#i've wanted to write for him for a long while | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fairyysoup · 21 hours ago

Text

sever the blight

(steve's version) (repost)

pairing(s): werewolf!steve harrington x fem!aristocrat!reader

summary: Steve is your bodyguard. You are engaged to another man. It all seems very cut and dry until a fatal accident traps you alone with him on a full moon.

word count: 11.2k

cw: explicit, smut, monsterfucking!!!, loss of virginity, graphic depictions of violence, blood, gore, minor character death, animal death, horror elements, dark themes, historical au, fairy tale au, some sort of historical fantasy period, idk which one you tell me, forbidden romance, mutual pining, possessive behavior, misogynistic views on sex and marriage, animalistic behavior, marking, scenting, knotting, breeding kink, werewolf transformation, werewolf bites, again steve is a werewolf the reader is fucking a werewolf and all that entails, dead dove: do not eat

a/n: hiiiii this was originally posted in two separate parts, but as it was actually meant to be a one-shot when I started writing it, i've reposted it as one here. I'm sorry lol

ALL MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

"Fear and flee the wolf; for, worst of all, the wolf may be more than he seems." -Angela Carter, The Company of Wolves

“Please, don’t do this.”

The hum of crickets at twilight surrounds you as you step out of the inn, into warm summer air. The soft muslin of your underskirts turn heavy with the humidity, as you watch your governess, Miss Fontaine, charge ahead toward the carriage. Already prepared for your departure, the driver twitches his thumbs in anticipation.

You watch her turn to face the only other member of your traveling party with a perturbed sigh. “And lose more time? If we ride through the night we can make Kensworth by morning.”

You feel a heat on the back of your neck before you turn to see him emerge from the shadows, the deep green of his coat highlighting the little bit of jade in his hazel eyes. Steven. Steve. The huntsman. Your guard. You don’t know much about him, aside from that he’s from this region. He’d made his living as a huntsman before your father, favoring Steve for his discretion and propriety, hired him as a personal bodyguard. Your very own knight in shining armor, if you wanted to be romantic about it.

He’s the only man you’ve ever met who manages to make you nervous while simultaneously making you feel invariably safe. Like, as long as he’s around, you know that nothing will dare to hurt you. And nothing will make your heart race beneath your bodice quite the same as he does.

Still, months of his protection haven’t taught you anything about who he is, and it seems like he wants it that way. You know only the things that you’ve picked up by being around him- he prefers ale over wine, fiddles with his hair when he’s nervous, and he enjoys doing people favors. He has a goofy sense of humor. He’s kind, and gentle when he speaks.

Unless he’s arguing with your domineering governess. Like now, for instance.

“You don’t know these woods like I do,” he insists, his voice unnaturally low, nearly a growl as he looms over you on the doorstep of the inn. He stands too close to you, his eyes burning fire as he peers at Miss Fontaine, and then down at you, making your hands shake behind your skirts. His tone softens, “My lady, listen to me and wait for the night. Let the moon wane before we leave.”

You open and close your mouth, looking from Steve to Miss Fontaine. To his obvious annoyance, your governess is already shaking her head at you before he finishes talking. God, you wish you knew what to say to assuage them both. But, ultimately, the choice isn’t up to you. It never is.

“I can’t spare the time. The Duke will already be upset that I’m arriving late to my own wedding.” The words feel flat in your mouth, like a script written by someone else. Truly, you’re running late as it is, days late, all because an avalanche laid waste to the only route out of town, keeping you at your latest stop and delaying your journey beyond repair.

“Your fiancé won’t be happy to know you’re putting yourself at risk to make up for lost time.” Steve spits the word fiancé like a curse, like he’d rather not acknowledge the man’s existence at all. You let it slide; after all, you’re not particularly taken with the idea, either.

You haven’t met him- your fiancé. You know him even less than you know your faithful bodyguard. You only know his face from a painting you were gifted, and his name- not from any sort of correspondence, mind you, but because the betrothal is a big deal, considering he’s a duke. And that would make you, of a sort, a future duchess. Or so Miss Fontaine keeps reminding you.

She raises one petulant eyebrow, now, at your protector. “You’d have us force the Duke to wait at the altar?”

Steve’s eyes darken. “If he cares for the lady at all, he’ll be relieved to know that you did the pragmatic thing and waited to travel-”

“Don’t lecture me about pragmatism-”

“I’m trying to protect her!”

“Protect her, then!” Short of stamping your foot, there’s nothing you can do but stand by as they argue back and forth. “That is your job. Not presuming to call orders. You are a guard, not an advisor.”

Steve glowers at her, his big eyes glinting dangerously in the lamplight from the carriage. “You don’t know-”

“But you do, correct?” You stare up at Steve with wide eyes, while he cocks his head, looking at Miss Fontaine as if trying to find the best and fastest way to get rid of her. She snaps, “I’d expect a huntsman to know a thing or two about traveling in the woods at night.”

She doesn’t wait for his reply. She lifts her skirts and steps into the carriage without waiting for the driver’s hand, all but slamming the door behind her. That’s the end of that.

You move to follow her, but a hand brushes your own, behind your back. You nearly jump out of your own skin at the touch- your blood boils, and your stays grow heavy on your chest as your breath quickens. You rapidly turn to face him, before Miss Fontaine can look out the carriage window.

“Steven-”

“Miss, please, just listen to me.”

You’re struck by how soft Steve’s voice is when directed at you, compared to his snarling at Miss Fontaine. His hazel eyes are enough to make you melt, searching your face for understanding.

“The things that happen in these woods, on a full moon, it’s-” he drops his gaze to your clasped hands, and for a moment, you think he’s going to reach out and grab them. But he simply takes a deep breath, the red flush on his cheeks brightening as he looks back up to your face. His voice drops in register, so that only you can hear him say, “Please, honey, I’m begging- talk some sense to your governess. Going out there tonight, when the moon is full… it’s too dangerous. Believe me. Trust me.”

You take the opportunity to gaze up at him openly, like you’ve wanted to for all the months you’ve known him, but never got the chance to. It occurs to you to correct him on his impropriety, and to remind him that you’re betrothed. To a duke that you don’t want to marry.

You don’t correct him. Instead, you whisper, “I trust you, honey.” And when he blinks, his lashes kissing his cheeks like you so desperately want to, you add, “But you and I both know that if anyone actually listened to me, we wouldn’t be traveling at all. I’m sorry, Mr. Harrington. My hands are tied.”

Steve swallows, and you swear he looks like he’s going to cry, or do something desperate like drag you back inside with him. But he just nods, and when you turn to climb into the carriage, he nearly pushes the driver aside to offer you his hand, instead.

Your mind lingers on the touch of his hand even after you’ve settled into your seat, your fingers smoothing over your tingling palm distractedly. You watch through the window as Steve’s trousers tighten across his thighs when he mounts his horse. He gives the driver a furious look as the carriage kicks off.

And Miss Fontaine glares at you when you pretend you weren’t staring at the young huntsman.

“The Duke will be pleased to know that you’re doing everything you can to reach the destination promptly.”

You sigh, your elbow resting heavily against the windowsill of the carriage. The Duke, the Duke. Your future husband already has his clutches wrapped around you, squeezing until you can feel your ribs cracking and blood spilling from your mouth. Miss Fontaine seems to have no qualms about singing his praises for the entire duration of your midnight commute, and there is nothing you can do to stop it. You’ve never been able to sleep while traveling, the rocking of the carriage jostling you awake no matter how hard you try.

Your eyes fix outside, on the white mare keeping stride with the carriage. Steve’s face is partially lamplit from the lanterns beside the driver’s seat, a deep furrow to his brow as he stares off into the dark. He worries his bottom lip with his teeth, lost in thought.

You’d kill to know what’s going on inside his head. There have been times when you’ve thought of asking him what he thinks about this marriage- it’s entirely out of his place to voice his opinion, of course, but nights spent with him standing guard outside your bedchamber have made you curious. What he’s thinking, what he’s feeling, when your future is being decided for you. When you’re helpless to stop any of it, and the only thing he’s able to do is throw himself in front of any physical danger coming your way.

Your curiosity doesn’t form in a void, you know. You aren’t completely blind to his affections. Steve is protective of you to the point of possessiveness, always hovering close, intimidating anyone who so much as looks your way. Would-be suitors were chased off by your guard’s heavy, unblinking stare before the Duke wrote to your parents and asked for your hand. You think the only reason this marriage is happening at all is because your fiancé never had to be subject to Steve’s frightening scrutiny.

You don’t miss the way Steve brightens whenever you’re around, either. The way he smiles and indulges your conversation whenever he’s afforded it, going out of his way to make you laugh. Presenting you with bouquets of your favorite flowers, just because he saw them in the garden and knew you’d love them. He’s so sweet to you, and to no one else. At least, not in the same way. Not in a way that makes you doubt his affection for you, however subtle.

You wonder if he doubts your affection for him. You wonder if he can see it as easily as he can see a fawn meandering through the trees, in the path of one of his arrows. You’ve thought about it so often that it’s kept you up at night, when there’s no distraction that comes to make the thoughts of him disappear. When all you have are your own hands, and the knowledge of his presence just on the other side of your chamber door. If he listens very closely, Steve may be able to hear the wetness of your fingers as they slide between your legs, while you pretend that they’re his.

You wonder if he has heard it; there have been a few times when you weren’t certain, when he wouldn’t meet your eye in the morning after a particularly strong orgasm made you whimper a little too loudly. Maybe he knows, and he’s just more proper than you have the decency to be anymore.

But Steve couldn’t know about your dreams, when you’ve shut your eyes and fallen asleep - ones where your unconscious mind doesn’t fail to give you the closeness you crave from him. Ones where his forehead rests against yours lovingly, his breath ghosting across your lips as he rocks the bed with his thrusts. You aren’t making much noise in these dreams, but why would you, when the noises that he’s making are more beautiful than any you could come out with?

And what a pretty thing you are, whimpering Steve’s name as your hand scratches along the mattress to keep you anchored, the fingers of your other hand threaded in his hair, relief flooding your soul at being able to feel it in your grasp. You shiver, either from the intimacy of it or from the caresses of his tongue against your pulse, but it doesn’t make an ounce of a difference when you come apart on his cock, your head tilted back and exposing the column of your throat for his mouth as you thrash against him.

When his hips stutter, when he pulls you against his chest as the heat of his release blooms deep in your core, it’s with a groan of your true name onto your own tongue, to make sure you know how he’s made himself in the bed of your body. “You are mine now. My lady, not his. Never his.”

Waking from those dreams, after a while, hurts more than the idea of having them in the first place. Because you step out of your bedchamber to find Steve standing guard, smiling at you politely, properly, as the arbitrary rules that keep you apart dictate he should, and the cycle starts anew.

“Are you even listening?”

Your attention snaps back to Miss Fontaine, and her pinched, stony face. You were not, your mind tending to wander to him at the worst times. “I’m sorry?”

Miss Fontaine tsks, and you already know what’s coming. You take a deep breath in. “How do you expect to please a husband when you can’t even listen to me for more than a minute? Stop slouching, child.”

You straighten your spine even as you seethe. You’re a lady when it suits them to burden you with responsibility, and then you’re a child to be ordered around when you don’t please them. “I’m not a child.”

“Quite right, and you’re nearly too old to be a debutante. You’re well on your way to becoming a spinster if you don’t behave. Lord knows the Duke has his work cut out for him.”

It takes all your strength not to roll your eyes. Of course, you should be thankful that you’re being sold off like cattle to the highest bidder. No, the only bidder. It just so happens that he’s a higher ranking aristocrat than you. And, as Miss Fontaine loves to remind you, you should count yourself lucky that anyone showed interest in you at all.

Never mind that you could never have the one that matters most to you. He has to stand by and watch it happen.

Poor, stupid thing. You always want what you can’t have, don’t you?

You’re snapped out of your thoughts by the carriage lurching to a stop, the calls of ‘whoa!’ from the driver reaching you through the carved wood of the cabin. Miss Fontaine sighs and moves to open the window latch before Steve’s hand slams down abruptly on the glass.

“Stay,” he snarls at her, his eyes seeming to glow from the inside with a reflective green. Your breath stutters in your chest when he looks at you. The reflective pale green of a nocturnal creature seems to encompass his pupils for just a moment. “Don’t leave the carriage.”

You watch him dismount his horse. You’re craning your neck to try to keep your eye on him out the window, when Miss Fontaine grumbles, “That boy needs to learn some manner-”

You gasp loudly when something lurches the carriage sideways. You grab onto the edge of the seat as it lurches again, keeping your balance as the carriage threatens to topple. Miss Fontaine shrieks, thrown sideways towards the door.

You hear the cries of the driver, just past the wooden walls of the cabin, and you don’t have to have much imagination to conclude what’s happening to him. Your heart plummets, immediately thinking of Steve, out there doing who knows what, with whatever it is that’s making the noise.

“What on earth-” Miss Fontaine grabs onto the door handle as soon as you hear an infernal growling coming from outside.

“Don’t leave the carriage!” You yell, just as she throws open the door to do exactly that.

With one final jolt, the carriage flips.

Breathe in. Breathe out. When you open your eyes, you don’t know how much time has passed, if any at all. You think you may have fainted in the commotion- your head doesn’t feel hurt, but your hip has been bruised. It smarts as you try to push yourself up, where your legs are crushed up against the wall of the carriage. Groggily, you turn your head, and scream.

Miss Fontaine’s unblinking, glassy eyes stare lifelessly back at you. Half of her body has been crushed beneath the toppled carriage, having fallen as she tried to leave the carriage. Blood oozes slowly from her hairline, down across her cooling forehead.

Heaving unmeasured breaths, you raise your hand and push her face away from you. Her head bobs limply to the other side. You don’t want her staring at you still, in death, with that judgemental sneer etched on her face.

With a sob stuck in your throat, you turn your head and stare up at the window above you in the capsized carriage. You manage to sit up and unlatch the door above you, throwing it open like a trap door. Heaving yourself up through the opening is another challenge- even though your summer dress is comparatively light, pulling your skirts upwards and over the edge is difficult, and you end up barrel-rolling out of the opening more than anything.

You come crashing down on the opposite side of the carriage wall, the wheels bracketing you where you sit. The lanterns on the driver’s end have broken, oil pooling and creating a fire that’s rapidly growing the longer it sits. Beside you, Miss Fontaine’s legs stick out comically from beneath the structure like a pair of sticks. You reach over and throw her skirts back over them. For propriety, of course.

You hear rustling off to your left. Scrambling along the ground, dirt and pebbles press into your palms and scrape your knees. You peek around the carriage wheel to see what the cause of the commotion is.

In a ditch beside the road, Steve is wrestling with a… well. In the darkness it’s hard to make it out, but it’s some sort of wild cat. A cougar or a mountain lion, by the looks of it, and monstrously huge. No wonder why the carriage toppled; it has your guard pinned, dwarfing him and trying hard to bite at his throat.

You go to scream to draw the cat’s attention away from Steve, but before you can, Steve already has the cat by the jaws. His two big hands wrap around the wild cat’s upper and lower teeth, prying them open before they can bite down.

And he keeps prying, until the damned thing’s head rips apart in his hands.

You shriek. You can’t wrap your head around all the blood, pouring across his chest and face. Two pieces of a fleshy, gorey skull drop from his hands as he pushes himself up and flings the dead creature off of him. It flops limply to the ground, a pool of blood spilling from the torn remains of its head.

Steve stands tall, hulking and godly against the backdrop of night, and in the flickering light of the growing fire from the carriage, the blood on his mouth and chest glints wet and dark against his tan skin. You don’t know what happened to his riding coat- his white blouse is pasted to his skin, torn in places and gaping at the collar.

You remain, frozen in place, half-cowering behind the overturned carriage. The fire creeps ever closer to you, but you can’t find it in you to move.

You’re glad that he’s okay. At least, you think he is. He’s moving quickly and doesn’t seem to be injured, just… mad. His teeth look a lot sharper than they were before when he bares them. Your heart thuds in your chest, your hands clutching desperately at the corner of the carriage, and the most off-putting part of it all is that you’re not sure that it’s because you’re scared.

He could never scare you. Not your Steve.

“Steven?” Your voice sounds too small, high and girlish in your throat when you want to pretend that you’re being brave. That you’re unaffected by any of this. That you’re not… relieved that Miss Fontaine is unable to voice her disdain of everything you do, and of him.

The guilt you feel at that revelation is outweighed by the instant comfort of Steve’s eyes on you.

He lumbers toward you, eerily quiet and agile for how big he looks, how much of a beating he’d obviously taken. Dripping with blood that isn’t his, flesh from the creature he’d torn apart with his bare hands still clinging to his forearms and clothes.

“My lady, are you hurt?” He crouches before you with his palms upturned, allowing you to keep the carriage between you, as if you’re a prey animal capable of being frightened off.

“No.” Your battered hip throbs like it knows your lie and plans to expose it. “The driver-?”

“His wounds were too deep,” Steve says apprehensively, as if he’s worried he’ll scare you now. “Your governess?”

“Dead.” The word slams out of your throat and falls hard into the air between you. Steve’s brow furrows in a reluctant show of grief. Perhaps you should feel aggrieved as well, but as you search yourself for a show of tears, nothing comes. You don’t know why- perhaps from the shock of it. You weren’t particularly fond of your governess, but you never thought she’d die beside you. “The carriage… she didn’t listen to you.”

He couldn’t stop the scoff falling from his mouth if he tried. “Of course not.”

In the aftermath, everything is too quiet. There are no crickets chirping, no huffs of horses waiting to get on with the journey. The oil fire crackles dangerously behind you, but you’re too busy staring at him to care.

Your Steve. Your bodyguard, your huntsman, who can rip a wild animal in half with his bare hands. The light of the fire flickers in his eyes, a hint of that reflective green still glowing behind his pupils. You open your mouth to ask him about it, but before you can, he shuts his eyes and winces.

“I should go,” he grits out through clenched teeth, shaking his head roughly as if trying to rid himself of his thoughts- whatever they may be. “I should- I should go get help-”

“Are you- have you been hurt?”

“No- I-” he pauses distractedly, looking down at his hands. He clenches them quickly into fists, swallowing against a dry throat as he gets impossibly more agitated. “Not hurt, exactly… I shouldn’t- I need to go-”

“Steve,” you implore, and he whips his head up to give you a startled look when you lay your hand on his shoulder. You don’t know if it’s because of your touch, or if it’s because you didn’t call him Steven, as you usually have under the watchful eye of others. His skin burns feverishly through the thin linen of his blouse. “My god, you’re burning up-”

He flinches away like he’s frightened of your hand on him. “I’m not, I’m fine-”

“You are not fine-”

“You can’t come with me,” Steve snarls, his bloody hands wrapping around your wrists in a vise-like grip. You gasp when you feel his sharp nails dig into your skin, and he instantly softens- both his grip, and his expression. His beautiful eyes bore into yours with a new kind of urgency. “You need to stay here, with the carriage. And I- I’ll find someone-”

“You really think that’s wise?” you ask, staring levelly at him while he blinks dazedly down at your hands. His own completely encircle your wrists, his fingernails far longer and sharper than they ought to be.

You suck in a sharp breath when you see them, but you pull your eyes back to his face and ask him, “Do you really want to leave me alone here? After everything that’s happened?”

Steve’s chest puffs up with the ragged breath he takes, and his hands tighten possessively around your wrists. “No.”

“Right,” you say gently, twisting your wrists so that he loosens his hold. Your hands slip down into his, sticky blood transferring onto your skin all the way. You hardly feel it, with how badly his hands burn to the touch. “We stay together, now. Who knows how many more wildcats there might be?”

“I don’t think it’s them you need to worry about. I’m…” Steve trails off, staring into your eyes. Underneath the rage and the frustration he obviously has, he looks scared.

“You’re what, Steve?” You tilt your head, probably looking much coyer than you feel, with your heart beating loud in your chest. You try your best to be soothing, to be gentle with him even though you’ve seen how strong and violent he’s capable of being- you feel it drying on your own hands.

“I’m going to protect you. I would sooner kill anything that comes near you than see you harmed.” Steve clenches his jaw, his face contorting into a grimace. “My lady.”

“I know you will, honey.” Your thumb traces a little circle around the sharp tip of one of his pointed claws, glinting dangerously in the moonlight. Even if you can’t quite explain how, you know what they imply about your huntsman.

And yet, you like everything about them.

In the darkness, wild things stir. Every crackle of the leaves, every snap of a twig beyond the trees makes you jump. Your eyes search in the dark for the cause, and see nothing.

“What’s that?” you whisper, a frantic edge to your voice.

The forest quiets around you, until all you can hear is Steve’s breath against your ear.

“You have nothing to fear, my lady. Nothing in these woods will harm you while I’m here.” Still, your bodyguard’s hand on your waist tightens, pulling you further against the impossibly warm body beside you. The boldness of his touch makes you shiver.

You want to tell yourself that that’s true, but the longer you walk, the more it becomes clear that Steve is not doing well. The arm that isn’t wrapped around you clutches protectively across his middle, as though he’s trying to apply pressure to some unseen wound. Every so often, he hisses and doubles over in pain- and when you dig your heels into the ground and say, “Steven, you need to rest,” he snaps back, “No, I do not.”

You bicker like an old married couple until you inevitably throw your hands up in defeat. He’s not going to stop trailing through the woods, and you can’t stop him, nor will you turn back and leave him. You trust that he knows where he’s going, because he’s intimately familiar with this forest.

In spite of your frustration with him, you still cling to him, and he still holds you close. His body heat still burns you to your core. There’s a gaping hole within you that he needs to fill, if only he’d allow himself.

If your fiancé has coiled around you to squeeze your life from you, you think that Steve has managed to burrow deep into your chest, to keep you alive and warm. You’d like it if he stays there forever- even if he eats your heart in the process.

In the corner of your eye, you see Steve’s head tilt up, surveying the moon peeking out from behind the clouds. “We have two hours to get back to Havensfield.”

“What happens in two hours?”

Steve’s eyes flicker upwards again. Piercing green reflecting the light, shining like two iridescent jewels. You wonder if that’s why they’re hazel during the daylight. “The moon peaks in the sky.”

Your hand tightens where it rests on his waist, and you swear he gasps. “And then?”

Steve is quiet. His breathing is hard and labored as he stares directly forward. His skin shines with perspiration and blood from the creature that he killed in self defense. Though he’d wiped it from his face, it’s still fresh on his collar and chest, saturating his ripped blouse. You haven’t shown any disgust over it, merely acceptance, with your small hand curled around his damp sleeve. Your fingertips dig into his forearm and make him wince, considering how his mind is honing in on every small touch of your body to his.

