amicably as he made his way over to you. It was a good thing Ladybug had spotted him. It gave you time to prepare for the unneeded disturbance. As he swaggered closer you had to hold back a sneer. He had made it his mission to bed every female assassin he came across. Luckily for you he was nowhere near your type. No, that honor belonged to a certain luckless handsome clutz.

Without waiting a beat he already had you half pinned between himself and a sculpture. “Fancy meeting you here. It must be fate.” His cologne was overwhelming bad. Not to mention the lack of personal space he gave you.

Placing a hand on his chest, you forced him back a few inches. The satisfaction you received from the shock look he gave you at the action. Well it was well worth the effort. “You may believe that. While I know it must be that fact we've been assigned to the same target. Waterson didn't seem the type to make that many enemies."

He took a moment to gather himself. “Yeah, maybe he was. But I heard that he crossed the wrong people recently. So you know what that gets you.” Turning towards the crowd, he slipped an arm around your shoulder. Why not make the most of the evening while he was stuck search for the geezer.

It was killing him, watching that sleeze ball put his hands on you. Your body language switching as you look between the crowd and Carver gave him hope. Though your next words made his spirits soar.

“I would love to stay and chat. But I need to meet up with my partner.” Stepping away, you were shocked when a hand landed on your hip.

His smile was stretched tightly across his face. “Now come on sweetheart, don't be like that. Besides what sort of idiot would leave you all by yourself.” He dug his fingers a bit more into the plush flesh.

The fire that blazed through your veins was maddening. Placing your hand on top of his own, you smiled sweetly. Shifting two fingers around his pinky you jerked. Your giggle covered the sickening pop. Leaning towards him, you felt a jolt of exhilaration at the pain that had come over his features. “Since a simple no isn't enough for you. It seems you need a reminder that we are in the same line of work.” Another pop followed by a yelp from him was veiled once again by your laughter. A serious expression slid onto your face. “With that out of the way. I will be joining Ladybug for the rest of the evening as our target has just stepped through the door. You're welcome to try to claim the contract from us. But after your pitiful display of masculinity, I think it would be best if you didn't bother.”

As you strutted his way he could only admire your raw power. It was as if the more he experienced your being the greater his infatuation grew. He would be worried that thoughts of you would consume his very existence. If he wasn't already enamored with the notion of worshiping you. He had to stifle a gasp as you wrap an arm around his own.

“Now that our target has finally arrived. Why don't you focus a little of your luck his way.” Sliding a hand up his chest, you ran your fingertips along his stubble covered jaw. Guiding his face down, you place a slow deliberate kiss to his cheek. “Then you can take me on a proper date.”

His cheeks burned as he nodded resolutely. If he could harness his odd powers in your favor, he would. If only to get a moment longer with you pressed against him.

[markantonys]

thinking ahead to s3, i hope they'll change elayne and nynaeve's black-ajah-hunting destination from tanchico to whatever city the waste gang will end up in after the waste (probably either tear so they can do the stone and callandor then since they couldn't fit it in pre-waste, or cairhien as in the books and callandor gets saved for even later since it WILL still be a while before it's needed story-wise). putting a read more because i kept thinking further and further into the story and seeing more domino effects!

as far as i can remember, it's not important for the location of this plotline to be tanchico specifically, except perhaps that it's not far from the site of the seanchan invasion which allows them to run into egeanin, but they could easily pick egeanin up in falme and then she travels with them to the east (or ta'veren makes her travel there alone so that she can run into elayne and nynaeve).

and there would be several benefits! on a production level, it cuts down on the number of sets, filming locations, extras, costumes, etc they need. on an engaging-casual-viewers level, it cuts down on the number of different locations that viewers need to keep track of by moving this plotline to a major city that will be important throughout the series. yes, it's important to establish the vast size and scope of the world, but that can still be done while selecting a smaller number of key locations to focus on in detail.

