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steveseddie · 1 month

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steddie | rated: t | wc: 2,3 k | tags: vol. 2 missing scene, pre-relationship, eddie munson needs a hug, hurt/comfort

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Steve starts doing headcounts.

After what happened with Max at the cemetery, Steve starts going over a list of names in his head, checking off each of his friends once he makes sure they haven’t been taken by Vecna- like ticking off boxes on a very fucked up grocery list.

He starts with Max every time. By now she has probably noticed the way his eyes constantly dart to her or the way he visibly relaxes when he notices the headphones still hanging from her neck, but at least she hasn’t said anything about it.

Next is Nancy- the sight of her eyes rolled back into her head still too vivid in Steve’s mind. Then is Robin, Henderson, the Sinclairs-

After Skull Rock, Steve adds Eddie’s name to the list. He doesn’t know if they can be considered friends yet but he is part of their group now and Steve isn’t letting anyone else from his group almost die again at the hands of Vecna.

It’s only been a few minutes since Steve last did one of his headcounts- sitting outside the RV making homemade bombs.

But as the battle draws closer, Steve grows more and more anxious about losing one of his friends so after toasting to killing Vecna slash Henry slash One, Steve’s eyes roam the field where they’re preparing for battle while going over the list in his head.

Max and Nancy sawing off shotguns. Check.

Robin pouring gasoline into a bottle. Check.

The Sinclairs building spears. Check.

Eddie and Dustin building shields- and sparring? Check.

Steve breathes a little easier after that.

His eyes linger on the last pair. He can’t hear what Eddie is telling Dustin but he can see the way they’re both smiling.

That is until Dustin turns his attention back to his shield and Eddie’s face crumbles, his smile disappearing completely as his expression turns anxious and terrified. Steve watches as he takes a few shuddering breaths, his hands flexing at his sides. Even from a distance, Steve can tell they’re shaking.

Steve sighs. He knows how hard it is- being hurled into this interdimensional monster fighting bullshit. This is Steve’s fourth time dealing with it and he can’t say that it gets any easier. And for his first time, Eddie already had it worse than any of them. He’s been alone for most of it and he also has people coming after him on top of everything.

This whole time Steve has been waiting for him to snap, for him to say fuck it and run off, for him to start screaming or crying but he hasn’t done any of that. He’s still here- scared shitless but here, trying to put on a brave face. And Steve knows all about that so he can see right through Eddie’s act. What he doesn’t know is what to do about it. If this was one of the kids or Robin or even Nancy, Steve would know but he hardly knows Eddie and he doesn’t know what he needs.

He looks like he needs a hug. Steve saw Eddie’s face when Henderson hugged him at Skull Rock, the relief written all over it. When the kid pulled back, Steve felt the urge to walk up to Eddie and hug him next, even if the only contact they’d had at that point was when Eddie pinned against the wall with a broken bottle to his neck.

Steve wanted to hug him again in the Upside Down- every time Eddie flinched or curled in on himself when Demobats screeched in the distance or lightning painted the sky red, but Steve was half-naked, covered in blood and goo and he didn’t think Eddie would appreciate any of that.

He wanted to hug Eddie at Max’s house- trap his hands between their chests so he would stop running his fingers through his hair, scrubbing his hands down his face, aggressively wringing his fingers together so hard his knuckles cracked, but Eddie might’ve punched him for doing it in front of everyone when he’s supposed to be cool and metal.

He doesn’t look cool or metal right now. He looks on the verge of tears and Steve is shaking with how badly he wants to walk over there and hug him, tell him that everything will be okay but Steve has a job to do.

They all do.

Eddie seems to realize it at the same time. After one last shaky breath, he goes back to his shield, leaving Steve with no choice but to turn back to Robin and focus on his own task.

***

It’s not until they’re getting ready to leave that Steve does another headcount.

Max and Erica are inside the Winnebago, loading it up with weapons and supplies.

Nancy and Robin are going over the stages of their plan to make sure they thought of everything.

Sinclair and Henderson are trying the walkies, checking the batteries and making sure they’re on the right channel.

Eddie is-

Steve frowns, his eyes roaming the field one, two, three times but he still doesn’t see Eddie anywhere.

Panic starts bubbling up inside him at the thought of anything happening to Eddie.

Don’t go there, Steve tells himself. Maybe Eddie needed to take a piss and went to find a tree somewhere. Maybe he just needed a minute away from everyone.

Or maybe Vecna got to him. Maybe it’s already too late and Eddie is the fourth victim and all they did was for nothing.