You’re a lot easier to read than you think you are. Steve knows that you can tell what he is- to some extent, at least. You know that there’s some sort of transformation taking place, but you don’t seem to understand the real gravity of it. You don't seem scared about it.

That’s what worries Steve the most. You should be scared of him. You shouldn’t be holding onto him like you are, knowing what the raging animal writhing just below his skin wants to do to you. He wants to tell you to run; but then you won’t know where to go, and every beast loves a chase. It’s only a matter of time before his human faculties give out and his primal urges take over.

Sometimes Steve can manage to give into it, when he isn’t stressed. When there’s no real fear, aside from needing to be away from people for a few hours. Usually, by this time, he is alone in the trees, able to tear his clothes off and let his beast control him for however long it takes before the moon hits its peak. And then…

“How much do you know about lycanthropes?”

Steve sounds a lot calmer than he is. There’s a surging in his head, a mad rush to just let go. Stop fighting it. It’ll only be more painful if you do.

“Wolf-men?” There’s a smirk on your lips that makes the human part of him want to kiss the living daylights out of you. “Only what they tell you as a child. They look like men, but they’re not. Their life span is seven years, and if you burn their clothes it makes them stay a wolf forever. They can only be killed with silver. Once they get a taste for flesh, they eat nothing else.”

“Old wives’ tales,” he grunts. Mostly. “The clothes don’t make a difference. And we live just as long as any normal person.”

You blink at him. “We?”

“C’mon, sweetheart,” Steve murmurs as another wave of pain slices through his gut, making him stagger. He loses his grip on you, collapsing clumsily to his knees as he rasps, “You’re smarter than that.”

“Steve!” Your hands wrap around his biceps as he gasps, and there’s a battle raging within him- to fling you away or to tackle you to the ground. He finds a midway point between the two where he pushes himself backwards to cling to the trunk of a tree.

“You need to get to town.” He doesn’t wait for you to object. He points a shaking hand in the direction of town. The sight of his own clawed finger aloft in the air makes him flush in embarrassment. You shouldn’t have to see him like this. “If you keep going straight through the trees you’ll reach Havensfield within the hour.”

“I’m not going,” you argue. He heaves a sigh through his nose, and you actually do stomp your foot this time. “Damn it, Steve, I’m not leaving you here!”

“You have to!” He shouts, pushing himself up to stand against the tree as he does. He looks defeated, agonized as he gazes at you pleadingly. “If you stay, you have no idea what I’ll do to you.”

“Will you kill me?”

“No.” He says it so quickly, he doesn’t even have to think about it. Because, you realize, he already has.

“Then I’m staying,” you tell him firmly. Steve opens his mouth to argue with you, and you shake your head at him. “That’s it, Steve. I’m staying here, and I’m not going.”

His voice cracks as he says, “I can’t fight it, honey.”

“Is that why it’s hurting you?” You ask him as it occurs to you. “Because you’re… you’re fighting it?”

Steve trembles when you touch him, a gentle hand on his arm that sends shivers up his spine. He nods. “It’s easier when I don’t.”

“Then don’t.”

He swallows loudly. “It’s- you don’t know what you’re asking-”

“Explain it to me,” you tell him quietly, as soothingly as you can. “Will it- is it not you? Is it something else that takes over? Is it going to harm you-”

“No,” Steve shakes his head vehemently, blinking fast. He’s sorting through his thoughts, finding it harder to cling to anything other than base desire the longer this goes on. “It’s… it’s me. I’m always here, always present. But the part of me that acts on morality is gone. There are no morals. I just act on impulse, for a while. And then… I transform. Physically.”

You nod slowly. “And that’s what happens at midnight.”

“That’s what happens,” he says, and cringes in pain. “Now you see why I didn’t want- why you should have stayed through the night. I would have- I’d be alone. I’d be back by morning. I always am.”

Your heart feels heavy with how much it aches for him. You recall the months that Steve has been employed by your father, and how he had conveniently been absent the night of the full moon. And you had never noticed, never made any sort of connection. There had never been anything to make you suspicious.

But after every night he was gone, he was always there in the morning. Punctual as anything, you could set a clock by him. You could open the door, and where once was a lady’s maid sitting outside your bedchamber, there would be Steve, holding a bouquet of flowers for you with an apologetic smile. You couldn’t place what the apology was for until now.

“Does my father know?”

“Only that I needed the night,” Steve says, panting. “Nothing more.”

“Did Miss Fontaine know?”

He laughs, and it sounds feeble in his chest. “You think she would have let me near you if she did?”

Your lips quirk up at the edges. “You’ve been keeping your tracks covered, Mr. Harrington.”

“Just trying to be careful.” Steve chuckles, sounding strained as his nails dig into the bark of the tree he clings to. “Always have to be careful with you, you have no idea…”

“And you’re afraid,” you inquire, “that if you act on your impulses, you’ll… hurt me?”

“Hurt you?” he echoes. The mere notion of it wounds him- he’s sure he looks offended when he faces you. “No, I’d sooner die. Harm you, yes. Defile you, absolutely. You’d be a wreck when I'm finished with you.”

Your face burns as you watch him double over again, clutching onto the tree like it’s his lifeline, and the sight of him in so much pain hurts you more than anything. More than the loss of your governess, and more than the invisible hold your fiancé has on you. “Stop fighting it.”

“I won’t- my lady, if I don’t try to fight it, I’ll-” Steve squeezes his eyes shut, resting his forehead against the trunk of the tree with a pathetic whimper. He murmurs weakly, “I can’t sacrifice your virtue for my own comfort.”

“My virtue?” You tilt your head with a teasing smile. “I’m not nearly as virtuous as I seem.”

“Yes, you love to test my will.” Steve’s dark eyes lock on yours as he turns his head. There’s a flash of warning in them. “It must be one of your favorite hobbies. My hearing is much better than you think.”

You stare at each other heavily. Shallow breaths get stuck in your throat, now that he’s confirmed what you expected all along. He heard you all those times, standing guard on the other side of the door as you lay alone in your room and touched yourself to the thought of him. The knowledge sets a blaze alight within you.

He knows. He knows, he knows, he knows.

So, you’re at an impasse. He won’t set aside his chivalry. You won’t leave him here alone. All that’s left is to push and pull at each other until one of you gives, and you’ll be damned if it’s going to be you.

Steven: your huntsman, your bodyguard, your… lover. All these can be true if you just let it be.

You have nowhere left to go. No one else you want to turn to. If you make it to the town you’ll simply be foisted off to your fiancé, or returned to your parents, who will then turn around and give you over to the Duke. All roads lead to him, an inescapable fate that you’d been wishing for a chance to get away from.

So, you make a snap decision without considering the consequences- but really, what’s there to consider? This is the death of your previous life, one way or another.

“What are you doing?” Steve asks, even though he knows the answer, as he watches you begin to remove the pins that hold the bodice of your dress shut.

“I’m testing your will,” you tell him flatly.

“You can’t, you’re- you’re engaged.”

“You expect me to believe you really care about that?” Your linen bodice slides off of your shoulders to the ground, revealing your stays and the sleeves of your chemise. “Or am I so undesirable that you can’t bear the thought of seeing me naked?”

As you begin untying your skirts, Steve growls, “Stop it.”

“Or what?” Your overskirt falls to the ground, your petticoat standing out stark white against the backdrop of the forest. “It’s not like there’s anyone here to make me. Except for you.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking for-”

“Oh, but I do.” You grin at him as your soft muslin petticoat flutters to the ground, and you stand before him in nothing but your undergarments. Stocking-clad legs disappear beneath your linen chemise, your stays pushing your breasts up and over your neckline with each passing breath. You watch Steve’s eyes predictably fall to them, wide with hunger. “Tick tock, Mr. Harrington. We have two hours, and I can’t undo these stays by mysel- OOMF-”

The wind knocks out of your lungs as you fall back onto the damp earth, pinned beneath an enormous body and held tight by sharp claws. You instinctively wriggle beneath him, but Steve’s large hands hold yours fast against the ground over your head.

A whimper leaves your throat, echoing the ones he’d been hearing all along from just beyond your door. You stare up into his eyes and they’re dark, no longer glowing but eclipsed by black pupils that seem to grow bigger as he watches you squirm beneath him. His face is so close, his breath tickles your skin, and you try to hold still even though every muscle in your body is screaming at you to roll your hips up into his.

“You are such. A fucking. Brat. You- you don’t know how much I have to hold myself back with you. If I don’t, I’ll destroy you. Do you understand?” His voice is at such a low register that it practically rumbles from his chest directly into yours, vibrating in your ribs. Your heart pounds, your thighs clamping down tight on either side of his hips because you don’t want him to move away. “I’m sworn to protect you. I’m trying to do the right thing.”

Between your legs, your muscles tense and release like they’re searching for something to grip onto. “So protect me,” you whisper. “Do us both a favor. Don’t let me go to him. Make me yours.”

He shakes his head, and his nose bumps against yours. “That wouldn’t be protecting you. They’d kill us.”

“Not if we’re already dead. They’ll never find us, they’ll think we died in the crash, or- or…” Frustrated, your hips squirm up against his, and he hisses when you brush the tent in his trousers. “Be selfish for once. Do what you will to me, Steve. Damn it, I want you to…”

You trail off, because Steve is already dipping his head to breathe in your scent, just along your pulse point. A gasp hitches in your throat as he moves downward, his lips dragging gently over the soft skin. The vibration of your moan rumbles against his mouth.

“This… this is a bad idea,” he mumbles, but his mind is already going fuzzy, reason becoming harder to grasp while instinct and desire takes over. He can feel himself drooling onto your skin. Your heaving chest becomes wet with his saliva the longer he lingers over it, mesmerized by the feel of your warmth on his lips.

“Do it. Take me, Steve,” you whine, lifting your leg until the linen of your chemise falls back to reveal soft skin, your inner thigh brushing his hip. “I want you. Please. Please, please.”

The scent of your arousal fills the air, earthy and sweet, and Steve’s will flounders and dissipates. There’s nothing that can stop him now. He’s done for. He sinks his claws into the quilting and linen at your chest, and he rips through your stays without warning.

A rush of breath fills your lungs at the sudden jolt of your stays snapping apart, and turns into a weak noise the moment his wet mouth closes over your exposed nipple. The warm summer night air hangs humid around you, making your skin stickier, sweatier. Steve inhales the natural perfume of your body, more powerful of an aphrodisiac than he’s ever experienced.

“You’re so soft,” Steve croons when you mewl at the scratch of his pointed canines. “My sweet girl, never had anyone kiss you like this, have you?”

“N-no, Steve.” You choke on your breath, your eyes rolling back in your skull as his large hand cups your breast and his claws prick at your skin. The pain and pleasure combine into an entirely new, indescribable feeling that swells beneath your ribs. “Only you.”

His tongue drags over your chest, tasting, savoring the exposed flesh that no one else has dared to touch. The feeling is warm and sweet, melted gold that drips through your skin down to the bone. “Is this what you wanted?”

“I- yes.” You give a muffled mewl in return when he sinks his teeth in, leaving an indent over your heart in the shape of his mouth. “God- you have such sharp teeth.”

“All the better to eat you with,” Steve rasps in reply, his breath fanning over your damp skin and making you struggle against his hold. He releases your wrists, claws digging into the earth instead as he moves down your body. “Always make such pretty sounds f’me- you don’t have to hide them now, you know. I want to hear them. Wanna hear what I do to you.”

Your hands lift to sink into his hair. Feather-soft locks spill over your knuckles, and it’s so tempting to just grab them and pull when he bites again, like he might try to leave a permanent mark there on your ribs for you to come back to later. You don’t think you’d mind it if he did. A possessive part of you wants him to leave his mark on you, so that no one else can doubt who you belong to.

Your hips lurch up to collide with his stomach. There’s nothing there to give you the friction you want, just a solid, hot body that in itself is an entirely new and erotic experience for you. If he notices how flustered it makes you, he doesn’t show it. He just keeps mouthing over your skin, your ribs and your stomach tenderized with love bites that ache the longer he lingers on them.

“I wanted this, too,” Steve says now, while his hands drift over the plane of your stomach and grab the tattered scraps of your clothes to rip them further. A perfect line splits down the weave of the fabric until you’re laid entirely bare before him. “You’ve no idea- whenever I hear you, whenever you taunt me. Want to tear you apart.”

His nose dips over your navel, down to the matted curls that he’s dreamed of, shrouding your sex and wet with your arousal. He breathes in deep. His mind is unable to sort through the waves of desire spinning through it, washing over him in burning rivulets that coalesce deep in his core.

Spit dribbles from his parted lips down to the folds of your pussy, making you flinch as the hot liquid drips across your sensitive flesh. Your hips buck, your cunt pulsing hotly in earnest for him to touch you, but he won’t. Or, he hasn’t. He’s lingering there with his nose pressed to your pubic bone, breathing in long, deep gulps of air that rattle in his throat. Pheromones and sex filling his lungs, clouding his mind.

“What’re you- oh.” Your lashes flutter as he nuzzles his head against your stomach, and slowly drags his cheek over your pelvis, your hip, your thigh. He nudges the top of your stockings with his nose, pulling the fabric back to reach more of your skin. You don’t even think he’s paying attention to the effect that it has on you. He’s somewhere else, lost in his own world as he marks you with his scent. Your cheeks burn at the thought.

“You’re mine now. Mine,” Steve states roughly, nipping at your inner thigh with his teeth as he echoes your dreams of him- the ones you’re sure he couldn’t know, unless being a lycanthrope also constitutes being a psychic. It makes you shudder. “You belong to me, yeah? It’s just you and me from now on. You and me.”

“Yours, Steve,” you repeat, and it makes your head spin. Your fingers sift through his hair, your bloodstained hands mirroring his own against your thighs in the dark. “I’ve always been yours.”

The warm brush of his tongue between your legs is enough to make you jump. Your moan sounds too loud, even to your own ears- so many nights you spent quietly whimpering into your own palm, and now you can’t be bothered to quiet the howl that breaks out of your throat. He takes to your cunt with long, wide strokes that practically burn with their heat.

“Oh- oh, Stevie, I-” you gasp when he growls against you, the vibration shocking you like lightning. “That’s so good.”

Some things you simply can’t replicate with your fingers, and the feeling of Steve’s mouth on you is one of them. He’s messy, drenching you in his saliva, and he’s wild, his tongue broad enough to somehow reach every bit of you.

You open your eyes long enough to glimpse his, and they’re black as the night around you, seeming to get darker the further he indulges his impulses. He squints, as though he’s teasing you, daring you to do something to make him stop.

“Don’t stop,” you whimper softly, letting your head fall back onto the damp earth.

It’s sinful, this feeling of flesh on flesh that should never rightfully meet. Everything is swollen and wet, relaxed and yet drawn so tight you could snap apart. Steve’s enormous hands grip into the fat at the top of your thighs, holding you apart no matter how much your legs try to close around his head. The wool of your stockings scrape blindly along his back when your feet kick and squirm, your calves thrown over his broad shoulders.

His tongue touches your clit, and you jolt. He hadn’t really been focusing on it, more interested in getting as much of your taste in his mouth as possible. But now he zeroes in on it, his tongue going hard and then soft, lapping over it in a soft back-and-forth. You chase him with your hips, riding his tongue and adding an extra layer of pleasure to what’s overloading your mind.

And there’s nothing in his head but primal lust, and the strength to take what he pleases. He wants everything that you can give. But Steve knows, back in the recesses of his mind where his morality has retreated to, that he’s still holding himself back. That he’s madly in love with you, so even the most animalistic part of him wants to taste every part of you, stake a claim to you, even if it means he has to take his time.

So, he licks long and slow through your folds, and you keen up towards the stars because nothing in this world feels quite like it. And it’s the most wretched and awful thing, the pride that swells in his chest when you cum, with your back arched and loud cries falling from your lips. Cries of Steve’s name.

You taste like heaven. He’d stay between your legs for eternity just to have you on his tongue. He comes up panting, mumbling praises that can hardly be made out over the purring in his throat.

“God, you’re lovely,” he says, climbing up your body and marking it with his dripping mouth. Steve aches for you- it’s not enough, not even close to what he wants to do to you. “So agreeable for me. Sweet little lamb. I’m going to fucking ruin you.”

A feeble whimper catches in your throat while your nails scratch at the fabric against his shoulders. Here you lay, completely naked for him, and he hasn’t even removed the tattered remains of his blouse. You don’t have it in you to ask him to, you just tear at the thin linen like it’ll magically disappear on its own.

He dips his head and lets you grip it in your fists, pulling the torn garment off so you can throw it as far away as you can. Steve’s skin burns to the touch, his freckled shoulders searing your fingers when you grab for him. The pelt of hair on his chest tickles your stomach, and you instinctively press further into him, wrapping your arms around his torso when his mouth reaches your throat.

You cling to him, shaking like a leaf. He warms you better than any fire could, laying his weight upon you. Your hands creep lower, stroking down the length of his spine to feel him shudder, his teeth grazing your pulse. He groans when your fingers dance across his lower back and beneath the waist of his trousers.

“Ohhhh god, I wanna do everything with you. Please.” You plant kisses along the side of his face, “God, I’m in love with you. I’m so in love with you, Steve, I-”

Steve turns his head and catches your lips with his, his tongue dipping into your mouth to taste you there, too. It’s a slow kiss, sensual, tender rather than fiery and rabid. You chase him when he pulls back to say, “I’m in love with you too, sweet girl. I’ll give you what you want.”

“I’m tired of waiting, Stevie,” you urge him gently, coaxing his trousers down over the curve of his ass. He snarls when you squeeze at the exposed flesh, his hips snapping forward to ram blindly into yours, his teeth nipping at your jaw. You’re becoming accustomed to the feeling of them on your skin. It delights you. “Let me have you or let me die, but do it now.”

Steve rears back, his bright white grin flashing in the moonlight. He stares you down with big eyes, glowing like cinders while he undresses himself indelicately- he tears through the buttons at his waist, rather than taking the time to undo them properly. Your eyes trace the stripe of hair running down the middle of his stomach, widening into the unruly patch that surrounds his cock.

A moment’s hesitation strikes into your limbs; you don’t see how it could possibly fit inside you. Steve is big all over, and you don’t know if it’s just a trick of the magic on this night or if he’s always like this, a permanent reflection of the beast within him. But his cock curves up toward his navel, thicker at the base than anywhere else, glistening velvety flesh appearing incredibly massive in the dark and blue moonglow. In spite of everything, your cunt pulses. Your body knows better than you, now.

You widen your legs for him.

You satisfy yourself that your work is done, it’ll take no more well-placed temptation and pleading to get him to use you how he wants- how you both want. Maybe in the morning he’ll regret it, when he has the mind to be a gentleman again, but you know with a thrill in the pit of your stomach that you won’t.

Steve’s clawed hands dig selfishly into your thighs, the points of them breaking the skin, and you yelp as he yanks you into his lap. Bent backwards over the thick, hairy expanses of his own thighs, your shoulders crush dead leaves on the ground.

“Feel that, sweet thing?” He asks, his voice resonating deep in his chest as the length of his cock drags heavily through your folds, the same path that his tongue had taken. You feel your pussy lips part around him. His cock gathers up the slickness of your arousal, his swollen head catching on your clit as he does. The lewd, sticky noise of it has your blood rushing hot beneath your skin. Your cunt pulses in warning, like you might cum just from this.

He hums deep within his chest. “Such a good girl, so wet for me. So desperate for my cock.”

The stretch sears when he enters you. You thrash in his hold, your hands clawing at the damp soil beneath you, but all you do is push him further in. Beyond the fullness, the pulsating ache and the pain of the intrusion, he hits something deep within you that makes you cry out, your muscles locking down tight around him.

“There you go, that’s it,” Steve coos, but there’s nothing gentle in his voice. He doesn’t know how to be sweet anymore. He rocks back and then pulls you down against his hips again, making you repeat that same feral cry. “Now you know how it feels to have a monster inside you.”

You don’t know how many minutes he spends there, just taking in your warmth and your wetness, tighter than sin as he rolls his hips. The sting soon fades into an aching pleasure that has you relishing the slow drag of his cock as it slides out of you and back in. It meets its end with the flush press of his hip bones to yours.

There’s a deep roiling in your gut that makes you keen loudly into the night, the sounds coming from your mouth entirely less than human. You find yourself meeting his thrusts with a desperate rock of your own hips, chasing that stirring within you.

“S-stevie-” you whine, your muddy hand reaching forward and clamping around his hairy forearm as he rolls his cock into you with a wild growl. You don’t really know what you were about to say- all rational thought escapes you when he picks up speed.

Steve chuckles above you, his dark eyes raptly watching your face as you lose more of your composure. He watches your jaw go slack, your brows tilted up in quiet desperation. Even if you can’t articulate it, he knows. “Feeling good, sweetheart?”

Your body feels like it’s on fire and he’s no better, scorching you from the inside out. Each push of his cock hits sharp heaven inside you, something you didn’t even know was possible and yet you craved it all the same.

“Mmm- I know you do,” he purrs, far too soft and quiet for the way that he’s fucking you, hard and fast, jolting you across the ground. He runs his nails slowly across your sensitive skin, letting your nipples catch on them with just enough pressure to make you squeal.

You gasp when he snatches you by the waist and yanks you up into his lap in one easy move. A loud moan punches from your lungs when he sits you fully down onto his cock. You take all of it at once, every last pulsating inch, while his mouth hovers a hair’s breadth away from yours.

Steve groans when he kisses you, soft lips to offset his sharp teeth, his strong arms pulling you against his body. The hair on his chest scrapes against your sensitive nipples, making you whimper into his mouth.

Your hands settle onto his shoulders, squeezing the hard muscle when you instinctively rock your hips against his. On shaky legs, you pick yourself up and roll your hips back down, delighting in the deep growl that comes from his chest.

“There you go- such a good fucking girl, ridin’ me like that.” A wide grin splits his handsome face as he guides you against him, his hands draped over your ass to drag you closer. “Just can’t help yourself, can you? Just wanna be full of me, is that it?”

Beyond able to answer him properly, you just nod. Your cunt throbs, tightening around him as you try to draw back- he groans so pretty, you slam yourself down onto him in desperation.

“FUCK!” He snarls rabidly, gripping you by the back of the neck. Steve gives in, jerking his hips to fuck up into you as hard as he can. Your head drops back, cradled by the curve of his forefinger and thumb as you cry out into the trees. His mouth finds your throat, bitten raw but still so pristine- more than the beast in him likes it to be.

He sucks hard on your pulse point, and you clamp down around his cock even harder. There’s a resounding wet noise kicking up from where you meet, loud and slick as it echoes between your sweaty bodies. With a broken noise in your throat, your weak hands squeeze at his shoulders for something to stabilize yourself with.