and on a story level, it allows elayne and nynaeve to reunite with the waste gang in s4 (or at the end of s3 depending on pacing) and spend more time with them. this could be the perfect place to strengthen elayne's relationships with rand and aviendha since she likely won't have time for more than a few interactions with them in s2/beginning of s3. it gives nynaeve more time with lan and could potentially even allow her to be present when moiraine goes through the doorway and their bond snaps - nynaeve being with lan in that immediate aftermath could be very interesting to explore. and just more time for Full Friend Group Time overall, which is something that was sorely lacking in the books but that the show really committed to the importance of in the first season.

then thinking even beyond that, elayne and nynaeve mostly tread water in salidar, so maybe they could leave with mat and aviendha directly from tear/cairhien for ebou dar and the bowl, and egwene could go to salidar by herself. and if they hold off on these departures until after rand's kidnapping, and perrin still comes east to rand as in the books, then my long-held dream of dumai's wells being a full cast event could be realized! the big issue here though would be how to work in nynaeve's discovery of healing stilling and gentling since that's the only crucial thing that happens while she and elayne are in salidar. but it's not outside the realm of possibility that siuan & co could pass through tear/cairhien on their way to salidar, thus joining up with the main gang and allowing this plot point to still happen (and giving siuan and moiraine time together, as well as all 4 of rand/elayne/aviendha/min).

the other tricky thing is where to place caemlyn? rand going crazy over mat's and aviendha's deaths, balefiring a forsaken, and undoing their deaths is extremely important to me and i'm not willing to let go of it lmao and it's also plot-important since it leads to rand learning that balefire is the only way to permanently kill a forsaken, which leads to him being trigger-happy with it. this could be moved to a different location, but SOMETHING needs to happen in caemlyn to cause the throne to go from morgase to elayne, so i don't see a reason to move these events elsewhere. the issue i'm seeing is that if elayne hasn't rejoined rand's group yet, then rand would leave for caemlyn before she reaches tear/cairhien and we'd miss out on randlayne bonding time because he'd be busy sorting out caemlyn, starting the black tower, etc. whereas if she HAS rejoined the group, then there's no way she wouldn't come with him to retake caemlyn...........

..........which actually could totally work? elayne could participate in retaking caemlyn and then just stay there to kick off her succession arc early and skip out on the ebou dar trip. the most important thing to come from that trip is mat being left behind in seanchan territory, so elayne herself isn't strictly needed. so, okay, here's what i'm thinking overall:

elayne & nynaeve join the waste gang in tear/cairhien, and they all go together to retake caemlyn

siuan & co meet up with them either in tear/cairhien (ideal since it would give siuan time with moiraine before she "dies" and potentially allow her to be present to witness the "death") or in caemlyn later, and nynaeve heals stilling and gentling

elayne begins her succession arc, with rand Traveling back and forth between caemlyn and his other domain(s) in disguise so as not to interfere with her work in caemlyn

perrin arrives in caemlyn due to ta'veren pull - now the ENTIRE crew is together

rand is kidnapped (either he flees to cairhien with the entire crew as in the books, or he's kidnapped directly from caemlyn to save time) and the entire crew goes to dumai's wells to save him. big full cast tentpole event!

afterwards, egwene and siuan leave for salidar (though this may need to happen before rand's kidnapping in order to sow mistrust & distance between rand and egwene by keeping egwene unaware of this event for a long time; alternately, egwene could participate in dumai's wells but argue with rand afterwards about his treatment of the salidar aes sedai who tried to help him, thus accomplishing the same thing)

perrin leaves to find masema

nynaeve, mat, and lan leave for ebou dar

elayne, aviendha, and min return to caemlyn so that elayne can continue the succession, min can provide viewings and advice to her, aviendha can train with the wise ones, and all 3 of them can get closer because min spending half the series plastered to rand's side with no storyline of her own and no relationship with the other members of her polycule absolutely must change

rand is on his own for fain's attack in cairhien, defeat of sammael (if he makes the show), and the campaign against the seanchan

[edencantstopfallininlove]

I Thought You Were Gone

Selfship: Crunchy Chip Cookie X Honey Bread Cookie

Content Warnings: Nightmares; Canon-Typical Injury Detail; Major Character Death (except it's in a dream sequence so it doesn't count); Hurt/Comfort (the hurt being of the emotional variety)

A/N: This took me a lot longer to write than it should've. Oh, well. I'm posting it now! Enjoy!