He tries to remain calm as he looks for Eddie but his heart is beating frantically. He checks inside the RV first and when he realizes he isn’t there, he goes around it, planning to go into the woods next if he doesn’t find him there either.

But he does- he finds him crouching on the ground with his back against the RV, his face buried in his hands, framed by a curtain of hair.

“Eddie?” Steve asks warily, still unsure if Eddie might be trapped by Vecna.

But then Eddie jumps, whipping his head up and staring at Steve with wide, scared eyes. “Jesus fucking Christ, Harrington!”

He holds his hands up in front of him. “Shit, sorry, I thought-”

“That Vecna got me?” Eddie scoffs. He taps his knuckles against his temple. “Nope, just me up here.” His hands fall to the space between his legs. They’re shaking.

“Are you okay?” Steve asks, shoving his own hands in his pockets when he feels the urge to grab Eddie’s and hold them until they’re not shaking anymore.

Eddie breathes out a humorless laugh. “Dude, I’m so fucking far from okay.”

Steve grimaces, ducking his head in embarrassment. “Right, of course, that was stupid.”

Scrubbing a hand down his face, Eddie shakes his head. “No, not stupid, sorry. I’m just on edge, man. This whole monster fighting thing.” He waves his hand vaguely. “It ain’t for me.”

“I thought that’s what you did in that dorky game of yours,” Steve says, hoping to distract Eddie with a joke.

Eddie snorts. “It’s really fucking different when you can actually, you know- die.”

“You’re not gonna die, Munson,” Steve says with a frown.

Eddie shakes his head repeatedly. “Oh, I have a baaad feeling, Stevie, a feeling that I ain’t gonna make it out-”

“Fuck that, man,” Steve hisses. The thought of something happening to Eddie or any of his friends making anger bubble up inside him. “You can’t think like that. We got this, okay?”

Eddie sighs, lifting his gaze to meet Steve’s eyes. “How do you do it, man?”

“Do what?”

“How are you so,” he gestures at Steve, “calm about this shit.”

“It’s not my first time,” Steve shrugs. “My first time I was scared shitless, but I made it out okay and you will too,” he says as confidently as he can, but Eddie doesn’t seem convinced. He’s no longer looking at Steve but down at his hands as he nervously wrings his fingers together, his leg bouncing rapidly. His hair falls like a curtain around his face but Steve can still see the tears gathering in his eyes.

Eddie looks like he’s falling apart at the seams, and once again Steve wants to hug him. Only this time they’re alone, they’re not covered in blood or Upside Down goo and they’ve come a long way from Eddie trying to slash his neck open with a bottle so Steve thinks fuck it and takes a step forward.

“Come here.”

Eddie’s head snaps up. He frowns. “What?”

“Get up,” Steve says. Still frowning, Eddie pushes himself to his feet. “Now come here.”

“Where?”

“Here.” Steve holds his arms open and Eddie’s eyebrows disappear behind his bangs. “I’m giving you a hug.”

“You’re- what?”

Steve shuffles his feet. He feels stupid, standing there with his arms open while Eddie stares at him like he grew a second head. The back of his neck feels like it’s burning, the heat slowly spreading to his face. “You- you just look like you could use a hug.”

Eddie breathes out a startled laugh. “Holy shit, this is by far the strangest thing to have happened to me ever, and considering the days I just had, that’s saying something.”

“Munson,” Steve mutters but Eddie ignores him.

“Steve Harrington wants to give me a hug?” Eddie gasps, clutching his chest.

Steve huffs. “Yeah, and it’s a limited-time offer so are you gonna come here or are you gonna be a dick about it?”

“Well, if His Majesty insists,” Eddie jokes with a hand flourish but his tone lacks any lightheartedness. He’s nervous, fidgety. Despite his words, he hesitates, shuffling his weight from one foot to the other.

So Steve takes matters into his own hands. Literally. He closes the distance between them with two long strides, grabs Eddie’s shoulders and pulls him in.

Eddie goes stiff, and for a moment, Steve worries that he’ll pull back but then he lets out a soft noise and melts into Steve, shaky hands coming up to grab his waist.

“You’re going to live, Eddie,” Steve whispers, one of his hands moving to cup the back of Eddie’s neck. He shudders in his arms. “We’re going to win and we’re all going to live, okay?”

Eddie tucks his face into his neck. It’s Steve who shudders this time. “If you say so, Stevie.”