“Baby,” he warns, “you’re gonna make me cum if you keep-”

“I want it.” You don’t even let him finish his sentence, you’re so worked up. Your hips keep moving, desperately chasing your release even when his hands are tightening on you so hard they make you whine. “Give it to me, Stevie, please.”

You two create a vicious cycle- the harder you bring yourself down on him, the harder and faster he fucks up into you in retaliation. Your orgasm is so close that you can practically taste it. You don’t know which one of you is going to break first, but you know it’ll be devastating.

“M’gonna give it to you- shit- gonna fill this pretty pussy, you’ll be dripping my cum for days.” He curses furiously, a loud moan cutting from his lungs. His hair hangs over his eyes as he stares up into your face. A muscle in his jaw jumps. “Gonna fuck you so full of my kids, you’ll be so round- gonna give you my babies-”

You sob his name, drowning between the legs as your pussy clenches down around him. God, you don’t want it to end, but you can already feel it rearing up within you. You have to bite your lip against that simmering, violent ecstasy that’s welling up deep inside of you. His forehead drops to your shoulder.

“Fffffuck- M’gonna make you mine,” he pants into your skin again, his tongue laving across your pulse. This time, there’s an added weight to his words. “Want that, hm? Wanna be with me forever? Just like me?”

“Yes, Steve,” you cry, clinging onto him as you grind down on his cock, searing pleasure kicking up inside you at the thought. Your pussy pulses, and you give him a garbled noise of warning.

He nuzzles your jaw, and kisses you so sweetly beneath your ear that you think you imagine it. “It’ll hurt. Just for a minute. And then we can be together…”

Then, two things happen at once. Steve’s teeth sink into your shoulder hard, harder than he has yet. And that mounting ecstasy unleashes all its fury within you.

You cum screaming, from the pleasure tearing through you, and the pain only seeming to build into it- wild, animalistic sounds coming from your own throat. Your blood is in Steve’s mouth, your flesh torn against his teeth. He’s released something into your body that writhes and squirms, just below the surface. Just like what lives in him.

You claw at his back- your nails aren’t nearly as sharp as his, but you still manage to raise welts as your spasming cunt drenches his cock. It burns you alive. It eats away at you until there’s nothing left of you or your soul- just the feeble part of your brain that loves and feels him.

There’s a swelling deep within you, an anguished cry against your torn skin that you hardly register as his before you feel him cum, his cock pulsing hard within you. Steve presses up into you, slow and easy, holding you there against his hips with all the strength in his adrenaline pumped body.

Your head is spinning. You feel dizzy, and even then you can tell when you’re stuffed to the brim, the swelling becoming an overwhelming stretch again. You whimper into his neck, hoping that the inquisitive noise will convey your question, because you don’t trust yourself to be able to come up with the words to articulate it.

“Fuck- this is going to take a minute-” he groans when you squirm, his hands trying to hold you still. “It’s- it’s meant to keep you there- keep my cum in you.”

You harumph against his skin, your eyes rolling back into your head. You’re still twitching, still pulsing from the aftershocks of your orgasm. Even though the swelling of the knot at the base of his cock is bordering on overstimulating, you relish the closeness that it forces you to have with him now. That he has to stay here, inside you. That he has to hold you for a while, as his body readjusts to normalcy.

As you accept that there’s no going back now.

“I want to say that I’m sorry,” Steve murmurs, his voice rough and gravelly, still fussing over the bite on your shoulder. He runs his tongue over it- not necessarily trying to be erotic, but you think anything he does to your body comes off that way now. “But I wouldn’t mean it if I did.”

You hiss a little as the wound stings. “I’m not sorry.”

“You can’t get married to the Duke now, you know.” Steve pauses. “And, I suppose you can’t go back to your family either, so… I think it’s time you meet mine. Now that we’re mated.”

That makes you smile, a half-giggle falling from your lips. That’s probably as close to a proposal of marriage as you could hope for, right now. Your eyes fall shut, the slow stroking of his tongue over your wound and the strong heat of his body lulling you. “Am I gonna turn tonight?”

“No.” He shakes his head, nuzzling his nose against your neck. “Next month. It has to take, first. Get into your veins, make you suffer. Just the good stuff.”

“But you…”

“I’ve got an hour,” he says, and you feel him tilt his head up toward the sky.

You hum sleepily, letting yourself relax in his arms. They’re covered in more hair than they had been before- pretty much all of him is. Wherever it grows, it’s getting thicker and denser the closer it gets to midnight. “Stay with me.”

“I’ll be here,” Steve assures you, soothing your skin with kisses. “I’ll always be here. Forever.”

Things lose their clarity, your surroundings slowly slip away with your consciousness. You fall asleep against him, soothed by his warmth and the pace of his breath on your neck.

At some point, well after midnight, you rouse sleepily to find yourself curled up on a heap of torn clothes, between the paws of an enormous, brown-haired wolf.

You wake in the morning at the impact of a pile of cloth hitting you squarely in the chest.

You startle, coming up with a screech. Steve’s arm is around you- strong, muscular, and a lot less covered in hair than it had been the last time you’d seen it. He makes an inquisitive noise and sits up, naked as the day he was born, with leaves sticking out of his hair. He resembles Shakespeare’s Puck- streaked with dirt and grime, a bit of blood still matted in his chest hair, but the morning sun creates a golden halo around his head.

“Morning, lovebirds.”

You don’t know what comes over you at the sound of the strange man’s voice, but you scramble so quickly that you practically barrel roll over Steve’s body. He grunts and moves to grab you, but you’re already plopping down on the other side of him and using his body as a shield.

Steve blinks hard against the white light of morning, and squints at the strange man who had thrown a stack of folded clothes at you. “Eddie?”

“In the flesh.” The man stands proudly, clad in a mishmash of old and new, very new, clothes. His dark hair hangs loose and unkempt around his face, which smiles prettily at Steve with a pair of enormous, pointed canines.

“What’re you doing here?”

Eddie snorts. “Did you somehow forget that we turn in these woods, too?” He shakes his head, tutting condescendingly. “Stevie boy, you’ve been away from home for too long.”

“No, I-” Steve stops. “Where’s Robin?”

“Still getting dressed. Which you should do, too. Glad I’m the one who found you, there’s some kind of uproar about the Duke of Hargrove’s lady-love going missing, and- oh. Wait.” Eddie crouches, his eyes peering over Steve’s shoulder at you. He grins in a way that tells you he already knows the answer when he asks, “That couldn’t have been you, could it?”

“Eddie, watch it,” Steve growls territorially, throwing his hand backwards as if to shield you further from him.

The man- Eddie- chuckles, and stands. “Well, I figured you’d want to introduce us. Seeing as how that pretty mark on her shoulder tells me she’s, ah…” he twirls his finger, clad in a large, silver ring in the air, “a part of the pack, now.”

Steve huffs a sigh, and lifts his hand. “My lady, allow me to introduce you to Edward Munson.” Eddie bows dramatically, smirking at you as Steve says, “He’s a member of my family.”

“The best member.”

“Debatable.”

“Wait-” you start, sitting up further, your gaze still trained on Eddie’s hand, and the ring he wears. “Is that… Miss Fontaine’s ring?”

Eddie pauses. “Oh, was that your carriage back there?”

Steve snarls, moving to jump up. You yank him back into place to shield your naked body as he growls, “Eddie I’m going to fucking kill you-”

You’re not that far ahead yet. “Does that mean the thing about silver killing us is an old wive’s tale, too?”

Eddie and Steve both pause, and look at you blankly. Then, Eddie laughs- a bone-deep, guttural laugh that sounds like a wolf’s howl.

“Better watch out, Harrington, she’s way quicker on the uptake than you were,” he chuckles. “She’s gonna fit right in.”

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #werewolf!steve harrington #stranger things #steve harrington fanfic #roses*

91 notes · View notes

theocddiaries · 1 day ago

Text

Sonic: There's someone at school who's making Tails' life miserable. Shadow: What happened? Sonic: I don't know; he won't tell me. But he's more anxious than I've seen him in a long time. Can you take him to class today, please? Shadow: Why me??? Sonic: Because if I go, I'll lose it. You know me. I don't want to make it worse for him. Shadow: Yeah, you’re right. When that kid's involved, you can’t control yourself… Sonic: Exactly. So, you take him to school today? Shadow: But the kid hates me. Sonic: Please, Shads, it’s just dropping him off and leaving. It’s not that hard. --- Tails: I’m late for class. Shadow: …I know. I can read the time. Tails: Doesn’t look like it, because I’m late for class. Shadow [takes a slow breath]: Alright, I’m sorry, okay? Tails: At least you could write me an excuse. That’s what Sonic does. Shadow: Then you should’ve asked him before I had to drag you out of the house before we would be even more late. Principal: Well, look who’s late. Are you his brother? Tails: Ew, no. Shadow: No, no-- Principal: Honestly, I’m not surprised you’re denying it. Shadow: No, I'm no denying anything, he's really not-- Principal: I’d deny it too, seeing how the kid turned out. All he does is disrupt class and waste his classmates’ time. But what can you expect from a child who was basically feral until he was four? I imagine he’s driving you crazy at home too. [grabs Tails by the hand]: Off to class now-- Shadow [steps in front of them, blocking the way]: No, no. Excuse me, what did you just say about the kid? You know what, instead of going to class, why don’t we go see the principal and get their opinion on your teaching methods? Tails [whispers]: She is the principal. Shadow: Oh… Well, then I’ll say it to your face. Do you think it’s appropriate to insult your students? He’s just a kid. If your self-esteem is so low that you’re personally offended by him being smarter than you and everyone else in this dump of a building, then go to therapy. Don’t give him a complex. The reason we’re late is because you’ve got him so terrified and anxious that he barely wants to come here anymore. Got it? Shadow [grabs Tails by the hand and pulls him close, then picks him up]: And just so you know, if this kid wants to be an aerospace engineer, a mechanical physicist, or invent a whole new career, he’ll do it. Because my brother has the brains for that and more. [walks to the door]. Tails: You know what I want to be when I grow up??? Shadow: Of course I do; you talk about it all the time. Tails: And you called me your brother? Shadow: …Do you want to talk about that or go get some ice cream? Tails: Ice cream. [A while later, they return home] Sonic: Why are you back so early? Tails: Shadow got into it with the principal. Sonic: What? Shadow: I’ll explain later… If the school doesn’t call you to explain first. Sonic: What happened??? Tails: We left after Shadow told her off and left her speechless. It was awesome. [tugs on Sonic’s arm to bring him down to his level]: Can you date Shadow forever, please?? Shadow: That depends on how he takes the fact that I got you kicked out of school. Sonic: You got kicked out?? Tails: In his defense, we walked out. Sonic: Okay, um… Hey, why don’t you go check on the food in the kitchen, and you’ll tell me about it later? Tails [nods and leaves] Sonic [smirking]: So I’m the one who can’t keep it together when the kid’s involved? Shadow: …Shut up.

Part 1

#incorrect quotes #sonic the hedgehog #sth #sonic #shadow the hedgehog #sonadow #tails the fox #miles tails prower #tails and shadow #tails and sonic

126 notes · View notes

twst-drabbles · 2 days ago

Text

Jade and Jamil 1

Summary: You wake up to the scent of food and go to the dining room. A feast awaits you, but it was made by the hands of Jade and Jamil, who broke into your dorm that you know you've locked up tight.

(Ugh, the writing slump is powerful during the winter... Anyways, have this yandere piece. It's rather tame compared to the other's I've wrote, so no warnings to be had beyond the general trespassing and all that.)

Jade's food tickles the curious part of you, the one that tends to indulge in morbid ideas and sights. Jamil, on the other hand, strikes right at the heart of comfort, with food made to take hold of your longing for home with their rich and familiar scents.

Unfortunately, when these different styles of dishes have been stuffed onto your table, it created a sickening experience. The clash of scents and colors kind of ruined your rather lax morning.

You didn't even let Jade and Jamil in here in the first place. You just wanted to sleep in until noon, get a small snack or something before going right back to bed until it was shower time.

"Why," you wanted to lift your shirt over your nose, "are you here? I didn't invite any of you."

"Ah, well, my apologizes for that," Jade took the initiative, as he was the only one not distracted with perfectly arranging the dishes on the table, "I've heard tell from a ghost or two that you haven't been eating as well as you could have. And since I know you to laze about well past the point of starvation, I've decided to let myself in and make a little something for you," he presented his side of the table, mushroom and fish dishes aplenty, all clearly experimental in nature, "all I ask in return is your enjoyment."

You more than suspect that half of these dishes are from his childhood. Much of it was raw, and those that are cooked were probably heated by a volcanic vent. You're more than sure that Jade has recipes that resemble the food on land but intentionally chose not to use them. Either way, it's a tossup as to whether it will agree with you or not, though there is not doubt that it would be an interesting flavor.

"Don't listen to him, I saw him pick the lock on the front door," Jamil, clearly irritated by Jade's audacity, popped his head from out the kitchen with utensils at hand, "Though I do have to agree with your eating habits. I know you skip breakfast and lately you've been passing up on lunch as well. If the problem is the food, then I'm more than sure I can solve that problem."

While Jade and Jamil didn't make eye contact with one another, the tension in their bodies was very clear to your eyes. And while the food in front of you was calling to you to pounce on it, you turned towards Jade and Jamil.

"Get out." There's no way you're eating in front of them.

Jade's spine stiffened and Jamil nearly tripped over air. But, as per usual, they were both quick to recover as if nothing happened at all.

Jade placed a hand on his chest, eyes thinning to a glare at Jamil. "Ah, I understand. Do you want me to escort Jamil out, then?"

Jamil gave a single laugh and returned that glare with a well mannered stare. "I'm very sure the Prefect meant you. You were the one that picked that lock, after all. I'm here to make sure you don't do anything funny."

Of course, of course. Meander about, pretend to mishear your words until you give up and let one of them stay, hoping that you learn not to bother.

Ugh. You're in a bad mood now.

"Out, both of you." You turn your back on the food and pulled out your phone. You went to the collective group chat that only continued to get bigger and bigger as time went on.

In it, you left a message: I have a literal feast in my dorm right now. Anyone want to eat it?

Jamil's and Jade's phone dinged. They pulled them out, and both pulled a collective frown. That made you smile.

And, of course, over half of your buddies replied positively to the news, and sent back that they're coming right away.

Jade snapped his phone in half, making your organs jump. Jamil had the composure to not do that, but he did stuff it into his pocket with a hiss of a sigh.

"…well then, I'll see you both later." Jamil dismissed himself first.

Jade didn't say a word, merely tightly smiling as he followed behind Jamil.

The door closed, and you breathed a sigh at the lighter atmosphere.

"Well, time for a snack." Something is better than nothing.

#twst #twisted wonderland #drabble #twst-drabbles #ask #octavinelle #jade #jade leech #scarabia #jamil #jamil viper #reader insert #yandere #unindexed

67 notes · View notes

hexxedghost · 3 days ago

Text

GhostSoap Sickfic Thread

Another crosspost from bluesky, hopefully this will help me get out of the writing funk I've been in. Please enjoy~

They’d made good time, the travel had been mostly silent, aside from the fog of their breaths clouding the air and the scattering crunch of snow beneath their feet. It’d been a straight forward mission, sniper duo set up. It had been a lot of waiting, but they’d had a clean hit on the target and a cleaner getaway.

Their vehicle slid for a second, the ground beneath the tyres thick with icy mud. The cold was seeping in, to the car, the heavy snowfall had shifted to sleet lashing against the windows with that harsh rasp of quickly melting ice tossed in rainwater. Soap leans forward, squinting out the window, while Ghost tries to keep them on the excuse of a dirt road they’re driving on.

They had a safehouse to take shelter in while they waited for updates from Price on their extraction. It wasn’t far at least, and the heavy rain would cover their tracks well. Still a pain in the bollocks to drive in.

“I see it.” Soap says, pointing through the windscreen. There’s a vague shape, a shadow larger than the surrounding trees. Ghost cuts the wheel in that direction, cruising as the gears grind when he shifts.

“Told you I shoulda driven.” Soap says, grin widening when Ghost glares at him.

“Enough outta you,” he mutters, as the car awkwardly slides and he pulls the handbrake.

He hops out the car, grinning to himself as Soap lets out a quiet shriek as the freezing rain hits him.

“Cold, Johnny?” he asks over his shoulder, not bothering to hide the smugness in his voice.

“Aye, we’re no’ all wearin hoodies are we?” Soap grumbles back. “Fuckin’ prick.”

He can hear the squelch of boots behind him and knows Soap’s following him.

It’s not far, but they still end up drenched by the time Ghost is opening up the door, shoving inside and leaving puddles in the entryway. He moves further inside, quickly checking corners before radioing Price that they’ve arrived. Soap is clattering around somewhere, mumbling to himself as he fiddles with the heating. Price tells them to hang tight for a bit, he’ll keep them updated. Ghost radios back to affirm, taking stock of the hideout. It was well provisioned, enough supplies for at least a few weeks if it came to that.

There’s a loud curse from the other room. Not panicked, frustrated. He finds Soap crouched in front of the heater.

“It’s working, there’s no much heat from it though.” Soap says, looking up at Ghost from his spot on the floor.

“Better than nowt.” Ghost shrugs, nudging open the door to the bedroom. He wants to get out of these wet clothes. His mask is damp as it sits across his skin, every inhale choking as the fabric clings to his nose and mouth. And his hoodie hadn’t fared much better under his tac-gear.

Soap sticks his head around the door. “Do they anything in big bastard size?”

Ghost pelts a shirt at his face, the bastard just cackles. What’s worse, is that Soap’s right. Most of the clothes would fit Soap, but Ghost would be hard pressed to manage any of the shirts without ripping them.

“Fucksake.” he closes the drawer. He doesn’t have a spare mask on him, and he doesn’t really relish the idea of stripping down to his skivvies if they end up having to leave in a few hours. He tugs his mask away from his mouth and nose at least, finally taking a breath that didn’t feel like it left water in his lungs.

He tugs off the tac-vest and the hoodie at least, draping it over the back of a chair in the hopes of it drying out. Soap’s rattled through some cupboards and thrown…something into a pot to heat up.

“Get us a cuppa, will ya?” Ghost calls out, holding his hands out near the heater after pulling his gloves off with his teeth. His circulation was shit, leaving his hands and feet vulnerable to the cold. Soap’s complaining in the kitchen, rambling on, but he presses a hot mug into Ghost’s hands not too long afterwards.

He holds it between his palms, letting the heat leech in and return some feeling to his fingers.

“Ta.” he mumbles into the cup as he takes a sip. The tea’s shit, Soap’s always is, but at least it’s warm. Soap holds out the saucepan of food, the spoon sliding against the metal with the motion. It’s edible, though Ghost couldn’t really say anything more about it, just mechanically chewing and swallowing without bothering to taste it.

His skin still feels clammy. When Soap’s shoulder bumps against him, it nearly burns, heat radiating off the Scot. He always ran hot, but not this hot. Soap’s flicked on the TV, and is chattering away, Ghost lets the words wash over him, keeping his ears honed for a crackle from their radios but settling into a hazy state as he stares blankly at the screen. At some point, his eyelids grow heavy.

Soap looks to his right, words trailing off as he sees Ghost has fallen asleep, elbows resting on his knees. Isn’t the strangest position any of them have slept in, fuck, he’s seen Price sleep standing in the heli before.

But it was odd for Ghost to sleep without sorting watch first. As his arm brushes against Ghost’s he frowns. The skin felt damp, and clammy. The water must have soaked through his gear faster than he’d thought. Soap mulls that thought over as he gets to his feet, and gently moves the big bastard so he’s lying down at least.

It’s always a delicate exercise, attempting to move Ghost in his sleep. Partly the sheer weight of him, but also his tendency to lash out if you jolted him awake. They’d worked enough ops together that Soap’s an old hand at it now, managing to settle Ghost into the couch without incident.

Guess he’s got first watch then. He gathers up the leftovers and dumps them in the fridge that buzzes in the corner of the yellowed kitchen. Most of the house is still dim, they’d not wanted too many lights in case anyone had managed to track them. He sets up by the window, debating opening it before looking at the near horizontal rain outside. Fuck it. He lights up a smoke, snagging an old can for an ashtray and watches in the sleeted gloom for anything that might cause alarm. But there’s nothing. Just this tiny corner of dry amongst the sodden hills.

Ghost stirs a few hours later, sitting up and blinking around blearily.

“Left me to fend for us then, LT. You must have been shattered.” Soap says brightly from his perch by the window. Ghost seems to frown at him before nodding, sluggish. Soap frowns himself. “You weren’t injured, were ye?” he asks, getting a shake of the head and a muttered grumble in response. Still, he seems pretty out of it. Maybe he’d just hit the wall, happened sometimes, adrenaline fading to leave you feeling wrung out like a crumbled paper bag.

“Go sleep some more. Reckon we’re in the clear, still phishing it doon.” Soap gestures to the window, where the rain is falling in angry sheets, slapping against the window. There’s no argument, just the creak of the couch as Ghost heaves himself to his feet. His steps sound unsteady as he stumbles towards the door, bumping into the doorway.

“Yer awake, aren’t ye? No’ sleepwalking?” Soap teases, but there’s a prickle of unease. It’s out of character for Ghost. Even if they were taking shelter in a safehouse, Ghost didn’t really let that steely awareness drop until they’d been back on base for a day or two. There’s no response, just a dull thud of a body hitting a mattress and soft groan.

Soap cuts his eyes back to the window, but keeps his ears sharp, just in case. Something about it doesn’t sit right with him.

After a few more hours, Soap decides to catch a nap on the couch now that it’s free. The rain still hasn’t let up, and he can see deep troughs of water going by the house. The valley below them was probably flooding at this rate. At least they wouldn’t have to worry about hostiles finding them.

He radios Price to update him, jaw cracking with a yawn as he does so. Price tells them to sit tight, as long as they held here, they’d be fine. All else fails, they’d have Nikolai do a flyby to extract them when the skies cleared.

There’s a loud thud somewhere in the house that has adrenaline course through him, eyes sharp and hands immediately grabbing for a weapon. Silently padding down the hallway, he pauses at the bathroom door.

“Ghost?” he calls quietly. There’s another thud, but he can hear the familiar rasp behind the door, though the words are unintelligible. The handle is cool under his palm as he twists it, peeking his head around the door. “Fuck, ye alright?” he slips inside, kneeling beside Ghost where he’s splayed on the ground. Ghost is still mumbling something, but he can’t make any of it out.

“Alright, let’s get ye up, aye?” he gets his arms under Ghost’s and manages to get him sitting up. Ghost still feels damp, even through the undershirt he’s got on. It’s got that odd sort of bodywarm feeling that tells Soap it’s not water but sweat.