(Also, shout-out to @ode-to-joie, who provided me with plenty of valuable input! They also technically beta-read a certain passage (even though it's been changed a bit since... 😅).)

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

A blizzard forced the Dark Cacao Kingdom into a snow-white void, the wind howling with an impenetrable rage. Nevertheless, a lone cookie, bundled up in a tight hood and thick gear, charged forwards, her breaths ragged and heavy as she looked for a way out. Every milligram of her dough was chilled and sore with effort. This was Honey Bread Cookie, a student of the Milk Tribe's magic, originally from far away. And as her rounded blue eyes tried uselessly to make sense of her environment, she felt just as lost and afraid as she once did all that time ago.

Then, by some miracle, after countless agonising minutes of enduring the cold, the blizzard slowed. A sigh of relief escaped from Honey Bread Cookie's mouth; the foliage and familiar landscapes were far more visible now.

But this was a curse in disguise. For next to an iced-over stone lay a Cookie, barely able to move. Honey Bread Cookie herself froze at the sight, running over to help them. As she got a closer look at the fallen cookie, her eyes widened and her stomach sank.

This cookie's hair and attire alike were monochrome, designed to blend in with harsh snow. The only signs of colour were those gorse yellow eyes and his dark dough... which had become besmirched by crumbs. He let out a low groan of pain, clutching his shredded cloak and holding himself together with whatever strength he had left.

Yet, with every second that passed, Crunchy Chip Cookie's chances of survival faded away.

Honey Bread Cookie tried to recall the Milk Tribe's healing techniques, using every single one she could think of in the moment. None stuck — just when it looked like Crunchy Chip Cookie's condition was stabilising, the cracks in his form would spread as if in defiance.

Despite his struggle to stay intact, Crunchy Chip Cookie reached out to cup Honey Bread Cookie's face in both hands. He made an effort to smile. He had accepted his fate and awaited eternal rest in the Tomb of Blades, but wanted to make sure his beloved's last memory of him was as calm as possible.

"No... Chip, stay with me, please..!" wailed Honey Bread Cookie, insisting to herself that she could fix him, that this wasn't really happening.

But the fading light in Crunchy Chip Cookie's eyes betrayed the truth. They closed for the final time. His hands slipped down, away from his partner, away from the physical. Following their last order, the crumbs in his body gave way, ignoring Honey Bread Cookie's pleas for it to stop; dissent was no longer an option.

"Chip..." she sobbed regardless. "No, no, no, NO! DON'T LEAVE ME—"

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

"—CHIP!"

The gold-and-white covers of Honey Bread Cookie's bed shuddered with their occupant as she awoke. She felt a firm mattress beneath her, just about saw the dark furnishings of her quarters that the Kingdom was generous enough to lend to her during overnight visits to the castle. Precious little light streamed in from out of a window on the wall next to her, the snowfall far more tentative in the waking world. As she tried desperately to control her breathing, she ran a hand through her hair — a dark brown colour, nearly black, shoulder-length with curtain bangs and thin streaks of gold and white running down the sides. She sat upright, brushing both hands against the fabric of her black nightwear.

But she was unable to dwell on it; there was a more pressing matter than just sitting there and trying to cope with her nightmare by herself. On her opposite side, another cookie lay, breathing softly. He was dressed in similar nightwear, buried beneath the bedsheets as Honey Bread Cookie was. As he entered her field of view, the crumbs and the blizzard and him falling apart in front of her flashed through her mind all at once and—

"Are you okay, Chip?" she said, shaking her bedmate awake with trembling hands. "Let me— let me look at you..."