Steve makes a stubborn noise. “I do,” he says, squeezing Eddie a little tighter. He ignores the whine Eddie lets out or how it makes something hot burn in his belly. He focuses on Eddie’s arms wrapping around his waist instead- like he fears Steve might pull away.

He doesn’t.

“You just have to trust me, okay?” Steve says, absently playing with the hair on the back of Eddie’s neck, feeling him go limp in his arms. Pride surges through Steve at being right. Eddie clearly needed a hug.

“Okay,” Eddie whispers, sounding a little more confident.

Neither of them let go. They stay like that for a while, just holding each other, Steve’s fingers still moving in Eddie’s hair.

“Steve?” Eddie says, breaking the silence after a few minutes.

“Hm?”

“Thank you.”

“For what? You’re a good hugger, dude, I’m enjoying myself,” Steve teases but the truth is that he means it. He likes hugging Eddie, he wishes he didn’t wait this long to do it or that he didn’t need to let go of him soon, before their friends come looking for them. He knows what Robin will say if she finds them like this- she has yet to shut up about Eddie calling Steve big boy and how Steve momentarily forgot how to function because of it.

He forgets how to function now when Eddie giggles, his breath tickling Steve’s neck. “You keep surprising me, Harrington.”

“Get used to it, Munson,” he says as he finally, regrettably, pulls back. He keeps his hands on Eddie’s shoulders. “’Cause you’re stuck with me, man.”

Eddie blinks. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, squeezing his shoulders. He gets an idea. “After we’re done, I’m taking you out for a drink. I think we’ll both need one.”

A smile plays at the corners of Eddie’s mouth. He seems infinitely more relaxed now than he did when Steve found him. “What- like a date?” He asks, clearly trying to make a joke even if his eyes dart a little nervously over Steve’s face.

Already missing the way Eddie’s arms felt around his waist or how his fingers felt in Eddie’s hair, Steve stops himself from brushing it off as a joke. He can’t, not when the idea of going on a date with Eddie makes his stomach fill with butterflies. With a smirk, he shrugs. “Guess you’re just gonna have to live long enough to find out?”

A nearly hysterical laugh bursts out of Eddie but his eyes sparkle like the idea of going out on a date with Steve doesn’t make him want to run off into the woods. “Guess so, big boy,” he says, making Steve’s cheeks heat up. “Let’s go make that Vecna fucker pay then, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees with a big grin. “Let’s kill that son of a bitch.”

And with that, they head back to their friends. Eddie isn’t okay, he probably won’t be until this is over but now there’s a spring in his step and his hands aren’t shaking anymore.

And when his eyes meet Steve’s on the rearview mirror as he drives them to the Creel house, Eddie gives him a big dimpled smile- the first one to reach his eyes since they found him in that boat house.

Steve is happy to have hugged him. He can’t wait to do it again- because he needs it, because they made it or just because this time. And then hopefully many times after that.

#steddie #steddie fic #stranger things #stranger things fic #steve gives eddie the hug he needed that's it that's the fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #monse writes

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stareaterau · 1 year

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Chapter 1 episode 2

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Let me introduce you to our cowboy, as he takes a trip

CW: injury and description of broken bones

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A lonely cowboy trudges through the desert, bleary-eyed and hatless. His name is Jimmy.

He woke up not too long ago, face down in the sand and alone. The grains refuse to budge from their places buried between the colourful feathers on his face. With a sigh, he stops trying to scratch at the feathers to dislodge them, resigning himself to the permanent itch. It wouldn’t have helped for long anyways, the wind would soon blow more sand back into the gaps in his feathers, along with just about every other part of his lanky body. Jimmy coughs, dust coating the back of his throat. He pulls up his red bandana, from where it rests around his neck, to protect the lower half of his face. He’s not a stranger to waking up in the desert, it’s always been tempting for him to nap between the dunes, shielded from the winds and the distractions of Tumble Town. These are not those dunes. The land is flat, aside from a cracked layer of earth. The sun beats down on every surface, with next to no trees or bushes to offer much needed shade. Jimmy frowns, trying to recall the events that led him here. He must’ve fallen asleep on his horse and fallen off. He had been riding for a while… and it wouldn’t be the first time. Although, how he didn’t wake up when he fell is still a mystery to him. Maybe he fell head first. The horse must’ve wandered off while he was out… with all his belongings attached to their saddle.

And then there’s the beeping. It started off infrequently, only sounding every couple minutes. Jimmy thought he’d imagined it at first, that maybe he got heat stroke from sleeping under the sun for so long, but he reasoned that it’s far too consistent to be a hallucination. He’s not sure if that even makes sense, but it’s clearly speeding up and slowing down depending on the direction that he’s walking, so he’s sure that it’s leading him somewhere.