He crouches in front of him, and Ghost manages to look at him, eyes still bleary and unfocused.

“S’too hot.” he finally manages to say. Soap nods, tugging at the fabric.

“Let’s get those off ye, aye? Cool down.” he murmurs gently. Ghost scoffs, but it makes a horrible rattling noise.

“Trying to get into my pants, Johnny?” he scoffs, but his voice skips out, throat sounding dry and raspy.

“You wouldn’t know what to do with me in this state, LT.” Soap smiles, but it lacks the usual humour. Ghost seems pretty disorientated, limbs heavy and uncoordinated as he tries to assist in getting the shirt off. As Soap checks him over, it's pretty clear Ghost is sick. His skin feels warm and feverish under the clammy sweat, and his voice is becoming more raspy as he mumbles.

“S’warm.” Ghost says, and without ceremony tugs his mask off, letting his head thump back against the cool tiles.

Soap tries not to stare, pale lashes and freckled skin in his peripheral as he leans over and turns the shower on.

“We’ll get you cooled off.” he says, awkwardly shuffling Ghost around until he’s sat on the tiles in the shower. He keeps the water lukewarm to start, not wanting to shock him with a sudden blast of cold.

There’s a heavy, rattling sigh from Ghost as the water hits him, eyes clenched shut as he curls in on himself. Soap wets a cloth and wipes down some of the sweat still clinging to him, slowly adjusting the water to something more tepid.

“Yer alright, eh?” Soap murmurs, pushing back Ghost’s hair to check his temperature again. It’come down a bit, though Ghost’s eyes are still glassy when they look at him. Soap shuts off the water, grabbing a threadbare towel. The air is still cool, even with the heater on in the living room, and he reckons the chill is what got the poor bastard sick in the first place.

He’s towelling off Ghost’s hair when the bigger man’s forehead thumps against his chest.

“Don’ feel good.” he utters so quietly, Soap nearly misses it. He cards a hand through his hair sympathetically, he was in a bad state the poor sap.

“Let’s get you to bed then, eh Ghost?” he says gently, eyes quickly taking stock of what the bathroom has. There are painkillers, at least, for the fever. There might have been honey in the kitchen cupboards when he was rifling through them.

“Buy us a drink first.” Ghost slurs into his collarbone as he slumps forward. Soap sighs, at this stage Ghost was going to be no help. At least if he was making shitty jokes, he was probably feeling marginally better.

He groans as he manages to wrestle Ghost to his feet, mostly draped over Soap’s back, his feet proving to be unsteady beneath him.

By the time he stumbles to the bedroom, he’s practically carrying Ghost, complaining under his breath while Ghost seems determined to be as useless as possible. The mattress protests with a loud squeak as he tosses Ghost down onto it, catching his breath before returning to the bathroom.

“Take those, and drink that if ye can.” he says, setting the glass and painkillers beside him. It takes a few seconds for the words to register, but at least there are no protests from Ghost.

“What’re you doin’?” Ghost asks, head lolling to the side.

“Helpin ye.” Soap tells him. He’d have to tell Price, in case it got worse. The skin under his palm feels scalding when he checks again, and when Ghost shifts to burrow himself under the blankets, he feels like a bit of a prick when he pries them from tightly clenched fingers.

“S’cold.” Ghost growls, glaring at him.

Soap rolls his eyes with a sigh. “You’ll fuckin cook, Ghost.”

He finds a threadbare sheet that seems light enough as a compromise. Ghost snatches it and curls up under it, sniffing loudly and is asleep again within moments.

Soap snags his comms from the living room, and gets a hold of Price. The rain’s still saturating the area, so they’ll have to bunker down for a while. Though Price does seem concerned when Soap mentions he’s sick.

“Not injured?”

“No, we got away clean. Bad flu or something, think it might be from the rain. We got soaked.” Soap says, going through the cupboards again. There is a lone jar of honey tucked away that he pulls out.

“Alright, take care of him.” Price says, voice crackling.

“As if I wouldn’t.” Soap points out easily, digging out some tea. Given how croaky Ghost had sounded, tea would probably be a good idea when he woke up. Price is quiet for a while, before finally telling him he’d keep Nik on standby, they’d get them once they had a window. Soap frowns to himself, the silence being odd, but shrugs it off. Price was probably just eager to get them back on base.

He checks in on Ghost throughout the rest of the day. For the most part, the man just seems to sleep, dozing and sometimes muttering to himself. Eventually he shakes him awake, food places on the small table beside the bed.

“Ye need to eat something.” he says quietly. Ghost’s eyes are glassy as they stare up at him, blinking slowly.

Soap puts an arm around his shoulders and helps him sit up, passing the bowl of food over once he’s sure Ghost isn’t going to drop it.

“What’re you doin’?” Ghost asks, mumbling around the spoon.

“Takin care of ye, ye dafty.” he slips the back of his hand against Simon’s neck. “Least your temperature’s come down a bit.”

“Why?”

“Painkillers helped, probably. And not letting you cocoon yourself in blankets.” Soap says. The bowls empty, which is a relief, at least Ghost is keeping food down. He sets water and hands painkillers over, nudging Ghost’s hand when he doesn’t take them. Eventually, he looks up and sees Ghost looking at him. His mask is still off, and it’s strange to see him barefaced. The squint to his eyes in familiar but seeing the rest of his face tense with expression is something he can’t help but watch. Though there are heavy bags under his eyes, skin reddened from rubbing at the tacky feeling.

“What?” he asks, he’s been staring too long and distracts himself by pushing Ghost’s hand so he actually takes the next dose of painkillers.

Ghost does, draining most of the water afterwards and coughing to clear his throat.

“Why’re ya taking care of me?” he croaks.

“Cos you need it.” Soap says easily, confusion drawing his brows into a frown. Ghost doesn’t seem to know what to do with that answer, sitting there listlessly until Soap gently tips him onto his side and tells him to go back to sleep.

The next day, he walks into the kitchen and nearly shits himself at seeing the looming figure hunched over the counter.

“Fuckin’ hell Ghost. Nearly made me heart stop.” Soap cries, hand pressing hard against the rapid thump under his ribs. Ghost reaches out with a heavy hand and tries to grab a cup, that slips through his stiff fingers and shatters on the floor.

“Fuck.” it was probably meant to be a shout, but with how swollen Ghost’s throat sounds, it came out a more of a weak rasp.

“Ye could have just said something, ye stupid prick.” he chides, using his heavy boots to kick away most of the shards. He rests a hand on Ghost’s shoulder, but it’s quickly shaken off.

“Gerroff. Can do it myself.” Ghost sounds…well like he’s trying to be angry. It’s coming out closer to grumpy. Still, he’s clearly irritated.

“Shouldn’t have to, though.” Soap says, setting a hip against the counter. He wonders if it’s the weakness that bothers him, or having to rely on other people. Neither are things Ghost tends to allow, out of sheer stubbornness most likely. Soap’s the same when he’s sick, so it’s not like he’ll begrudge him that.

Still, he’s being an idiot.

“Would ye just go and fuckin rest? You’ll make it worse.” he tries, hoping rational thought would win out. It doesn’t.

“Used to takin care of meself. Don’t need your help” Ghost mutters, glaring at the countertop.

“Too bad, you’ve got it anyway.” Soap says, crossing his arms and giving Ghost a look. Soap was the more stubborn of them, quicker to let his temper flare. But when Ghost actually worked up to anger, he was the most infuriating bastard to deal with. Nothing would shift him if he set his mind to something.

“Fucks sake, will ye let me take care of ye, Simon?” he huffs out a breath, frustrated. Ghost ignores him, pushing away from the counter and staggering back towards the bedroom, the door slamming behind him.

Soap throws up his hands. “Fuckin sulk then, ye oversized bairn.” he mutters to himself, staring to clean up the shards that glittered on the floor.

The rain was still pelting down outside. Soap thinks the only reason half the mountain hasn’t slid down with it, is because of the dense forest just above them, old roots tying the earth together tightly.

Ghost had mostly kept to the bedroom, though Soap hadn’t heard movement in a while. As much as it might lead to them snapping at each other, he still knocks and calls out.

“Ye alright?” he waits and, hearing no response, opens the door slightly and peeks around. “Ye dead?” he teases, but doesn’t get a response from that either. There’s a lump of blankets in the middle of the bed, and when he shifts one to peek in, there’s Ghost curled up in a ball.

“Ye still feeling shite?” Soap guesses. Ghost just sniffles miserably in response. Soap rubs his shoulder sympathetically. “Wait here. I’ll get ye something.”

He’s in the kitchen for maybe 10 minutes, using his hip to push the door open. When he looks up, Ghost still hasn’t moved from his huddled position.

“Figured soup would help, for yer throat.” he says casually, placing the bowl down and sitting on the corner of the bed. .

“Hate being sick.” Ghost says to the mattress, voice muffled.

“Aye. Don’t think many people like it.” Soap says, smiling when Ghost glare at him from under his arm. “Reckon you can eat that?”

Ghost doesn’t answer, just sits up and stubborn, grabs the bowl, draining most of it without bothering with the spoon.

“Fuckin goblin. I got ye a spoon and everything.” Soap teases, flicking him in the side when he glares again.

His gaze is drawn to the window, where the rain still pelts down outside. There’d been a few moments of just hazy clouds, but it seems to be going strong.

“Me mam used to make me chicken noodle when I was sick. Cannae eat it anymore now, tastes like snot to me.”

“Charming.” Ghost’s voice echoes back from the bowl.

“Ye don’t have foods like that? Ye eat too much of it when yer sick?” Soap leans back on his elbow, swinging his leg off the edge of the bed.

Ghost shakes his head. “Wouldn't know. Jus’ took care of it meself.”

Oh right. Well now Soap feels like a tit for brining it up. “How ye feeling?”

“Annoyed that you keep asking that,” Ghost shoots back. At least the food seemed to have given him some energy.

“Stop being sick then.” Soap teases, nudging Ghost’s thigh with his elbow, grinning.

“Fuck off,” the words don’t have any heat to them and Soap’s grin just widens, though he lets out a squawk when Ghost shoves him off the bed in retaliation.

“Yer a child, ye know that?” he says, rubbing at where he’d hit his arse on the bed frame on the way down. Ghost gives him the finger from where he’s cocooned himself in blankets again.

“Either way, shove over.” Soap says, motioning with his hands.

Ghost sticks his head out from the blanket, hair tousled and pointing in odd directions. He squints at him. “Wha’?”

“I’m no’ sleeping on the couch again, me backs broke with it.” Soap says, flopping down on the bed. “Ye can keep your naffy blanket, probably more sweat than fabric at this rate.” he kicks his boots off and shifts down the bed. He’d mostly been doing it to annoy Ghost, but he finds himself drifting off after a few minutes.

When he wakes up, Ghost has curled into him, forehead pressed against his neck. His fever has broken, but there’s still a wheezing rattle somewhere in his chest.

He shifts and Ghost grabs him, snuffling in his sleep in a way that should be gross, but instead Soap finds it endearing. Gaz had already teased him for his not so subtle crush on their lieutenant. Soap had questionable taste in men, apparently.

As Ghost hacks up phlegm onto this shirt and instead of feeling sickened, Soap’s heart melts in his chest, he thinks Gaz might have a point. Christ, he was gone on him.

He tries not to think about the trust It’s about the trust, really. It doesn’t come easy, particularly for Ghost. But he knows the trust between them runs deep. The fact that Ghost hadn’t put his mask back on, sure he was sick and overheated, but he was a stubborn enough prick that he would risk cooking his brain just out of spite.

Soap runs a hand through Ghost’s sweatdamp hair. There’s a small pained noise from the other man, burrowing deeper into the hollow of Soap’s throat. He’d probably hit the aches stage of the illness then. Was always the part Soap hated most, besides the sore throat. Not being able to complain about being sick often left him more agitated and snapping at anyone near him.

He presses a small kiss to Ghost’s hair as a particularly painful sounding cough racks through him, mumbling soft murmurs to his temple to try soothe him.

Through the water stained grey of the clouds, he can see the sky becoming lighter.

“Yer still taking care of me.” Ghost slurs into his collarbone, the last coughing fit apparently waking him up.

“Aye.” Soap says simply, his hands still gently carding through Ghost’s hair.

“Not used to it.” he shifts slightly but doesn’t try to move away.

Soap doesn’t know if it's the flu or the early hour that seem to have loosened Ghost’s tongue. He’s not normally this free with his words, preferring instead to hide behind jokes and the occasional brutal jab of honesty that left you reeling from the impact.

“Figured with how stubborn ye are. Had to fight ye for it” he teases letting his eyelids blink heavily. They could probably both do with a bit more sleep.

Ghost tucks himself closer, heaving a phlegm sigh again, before simply saying. “Ye were kissing me. On the ‘ead.”

Soap doesn’t feel tired anymore, his stomach dropping for a moment.

“Sorry, won't do it again.” he apologises, shifting his hand away when Ghost grabs it and puts it back in his hair.

“Liked it, was nice” he croaks.

“Oh.” Soap waits a moment, before resuming what he now realises is basically patting Ghost’s head. “Alright then”

The sun has risen, the slow inching of light through the clouds matching the deeper breaths coming from Ghost as he fallen asleep again. Soap soon follows suit.

It’s later in the day when Soap awakens. Ghost is still a warm, heavy weight draped over him, but when he cranes his neck to look down at him, whisky coloured eyes peer back up at him.

“You wanna shift it, I’ll make us a cuppa?” Soap asks, nudging Ghost’s side with his knee. Ghost doesn’t move at first, but eventually rolls off the side with a grumble, burrowing under blankets again.

Soap hisses as his bare feet touch the floor, the cold having seeped into the wood overnight. The rains starting to let up though, more of light drizzle than the torrential downpour that had become background noise over the last days.

He sets the tea on the bedside table, stepping lightly when he hears Ghost snoring beneath the blankets. Least he was actually getting some sleep.

He dug out the comms unit, and waited for Price to radio back. Apparently the forecast was looking good, if the weather kept clearing up they’d have Nik swing by tomorrow. The valley below had flooded, but they were well above the danger zone at least.

He ducks back into the bedroom after fiddling with the heater again. Ghost is sitting up in bed, the cup held between his palms.

“This from you, then?” he asks, raising the mug in Soap’s direction as he sits on the bed.

“Nah, that could have been anyone.” Soap grins, “Someone could have broken in, the only race of them is that cup of tea.” he stage-whispers, still smiling at the unimpressed look Ghost gives him.

“Know you made it.” he says after taking a sip, “It tastes like shit.”

“Oi!” Soap swipes at him. “Make yer own then, cheeky.”

“Didn’t say I didn't want it,” Ghost says, stubbornly holding onto the mug and hunching over it. Soap laughs, fiddling with the corner of the blanket. Ghost drains the rest of the cup before settling back, quietly observing him for a while before he finally speaks.

“You fancy me.”

It isn’t a question, so Soap doesn’t treat it like one. Instead, he just shrugs, rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck.

“Aye.”

“Always seemed like the type to go after what you want, Johnny?” Ghost raises an eyebrow.

And he’s a fucking sight, isn’t he? The mask is still off, the pale light through the window makes it seem as though he’s glowing, pale skin littered with raised scars. He wishes he could capture the way Ghost looks right now, soft and sleepy eyed, the sharp intelligence in honeyed eyes flicking over him.

“Worried about what I’d lose if I did.” Soap eventually manages to get out, throat feeling tight. It feels like his toes are hanging over a precipice, like another step will change everything.

“Not gonna lose anything, Johnny.” Ghost says with a tilt of his head.

“You sure about that?” Soap mumbles nervously.

“Not going anywhere.” is the even reply, no skip in the words, just steady and true.

Fuck it. He trusts Ghost. And if this ends up going tits up, he trusts him enough that they’ll figure it out somehow. They always do.

He clambers over Ghost’s legs, hands digging into his shoulders as he brings their mouths together, teeth clacking at the bad angle. He doesn’t care.

“I’ll get you sick.” Ghost mumbles against his lips. Soap kisses him again anyway.

“You’ll just have to take care of me next time, eh?” he whispers back, dragging Ghost back to press every unsaid word into his skin.

They’re back on base for a few days, when it finally happens.

“Jesus Tav, you right?” Gaz says, glancing over after the sneeze.

“I dinnae wanna be sick.” he complains, eyes feeling hot and tacky.

“You look like shit.” Price says, looking concerned as Soap coughs so hard he sounds like he might dislocate a rib.

“Warned you.” Ghost says, nudging him with a shoulder. Soap glares at him, but the warm mug of tea pressed into his hands feels like an apology.

Later that night, when Soap’s hacking up a lung, eyes streaming and nose running, there’s a gentle hand rubbing at his back.

“Hate being sick.”

“Reckon everyone does.” Ghost chides, as Soap half-heartedly glares at him. There’s a kiss pressed to Soap’s temple, and patient hands helping him back to bed.

“Cannae be fucked with this, Simon.” Soap groans, curling into a ball.

Ghost runs a gentle hand through his mohawk, “S’alright, I’ll take care of you.”

#hexx threads #hexx fics #this took me like 3-4 days #way longer than i wanted but im hoping i can actually finish my next haunt chapter now this is out of my head #ghostsoap

48 notes · View notes

fluentmoviequoter · 11 hours ago

Text

Lonely Christmas

hot cocoa bar celebration🧤❄️🎄 | requested here

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!Army vet!cop!reader

Summary: During a Christmas Eve night shift with Tim Bradford, you glimpse what is behind his tough exterior.

Warnings/Word Count: vague depictions of veteran-specific depression, brief angst, Tim yells at r, fluff and comfort. 1.1k+ words

A/N: This is a dynamic (Tim with a partner who was also in the Army) that I've had on my mind for a while. While this is a really fast-paced blurb-like fic specific to Christmas, I'd really love to write more of this pairing if anyone is interested. Sorry for the short length but I really wanted to get it done before Christmas Eve🫶🏼

Working the night shift on Christmas Eve feels like the opposite of a Christmas miracle. The long night is made worse when you’re partnered with Tim Bradford. He’s had something against you since you joined the department after leaving the Army. Though you’ve never spent more than a few hours with Mid-Wilshire’s grumpiest officer, you know he doesn’t like you, so you decide to stay quiet and obedient to make Santa’s job – and your own – a little easier tonight.

“Merry Christmas,” you greet as you enter the passenger seat of Tim’s shop.

Tim huffs, and you set a small treat bag of cookies from a nearby bakery in the console without a word.

“Thanks,” he mumbles.

“Is Christmas Eve usually hectic?” you inquire.

“Depends on the year. Based on the last few weeks, I’d say it’ll keep us busy.”

You nod, then inquire, “Any plans for Christmas tomorrow?”

“Nope. Heads up, grey Challenger.”

“I’ll run the plate,” you offer, secretly wishing you were in a sleigh rather than a shop.

“VA Hospital reported a disturbance,” dispatch radios. “Two armed men forced their way into a room and have barricaded themselves in with equipment.”

“Responding,” Tim replies. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” you inquire softly.

“Try to twist this into some merry Christmas thing. We’re vets, we know there are plenty of people like us spending the holidays alone, grieving for those we’ve lost, and I don’t need you to make this specific slice of reality any harder than it already is,” Tim snaps. “So, let’s deal with this call like it’s not Christmas and move on.”

As your shift comes to an end, with the brutal reminder that lonely people go to extremes even during the holidays and several emotional bruises from Tim snapping at you more than often, you try to remind him that he is not alone. Over the last few years, you’ve learned to take Tim’s attitude and swings from helpful superior to the short-tempered Bradford the station knows him as in stride.

Walking through the station to return to your lonely home, you’re surprised to hear Tim call your name. You turn to face him, and he pulls his backpack strap tighter against his shoulder. It’s nearing midnight, almost Christmas, and you’re expecting one more reprimand to conclude the all-but-perfect night shift.

“Do you want to come over for dinner?” he offers. “My sister dropped off a casserole this afternoon.”

“Dinner at midnight?” you clarify with a grin. “I’d love to. Only if you’re sure, I don’t want to impose on you on Christmas.”

“I’m free for the next few hours.”

You follow Tim out of the station and tip your head in thanks after he opens the passenger door of his truck for you. The ride to his house is quiet, only the low humming of instrumental Christmas music filling the space as Tim navigates the quiet (for once) streets of Los Angeles.

“What are you doing for Christmas?” you ask as you enter his home.

“Going to visit my sister and nephews for lunch and gifts,” he replies. “You?”

“I’ve got a few people to see.”

Tim nods and begins preparing the food. You start to speak simultaneously, and your expression of gratitude is cut short when you smile. “Go ahead,” you murmur.

“I wanted to apologize for earlier,” Tim begins. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you about the vet in the hospital. It just… it reminded me of one of the guys in my last unit. Seeing people like us struggling around the holidays is hard, but you know that, and I had no excuse to yell at you like that. So, I’m sorry.”

“I do know that, but I can also understand that your response is valid. I probably would have overstepped, and honestly I’d rather you yell at me before I can do something that pushes you away rather than letting me do it and suffer the consequences.”

Tim’s brows pinch as he asks, “And what do you think the consequences would be?”

“Let’s just say I would hate to end up on the Bradford Naughty List.”

Tim’s face shifts into a smile as he shakes his head, and you grin at him before offering to get plates for dinner.

Something shifts beneath your cheek, pulling you from a peaceful slumber. You don’t sleep well most nights, and for a moment, you think Christmas magic lulled you to sleep. Then you realize that the fabric under your face looks awfully familiar. Sitting up, you press your lips together as you watch Tim blink and look at you. You remember eating dinner side-by-side and watching a rerun of It’s a Wonderful Life. You had no intention of falling asleep together, or in his house, for that matter.

“You look your cutest like this,” Tim rumbles, his voice thick with sleep and concerningly unfiltered.

“But I just woke up,” you argue.

Tim nods, his full attention on you, and states, “I know what I said.”

“I- I should probably go. You have your family to visit. Merry Christmas, Tim, and thanks again for dinner.”

While you gather your things, Tim watches your movements from the couch.

“Why do you care so much?” he asks.

“About what?” you ask, looking up from your bag.

“Me, people… You tried to make last night feel like Christmas. Why?”

You shrug. “Everyone deserves some magic, and there’s no better time than Christmas. And, as for you… I have an idea of what it’s like. I do know that it’s not easy, and though I can’t imagine what you’ve dealt with specifically, you haven’t let it keep you from seeing the good in people. Even if you don’t let on that you do.”

“I see the bad too.”

“Job hazard. Despite seeing that bad side, you still let people close. That’s why I care about you, because you’re a good person.” Tim opens his mouth again, and you add, “That last point was objective, it’s not up for debate.”