Crunchy Chip Cookie rolled over with a groan, eyes fluttering open as he was urged back to the real world. Honey Bread Cookie peeled the covers away, and sure enough, he was exactly as she left him when she retired into sleep; all in once piece, and not a crumb to be seen. No sooner had their eyes met than the floodgates burst and Honey Bread Cookie pulled her partner's chest to meet hers.

"Woah— Hon?" asked Crunchy Chip Cookie as the shoulder of his night shirt became tear-stained. "You alright?" He kicked himself for asking such a stupid question, but it was the best he had at such short notice. He spent the next minute rubbing circles into his sweetheart's back as she cried and cried...

Eventually, with Crunchy Chip Cookie's guidance, Honey Bread Cookie took a few more deep breaths, dried her tears with her sleeve, then recounted the events of her nightmare. Crunchy Chip Cookie sat in silence and listened without judgement. However, once she was done with an objective description, she came to a realisation.

"It's selfish of me to even be thinking this, but..." she began. "I don't know if I could comprehend losing you like that. And yet, I know it'd be wrong of me to ask you to make a promise you might not be able to keep." Her now-brittle voice betrayed her heart, despite her best efforts to assume composure. "I just... I don't know what I'd do if you...

"I thought you were gone..."

Just as another wave of tears escaped, Honey Bread Cookie felt a firm, yet somehow still gentle, grip on both of her shoulders.

"Hey. If you can't look at me right now, that's fine. But at least listen to me." The soft quality of Crunchy Chip Cookie's words was a far cry from the orders he'd bark to the Cream Wolves. Right then, it was just the two of them, and he needed his partner to trust him.

Honey Bread Cookie nodded, signalling for him to continue.

"My comrades and I fight to protect our people and our home. And ever since you've been in my life, and we've gotten close like this, I've wanted to be there to carry whatever weighs on you. To fight for you. I feel... so lucky to call you my partner. Getting to wake up in the morning next to someone as amazing as you is something I never thought I'd be doing, but here we are. And I won't take that for granted. Ever.

"It's like... you're a home to me, Honey Bread Cookie. Whatever I— we run into down the road, I want to make sure we can fall back on each other if we need to. I know that what I do is dangerous, but what we have is worth fighting for — surviving for, even! Thriving for!!"

By now Honey Bread Cookie felt able to look Crunchy Chip Cookie in the eye once again. Ah, yes, there was that passion of his. It could obliterate the hardest-set snow all by itself. But here, it wasn't the raging inferno kind; instead, Crunchy Chip Cookie was a fireplace, a sanctuary after the violent blizzard that plagued her so. Warm. Bright. Safe. With that determined affirmation, Honey Bread Cookie felt the frost of uncertainty clear from her mind. Everything would be alright.

"So, don't worry," he concluded, shifting his arms to wrap them around his partner's waist. "I won't be going down that easily." A comfortable quiet hang in the air for a few seconds. "Besides" — he cocked an eyebrow — "whose idea was it for us to sleep in a bed again?"

"Oh, shut up!" A now-smiling Honey Bread Cookie laughed through her last remaining tears as Crunchy Chip Cookie nudged her in the side and joined in with a hearty laugh of his own. Convincing him to share a bed with her once before was its own kettle of gummy fish. Still believing that beds triggered nightmares, he didn't come around to it until she assured him that, if a nightmare were to rear its head, she'd be there to fight it with him. (He had to admit, her preparedness impressed him.) And this was a partnership of equals; if one made a promise to protect or live for the other, it surely would be reciprocated in kind.

"Chip..." said Honey Bread Cookie, her eyes drooping as the need to sleep returned to her. "I know this might sound weird, but can I spoon you? I don't know, maybe I'll sleep better if I can hold you in my arms, make sure you don't disappear or anything."

Crunchy Chip Cookie had to chuckle. "Didn't I just tell you I'm not going anywhere without a fight? But if it'll help..."

As requested, he then flipped himself over on one side, allowing Honey Bread Cookie's arms to rest around his waist. His firm, strong dough relaxed just enough at her touch — he'd been waiting so long to be this close to her again, and it never disappointed.