His running theory is that, somehow, the beeping is leading him to his horse, who, hopefully, has not managed to lose his stuff in the middle of this vast desert. Or, if not his horse, then whoever has found his belongings. If that’s the case, he hopes they’re friendly— he’s been robbed a few times and he’s not all that excited to add another experience to the list. Jimmy’s second, and just as unlikely, theory is that he’s being led towards water. That somehow he picked up some kind of water detector and managed to forget about it. He thinks this one might just be wishful thinking… or both of them may be.

There’s only one way to find out, and he’s familiar enough with this type of environment to know that meaningless wandering isn’t going to help him.

The beeping increases steadily the further he treks across the sands, dragging his sore, bird-like feet. The makeshift shoes he cut from an old pair of boots, so that they could fit, do a poor job of protecting him from the scorching earth. The more wiry trees and bushes cross his path, the more certain he becomes that he’s in a completely different desert than the one he calls home. He’s never been much of an expert in flora, but he knows he’s never seen these plants before. Their branches are thorny and muddy red, unlike the ones he’s used to. Hell, he doesn’t think he’s seen a single cactus. He probably would have tried to cut it down to see if it was edible if he had.

Despite the beeping leading Jimmy in a straight direction, he has to carefully wind his way through the desert, walking around the trenches that split the ground for miles. He almost broke his ankle in one of the shallower cracks earlier when he misjudged its depth. He pays more attention to them now, observing as they slowly grow deeper and wider, creating the chasms that lead on and on until into the dust clouds and heat waves.

Jimmy misses his hat. He will never again take its wide brim for granted, and how it blocked the harsh sun. His eyes hurt. He thought he’d have more time before the sun reached its peak, but the star moved much faster than expected. Jimmy is tempted to reason that the difference is because he’s on an entirely different planet, rather than just an unfamiliar part of the desert. A planet that rotates significantly faster than the one he calls home. But he’s not thinking that, because how could that even happen? How would he get back home? No, he lost track of time. He’s just been walking for longer than he thought. Jimmy has been living in the desert for years now, and has grown used to the heat— the feeling of feathers damp with sweat and covered in sand is a familiar sensation— but the temperature is starting to get to him. The lack of shade and water make it impossible to find a moment of relief.

The beeping grows faster, and he searches for a change in the landscape around him. The ground remains an empty plane, with nothing but the deep, wide fissures marking its surface. He’s starting to hope the beeping might be leading him to a settlement, rather than his horse. At least then he'll be able to get out of the sun.

Zoning back into the beeping, Jimmy realizes it’s slowed, a notable gap forming between each sound. Whatever he’s been walking towards must’ve changed directions, or maybe he just walked past it somehow. Looking around, nothing has changed. He hasn’t even seen animals skittering across the sand, no lizards— or alien lizard equivalents— basking under the hot sun. Trying to reorientate himself, Jimmy begins to test the beeps, listening for which directions make it speed up. But it keeps shifting. The beeping then speeds up to its fastest speed yet, the separate beeps bleeding into one sound before stopping completely, only for it to start up again a moment later. Maybe it’s leading him somewhere vertically? He looks up.

He starts walking, keeping his eyes on the sky, hoping it might reveal something new to him, but he foolishly loses track of the topography. Before he knows it, one foot sinks into unsteady ground, then the other finds nothing but air, and he’s falling.

Reflexively, he holds his arms in front of him, hoping helplessly that it will slow his plunge into the cavernous ravine.

An old reflex cries out. One long forgotten and useless. He tries to listen.

First there’s the hiss of sand, pattering over the surface below. Then a sickening crack as Jimmy lands on his outstretched arm. Pain shoots through his side.

He opens his mouth to yell, but he’s interrupted by another scream, next to him.

Scrambling to the wall and clutching his injured arm, Jimmy’s mind works on pure adrenaline as he tries to push through the pain, and wills his vision clear enough for him to see his new company.

The figure curled on the floor mirrors him, clutching their own arm to their chest.

Their body is covered in a light yellow fur, which darkens to a reddish brown at the tips of their limbs. Their fiery hair and tail flicker wildly with distress— a blazeborn. They’re wearing a torn sleeveless shirt, with a thick, dark coat tied around their waist. Why anyone would carry a coat like that out here, Jimmy cannot understand.

Their bright yellow eyes are wide like suns, shining right at Jimmy. They let out a quavery wheeze.