“Do you want to stay?” Tim asks after a moment. “You shouldn’t be alone on Christmas, either.”

“Your family,” you remind him.

“I’m sure they have an extra plate,” Tim teases.

You gesture to your outfit and slept-on hair, but Tim stands and lays his hands on your shoulders.

“I already said you look your cutest like this.”

“Thought you were incoherent and half-asleep.”

“But don’t I see the good in people?”

Your head falls back as you groan. Tim offers to drive you home to let you get ready, and you realize that you wouldn’t mind spending Christmas with him and his family. Even if he yells at you and calls you cute mere hours apart. It’s part of his Tim Bradford charm.

#fluentmoviequoter hot cocoa bar🧤❄️🎄#tim bradford x reader #tim bradford fic #tim bradford the rookie #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford #the rookie x reader #the rookie abc #fem!reader #hanna writes✯

29 notes · View notes

beqitos · 16 hours ago

Note

Hello, how are you? I would like to ask for your 100 event!!! Can you do prompt 14, 16 and 20 from list 1 for Jungwon, please? Thank you, you write so well, take care!!💌💖

hii, I'm doing great, tyysmm for the compliment!! here you gooo, have a great dayy

it is currently 2 am, 2:15 am to be exact, and you haven't even attempted to close your eyes, you just have been staring at you and jungwon's shared bedrooms ceiling for the past hour and a half. and clearly, jungwon hasn't been able to fall asleep either. so what better way to pass time. annoy you!

"baby.. yn.. are you asleep?" jungwon flipped from his right side to his left, staring at you. "no.. why are you awake?" you said in a quiet tone, still staring at the ceiling, "i can’t sleep.. I've just been staring at the closet door." jungwon murmured, playing with the sleeves of your shirt. "same, expect with the ceiling. you know we need to renovate sometime." you turned over to jungwon. "wanna go out for some ice cream?" jungwon said after a long silent staring contest.

you stayed put for a while, thinking about it before finally speaking up, "yeah, im down." you sat up straight, yawning and stretching before getting out of bed. you had some decent clothes on, so you thought jungwon was ready too. "oh like now? oh wait—" jungwon quickly stumbled out of bed, getting some proper clothes on, then turned to you, "okay, I'm ready." jungwon fluffed up his jacket and gave you a goofy smile and a thumbs up, grabbing your hand, leading you to the front door. "my kiss?" jungwon stopped you from opening the door "right, sorry." you quickly gave him a peck on the cheek before heading out.

after a 5 minute walk to the nearby convenience store, you both got the ice cream you wanted and had stopped by a nearby bench a couple steps away from your shared apartment. "we should do this more often." you spoke out after a couple minutes of silence since yall had sat on the bench. jungwon nodded and continued eating his ice cream.

[ 100 followers event ]

[ MAIN MASTERLIST ]

28 notes · View notes

guilty-pleasures21 · 10 hours ago

Note

Great cause I've been thinking about something for days-

Jason x Reader but-

Sometimes Jason can't get home in time. It's not that he wants to take so long, but all this mess of missions and patrols and all that crap always seems to get in his way.

Still, since he loves his girl so much, Jason doesn't mind calling her just to tell her he's coming as fast as he can and ask if she's all right.

He's just in love, guys, what can he do?

By the way, he also loves to say what he's going to do with his pretty girl when he gets home as well.

- 💚

Firstly, I would like to apologise for how long this has taken: I was not ignoring you, I was just finding it really difficult to come up with enough of a storyline to write a fic out of 😅.

Secondly, I know this deviates from what you asked for, but I do hope that you still like it 🥺. I just thought it would be really funny to write Jason being all shy and flustered for a change ☺️.

NEVERTHELESS! If I have disappointed you, please don’t hesitate to drop me another message and I will do my best at another attempt! I love you, babe 🥺.

The call

Warnings: an explicit phone call and an explicit description of a handjob (m receiving).

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

“Hood?” X asked, her sweet voice wafting out of his communication device and filling his ears. “Are you gonna be done soon?”

“Hmm?” Jason hummed distractedly, keeping an eye on Penguin’s goons as they moved in and out of one of his secret warehouses. “Yeah, ba-”

His eyes grew wide as he caught himself quickly: no one else in the batfamily knew that he and his best friend had started dating a while ago and the two of them had wanted to put off dealing with the chaos that would ensue once they found out for as long as they possibly could. Jason slid his gaze over to Dick, nervously gauging his reaction, then he cleared his throat when his brother seemed to take no notice. “Yeah, Nightingale. Their new shipment should be reaching here in eleven minutes. We plan on moving in then.”

“Okay, sweetheart,” X replied, her voice taking on a mischievous tone that had Jason’s core heating up with nerves. “I can’t wait for you to get home, baby. I’m gonna have you all to myself for the next week, right, Jay?”

Jason swallowed hard and stole another quick glance at Dick. No reaction. Jason exhaled in relief and let out another little cough before responding to his wicked girlfriend. “Right. This should deal a substantial blow to their operations. The others can help stage attacks on their other warehouses in the meantime.”

“Oh, is that so?” X asked, rolling over onto her stomach and getting herself comfortable on Jason’s bed. She’d always stay over at his apartment whenever he had to stay late on a mission - she didn’t like the thought of him coming home to an empty house, especially if he’d had to be physically violent with someone. She’d known about his PTSD and used to stay over at his place even before they’d started dating, comforting him when he awoke from a nightmare or coaxing him out a panic attack in the middle of the night. He’d only ever let her be privy to such vulnerable sides of him and she’d told him honestly that that was why she’d started falling in love with him. “You gonna pass the buck on to the others so you can come home and take care of your lonely little girlfriend?”

Jason’s breath caught in his throat at the pout he could hear in her voice. Was she at his place? She probably was, but … was she on his sofa? Relaxing in front of the television as she teased him? Or … was she … somewhere more … intimate? In something more intimate? Jason ground his teeth together, wrestling between the need to keep himself focused on the mission before him and the sudden desire to find out exactly what his ‘lonely little girlfriend’ was doing in his apartment right then. “Of course I’m wearing all my gear, Nightingale. Got to make sure we’re properly covered up before we bust in there and start taking everyone out.”

X bit her lip at the subtle question hidden within his words: he wanted to know what she was wearing.

“‘Properly covered up’?” she repeated, kicking her legs in the air behind her. “Mmm, that sounds … like the opposite of what I am right now, Jay; lying here on your bed, all spread out on your soft sheets as they caress my bare skin.” Her boyfriend sucked in a breath over the comms and X’s stomach flipped as she pictured the expression he was probably wearing right then: thick brows furrowed in confusion as he figured out how to respond, beautiful green eyes glazed over as he imagined her lying naked on his bed, sharp jawline tensing with frustration as he forced himself to pay attention to his mission. Shit, he was hot.

X flipped over onto her back and moaned softly as the thought of her deliciously sexy boyfriend filled her mind. “Mmm, but you know how much I love seeing you all dressed up in your Red Hood outfit. Your tight little carbon fibre suit stretched so perfectly over all your delicious muscles. Mmm, you’re so hot, Jay! I wish you were here so I could just pounce on you and trace all your sexy muscles with my tongue …”

A soft gasp escaped his lips at her dirty words and Jason swore his heart stopped when Dick turned to raise an eyebrow at him in question. Jason shook his head slightly, reassuring him that everything was fine and thankfully, Dick returned his attention to the warehouse. “Nine minutes.”

“Oooh, is that a challenge, sweetheart?” X asked, delighting in the sudden hoarseness in his voice. He was always so smooth and sexy whenever they were alone, teasing and touching and tasting every inch of her body until she was breathless with lust, unable to focus on anything but the feeling of his hands on her bare skin. But now … “There’s a reason they call it ‘seven minutes in heaven’, darling. But … I’m feeling generous tonight knowing I’m going to have you all to myself for the next week, so … I’ll finish in five … if you let me top you tonight.”

He let out a choked gasp at the image her words conjured up in his mind: him lying helplessly on his bed while she rode him into his mattress, her soft hair brushing the curves of her full breasts, her pearly teeth sinking into her lower lip in ecstasy, her perfect body sliding up and down on his cock at exactly the pace she wanted to go at. And unfortunately for him, Dick did take notice this time.

“Hood? What’s wrong?” His voice was firm as he spoke, authoritative and confident, and Jason quickly waved him away so he wouldn’t start panicking.

“Just a hiccup,” he lied. “I’m fine. Truck should be arriving in eight minutes.”

“Is Dick there?” X asked, her tone alight with mischief at the revelation that the two of them were right next to each other while she was talking dirty to him. “Has he been there the whole time?!”

“Yes,” Jason replied softly, lowering his voice so Dick wouldn’t grow even more suspicious by his continued conversation with a member of their team not currently involved in the mission at hand. Shit. He should just hang up, shouldn’t he? End the call now before he reached a point where he couldn’t physically hide the evidence of what his best friend was doing to him right then. Shit. Think gross thoughts, Jason, he counselled himself, like … bugs! Cockroaches, especially! Ugh! Nasty little things with their hairy legs and their spindly antennae and ugh, he was going to be sick. But at least he wasn’t getting aroused anymore - though the brief respite didn’t seem like it would last long anyway.

“How naughty of you, sweetheart!” X laughed, oblivious to - or most likely ignoring - her supposed-to-be-secret boyfriend’s stressful predicament right then. “Letting your girlfriend talk dirty to you with your brother standing right next to you? Mmm, I didn’t know you could be so naughty, baby.”

Jason clenched his fists and focused his thoughts on his breathing, trying to keep it deep and steady so his body wouldn’t get excited and start redirecting his blood towards his core. But he must have been a glutton for punishment because he just couldn’t bring himself to end the call.

“And- Oh my god!” X exclaimed, a realisation suddenly taking over her thoughts. “He doesn’t even know! Your brother doesn’t even know that you started dating your best friend, baby! What’s he going to think, love?! What’s he going to think when he hears your best friend saying such naughty things to you? When he hears the innocent little Nightingale saying such dirty things to her best guy friend?

“Do you think he’s going to think I’m just practising, baby?” X asked, getting more and more thrilled by the idea of Dick finding them out via such a compromising situation. She sat up on Jason’s bed, suddenly feeling extremely hot under her pyjamas, and tugged her shirt off, tossing it aside. “Do you think he’s going to think that I’m just practising having sex with you?! Letting you touch me and tease me and taste me just so I can get to know what it feels like?”

She let out a low chuckle at the thought and Jason shivered as the tantalising sound travelled teasingly down his spine. And, f*ck him, now he couldn’t get the thought of her naked body out of his mind! She was just so delicious, her plush breasts, her smooth skin, her slender neck, her pert ass, her- F*ck, f*ck, f*ck, f*ck, f******ck! Cockroaches! Focus on the cockroaches!

“But how could anyone else ever do it for me after you, baby?” X pressed, slipping her bottoms off and crawling under the covers. “You’re so hot, Jay! With your long fingers and your rough skin and your hard muscles and argh! Oh God, Jay, your … How are you so good with your tongue?!”

Argh, f*ck. He could feel his pants tightening around his crotch at the sound of her shallow breaths - at the indication of her touching herself while she thought about him. But shit! Did she really find him so hot that just the thought of him was enough to get her off?! F*******ck!

“Hood?!” Jason startled as Dick bumped his shoulder suddenly, snatching him out of his reverie. “Hood, they’re at the intersection of Apple and Kyle.”

“Three minutes,” Jason recited, the words coming automatically as he glanced at the countdown in the corner of his screen. His eyes flickered over to the icon of his best friend’s face, her cute little smile pointed straight at him from the upper right corner of his screen, and he swallowed hard when it lit up as she began speaking again.

“I’m … I’m coming, Jay!” she promised, her voice getting breathy and high-pitched as she approached her edge. “I’m gonna come for you, okay, baby? I’m … Just imagining … your long fingers inside of my p*ssy … your lips sucking my neck … your chest … Nngh! Bite me, Jay! Bite … Hngrh, shit! J-Jason! Jason! I love you, Jason! I … Oh God, you’re so hot! So … So deliciously hot, Jay … How the hell are you so frickin’ hot, Jason?! Mmm, shit.”

Jason panted heavily, feeling as if he’d just come down from his high as well, and studiously avoided Dick’s gaze. Thank f*cking god he had his full helmet on - he could feel the blush racing up the back of his neck and bolting across his cheeks, blatantly giving away all the naughty things his best friend had been murmuring in his ear as she’d come to the thought of him. F*******ck! He was … He was never picking up another call from her again when he was on a mission - she’d just have to ring up the watchtower if she needed any help next time. Jason reached for his watch, meaning to end the call as his countdown continued ticking down to the one minute mark now, but his girlfriend didn’t seem to be done with him just yet.

“Come back soon, okay, baby?” she pleaded, her tone relaxed now that she’d gotten some of the excitement out of her system. “It’s just not the same without you, Jay. I … I can’t make myself come the way you do!”

Jason lowered his head and sighed, feeling himself about to f*cking cry with frustration at her desperate words. Could you even cry out of of f*cking desperation?! Shit, maybe she’d broken him or something. He was going to have to get back at her for it later.

“You just know me so well, baby,” X purred, that same wicked mischief inching its way back into her voice again. “Nobody knows me better than my best friend - nobody knows how to make me come better than my best friend does, Jay. After all, you’ve been getting so much practice, right, baby?”

“Shit,” Jason hissed, his defeated exhalation finally letting her know that he’d reached his limit with her. X giggled softly, but decided to ease up on him: he still had an important mission to go on, after all, and she wanted him safe and back in his bed as quickly as possible.

“I’ll see you later, baby. Love you, Jay!”

“Ngh,” Jason grunted, relieved to have control over his own thoughts again. “We’ll talk later.” He hung up the call, then glanced over at Dick, letting him know that he was ready to go. Dick nodded and pulled his escrima sticks out of their sheaths as he got into position.

“On my count. Ready? One, two, three!”

Jason tugged the collar of his shirt, already sick of the tight suit he’d been forced into for the gala Bruce was throwing that night. It was meant to be a fundraiser for some charity, but of course the rich socialites of Gotham just saw it as an opportunity to parade around their undeserving wealth. And try to land one of the billionaire Bruce Wayne’s eligible young sons if they had the chance. Jason sighed when Clara Yang’s keen gaze landed on him, picking him out as soon as she entered the hall; not that it was difficult to pick Jason out in any room given his towering height and intimidating physical build - an intimidating physical build that did not seem to deter the young heiress in the slightest. Shit. Where was his girlfriend when he needed her?!

“Richard! Jason! How lovely to see the both of you again!” Clara greeted them cheerfully, stepping forward to place a light kiss on each of their cheeks. She tried to linger in Jason’s arms just a moment longer, but he stepped back as quickly - and obviously - as he could, firmly setting his boundaries.

“Nice to see you too, Clara,” Dick replied, always fitting so perfectly into the mould of Bruce Wayne’s perfect oldest son. “Have you tried the appetisers yet? We hired a Michelin star Italian chef to cater the event. He normally doesn’t do engagements outside of his restaurant but, well, who can say no to Bruce Wayne?”

Jason’s gut twisted with horror as Dick joined into Clara’s polite laughter. God, he thought he was going to be sick. He’d just never been able to get over the false pleasantries required of him at these events - no matter how nicely they dressed him up and smothered his personality. Clara looked to Jason expectantly, her eyes travelling appreciatively over his shoulders and chest, and Jason felt another wave of nausea pressing against his throat.

“I … It’s …” Dick glanced around the room as Jason fumbled his way through a response, searching desperately for some way to get his brother out of his current predicament. And thankfully, it was at that exact moment that X arrived. Dick gave a mental sigh of relief and quickly waved her over.

“X!” X looked up when she heard her name being called, then grinned when she saw Dick waving at her frantically. Her eyes flickered over to Jason and the young lady standing in front from him, her chestnut hair curled neatly and piled atp[ her head in an elaborate hairdo, and she chuckled when she saw the panicked expression scrawled across her best friend’s features - it looked like Clara had already begun her attack.

Jason turned to follow Dick’s gaze when he heard him yell for his best friend and his entire body relaxed when he found X’s dark eyes and easy smile already trained on him. He side-stepped Clara, intending on making a beeline straight for his life vest in the middle of this never-ending ocean of suffering, but he stopped short when he saw what she was wearing.

Her dress was off-the-shoulder, the burgundy-coloured velvet material delicately skimming the tops of her breasts before closing in around her luscious figure, hugging her beautiful curves so deliciously. A slit in one side of the dress exposed her leg to her mid-thigh, teasing him with a mouth-watering view of her tanned skin every time she took a step towards him. And she’d kept her hair down for the occasion, letting her natural dark brown curls drape elegantly over her delicate shoulders and frame her adorable little smile so perfectly. Jason opened his mouth to try greet her - to tell her how stunning she looked that night, her deep red dress highlighting all the parts of her that excited him every time his gaze landed on them - but he found himself unable to even make a sound.

Dick grinned when he saw the way his brother’s mouth kept opening and closing as his eyes roved over his best friend’s figure. Maybe tonight would finally be the night that they admitted their feelings to one another. Neither of them had ever mentioned anything about feeling more than friendship for the other person, but it was so obvious to anyone with eyes that they were deeply in love with one another - never mind that they both looked like they wanted to rip each other’s clothes off right then! Dick nudged Jason’s shoulder, silently encouraging him to speak up, but Jason continued to struggle with his words, so Dick stepped forward to initiate the conversation.

“Thank god you’re here,” Dick joked, giving X a friendly pat on the back in greeting. “Between you and me, I think Jason was just about to puke all over Clara Yang’s two-thousand dollar pair of shoes!”

“Come now, Richard, you know how gauche it is to speak of money so blatantly,” X replied, matching his quiet tone so Clara wouldn’t hear.

Dick shook his head, the wide smile still stretched across his face, and took a step back from her. “I noticed that you and Jason are matching. Whose idea was that?”

“Obviously it was Jason’s,” X teased, sliding her hands nonchalantly up his chest. Jason sucked in a breath at the feeling, his body rapidly heating up at the way she touched him so intimately, right there in front of everyone, but X continued to focus her attention on Dick. “Didn’t you know about his secret love for fashion?”

“Well, if it’s a secret, then how am I supposed to know?” Dick countered quickly. X grinned at his words and finally lifted her gaze to Jason’s. He swallowed hard when he saw the way her eyes darkened when they landed on his and his hands instinctively came around her waist, holding her loosely against him.

“X …” he began softly, his fingers cautiously inching their way along her waist. “You … You look …” She giggled softly and Jason swore his heart melted into a puddle at the sound.

“Thanks, Jay,” X whispered back, her voice just as gentle as his as she adjusted his bowtie and waistcoat. “You look really good too.”

A naughty smile took over her face as she slid her gaze over to Dick. Then she raised her voice so he’d be able to hear her next words. “Maybe even more handsome than Dick!”

“X!” Dick scoffed, clutching his chest in mock agony. “How could you say such a thing?!” X laughed, keeping her fingers curled around the lapels of Jason’s jacket so he could admire the slender length of her neck as her head fell back. Damn, she was beautiful.

“I’m kidding! I’m kidding,” X corrected quickly, trying to assuage his concerns. But she leaned closer to Jason’s chest, hiding her face behind his jacket so Dick almost missed the way her expression turned even more mischievous. “He’s definitely more handsome than you tonight, Dick.”

Dick let out another offended snort, but Jason barely heard it over the sound of his heart pounding in his chest at the proximity of X to him. How could she cling on to him so casually when they were in public? When anyone might glance over and see them holding each other like … like a couple? He dug his fingers into her sides as his body heated up with excitement at the thought: there was just something so satisfying about their relationship being so right that everyone else could see it even before they officially announced it out loud. And suddenly, he decided that he didn’t want to hide it anymore - he’d talk to X once they found some time to be alone and if she agreed, they’d tell his family about their relationship tonight.

X rubbed Jason’s chest gently as she turned to Clara, completely secure in the knowledge that he eyes for her and only her - even if she wasn’t some filthy rich, well-travelled, upper-class heiress who would never have to work for anything in her life. “Don’t you agree, Clara?”

Clara’s jaw tightened as her eyes followed the intimate movements of X’s fingers across Jason’s body. But she forced her lips into a tight smile, just like she’d probably been trained to do her entire life. “Why just tonight? I think Jason is always the most handsome man in the room.”

X almost choked on her saliva at Clara’s sugary-sweet tone. But that wasn’t even the worst reaction she could have had because poor Jason actually shuffled around in position, angling her towards Clara like she was some sort of shield that could protect him from her adamant flirtations! X swallowed down her laughter, trying to dredge up some sympathy for her boyfriend, but it was just too funny to think of the six-foot-two, built-like-a-brick-wall, not-afraid-to-kill-anyone-who-tried-to-hurt-a-child Red Hood cowering before the tiny, spoiled socialite.

“I’m hungry,” Jason mumbled, tugging X in the direction of the buffet table on the opposite end of the room. “Let’s get some food, X.”

“Of course, Jay!” X agreed, flashing Clara a bright smile before running her fingers possessively through Jason’s hair. Clara clenched her fists and narrowed her eyes at her, but somehow still managed to keep that frightening smile plastered across her face. Maybe they should try recruiting her into being a vigilante too.

“You look beautiful, princess,” Jason finally worked up the nerve to tell her once they were alone. X smiled and rubbed his arm where she’d curled herself around him.

“Thanks, baby,” X replied, glowing so adorably at his praise. She really was so beautiful, so cute and pretty and all his to admire and adore. “I would kiss you, but …” She glanced around at the roomful of gossip-mongers surrounding them, then flashed him a guilty smile. Jason's stomach twisted with nerves as he remembered his decision to tell his family that night and he cleared his throat when they reached the buffet table.

“About that,” Jason began, his expression serious as he turned to X. She raised an eyebrow in question and Jason puffed out his chest as he straightened, trying to build up his confidence. “I was thinking-”

“Jason Todd!” A vaguely familiar voice called from behind him. Jason turned around and for once, he grinned at who he found.

“Mrs Vasquez?!” he exclaimed, releasing his girlfriend for a brief moment to give the elderly woman a hug. “How have you been? I haven’t seen you in so long!”

X’s chest warmed at the sight of the sweet smile on her boyfriend’s face - and the reciprocating grin the kind-looking old woman wore as she returned his hug.

“Indeed!” Mrs Vasquez agreed. “I thought you would have visited at least once after returning from your big fancy trip in Europe!” That was the lie Bruce had had his PR team spread through the public when Jason had returned from his grave. They’d kept his death under wraps when it had happened, knowing they wouldn’t be able to explain away the sudden death of a healthy fifteen-year-old boy under the care of the lonely billionaire Bruce Wayne, so no one had batted an eye when Jason had ‘returned from studying abroad in Europe’ after a few years.