"That's it, Hon." Crunchy Chip Cookie's voice was husky and tender, a grounding presence in the solacing blanket of nighttime darkness. "I'm here. You've got me..."

Squeezing him a little bit tighter as an unspoken "I love you", Honey Bread Cookie's eyes fluttered shut as she allowed herself to drift off once again.

And every morning ever after, they would rise to thrive.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

[ruiniel]

A fun, albeit awkward scenario shortly after the main trio first form (maybe while they're setting up the camp fire together?) and they're just trying to get to know one another a little better by asking random questions. You don't have to use these exact lines or anything, but off the top of my head I picture Sypha whispering to Trevor "Do I offer him food, or...?" Trevor replying "Not unless you don't mind exposing your neck." and Al "... I can hear you, you know." or something to that extent, just some friendshippy silliness from the disaster trio, please? :) PS: Sorry this is Ask is a bit late.

Hi, friend! I'm so sorry this comes so excruciatingly late. It's really just a scene with dynamic development drama, but hope you like something of it. Didn't turn out very friendshippy though... but things look up by the end

No more, no less, none other

Fandom: Castlevania Series (2017-2021)

Rating: T

Count: 1.3K

Characters: Trevor Belmont, Sypha Belnades, Alucard

Additional tags: early Castlevania season II, trephacard

The flames smolder, warming Trevor’s stiff side, though the cold earth beneath him serves as a pesky if efficient aid to stay awake, to keep an ear out for their surroundings.

His attention wanders. Alucard sits somewhere in the wagon cart, he thinks, though Trevor’s yet to completely assess either of his newish companions, and as always, that makes him uneasy. Not knowing things, not having figured out all the angles to a situation has never been his way, but then this is no ordinary situation either.

“You’re a sight.” 

Sypha. She neared him without Trevor noticing, arranging her robes as she folds her legs and sits near their campfire, yawning and holding a bowl of steaming something. It doesn’t smell of anything, really, and in the flickering orange light it’s hard to make out what it is.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Trevor says, poking the fire.

His stomach grumbles. He can’t recall the last time he’s had a meal, and even though it’s a state he’s become accustomed to through the years, it’s uncomfortably loud for the silence of this night. 

The fire spits sparks here and there. Sypha stirs, then reaches into a pocket — just how many does she have hidden within those robes? — and retrieves a small leather pouch, then pours its contents into the bowl. 

“... some aid for sore muscles?”

“No, Trevor.” She’s taken to calling him by his first name lately. He’s not heard it from someone else in a long time. It feels… strange. “It’s just raisins, to go with the oats.”

“...oats?”

Sypha stirs the contents of the bowl again, nodding, and offering it up to him. 

“... so this is what you were boiling over the fire earlier,” he raises the wooden spoon, looks at it curiously.

“It’s food, Trevor. For eating.”

“Ha.” He tastes—not bad; hasn’t had anything this sweet in a while. 

“... he’s not a threat, you know. You must learn to accept that.”

Trevor pauses with the spoon half-way to his mouth. “Tsch.” He looks away from the direction of the wagon cart. “It’s not that.”

Sypha purses her lips, her turn to poke the fire with a stick. “We’re in this together. We’re here. We have him, it happened as it was told.”

Trevor scoffs. “Forgive me for being wary of prophecies. They tend to fall short.”

There is movement in the cart; his ears perk up.

“Alucard is not your enemy,” Sypha continues, still prodding the fire and watching the embers rise.

Trevor’s lost his appetite. He places the bowl aside. “That’s what I want to believe but…”

“We made it this far,” Sypha says. “And you can’t deny we work well together.”

Trevor raises an eyebrow, nodding towards the silent cart as to say ‘really, this is what you call ‘together’?’

Sypha’s a bright, quick-witted woman. He’s learned that the second she stared at him with eyes of flesh instead of stone. “Your derisive jokes about his dead mother might’ve had something to do with that.”

Trevor sighs. “It’s not like the dead can hear them.” He’s lost people, too. He knows what it’s like. He knows…

Ah, crap.