Jimmy shakes his head, fending off the delirium.

He coughs a pained, bitter laugh. His ribs ache. “...Hello?”

“Are you okay?” They manage back, looking and sounding like they’re in just as much pain as he is.

“Are you okay?” Jimmy nods pointedly to their broken arm. He can see its misshapen form from here. He doesn’t want to imagine what his own arm looks like.

The blazeborn shuffles tentatively towards him, making sure to not move their arm.

“I don't know- I don't know how it happened. You just fell and then I felt-”

Jimmy's eyes snap open with the realization. “Did I fall on you?! I’M SO SORRY!!”

“No no, you fell nowhere near me-” they shake their head, whining slightly, just as Jimmy feels a pulse of pain and bites back a wince himself.

With that, the look on their face morphs from concern to confusion. They shift closer to him, close enough that Jimmy can see the slight blue wisps in their warm flames. This might be the first time he’s been this close to a blazeborn. He always thought they’d give off more heat than this.

They don’t meet his gaze though, their attention directed elsewhere.

Gently, they pull their good arm from where it rests on their chest. Before Jimmy can question them, they tap his injured arm. A bolt of pain shoots through his body— he pulls back violently.

“OW!! THAT HURTS!” he yells, but his anger dissipates once he spots the blazeborn grimacing from their own pain. They blink rapidly, fighting through the daze. When it passes, they focus on Jimmy with an apologetic expression.

“This sounds crazy, but I think we're- connected.”

“What?! What are you on about?” Jimmy barks, confusion and pain leading easily into anger.

“Look, if I-”

Jimmy catches them by the wrist as they make another move to prod him.

“If you poke me one more time I swear-” Jimmy threatens in his best attempt at an authoritative tone, tightening his grip on their arm, challenging them.

They pause, considering him for a moment. Their eyes, without a trace of fear, flick down to Jimmy’s arm before returning to meet his gaze. They seem to be more intrigued than anything.

“Okay, okay, how about you poke me, then.” They direct his hand over to their injured arm.

"W-why?" Jimmy squawks, resisting.

“You'll feel the same thing. If my guess is right, at least.”

The way they laugh afterwards doesn't exactly fill Jimmy with much confidence. It reminds him of a mad scientist excited to test their hypothesis regardless of their questionable, painful methods. The logic makes his head spin; the stranger’s certainty is a jarring contrast. He feels like he’s out of the loop about something.

”....Okay. Are you sure?”

They grin wildly at him, their sharp teeth on full display.

“Go ahead, I'm giving you permission.”

“HM.” Jimmy hums with audible suspicion, baffled as to why someone would willingly feel that kind of pain. Stumped, he grants them their wish. As gently as he can, he pokes them.

His own arm blooms with pain. The same white hot pain. He pulls back, gasping, faint from the unexpected sting.

“What- WHAT THE HECK-'' Jimmy cries, hugging his arm closer to his chest. Nothing touched him, but that’s not how it felt. His poor arm pulses with pain, and he stares at the blazeborn.

They huff out a couple unsteady breaths, clearing their head before meeting Jimmy’s stricken look with another weak grin. How someone can smile in this situation is beyond Jimmy, and how this stranger’s grin grows wider with each passing second is completely unfathomable. Finally, they explode with laughter.

“AHAH- Welp, this is definitely a weird situation!”

“How-” Jimmy falters, his worry deepening. “Who are you?”

The blazeborn casually pushes themself up against the wall, sitting down next to him. They wipe the sand off their hand onto their coat.

“No idea, and the name’s Tango.”

He smiles up at Jimmy, more genuinely.

“…Jimmy.” He replies, finding the time to properly take in Tango’s appearance beyond the minimum.

Jimmy’s eyes flicker to something tied at the blazeborn’s waist. It was a pair of big, bulky boots. He watches Tango kick at the dust with his bare feet. No wonder he isn't wearing them. They look more suited to insulating the cold and snow, rather than the scorching heat of a desert.

An awkward silence falls over the two, both of them trying to process their situation, and grimacing internally from their pain. Jimmy rests his tail over his own feet, fanning the end towards him to battle the heat. He's not particularly sure what to say, especially to a stranger who is, by some unexplainable magic, connected to him. Fortunately for him, he doesn't have to go first.

“So, Jimmy… What got you here?” Tango breaks the silence.

“I fell.” He replies dumbly, not registering the question completely.

Tango spits out a laugh. “No, I mean- in this desert.”

Jimmy shrugs, recalling all he can. “I don't know… I don't remember.”