“But I do hope you enjoyed yourself, at least,” Mrs Vasquez finished, waving away any excuses before Jason could come up with them. Jason flashed her a grateful smile and slid his arm back around X when he straightened.

“It was … an experience,” he admitted ambiguously, exchanging a knowing look with X. “But I’m just glad to be home.” He squeezed his girlfriend into his side and breathed in the sweet and fruity scent of her shampoo as he rested his cheek on her head. Mrs Vasquez’s gaze flickered between them knowingly and she fixed Jason with an expectant look as she waited for an explanation.

“Oh! Uh, X, this is Mrs Vasquez,” Jason introduced her. “She used to slip me a packet of sweets every time Bruce dragged me to one of these things.” Mrs Vasquez grabbed Jason’s forearm to steady herself as she laughed at the memory.

“Oh! Poor Brucie was always so confused when you left the event even more energetic than when you entered!” she recalled, giving Jason a fond pat on the arm. Then she turned to X and held out a hand in greeting. “Lovely to meet you, dear.”

“It’s wonderful to meet you too, Mrs Vasquez,” X agreed. “I’ve never seen Jason smile at one of these things! Maybe I should keep a pack of sweets handy every time we go to one.” She turned to Jason with a naughty glint in her eye and his features relaxed even further when he met her gaze.

“Hmm, maybe next time you could bring a bit of home to Europe, Jason?” Mrs Vasquez suggested, a knowing look on her face as she glanced between Jason and X. “On a honeymoon, perhaps? I'm sure your beautiful girlfriend would love for you to bring her on a tour of Europe, isn't that right, dear?”

Jason's heart stopped at the word ‘honeymoon’. He'd just never thought that far ahead - it was a little hard to make plans for the future when you felt like you had Death chasing at your heels every day. He glanced over at X, terrified to see her reaction … but her features were lit up with a rosy glow, her lips stretched into a happy smile.

“That would be lovely, Jason,” X agreed, tilting her head back to smile up at him. Then she leaned forward to exchange a conspiratorial look with Mrs Vasquez. “Though I'm not sure we'd be doing much sightseeing if we were to go there on our honeymoon.”

The old woman burst into laughter and gave X a chiding tap on the arm. Then she turned to wag her finger at Jason. “I like her. I'll be waiting for my wedding invitation soon!”

Jason smiled dazedly, barely hearing anything after X's words. He didn't know whether his heart was pounding in his chest with nerves … or fluttering happily with excitement. Had she thought about marriage? Did she want them to be married someday? Living in their own little house with their own little kids … Jason gulped, then startled when he felt his girlfriend's fingers on his cheek, tugging his face towards hers.

“Jay?” she asked softly, letting her hand fall back to his chest. “Do you want to go somewhere private?”

Jason swallowed hard at the naughty look on her face - at the feeling of her fingers tickling him teasingly through his shirt - and nodded. X didn't hesitate before turning around and pulling him through the crowd, weaving in and out of disinterested guests as she led him away from the hall. Finally, she reached the door to Bruce's in-home gym and pushed Jason inside before closing it behind her.

“X!” Jason exclaimed, stumbling along behind her as she dragged him to a corner of the room. “What are you- Oof!” He let out a soft grunt as she pulled him against her, trapping herself between him and the wall. X slid her gaze over to the door, a devious smile on her lips, then she stretched onto her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Who's gonna visit the gym during a gala?” she pointed out, sliding her fingers up the back of his neck and into his hair. Her nails tickled his scalp gently and Jason found himself suddenly incapable of forming any rational thoughts.

She smirked when she saw his eyelids flutter shut as she ran her fingers through his hair. Then she let her gaze travel down his neck to his broad shoulders, his muscles accentuated so nicely by his form-fitting suit. The Wayne's would always invite her to any gala they went to - not least because her presence kept Jason calm and relaxed - and though she knew Jason hated events like this, she loved getting to dress up in all the beautiful outfits Bruce would get for her on Jason's behalf. She didn't come from a rich family and Jason wasn't one to flaunt the money Bruce would deposit in his bank account every month, so Bruce would always just tell her to send him the bill for whatever she'd rent for one of the fancy events they'd invite her to. He'd told her she could just buy the outfits, but she really had nothing else to wear them to besides the charity galas the rich and wealthy liked to throw. X let her fingers drift down to the lapels of Jason's jacket, the black lining contrasting so perfectly with the deep-red fabric that was ironically reminiscent of his Red Hood costume. And besides, why would she ever pass up on the opportunity to see her boyfriend - her best friend and the love of her life - so handsomely dressed up in his gorgeous suits?!

Jason swallowed hard at the way his girlfriend's eyes darkened as they travelled over his body. He'd never known how naughty she could be until they started dating - sneaking into his warehouse in her tight little vigilante costume to tease him with her curves, pulling him into an inconspicuous alcove to have a quick makeout session with him when they were supposed to be on patrol, and, shit, that call the other night? God, he was going to lose his mind if they had to keep sneaking around like this for any longer.

“X,” Jason murmured, his breath grazing her lips as he bent over her. His girlfriend shivered in his arms at the gravelly sound of his voice and Jason sucked in a breath as his core tightened with excitement.

God, she loved how soft and gentle he always was with her, his low voice, his tender touch, that boyish smile that would always take over his rugged features when they played with each other in bed. Shit, she loved him. She stretched up and closed the distance between them, letting out a soft moan when their lips touched. Jason smiled against her lips and X clung onto his neck again as her knees went weak at the feeling.

He wrapped one arm all the way around her, keeping her upright against him as he leaned his other hand on the wall. Shit, her dress was soft. He was going to take his time peeling it off her later, carefully exposing each inch of her smooth skin to him inch by precious inch. Jason lowered his mouth to her neck and let his hand fall down to the slit of her dress as he began pressing lingering kisses to her skin. His girlfriend let out a choked gasp as he dug his fingers into the bare skin of her thigh, and Jason felt his stomach flip at the sound. He'd always known that she loved him - she took such good care of him, after all, consistently planning her days to incorporate him into her daily schedule - but shit, he'd never known how much his best friend could have wanted him as well. Wanted his baggage, the trauma that had ingrained itself into his personality, the scars, the pain, the anger, all of it - she didn't just love all of him; she wanted it all as well.

She hooked her leg around his waist and pulled him closer to her, losing herself in the dizzying feeling of him all around her. Jason slid his hand higher up her thigh, his fingers sneaking beneath the hem of her dress, and X held her breath as he neared her centre.

“Jay!” she gasped when his thumb snuck beneath the waistband of her underwear, kneading her pelvic joint so she began dripping with anticipation. Her boyfriend chuckled into the crook of her neck, knowing exactly what he was doing to her, and another shiver danced its way down X's spine.

“You're so naughty, princess,” he murmured against her skin, his lips travelling slowly across the bare expanse of her shoulder, “dragging me in here so no one can see.”

X felt herself melt in his arms as her boyfriend licked his way back up her neck, his teeth gently grazing her skin before clamping down on her earlobe. “Or did you want someone to catch us? My naughty little nightingale?”

A helpless whimper fell from her mouth as he curled his fingers around her ass and Jason let out a muttered curse as her hips bucked forward, desperately seeking her boyfriend's warm centre.

“J-Jay …” X whined, her eyes so round and beautiful as she gazed up at him pleadingly. Jason swallowed hard at the adoring look on her face and her lips immediately flicked up into a smirk.

“Maybe …” X began thoughtfully, running her hands down his chest and straightening to press her lips to the base of his throat. Jason held his breath as his entire body tightened in anticipation, the adrenaline and testosterone flooding his veins at the feeling of his girlfriend's fingers inching dangerously closer to the part of his body that wanted her the most. “Maybe I just wanted to help my boyfriend relax a little?”

And now it was his turn to shiver at the way her warm breath grazed his neck as her lips moved against his skin teasingly. X snickered softly against his throat, then tilted her head and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the same spot. Jason closed his eyes, relaxing into the feeling of her gentle touches … but suddenly, his belt was unbuckled and his zip was undone and his girlfriend’s hand was in his pants, palming his length teasingly. “X …”

She giggled softly at the undercurrent of warning in his voice and Jason cursed again before shifting them around slightly, shielding her from the view of anyone who decided to walk through the door at such an inopportune moment. X snickered at the way he didn’t stop her - at the way he just let her continue to arouse him right where anyone could find them! - and curled her fingers around his shaft to start tugging on him gently. “I know how stressed you get at these things, baby. Are you feeling more relaxed now?”

Jason let out a low groan in response, doubling over so his soft hair was grazing her forehead, and X grinned before cupping his cheek in her free hand to angle his mouth towards hers. Shit, he was a good kisser! He hadn’t been at first, a little eager and over excited to stick his tongue in her mouth and lick up the taste of her. But with a little patience - and a lot of practise 😉 - he’d become so good at it that just the feeling of his tongue running across her lips was enough to make her weak in the knees! X sighed softly as Jason kneaded her tongue with his, both his hands wandering across her body, leisurely making their way back down to her ass …

“Holy f*cking God!” X snatched her hand out of Jason’s pants when she heard Tim’s horrified voice echo through the room. “What the f*ck are the two of you doing?!”

Jason took a step back from his best friend and quickly tucked himself back into his underwear before zipping his pants back up. His heart pounded rapidly in his chest as he twisted his head back to catch a glimpse of Tim and Cass standing at the other end of the room, equal expressions of shock on their faces. “What … What the hell are you doing here?!”

X ignored the panicked thudding of her heart as she straightened her dress and plastered an innocent smile onto her face. She avoided Jason’s gaze as she stepped out from behind him, keeping her eyes trained on Tim and Cass instead. “We were just taking a break from the rest of the party. What are you guys doing here?”

Tim stared at the two of them in silence, his jaw hanging open with shock as his brain worked overtime to process what he’d just caught them in the middle of. He’d have to wash his eyes with bleach or something later tonight. And probably his brain too. And his ears, so he wouldn’t forever be haunted by the sound of X’s playful giggles and Jason’s low and teasing voice and ugh, he was going to be sick!

“Dick sent us to come find you,” Cass explained, confused by the scene in front of her. “He said he thought he’d seen the two of you come this way a while back ... X, why is Jason wearing the same lipstick as you?” She tilted her in question, still not catching on to what they’d been doing, and her eyes fell to the red lip-shaped stain at the base of Jason’s throat.

“And he got some on his neck … Oh!” She gasped, suddenly realising how all the lipstick marks had gotten on Jason’s body, and lowered her head as a blush crept up her cheeks.

“Guys? What’s-?” Dick stopped short as he entered the gym, utterly bewildered by the sight before him: Tim on his knees on the ground, a traumatised look on his face, and Cass shifting awkwardly in position as she looked everywhere but at Jason and X. “Uh, what’s going on?”

X and Jason exchanged embarrassed looks as they tried to figure out how to respond, but before either of them could say anything, Tim replied for them. “They were f*cking having sex in the gym! Oh God. Did you guys touch anything?! Oh God, are there bodily fluids everywhere?! F*ck! I’m gonna … I can’t step foot in here ever again!”

He pushed himself to his feet and wobbled to the door, genuinely looking like he was about to throw up any second. Dick raised an eyebrow in concern as he moved to let him pass, then he folded his arms across his chest and turned to Jason and X for an explanation.

“I … We … Um, that’s …” The two of them stuttered, stumbling over their words as they tried to come up with an answer.

“Are you guys together?” Dick suggested, trying to stop his lips from curling at the ends with joy. Jason and X clasped their hands behind their backs, both of them wearing equally guilty expressions as they avoided Dick’s gaze.

“Um, uh, yes, actually …” Jason confirmed, causing a rush of victory to shoot through Dick’s chest.

“Um, for, um, about two months? Maybe?” X elaborated, making the whole situation even better! How the hell had they managed to sneak around for two months without anyone else finding out! This was so, so good!

“Two months?!” Tim exclaimed, still hovering in the doorway. “Oh, shit. Please don’t tell me … You haven’t had sex anywhere else, have you?”

X squeezed her legs together as her body grew excited at the mention of everyone knowing how intimate she’d been with her best friend and she kept her gaze fixed on the ground so they wouldn’t see the furious blush filling up her cheeks.

Jason stared at a corner of the ceiling and clenched his fists as he tried desperately to stop himself from snorting at the question: obviously, they’d had sex before - multiple times, in fact, both at her place and his. Thankfully though, his older brother intervened on Jason’s behalf before something completely inappropriate for the situation could slip out of his mouth.

“I seriously doubt this would be their first time, Tim,” Dick pointed out, his features curled into a knowing smirk. Tim gagged at the realisation that he was right, then he spun on his heel and raced out of the room, unable to take it any longer. Cass followed suit not longer after, flashing X a sheepish smile before she returned to the gala as well. Dick returned his attention to Jason and X, the three of them were left alone in the room now, and fixed them both with a smug grin. “Look, as happy as I am for the two of you, let’s try to keep it PG when there are other people around, okay?”

Jason rolled his eyes at his brother’s condescending tone, but didn’t look up, honestly a little embarrassed to have been caught with his girlfriend’s fingers curled so deliciously around his cock - but at least they wouldn’t have to keep their relationship a secret any longer. He turned to his girlfriend as she curled her body around his arm, her expression shy as she nodded in agreement to Dick’s suggestion, and Jason felt his stomach flip at the way she bit her lip nervously. Dick gestured to the door, not trusting the two of them to be left alone, and Jason escorted his girlfriend back into the gala.

“So,” X began softly, clearing his throat before sneaking a glance up at Jason. “Does this mean I can kiss you in front of Clara now?”

A snicker fell from Jason’s lips before he could catch it and X’s expression turned mischievous. Jason glanced around, trying to catch sight of her and quickly spotted her chatting Bruce’s ear off by a corner of the room. “I think her head might explode if you did that.”

X tugged on his arm, stopping him in his tracks, then cupped his cheek in her hand, turning him to face her. “All the more reason to do it!”

Jason slid his gaze over to the side, waiting until Clara had turned to them, her eyes alight with devilish glee, then he turned back to his girlfriend and touched his lips softly to hers.

“See?” X told him when a loud gasp sounded from across the room. “I told you these things weren’t so bad.”

Jason chuckled softly and pulled her into his chest for a hug, bending over again to press his lips to the top of her head.

“Only because you’re here,” he argued, too delighted to be wrapped up in his girlfriend’s arms in public to bother about who was watching them. X laughed and ran her fingers through his hair.

“I’ll always be here for you, Jay,” she reassured him, pressing a kiss to the side of his head before pulling back. “I love you, darling.”

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

45 notes · View notes

silvertidescribbles · 2 days ago

Text

Sweet Thing

“You made me listen kitten, to those cries, after flirting with me all day.”

Approx. 6.3k words

Pairing: Astarion x OC - See my little post about Alynea here. If you folks are curious to learn more about her, let me know :)

Content tags: MDNI, 18+ NSFW, smut, praise, begging, fingering, (mild) jealousy, depictions of blood/blood drinking.

A/N: Well, here I am posting smut ahah. Not a lot of context is needed, I've written it as much as I can into the fic itself. The vampire man has had a chokehold on me since the game came out, and I was compelled to write up one of my ideas of how he would go about seducing my tav while he's also struggling to keep his emotions separate :P.

Also, I have no idea how censorship works on here! Not entirely sure if this will get flagged in some way but oh well, such is part of learning. If you have the time and patience, feedback is appreciated <3 Is it strange to be nervous about posting smut? I don't know...

I hope this is enjoyable 😊

-Silver

Astarion waited impatiently in his tent, flipping carelessly through the pages of the novel he’d snagged during the day’s expedition. Despite his efforts, he found the tale within lacked the substance he needed to distract himself. Hells, he needed a distraction from what was happening outside his tent. He was positively sick of hearing Gale and Alynea geek out over magic together and he insisted to himself that he couldn’t be the only one.

Gale had made a habit of sitting late into the night at the campfire with the pale woman, a sneaky grin shared between them as they spoke of Waterdeep. Her a sorcerer and him a wizard, the two had bonded far too quickly for Astarion’s tastes, especially once it became known that both had been apprentices at Blackstaff. Even with his efforts to flirt with her, Astarion found himself further from the elf than he wanted to be. Another giggle from Alynea floated from the campfire up into the night sky, making him roll his eyes in irritation. Just how long was she going to make him wait? After all, she had promised to come to him after the others had gone to their bedrolls to let him feed.

Peeking out from his tent, Astarion was witness to how Alynea snickered at Gale’s words as she swallowed another mouthful of wine. The firelight cast a warm glow over her features and melded with the cooler palette of her skin and hair while her silvery eyes glittered. Albinism, she had said when asked. It explained the lack of colour in her, why her eyes twitched painfully under the bright sun and why her hair shone as white as bone, her pale skin only barely flushed with any warmth. As his eyes passed over the bruises on her neck, the memory of the first night she aided him rose to the surface.

“I’d hate to lose such a useful person over a little blood,” she had said so sweetly the night he’d tried to drink from her. “If that’s all you need, I’ll help.” He was honestly surprised she hadn’t staked him right there, and even more taken aback that she was willing to leave herself at his mercy. Alynea had struggled against him that night, body shaking as her blood was siphoned away. She hadn’t said anything in the moment, but there was something indescribable about the sudden head rush Astarion had experienced. It was invigorating and electrifying, sharpening his vision as a tingle arced down his spine. He would later confirm the wave of energy that washed over him when drinking from her wasn’t normal; the goblins he’d torn open a few days later did nothing to soothe the vampiric hunger the way her lifeblood did. Perhaps it was due to the magic she claimed burned inside her, though he couldn’t be sure. It was hard to believe at times she was such a fearsome spellcaster with her small presence and diminutive form, but the fireball she’d launched past his head earlier in the day begged to differ. Even though she was the shortest and physically smallest of the ragtag group, the rest of the party had quickly learned to not be the cause of her split hairs, lest they be the target of her next spell.

He was no longer reading the words in his book, fingers paused in the middle of turning the page as he realized he was reminiscing like a schoolboy. How embarrassing, he thought to himself. Sure, Alynea was another pretty face, but he couldn’t fathom why she lingered in his mind the way she did. The woman was a patriar’s daughter for hells sake—by all accounts she should be someone he held contempt for. Should was the operative word however, he was failing to find anything to find truly repulsive about the little elf. Perhaps the tadpole had scrambled his brain more than he’d like to admit. Before he could muse any longer on the thought, there was a noise that drew him back to the present.

“Astarion? Gale’s gone now. I’m… I’m here, if you would like.” Her warbly voice was soft outside his tent as she stood by, picking at the strap of the oversized top she’d chosen as a nightgown. Although intended for a man much larger than her the shirt made for an acceptable nightdress, if a little short. The sound of a book snapping shut alerted her to the vampire shuffling around inside the tent before the main flap was pulled back, a hand inviting her in. Crouching as she stepped within the boundaries of his tent, her pupils dilated as her vision adjusted. Being elves, the lack of light was no issue for them, Astarion could see her perfectly well in the dark, and he knew she could see him as well.

“Oh my... you’re in a distracting outfit tonight darling,” the vampire drawled. Alynea’s cheeks flushed pink at that as her fingers tweaked a strand of hair between them. “I can change if—” He waved a hand, cutting her off. “Oh I doubt that’ll be necessary. After all, I will be needing access to that pretty little neck of yours.”

She swallowed thickly at that, nostrils flaring slightly as his grin made her shiver. As she squirmed under his gaze a strange sense of irritation rose in his chest at the sight of her. The garment she wore hung loosely off her shoulders and low on her chest which left little to the imagination, the hemline only just reaching the top of her knee. It was a dress that, if one could even call it such, practically screamed sex appeal. Knowing she had been sitting shoulder to shoulder with Gale directly prior to this, jealousy stirred in him for a moment before he regained control. That bumbling wizard wouldn’t know what to do with Alynea even if she were to lie nude and expecting in front of him.

That mental image sparked a new sense of discontent in Astarion. He could hardly believe he was competing with Gale for her affections, dismayed at the thought of her possibly seeing them in the same league. In fact, he could hardly believe he was competing with any of them. Wyll was but a bright-eyed child, still wet around the ears. The warlock’s eyes shined with adoration for the woman, but it was clear he was unable to think beyond that. Shadowheart was just as bad, with the way she had roped the sorcerer into listening to her Sharran drivel. Astarion scowled at that, wanting to laugh at the absurdity of it.

Alynea cleared her throat, bringing him back to the present. “Are you alright Astarion?” There was an unknowable emotion in her eyes that made him shy away from her gaze, scratching at the nape of his neck. “Apologies,” he muttered. “I was distracted by a thought is all.” The excuse did little to sway her; she just stared back at him with those large silver eyes. Astarion tilted his head, seeing the way she looked down at the strand of hair she fiddled with. She was well within her rights to still be uncomfortable about the arrangement they’d made, though something whispered to him that it wasn’t fear of him that made her shy. Ever since the first incident, she’d insisted on giving her some of her blood when the group failed to find enough fights for him to feed from. Despite how palpable her nervousness was, she would take a deep breath and shake her head when he offered her an out, even as the anxiety rolled off her in waves.

Astarion shifted, adjusting his position to sit at one end of the tent with his legs spread. Given she was much smaller, he grabbed a pillow he’d swiped from the grove and placed it between his thighs. Frankly, she needed it, so he could reach her neck without craning his own horrendously. Alynea was fragile against him when his fangs were in her throat, and he didn’t want to risk hurting her more than he had to. Her willingness to let him feed from her was a gift and he would not squander it, he thought to himself. No, as much as he wanted to indulge, to feel her warmth fade as he drained every last drop from her body, he knew he couldn’t. Her generosity was one of the kindest things anyone had ever willingly done for him and he refused to ruin it.

He outstretched a hand to her to guide her as she sat down on the pillow, twisting around to press her back against him. The warmth of her skin was pleasant against his cool chest, something he always relished when she let herself nestle against his body. He paused at the way her muscles tensed when his fingers brushed along her ears, sweeping back her ivory locks to reveal her neck. The tiniest drop of guilt bubbled up in him upon seeing the lingering bruises from the last time, but it quickly faded away. He had plans to make it up to her tonight.

“Now, kitten,” he cooed into her ear, his lips only a breath away. “You let me know when you’re ready, darling.” Although she was insistent on letting him receive blood from her, Astarion had found she would flinch when he gave no warning before ravaging her neck. They had tried other veins, including her wrists or arms, but nothing had been as efficient as her throat for drawing enough. Despite how his gut would wrench with hunger at her scent, he found she handled the situation best when she was in control. How innocent, he had thought. But still he restrained himself; he could control his desires and he would.