“No, but it’s the living who remember,” Sypha adds, and then, “Do you think we should offer him some?” she asks, before tasting some of the oat porridge.

“... Don’t know. Maybe he’d prefer some rat’s blood or something instead.”

“No, he would not,” they both start as Alucard descends from the cart, his expression unchanged since his speech earlier in the evening.

The hunter grits his teeth but stays silent as Alucard plops down beside them, a dour expression on his face. Trevor feels only mild regret at his words about Lisa, earlier.

“What was first… blood-letting?” 

 Idiot. Still.

“Hypersensitive hearing. Might’ve been good to share you have that ability too,” he grumbles instead, crossing his arms.

Alucard stares at him with a dispassionate gaze. “I was not aware I had to report every trait you don’t possess.”

The son-of-a… “Makes me wonder what else you’re hiding from us.”

“Trevor!”

Despite Sypha’s warning, he can’t let it go. “What do we really know about you? You just expect us to believe the sob story you shared earlier, to feel sorry for Dracula of all people?”

Alucard rises to his feet, very slowly. “I merely presented the situation. What is it that really bothers you about this, Belmont?” he asks, his voice low and cold. “Is it your prejudice or your fear? How am I to trust you, considering what your family’s done to my people throughout the centuries—”

“Hah!” Trevor scoffs, standing up too. “Listen, Fangs—”

“Enough!”

They both start as the campfire suddenly bursts forth, forcing them to leap back from each other.

“Enough of this, you’re both so exhausting!” 

Trevor beholds the angry, bright-eyed face glimmering in the firelight like it’s one with it, at the clenched fists as Sypha stares them both down. “I refuse to be a part of this any longer. This way, no matter how strong each of us is, with you two being at each other’s throats all the time, we’re bound to fail.” 

Trevor would laugh at the expression, even make a joke of it, if she weren’t so indescribably upset, and worse: disappointed. 

Why does he care?

Sypha squares her shoulders, looking at Alucard and then Trevor. “Take this night to figure out what you each want. By tomorrow, either one of you leaves, or I do. Or we stay together. But if we do, you both leave all of this,” she gestures at the both of them, “behind. All this doubt, the suspicion festering between you.”

Trevor stares at the unflinching resolve, the ice in her eyes; something stirs in his chest, but neither he nor Alucard say a word while their companion turns and paces away, and the wagon cart creaks with movement as she takes shelter within. 

The night is black, the stars are cold silver drops upon it. When Trevor looks back down, Alucard is gone.

~~

Sypha rises after a fitful sleep, and washes her face with water Alucard had brought from a stream nearby the other day. When she jumps out of the cart, arranging her robes, she blinks as sunlight plays across the foliage. Alucard is ahead, kneeling, apparently making preparations to start a fire.

She walks over to him, and with a snap of fingers kindles the flame. “What’s this for?” she asks, rubbing at her eyes. She remembers the other night, her words following another useless squabble. Sypha bites her lip in a manner of regret. She was angry then, but deep inside her conviction stays: it would take the three of them to succeed, no more, no less, and none other. 

“For breakfast,” Alucard says, producing a small, gilded pocket knife and proceeding to sharpen a branch by his side. 

“... breakfast?”

Footsteps near, and she turns to see Trevor, walking over with a quarry of fish. She looks at him, then at Alucard, who’s sharpened the last of the branches to a fine point.

Trevor drops the fish in Alucard's lap without much ado, earning himself a glare.

“Don’t look at me like that,” the hunter deadpans, already turning away. “It’s your turn to clean them.”

Alucard narrows his eyes, then with a sigh rolls up the sleeves of his formerly-immaculate shirt. 

“I’ll return soon,” Sypha says, turning on her way to retrieve a few known edible roots from the forest that go with their fare.

In the recess of the wagon cart, Trevor sits, pausing in the act of sharpening his throwing knives to witness her retreat, and the blooming smile on her face.