At first, she had been telling him verbally when she was ready, but much to his surprise the last two times she had simply squeezed his knee to let him know she was prepared. Although she hadn’t been the quickest to warm up to him when they first met, it was the little things that told Astarion he was making progress with her. For all her sweet demeanor, she was a powerful sorcerer he wanted on his side. He’d slowly been gaining her trust and affection, and these intimate nights where she let him drink only accelerated the relationship. This time he was preparing to step things up, the scent of her blood filling him with a carnal desire to bend her over and break her.

“Sweet thing, you smell delicious tonight,” he whispered into her ear. She was wearing perfume tonight, same as the last few times. The aromas of mugwort and balsam floated up from her skin and filled his head as he remembered her picking the herbs earlier in the day. It was a sweet gesture, though it didn’t do much to distract him from his prize. Nevertheless, he was flattered by the effort. Sharp fangs slid out just a fraction from his gums, the pointed ends brushing along the cartilage of her upper ear. Alynea shuddered at the touch, squeaking out the tiniest yelp as one of his hands began rubbing along her arm. It was his attempt to relax her, to ply her to his want and to let herself go limp in his arms.

“Astarion, before you—” She paused, her breath hitching as his other hand innocently rested on one of her knees, thumbpad rubbing circles into her skin. “Yes, dear? What could possibly be the matter?” The low timbre of the vampire’s voice sent shivers down her body and she let out a short breath, unaware she had even been holding it.

“N-Nothing’s the matter,” Alyena stammered. Oh, how sweet that little stutter made her sound to him. She only ever stuttered like that when she was flustered, overwhelmed with her emotions. Those feelings always quieted down when he sank into her though, her shaky voice silencing to a soft “oh…” each time. He could hardly wait to feel her grip at his thigh, to signal to him that he could take her. “But I wanted to ask…” the man paused, lifting his head back slightly from her. She twisted around to look up at him and despite his best efforts, something twinged in the base of his stomach. A primal, growling desire rumbled in him, but he bit his tongue as those impossibly round doe eyes stared up at him.

“Um… Could you possibly take off your shirt before you do it?” A flush crept across her cheeks, a rare instance of her skin becoming rosy. “I… I like the way it feels, when you press your chest against my back, and…” Astarion cracked a devilish grin as she mumbled out her request, tripping and stumbling over her words. Something about it feeling safe when she was held in an embrace, how skin to skin contact felt, and so on. She blushed, biting a nail as she looked up. Liar, he snarked in his head. He knew she was attracted to him, despite her avoidance of the question when he had asked. She wanted a good piece of eye candy, that’s why she was asking.

“As you wish, so it shall be granted, darling,” he replied graciously to her. In a moment, his blouse was untied and slipped over his white curls, tossed aside to a forgotten corner of his tent. She paused to stare for a moment, biting her lip as her eyes took in his shape in the dark before sitting back against him. Alynea felt both panic and excitement rise in her throat as he settled back in, cool skin pressing against hers. She knew he could feel her heartbeat, smell the rush of her blood, though it wasn’t something she could control exactly. Truth be told, she had been working up the nerve to ask him to do this. She wanted the chance to see him up close without his shirt, and now she had her desire.

Although she had tried her best to keep the instances of blood drinking transactional, it had become more and more impossible. Gods, he stared at her in such a smoldering way. The way his eyes gazed into hers, how he cradled her body in his arms as he fed, all made her feel weak in the knees. The last two times after she had left his tent she had laid in her own bedroll, desperately chasing release with her own means. The loss of blood put a pleasant haze over everything, and she found herself soaked with need and desire as she fantasized about the tall, handsome man who practically eyefucked her every chance he could. She wasn’t stupid; she could tell Astarion was undressing her in his mind every time he saw her. She could only hope her eyes didn’t give it away as much as his did.

Astarion’s thumb was rubbing circles again. This time though, she tensed, feeling his hand far higher up than it had been previously. Where his palm normally rested on her knee, his hand had slid down to lay on her inner thigh. The hem of her nightshirt was pushed up, and she blushed seeing her own skin.

“Hm… you naughty girl, you’re not even wearing any underwear,” he purred. His voice made her blink and focus, becoming more alert to the position she was in. It made her blush further, realizing how she was fully lying back against the elf, heart thudding in her chest as his other hand moved lower, finding a spot at her waist. His touch made her voice catch in her throat, a particularly sweet sound coming out only barely above a whisper as he pulled her against him. “I…” she mumbled something, trying to think of a response, but finding none. Was he going to realize? Would he know she’d been planning this night in her mind all day?

“Shh, shh,” he hushed, his fingers dragging their nails over the milky skin of her inner thigh. Her leg twitched at this as his fingers moved closer to her groin, dangerously close. “Do you think I was oblivious to your antics the last two times?” His voice was a low growl now, a dangerous edge to it that she seldom heard, yet caused her belly to twinge all the same in response. “Coming in here, all perfumed, barely dressed,” he muttered into her ear. “Sitting here, all soft and sweet while you bled for me” he continued. “To then go back to your bedroll and whine the way you do,” he added, Alynea shivering at his voice. “Fucking yourself on your fingers while you moaned my name,” he hissed, mouth hovering over her neck, just behind her ear.

Alynea closed her eyes, her face flushed as she felt her stomach tie into a knot. She should’ve known, she realized. Of course a vampire, an elven one no less, would have been able to hear her whines, no matter how muffled. “Astarion,” she whimpered, her hand squeezing at his thigh. A silent yes, her way of giving him permission.

“The last two times,” he breathed out hoarsely, his tongue dragging along her neck and paying particular attention to the two bruises he’d left. She quivered under his touch, a hand coming up to cover her mouth as she tried not to squeak. “You made me listen while you made your desires known.” Alynea could hardly breathe, with how tight the tension in her body was coiled. She was melting under every single touch of his now. “You made me listen, kitten, to those cries, after flirting with me all day.” She nearly palmed his head away when his fangs scraped along her ear, making her strain and push against him, rocking her body back. Astarion grinned, his arm coming around to encircle her waist. He had her at his mercy now, unable to pull away as his other hand pushed up the hem of her nightgown even further, exposing her.

“All while acting so innocent to me the next morning,” he growled. She gasped when his fangs pierced her, louder than she ever had before. Her body shuddered against his as she let out a low breathy moan, one that seemed to egg him on as his arm pulled her against him even harder. A sharp pain, now a familiar embrace, dulled her senses and made her weak as she became more pliable in his arms. As she lay there, she realized something; he was drinking slowly, much slower in fact than usual. Blinking, she opened her mouth to say something but only managed to let out a quiet strangled noise

Astarion’s cool fingers had found her. She was already wet, and he found only the slightest bit resistance as he slid his first finger in before her body caved, freely letting him push into her. His thumbpad now circled her clit and she let out the most pathetic little sob of pleasure as he continued to slowly, agonizingly slowly, drink down her blood.

Alynea let out the softest, sweetest little moan, her hips jerking in response. She wasn’t thinking, just moving in reaction to him. Still, he held her firmly, slowly suckling out more of her blood as he dug his fingers into her. Hells, he thought to himself, she smelled and tasted incredible. The arousal he had smelled on her had already tipped him off to her state of mind when she had entered his tent, but now it was a full crescendo. Her little whimpers and moans as she attempted to be quiet, to not wake the whole camp, were like a symphony to his ears. It was a delight to hear it firsthand and by his hand, rather than how muffled it was when she was in her own bedroll, crying into her pillows to reduce the noise.

“Oh, Astarion...” He stiffened at her voice; the way his name fell from her mouth was sinful. He hummed as he slowly siphoned more blood, increasing the flow into his mouth and making her cry out as he slid another finger into her. His other hand reached up, tugging down her nightshirt from her shoulders and freeing her torso from the garment. Her lungs heaved as his fingers worked away at her flesh, pinching and groping and massaging the soft skin. Her whole body jolted at the touch, hips grinding up against his palm. With a loud groan of contentment, Astarion released his fangs from her throat, continuing to suck and lick at the two new puncture marks he’d left behind. He would take more later, but for now his focus was on seducing the sweet treat in his lap.

“Fuck, oh gods…” she whispered as Astarion looked down, smirking at what he saw. “Just me,” he crooned softly. He could see the ghost of a smile at his quip on her lips, but it vanished quickly as she melted into his embrace. Pleased with his work, he committed the image to memory. Alynea curled in his arms with her eyes closed, brows furrowed as she squirmed, her chest bared and blushed pink in various locations where he’d pinched and prodded. She was such a pretty thing, pushing her hips against his fingers. “You’ve been waiting for this,” he murmured against her skin. “Isn’t that right? You’ve been wanting to fuck yourself all over my fingers for a while now, you little minx.” Soft, shaky breaths escaped her as she shifted in his embrace while he dug further into her, searching for the soft little pad of tissue that he knew would undo her. He chuckled, nipping at her with his fangs. “Answer me, kitten.”

“A—yes, yes I—” she winced when she bit her tongue fumbling for words as he slid in a third finger. She felt his chest tighten as he sucked in a breath, tasting blood in her mouth. Their gazes locked, her wide eyes looking up at him as his free hand moved to come up to her chin. Firmly, but still gentle, he gripped her jaw as he pushed her to look at him.

Astarion couldn’t help but grin at the sight of her. The smell of her blood leaking from a nipped tongue, mingling with her hot breath made his own belly twinge. Her pupils were blown out, a sight he recognized well as lust. She whined when he withdrew his fingers from her, but he tutted at her softly as he brought them up to his own mouth. “You are perfect kitten,” he groaned softly, reveling in the taste. The smaller elf shivered as his hand left a smear on her thigh as he adjusted her in his arms. He shifted her head to his other shoulder, adjusting his own body to better support her frame as she leaned into him, his thumb pressed against her bottom lip. This night was about her, not him, but she was irresistible to him all the same. The primal, carnal urge within him growled, yearning to take her, though he forced it back down. Not yet, he hissed at it. Not tonight. He wouldn’t destroy this. He wouldn’t.

When he kissed her, he could feel her heartbeat skyrocket. His other hand fell, resuming his motions as she moaned into his mouth. His tongue chased hers, the linger taste of her mixing with her blood, a soft groan escaping him as she whimpered. A sweet thing indeed, he thought to himself. He stayed there, kissing her and lapping at the swollen spot on her tongue that bled just the tiniest bit, enticing him to go further as he kept up the rhythm, fingers reaching as far as he could into her.

Alynea was speechless, her mind racing. Gods, she had been dreaming about this exact scenario for over two weeks now. His fingers felt heavenly as they moved rhythmically against her, every stroke sending another jolt of pleasure through her bones. She could feel her heart in her throat as he kissed her, a strong hand on her jaw keeping her there as his tongue delved into her mouth.

It was all beginning to be too much. Still, she did nothing to stop him as he carried on, feeling herself react more and more sharply the longer he continued. In the back of her mind she could hear herself moaning louder, the sounds harder to control as the pleasure became more intense. Despite the spells inside her that roiled and bubbled up, she kept it down as he slid his fourth finger in, the noises becoming more obscene as her eyes rolled back slightly, waves of heat continuing to build in the bottom of her belly. She had trained her magic well enough to not be worried about a mephit blinking into existence or thornbushes coming up to entangle them, but nonetheless she fought off the tingling feeling in her chest as the tension in her body continued to grow.

“Astarion,” she whimpered against his mouth, catching his attention. His fingers paused for a moment and she whined, rocking her hips slightly as if desperately telling him not to stop. “Astarion, I want you to bite me,” she pleaded, “again, on the neck.” She could feel him smirk against her lips as his fingers started up again, this time more feverish than before. “Oh, you sweet thing,” he whispered, hand still on her jaw. He tilted her head down against his shoulder and she groaned as she felt her orgasm starting to build. She could faintly hear him laugh softly as she began grinding her hips into his hand, biting on her tongue in concentration, legs shaking as she did so. With her head resting in the crook of his neck, she began to moan again, unable to contain her voice as she reached for her release. Alynea had wanted this for so long, her body was on fire with anticipation. She felt his hand leave her jaw, returning to massage her chest and she stifled her cries into his neck. His cool skin provided brief momentary relief as the pressure in her body came to a rumbling boil, but the rush of heat returned just as quickly and fiercer than before.

She didn’t know why he hadn’t returned his fangs to her neck and now she desperately wanted them. A part of her was laughing at the contradiction; his fangs sinking into her often hurt, yet here and now as she was a shuddering mess she wanted nothing more than that sharp, bright pain. Shivers rippled through her body at the thought, muscles straining against his four fingers he kept fucking her with. Fuck, she realized. Did he want her to beg? To plead for him to ruin her further?

Well, if that’s what he wanted, she had no qualms about doing so.

Astarion was a little surprised when Alynea’s hand palmed at his forearm. He didn’t really expect her to be able to think coherently in the moment, given how uninhibited she was making such sweet noises for him. There was something pathetically desperate about the way she weakly pawed at him, unable to put any real strength into her grip. Her head shifted, shaking slightly as her lips moved close to his ear. Sucking in a sharp breath as her lips grazed his neck while her nails dug gently into his skin, he bit back a groan as her tongue rolled over his skin. “You little minx,” he growled quietly, the low register of his voice sending a chill through her.

“Astarion, please,” she mewled. “Please… I need your fangs in me, I’m- I’m so close…” He stiffened a little at that, his own erection that was hidden by the pillow she sat on twitching at her pleas. He hummed, craning his neck down to the exposed skin. “My, my, who would’ve thought our fearless sorceress would be brought to her knees like this,” he crowed. “Moaning and crying like this, begging for me.” In the back of his mind Astarion was gleeful. He knew she was being too loud at this point; Wyll in his tent could probably hear her halfway across the campsite. He knew that the wizard nearby could definitely hear her cries. Perhaps this would finally send the others the message he'd been trying to tell them: She’s mine. She was his to hold close, to nip on the neck and to pleasure.

“Please… I’ve been… been so good, for you,” she whined into his ear, each breathy gasp making him bite the inside of his cheek harder. “I’ve let you take so much… so much blood,” she whimpered. The salt of her sweat left a tang in his throat, lips pressed against her neck as she continued to moan. He could tell she was getting close, with the way she was grinding herself onto his fingers, her heartbeat pulsing through her whole body.

“Oh, fuck, don’t make me keep begging,” she whispered. There was a frantic tone in her voice as she shuddered, continuing to grind against him. “Please, oh gods, I’m so close, I want your fangs in me when I—Astarion, please,” she wailed, completely lost to the hope of staying silent. Was that a tear he spotted in the corner of her eye? He could almost laugh in disbelief, though he would not betray her feelings in that way, at least not in the moment. Planting a soft kiss to her jawline, his fingers tangled themselves into her silver hair. With the slightest bit of force, Astarion pulled her head fast against his shoulder to expose her neck as best as possible. Alynea was shaking with need, sweat glistening down her body as he heard her voice become strained.

She was such a pretty little thing. And she was such an exquisite treasure when she was laid out like this, wanton moans muffled against his body as her nails dug into his arms, her hips moving back and forth against his fingers that continued to push deep inside her. “Sweet thing, don’t cry,” he purred. He could see her chest fall a little at the reassurance, as if some relief had come from his words alone. The sound of her blood rushing echoed in his ears, heartbeat thudding wildly throughout her body as her breathing became even more labored. She was right at the edge now, he figured. They had been at this for over ten minutes and the slow build up was clearly agonizing for her, to be this close.

His fingers slowed for a moment, withdrawing most of the way out of her, his thumb pressing harder against her clit as she cried against him in protest. She was so close, teetering on the edge of her release, but he shushed her to soothe her begging as he planted one more gentle kiss on her neck. “You’re right, darling,” he whispered. “You’ve been a wonderful girl, such a good treat for me,” he muttered against her skin.

“Oh, fuck!” Alynea cried out against his neck as the white-hot pain lanced through her own, feeling his fingers thrust back into her with full force. Eyes squeezed shut, she couldn’t see the wild and unfocused look in his eyes as he began to drink. The familiar hazy sensation from blood loss washed over her with force as he drank deeply, swallowing down mouthfuls of her blood as he fucked her onto his hand.

It was all simply too much. The pressure in the bottom of her belly swelled to a feverish pitch, before it all exploded. She could faintly hear him grunt as her muscles clenched, her whole body seizing up as relief washed over her, ripping through and out her body forcefully. Her hips bucked hard against his hand, thighs shaking as they tried to press together. His fingers had slowed, but continued to gently fuck her through the high as she felt his fangs begin to retract, her hips beginning to calm down.

After a moment, his fangs finished retracting and Alynea’s gasps settled down to soft mumbles as he lapped at her neck, helping to close over the new marks left by his feeding. There was a groan from her throat as his fingers lazily withdrew from her, her body aching at the sudden loss. She heard him suck in a breath, seeing how the cushion she sat on was freshly wet as a creeping embarrassment grew in her chest.

He grinned at her, not a glint of shame in his eyes as he lifted his hand, dragging his tongue from his wrist to the top of his palm as she watched with a heavy blush. Then, he reached for his pack off to the side and tugged out a cloth. That was enough to erase any lingering worry she felt as her breathing even out. After a moment, she shivered as he wiped her down as well before he placed the rag off to the side to be forgotten. Astarion sat quietly, seemingly unsure of what to do next with the quivering mess in his lap. After a moment she shifted, twisting herself around and surprising him as her arms wrapped around his torso. “Did you enjoy that?” She whispered, head resting still on his shoulder.

Something lanced through him with those words. She asked so innocently, so sweetly, as if he hadn’t just made her lose her mind on his fingers. There was a tinge of authenticity to her tone, something that told him she wanted to know truly if he had enjoyed it. “Darling,” he purred. “You were marvelous.” That wasn’t a lie, he mused to himself. He had enjoyed it, watching her unravel because of his actions made something in him swell with satisfaction. Pride, even.

“The next time you’re so desperate as to keep me up all night listening to you,” he spoke softly, more gently. “Don’t torture yourself. Not when I can help.” She seemed to relax at his words, her eyes unfocused and hazy as her heartbeat began to slow. Exhaustion was calling to her, even as Astarion pulled away to grab another pillow. “You should head to your bedroll, sweet kitten,” he whispered. To his surprise though, she reached out weakly, fingers tangling with his own. “I don’t particularly… care what the others have to say,” she murmured. She was falling into her trance now, voice heavy with exhaustion. “So… let me stay with you tonight here. …Please?”

Again, something in the way she spoke shot right through him. The intimacy of her fingers entwined with his made a strange sensation flood over his face. Although her eyes had closed, he said nothing, only nodding. Pulling a blanket over her shoulder and covering her half naked form, he laid her down on his bedroll. He had never done this part of sex, he thought to himself. Though she didn’t seem to be asking for much. Perhaps she just wanted to stay where a bedroll had already been warmed, instead of making the trudge back to her own tent.

In the morning, Alynea would be slow to wake. When she did, she reached for the amulet Astarion had swiped in the grove, her skin shimmering as the lesser restoration spell shook the sleep from her eyes. To her back was the pale elf, still shirtless from the night before, though he had made distance between them overnight. She blushed when she sniffed the air, heavy with the smell of sex, the smell of her. Yawning, she adjusted her nightgown as Astarion began to shift, waking from his own trance.

Red eyes met silver, blinking silently. Sheepishly, she smiled at him. “Good morning." A slight smile ghosted across his face before vanishing as he sat up, reaching for his blouse. “Sleep well, darling?” He asked. She nodded, reaching up to trace at the nicks left on her neck. She flinched a little when pressing on one of them; the tissue was sore. She looked over to him, whose gaze had also settled on it. Astarion smirked at her, looking down as he laced up his blouse. “My apologies, darling. It seems the bruising is quite... intense this time.”

When she finally left his tent, she cringed internally as she briefly met Wyll’s gaze across from her tent as she slipped inside, hastily changing out of her disheveled nightshirt. She knew the boy had harbored a crush on her since his childhood, and some part of her felt bad knowing he probably heard her cries last night. Likewise, Gale hadn’t come out of his tent yet either. She felt her face flush at the thought of her friend lying in his bedroll, forced to listen as she had wailed so openly for Astarion, moaning his name, begging him to undo her.

Later, the women who had their tents on the other side of the campsite would ask why the men were so quiet. Gale, ever the gentleman, had the grace to brush it off as being exhausted from a bad sleep while Wyll said nothing, staring down intently at his food. Astarion however, had rolled his eyes, scoffing something about humans and their need for sleep. Karlach guffawed at that, pointing out that it was no secret that Alynea had slipped out of his tent this morning and not her own, her neck covered in bruises. True to her word, when Astarion glanced over at the elf, she was chewing on a strip of bacon as she peered over a spell scroll totally unbothered. When she looked up to see the party’s eyes on her, she blinked, swallowing before saying the simplest, sweetest thing he had heard from her yet.

“Yeah, I did. He was good.”

#baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #astarion x oc #mdni #astarion #astarion ancunin #cw blood #astarion x tav #astarion x female tav #alynea #astarion bg3 #bg3 astarion #fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #fanfiction #astarion romance

24 notes · View notes

reorientation · 2 days ago

Note

Just started on estrogen as an intersex woman because it turns out I never had any my entire goddamn life. I always identified as a lesbian, I love women, I'm in a long-term relationship with a woman, and that's not changed...

...But, oh my god.

Men smell so *bad*, but it's in such a *good* way. I don't understand it. This is completely opposite how I used to feel and I don't *get* it, and the worst thing is I'm a dominant?

And all I can think about is being pinned down and crushed. What is HAPPENING to me? Surely this cannot be normal, surely something has gone wrong?

I'm the one who's in control. I'm the one who takes control. I like women, I don't like men.

And god, for months now, I haven't been able to get off unless I'm thinking about some guy finding me, taking me, and me being *fixed*. Fucking me straight, making me a good girl for him, converting me. And it really is fixing, isn't it? I'm a bit broken and I need to be cured. I'm dripping as I write this. I've never dripped before.

Please either tell me this is unhealthy or help me feed it, because... wow. Please help make me worse, or make me better - I don't know which anymore.

It's obvious what's healthy and unhealthy here, isn't it? You went to a doctor and were told what you'd been missing your whole life - and then you went home, and took the drugs, and realized what you'd been missing your whole life.

There's something so pure about this! You knew who you were as a woman - and as a lesbian, and a domme - but you didn't know who you were meant to be. You got corrected - genuinely, medically! - and all of a sudden you discovered a deep, profound need to be a good girl for a man.

"I'm the one who's in control. I'm the one who takes control. I like women, I don't like men." -- but that was what was wrong with you, this whole time! This isn't inherent to having estrogen - nearly all women do, and they don't all feel like this - but as soon as it hit your bloodstream, it was all you wanted. What can you possibly conclude except that you were built for this?

You still love women, you still love your girlfriend - but for months now, either she hasn't made you come at all, or she's only made you come while you fantasized about a man fucking some sense into you. You only learned how to be dripping wet while imagining dripping a man's cum.

How could you ever look back? How could you try to return to the life you had before, now that you've seen how it was always wrong?

#kink interactions #reorientation writing #reor: anon ask #lgetsd #reor: anon life story #dykebreaking #I love this one so much //

23 notes · View notes

writingnekoo · 21 hours ago

Text

Odysseus' character analysis & how we overlook his trauma

Okay, this will be a long post about Odysseus and what could be happening in his head after his return to Ithaca because I really need to share these ideas <3

During the last few days I've been thinking about the whole Poseidon-obssesed-with-Odysseus concept (thanks to @rin-solo for inspiration :)), and that's how I recalled one headcanon of mine about Odysseus and his possible perception of his conflict with Poseidon.

A disclaimer first: I know that Epic is sometimes historically and culturally inaccurate, but! I want to include some of the cultural norms of ancient times because they will make things much more interesting.

So, since early August I've had an idea that Odysseus' personality during the post-Odyssey timeline would be heavily influenced by PTSD. That's just reasonable: the war takes its toll on the person anyway, especially on the warrior like Odysseus. He saw the nightmares of the Trojan War, lost his comrades and faced things that made him lose his sleep.

I actually like how Odysseus' trauma is depicted in Epic. We have these parts with the voices of Polites, Eurylochus and Anticlea and see just how much these losses affected Odysseus (take the ending of "Love in Paradise"). But instead of focusing on the losses like the musical does I'd rather talk about those who had caused them. It's a curious thing about the mentality of those who survived the war and similar events: their mind tends to demonize and hate those who caused pain deeply. It produces the ultimate hatred that is able to overcome any other feeling. This is the idea that I want to pursue in my Monster AU (might write about it later because that's another long talk) about the overwhelming feeling, produced by trauma, that can't be distinguished. And Odysseus is the only character in the story who has endured that twenty-year long nightmare: his comrades from the Trojan War didn't have the decade of journey back home behind their backs, and those who sailed with Odysseus died.

But there's one more layer to this scenario. While we've covered the idea about the war victim demonizing the aggressor, we can't forget that we're talking about the religious society of ancient times. Poseidon and Zeus are the two godly villains of Odysseus' story. However, they're also the god of the tides, who must've been one of the most widely worshiped in Ithaca (since it's an island... yeah), and the King of the gods.

That leaves Odysseus in an even more complex situation. Because he most likely highly respected both of them for his whole life. Eventually, they left Odysseus ruined. The people of Ithaca didn't stop worshipping them, and Odysseus has to follow the same religious rituals and celebrate annual festivities, which definitely reminds him of what had happened.

Once again, no one understands what he's gone through. Even Penelope and Telemachus, no matter how supportive they are. Thus, the trauma is left unseen and unhealed. Too bad there was no therapy in the ancient world, Odysseus would've needed it.

Finally, this whole set of reasons serves as a perfect background for deep and tragic obsession with those who hurt him and inability to let go of the past. Do the voices fall silent after Odysseus defeats all the enemies? No, they probably don't. Because even though physically Odysseus is already home, mentally, he's still fighting with the ghosts of his enemies. This is a desperate feeling that belongs to a broken man who no longer fits into society like he used to. And it eats him alive, kills him from the inside. No ruthlessness or bloodshed can help Odysseus to run from this despair. It fact, they might only make it worth by reminding who made him a monster! :)

Generally... this is pretty much it. The whole idea of all-consuming despair and trauma is what I've wanted to pursue here because I find it very natural in terms of everything that Odysseus has been through. I'd also like to analyze the whole Vengeance saga (especially my fav Six Hundred Strike) from this perspective because it actually makes perfect sense for me, but that's one more long post of another time lmao.

#epic the musical #epic the vengeance saga #epic zeus #epic odysseus #epic poseidon #epic the musical analysis

22 notes · View notes

mclacedes · 16 hours ago

Text

A Fading Echo (LH44)

CHAPTER I: Taste Karma.

hello beautiful babes! here's a little something i've been wanting to write for a while now and just flew out of me randomly!! hope you enjoy this and hope this makes any sense at all :)

warnings: breakup, abu dhabi ‘24, lewis leaving mercedes, lewis in ferrari, lack of XNDA songs, partner moving on.

“it isn't only how he died, but that he died believing. and so i try to be kind to everything i see. and in everything i see, i see him.”

— Hanya Yanagihara, “A Little Life”

this is slightly inspired by Hanya Yanagihara's book "A Little Life", but THIS IS NOT A RECOMMENDATION from me and THIS DOES NOT mean I like that book at all !!!

also, there's a part II for it, so lmk if you like it :)

End of season. Last race. Last race with Mercedes.

This was the end of an era, but the start of an age. A new chapter in this long book, filled with broken records and (un)fulfilled dreams.

There was only last thing he wanted though. A thing he’d never done.

To release an album.

+44, his first album, would come out in a few hours and nobody even knew it.

Lewis had poured countless hours into it, refining each lyric, melody, and harmony until every note fitted just right.

Every detail was thoroughly planned, every step thoughtfully envisioned. The photoshoot was booked, the interview responses rehearsed, the songs were ready. But one day, he realized the only thing that should be put together — his very self — was melting, breaking apart into millions of pieces of longing, sorrow, wrath and regret.

This should be a moment of fun, a moment of celebration, but the only thing he’d think about is how this album only exists because, at one point, he had you — the best thing that ever happened to him, his confidant, his partner in crime.

But, as of now, there's no you in his life and, apparently, no space for him in yours.

Now you’re a fading echo, a ghost haunting every inch of his life, lurking in the back of his mind so he can get a glimpse of your broken-hearted gaze in your salted-water-drowned eyes when he closes his.

Your laugh still echoes through the paddocks around the world; he still knows every word of the prayer you’d mutter every time he climbed into the cockpit. You are in his houses, cars, clothes, and everything he is now—a wreckage.

There's a simple routine he follows, absentmindedly, now that you're gone: he smiles when he sees you in a small detail of his life; then his heart tightens painfully, suffocating him. When the stars fall at night, he lies awake in the darkness of his room and his own mind, clutching the pillow you once slept on, desperately trying to grasp some semblance of solace and familiarity. Lewis lingers there, until your vanilla scent fades away completely as he drifts into the restless awareness of his subconscious—his dreams, in which you've never left and still loved him. In his perfect, tailor-made utopia, you can bring yourself to look into his eyes and say you forgive him.

But reality has other plans. Like always.

He just wanted to get through today.

Yes, the Universe is vast and gracious, munificent and indulgent, and Lewis knows this. But, today, his last race with Mercedes in a track that holds so much memory, the Universe had made its mind: the winds of fate would play a trick on him.

This morning, after waking from a dream of you in your favorite park in France, laughing about babies and tracing shapes in the clouds, he never imagined he’d want to leave the paddock as soon as he entered it.

On the drive to Yas Marina, it hadn’t crossed his mind that he might see you, hand in hand with that one actor—Jensen Ackles—who you used to gush over.

As he signed caps, mini helmets, and photos for his fans, not for a single moment did he expect to catch sight of you in the paddock, wearing rosso corsa, cheering on Ferrari—Ferrari, of all teams. The same red team you used to roll your eyes at. The same red team that the man beside you had so often boasted about supporting. The same team that he had signed a contract with.

None of it had been his choice, and yet his entire body betrayed him the moment his eyes landed on you; as though someone had fastened his feet to the ground, he was unable to walk. He not only couldn’t move, but he felt like air didn't get to his lungs so he couldn't breathe, and there was nothing more interesting than the scene in from of him so he couldn’t look away.

For a second there, he wished you were ugly. He wished your eyes didn’t glisten when you honestly found something funny, that your dress didn't perfectly frame your body, and your teeth were broken. He wished there were flaws he could cling to, reasons to justify hating you; he wished he could have the strength within himself to fall out of love. But you were too unattainable for him to let go.

And, God, you were glowing. Your smile beamed, your hair fell perfectly just the way he likes it, and then—what. is. that?

Your hand laid slightly over your belly.

Your left hand rested on your belly, right where your womb would be.

Your left hand, with its delicate fingers, bore a ring—a massive diamond that caught the sunlight in a cruel, mocking glint.

And then there was him. Jensen Ackles, the so-called antichrist, standing behind you with his arms wrapped around you like you belonged to him. His hold was possessive, unyielding, as though he’d fight tooth and nail to keep you. But he did seem like he was happy. And the worst part about it is that you seemed too.

Lewis’s heart rate spiked, pounding in his chest, his thoughts racing faster than the W15 ever could.

“Is she pregnant? They're engaged? Are they married already? When is the baby due?”

And then, just before he turned away, one final thought slipped through the chaos in his mind: taste karma.

50 notes · View notes

mattsinclairvo · 2 days ago

Text

While I wait for a response from Tumblr about my predicament about my posts not showing in the tags, I wanted to share some stuff I'd been writing for Noel and Rose! The OCs from my G/t show pitch (art by @miniature-knight) If you want to read more about them I've written some posts about them like this one or this!

The scene below features the two at a party they'd been dragged to but things take a turn for the worst when an Anti-Xionic extremist shows up to try and start a row

“Are you the whore who’s sleeping with one of those alien freaks?”He called angrily.

A quick jog through a few databases showed he was Anti-Xionic talking head and extremist, Drew Brondson . It seemed the synths were activated by the disturbance. The Anemones swarmed toward the front to attempt, slowing him down. It must’ve been quite the sight to the few party goers close enough to see the formation of multicolored women.

“W-What? What’s going on? Was he screaming at me?” Farah asked.

Confusion flashed through her drunk flush face.

“You need to keep moving, understand?” I said low and clear.

The heavy bass and drums reverberated in time with our steps through the wood floor.

“Stupid cheap bots! Get these dumb things offa me!” Brondson howled.

He was slurring his words, just as drunk as everyone else in attendance. This wasn’t some well planned strike. Farah or one of her ‘friends’ must've told Max about the plan to get us here. Max is the kind of clout chasing hustler to brag about having a NeoSapien hybrid at his party to anyone in his massively vapid social circle, and one of those people happened to be Drew. How ridiculous. Even more dramatic than a staged TV show. But still a volatile situation nonetheless, that I needed to get Farah and Noel out of.

“Keep your head down. And stick close to me.” I instructed, “We’re just two girls fucked up at a party.”

A loud thud rang out from the foyer.

I took the liberty of peeking into one of the cams in the front. Max, despite being a ‘big tech guy,’ didn’t have very good firewalls in his home security. Brondson, with the help of his suited bodyguards, managed to keep the wildflower synths from throwing him out of Max's home but they weren't making much progress into the actual party. I doubted that would last long however. A wildflower synth, the one who was manning the bar, lay crumpled on the ground in a pool of artificial blood. A suited man stood over her. The synths let out inhumane hisses of agitation toward him.

That was all I needed to see.

While we still had a head start, I ducked for the stairs. Noel was still in the upper part of the villa and needed to be briefed of the situation and secured. Farha clung to me desperately, now on the verge of tears as we made it to the base of the spiral staircase.

“You go up first, I’ll be right behind you.” I instructed.

Farha tearfully followed my command, taking wobbly heeled steps up the staircase. I followed, watching for the first signs of Brondson and his boys to breach the party proper. My internal communications system made contact with Noel’s smartwatch and I pinged an urgent message.

“Hostiles at party. We need to clear out.” I said sternly. “Found Farha, approaching your location.”

We’d both made about 76% up the stairs when another Wildflower synth was sent flying just over the heads of the partiers below. Her limp body crashed into the bar, hanging half-way off of its surface. One of her arms was slack in its socket from the altercation. It dangled just above the floor, dripping more bright neon green blood.

Then Brondson howled, “Get your ass out here freak!”

Farha froze briefly in terror, right as we’d both made it to the second floor, and out of Brondson’s sight. She and I caught glimpses of his entrance into the main party as we retreated away from the stairway and the balcony to avoid detection. Some people had flocked to the synth corpse left strewn across the bar, while other party goers booed Brondson and his lackeys.

“He’s trying to find Noel isn’t he? He’s going to kill us like that girl.”

“Trust me. He won’t touch you without getting through me. And no one’s gotten through me… yet.” I assured her. Then, I placed a hand on her back, to continue coaxing her forward.

Noel’s smartwatch pinged back with his exact location in the house and a short text message,“Ah. That's what's happening downstairs, then.”

I steered us both hard to the right, down a beige corridor with strangely bland standing floor statues and doors along the wall, that other party-goers occasionally popped between, scantily clad.

“Can’t believe they’re having orgies at a time like this…” Farah muttered bitterly.

“They still think it’s a party, to be fair.” I responded.

Everything about the environment that this Max guy had us hostage in felt so vapid. I'd almost consider it a form of psychological torture if there were any actual thought put into the supposedly thought provoking twisted stark white rectangles. Thinking back on it now, it almost reminds me of Xion planet homeworld. Stark and neat but not nearly as imposing. Sapiens are the same on any planet I suppose.

We kept walking through this “tiny” labyrinthine villa, catching more brief glimpses of piles of bodies writhing in the middle of lavish rooms. Though I knew Noel was located at the end of the corridor, Farah felt worried.

“He’s not, in one of those rooms, is he? I never brought this up, but some of the girls at the agency say Els likes to ‘spread the love’. I just thought it was baseless chatter…” She was prodding me. Even in her drunken, half-panic state Farah always had some other motive at play it seemed.

“He's in the master bathroom… not any of the bedrooms. I'd prefer if we stayed focused on trying to get out of here.”

The hallway curved, obstructing the end from full view, but I could just see the top of the grand frosted glass entrance to the master bath.

We were far enough from Brondson for me to take the lead from there. Still, I kept a close eye on Farah as we made the final approach, and smartly she stayed in near lockstep not far behind. The bathroom door was that same rot iron and glass design from the foyer and entrance, just more frosted to prevent-

…wait.

Why would you make a bathroom door out of glass? From what I understand humans treat it as a very private affair. Noel certainly made it clear early on, following him to the bathroom was not necessary or appreciated.

This guy is really stupid.

We entered the master bathroom. The drastic change in lighting caused Farha and I to naturally shield our eyes.

“Hell of a washroom!” Farha yelped.

“You're telling me,” Noel’s voice called.

It echoed off the white tiled and mirror lined walls. “This whole thing is giving me a massive migraine. And I've been stuck with these obnoxiously bright lights,”

I did my best to follow his voice, while my eyes were still adjusting. “I'm certain several liters of alcohol also might have a hand in it…”

It goes without saying the master bathroom was absurdly huge. Nearly a rugby field in size, with a row of ornate sinks and toilets on one half of it.

“Heh, speakin’ of the drink…” he began.

My eyes swept to the otherside of the bathroom. It took a moment to process exactly what I was looking at. I was still getting used to such high contrast.

There was a deep oval shaped pit, carved into the marble adorned with golden fixtures around its edge. It was large enough to do laps in.

But currently it was being totally and completely occupied by Noel. At the time my height estimation of him was 4.85 meters. His entire back side was sunk into the giant tub, while his limbs hung awkwardly over its edges and sprawled uselessly on the ground.

His clothes were neatly folded on the ground next to the tub, leaving him in just the compression expansion suit mk II, a shimmering white garment made out of a Xionic material that was light weight and went underneath almost every outfit.

The last thing you needed while having a stress induced growing fit, was to be totally naked during it.

However, being clothed didn’t soothe the total embankment of this particular situation. Overall it looked ridiculous and extremely unpleasant.

Noel's face was flushed and his expression seemed glazed over.

“How long have you been here?” I began softly, trying to truly swallow the totality of the situation before me.

“Not too long…” he responded vaguely, “Wasn’t this big when I-”

“Tell me you fell in…” I interrupted.

His face went blank, and he looked at me. At his size, we were still eye level.

“Tell me you got blinded by this bathroom's stupid lighting, and you drunkenly stumbled into this situation.”

In response, a drunken bemused smile spread across Noel’s face.

“Still a bit cheeky, huh? Well, I like your version of events, Gogo. So let’s go with that. Course, fact still stands… I’m a bit stuck. Where's the bloke?”

I pinched the bridge of my nose, and took another look through Max's security feed.

“He's on the patio with his posse… being hounded by Max to leave, but I don't think he's leaving till he's found you. So there's that. Think shrinking back is possible at the moment?”

Noel thought for a moment, closing those big lilac eyes,”Just give me a sec… think i can manage it.”

Sure enough, with a single deep inhale through the nose he managed to shrink to a size at which he could wedge himself out of the marble tub, though not by much.

Pressing his palms and heels against the ground, Noel lifted himself from the tub’s base, then ungracefully rolled out on the cold marble floor before us, face down oversized limbs and torso thumping around loudly.

“You uh- you alright there bud?” I leaned in close. He was still breathing thankfully enough.

Noel gave a shaky thumb-up, still face-planted.

My confidence in our ability to escape this situation began to sharply decline. Even as my oversized charge slowly rose back to his feet and collected his clothes, I could see on the open feed, Max and Brondson's attention had been caught by what must've to them sounded like several people falling down the stairs at once.

“That face means bad news…” Noel mumbled.

“Bad news?” Farah said breathlessly.

She walked up to me on trembling legs, “What's he on about? What bad news, Rose?”

“They may know we're up here….” I said slowly, watching as Max clung to Brondson's torso like a cheap belt.

The first of the wildflower synths had finished their regeneration cycle and quickly re entered the fray. Brondson's security crew was somehow still blindsighted by the whole, 'androids don't die’ thing, and were brought down one by one and ejected.

By the time the thugs who were left caught on, they were outnumbered. And they barely won numbered. They would’ve needed at least twice the number of people they came with to stop a team of wildflowers, but bless their hearts they tried.

They yelled to Bronson for some sort of support, but Bronson had already taken off for the thumping, completely abandoning his security to their fate. Logically, they realized his help was paying them money for services. That that wasn’t enough as their skulls caved in under the weight of flesh and alloy fists was not Bronson’s concern. No, their lives were no concern at all.

He had a big boy to yell at.

“YOU FUCKING THAT GIANT FUCKWIT OF YOURS?!” He bellowed, repeatedly.

I could hear the distant sound of doors being flung open, Bronson screaming, and some hapless orgy screaming in response, on loop in that order. Noel and Farah heard this too, and the latter started to shake like a goddamn chihuahua.

One o’ these days… I definitely did not say out loud.

“Hate to be a bore luv…” Noel said to his date, “But this is why I don’t care for these. Rose, I’ve got an idea.”

“Hm?” I had a hard time believing he did, but I didn’t, other than spraying Brondson’s brains on the wall behind him.

Again considered a “vibe killer”.

“Call the Rebel ‘round to our location. There's a balcony in the bedroom across the way. We'll have to make a jump for it…”

“A-And just how do you know that huh?” Her tone was accusatory.

And Noel’s patience was just about up.

“Cause, I've spent the better part o’the nite with my arse stuck in that tub, and I watched about a dozen naked jackass run in and out of that room.”

Tensions were mounting, worse Brondson was getting closer. In a two birds one stone effort, I tried to fix both of these problems.

“Alright! I'm calling the car! Let's get moving before he can corner us.” I said.

It was enough to shut them both up for the moment.

Keeping my pistol drawn, I marched back to the frosted glass door. Heavy footfalls and the click of heels followed close behind my own.

Brondson was only a couple of doors down. We needed to time this perfectly.

My hand went up to give the two behind me a silent three count.

Brondson lifted his leg, in preparation of a great stomping kick at the door.

3…

Bam!

2…

I waited for him to go bursting in on another group of drugged out naked people.

Right as he crossed the threshold of the room and the chaos of yelling started, I bolted through the glass door.

All the confusion was the perfect cover. Brondson couldn't untangle himself from the people he was harassing fast enough to catch us.

Of course now was the problem of us dropping in unannounced on a group of horny drunken party goers, but Noel seemed to be prepared.

“Close your eyes!” He said bounding at the both of us.

His arms were elongated and outstretched while he crouched low to the ground. In an instant both Farah and I were swept up in Noel’s grasp. Once we were pinned tight against him, Noel put every living neuron not soaked in booze into bolting out of the balcony door. I didn’t even have time to close my eyes, as naked party goers flashed by all blurred together in a sweaty mess.

Then, we were on the balcony.

I could hear the steady hum of the Rebel’s engine. It’d managed to pull up just below where we stood, on the gray cobblestone driveway. Noel released us from his arms and shrank to something that could fit in the front of a mid-sized sedan.

“Good going running us through that sex-pit…” Farah hissed, “Now we’re trapped!”

“The car’s right there.” I corrected, “Now all we gotta do is jump!”

The glare Farah gave made me double check my list of known Earth swears to make sure I hadn’t accidentally said something deeply offensive. Farah certainly wanted to reply with something deeply offensive, it seemed, but hadn’t the time while plummeting into the waiting vehicle.

Noel did not appreciate being this drunk, this tired, and having his heroics spat upon. He jumped right at the word, taking Farah and I down one more leg of the Noel Express.

Speaking of legs, Noel decided, mid-fall, against diving headfirst into an open convertible. He kicked, straight down. His legs shot out, quickly extending. He braced, tensed his thighs, bent his knees, and crumpled like a summer tent in a hurricane as he hit the ground.

“Damn it! Where'd you go…” snarled Brondson from above.

Noel’s face radiated agony. Worse was another flash of those bright red eyes of his.

We’d landed on the ground next to the Rebel. He released us from his chest in a notably mechanical motion. His body, seemingly giving up, deflated back to normal size.

“What the hell was that!?” Farah shrieked at a face-down-in-dirt Noel.

“That was me trying to get out of this mess you’ve led us into! But you don’t appreciate anything I do and you never listen to what I say!” he was blinking back drunken tears. His eyes cooled with the water, returning to the familiar lilac.

Then came the violent retching as several liters of alcohol, now thoroughly unsettled in Noel’s stomach, spilled out of his mouth and into the grass and gravel.

“Ugh, you're piss drunk!” she spat, stepping away from the growing puddle of spew.

I looked up and made direct eye contact with Brondson, leering angrily over us. He took a large step, as if to climb over the railing.

That was enough.

I pulled the pistol out of my clutch and leveled it on my wrist. Brindson would be an easy kill from that position. By the time my finger was touching the trigger, that brain in his thick skull was only just beginning to register his own demise.

#g/t writing #g/t community #sfw g/t #g/t #g/t art

19 notes · View notes