More of my work is on AO3[many stories not on tumblr]

BLOG MASTERPOST (all you need to know)

Likes/comments/reblogs always and forever appreciated

[shae-la-hyene]

Ok since nobody asked, I'm gonna liveblog eating gluten while most likely coeliac, maybe as a cautionary tale.

To be clear I did not get a coloscopy to prove it so I do not have a definitive diagnostic. From what I've experienced I am 90% sure I'm coeliac, and let's face it the last ten percent are denial.

After about three years of miserable gluten free lifestyle, I snapped. It went like this :

October 6th (2024) : had a plate of terrible crispy chewy and sticky all at once pasta, had a breakdown, decided 'fuck it'

October 8th : bought donuts, ate two, keeping the other four for breakfast tomorrow. Go to sleep, trying to avoid a panic attack

October 9th : no reaction from my body, I'm pissed that I stopped gluten for so long for no good reason. Psy says it might be a nocebo. I'm mad at the entire world. I feel like shit and all my muscles are sore but I convince myself it's the fibromyalgia.

October 9th (at night) : nevermind I got diarrhea I'm definitely reacting. Less painful than last time I ate bread, though, so I keep going. Not giving upnjust yet.

October 12th : I want a kebab so much it dominates my thoughts

October 13th : everything hurts, especially my back and joints. I need an ice pack and I take more breaks time than actual active time. I give up and just go to bed

October 15th : spent the last week exhausted and sore, but still in denial.

October 16th : Everything hurts. If it's because of the bread ? Worth it. I can take painkillers. I can NOT eat gluten free pasta ever again.

October 18th : the absolute luxury that is bread and butter... Having fresh pasta because I might as well

October 20th : I feel so bad I don't even know what to do that might help. I have a headache the size of a watermelon and my body is just a blob of pain and exhaustion. My lower back is sending me sharp constant pain. I google how to know if I have kidney stones. Sure sign is blood in urine. Bitch I'm on my period.

October 21st : spent an hour and a half maying in the dark and silence and the headache is receiding a little so now I want to eat (I'm starving constantly). I feel like shit all the time. Best friend is worried I'll die. We all die someday. If pasta kills me, I win.

October 22nd : ate an entire baguette today, with different toppings. No regrets.

October 23rd : I am of the opinion that my body should not hurt after I spent ten hours sleeping on my brand new bed. Alas, my body and I rarely agree. I think it's shutting down, hard. I google the symptoms for coeliac disease. It's not really helpful since half of those I already experience thanks to my other chronic illnesses. ''The consequence of that is an alteration of quality of life'' no shit sherlock. My main way of knowing is if I have a dramatic weight loss. If I'm coeliac, gluten will damage my intestines and will make it unable to absorb nutrients. I don't have a scale at home so it'll wait til I see my doc. That means that until I see him I can stay in denial. I wish I had a body that worked... You know what will fix this ? A big bowl of pasta.

October 24th : I'm constantly hungry. It ain't looking good.

October 25th : I'm sick again. I'm sick every other day now. Things start tasting off, not the way they're supposed to. Weird. Bad weird. No matter, I finally understand lactose intolerant people risking it all for cheese.

October 29th : I'm so overwhelmed I'm inches away from brutally murdering my cat for standing on my chair's arm. Not her fault but my kneecap has been in the wrong position for hours and won't go back to normal so the pain of it is enough to break the camel's back

November 2nd : I'm so exhausted I can't do anything. Took a mix of painkillers, muscle relaxants, and anti inflammatory meds. Went to lay in bed for a while, end up taking a 8 hours nap. Forced myself to stay awake three hours, and then go back to sleep.

November 3rd : obviously wake up famished. Slept with a bucket next to my bed since I got very close to puking my meds out last night. Everything I have available to eat is unappealing, especially anything with wheat in it. My body is craving proteins. Try to eat, but everything, up to the most basic black tea, tastes so weird. Still exhausted, still in pain, considering taking anti inflamatory meds again today. Reconsider my most recent life choice but too stubborn to give up bread. I'm really not doing good...

That's it for now. I'm not going to the doc yet so I'm gonna keep up with the experiment. Wish me luck.