He’s beginning to accept that maybe his horse and all his belongings aren’t on this planet at all.

He yawns, “I was just following the beeps-”

His head slips against the wall behind him, neck lolling as a wave of exhaustion hits him.

“Hey, hey, buddy- stay awake for me.” Tango reaches over, snapping his good hand in front of Jimmy and chuckling nervously.

“Mmm… sorry.” Jimmy rubs his eyes, blinking blearily at the blazeborn. “What about you?”

“Pretty much the same.” Tango affirms. “I was following the beeps through the caves and ravines, and then I stumbled upon you- or more like, you stumbled and-” Tango gestures to the top of the ravine, reenacting Jimmy's fall with his hand, complete with cartoonish sound effects.

Jimmy, too worn down to feel insulted, just laughs.

“You think the beeping was leading us to the same thing?” He enquires.

“Probably- or probably to each other, actually. ‘cuz we're linked somehow!” Tango decides, seeming far more alert than Jimmy.

“Who… would do that? …why?” Jimmy asks hazily, stifling another yawn.

Tango lowers his gaze, brow furrowing. He doesn’t reply. Instead, he sinks deeper in thought, mumbling like he’s debating something in his mind.

Jimmy frowns as the moment stretches on, and opens his mouth to ask what's wrong, but Tango interrupts him.

“I think I might have an idea why I'm here.”

“Oh?” Jimmy tilts his head.

“You work with dodgy people, you get into dodgy situations.” He states bluntly, like it’s a matter of fact.

“You- you’re not a robber, are you? Or a murderer?!” Jimmy tenses, not-so-subtly shuffling away.

“Oh, no no- nothing scary,” Tango snorts, offering Jimmy a disarming wink.

Jimmy’s not convinced. He studies Tango wearily.

“I mean-” Tango elaborates, “I'm actually just an architect of sorts. That's not scary.”

“Could be!” Jimmy argues, “You could be making dungeons and torture chambers!”

Tango snaps his mouth shut with a squeak, a chuckle stuttering through his teeth.

"…yeeaah. Nothing like that." He assures vaguely, trying to emphasize his words carefully.

Jimmy squints at him, humming in agreement despite his suspicion. He goes to move so that he can face Tango straight on, but in the process, bumps his elbow into the stone wall.

Both Tango and Jimmy immediately curl into themselves. “Ah- ow ow ow ow.” They murmur in sync.

"Oh, yeah,” Tango wheezes breathlessly, “We should probably do something about these.”

Jimmy makes a small, sad noise to himself. He’s gone a long time without having to deal with a broken bone, and he had been hoping to keep it that way. He looks helplessly at his arm, and Tango follows his gaze.

“Can I see?” Tango asks, in the calmest voice he can muster, though the tension around his eyes betrays his own unease.

Jimmy just nods and moves closer, more carefully this time.

Tango leans over as Jimmy lifts his arm delicately.

“Hmm.” He ponders over the mangled limb. “Haha.” He concludes flatly, “It looks like we might have to set them.”

Jimmy pulls his arm back. “I don't want to do that. You know what, I always wanted a wonky arm, actually.”

“If it's any comfort, you won't be alone in the pain.” Tango tries with a weak smile.

Jimmy pouts. Conceding slightly, he asks “Are we going to do our arms at the same time?”

“Void, no.” Tango laughs dismissively. “That sounds like a horrible idea. The universe might just implode.”

“What?” Jimmy snaps, shooting Tango a concerned stare. Tango rolls his eyes.

“We'd most likely both feel twice as much pain, buddy. That's what I mean.”

Jimmy’s face tightens with anxiety, and he makes another move to scoot away.

“Hey, hey, wait.” Tango placates, looking around helplessly. Rummaging in his pocket, he pulls out two torn pieces of fabric. They look like they used to be the sleeves from his t-shirt.

Tango hands one to Jimmy. “Bite down on this?” He offers.

“Don't happen to have any form of painkillers, then?” Jimmy pipes uselessly.

Tango notices the way Jimmy eyes the dirty fabric. He shrugs apologetically.

“That's all I got, sorry.”

Jimmy sighs, willing himself to accept his fate, and clumsily folds the fabric with one hand. He tentatively places it in his mouth.

“So… who first?” He mumbles defeatedly through the fabric.

“Hmmm… you!”

Before Jimmy can process what’s happening, Tango snaps his arm back into place.

#stareater au #life series au #jimmy solidarity #tangotek #ranchers duo #cw injury #cw broken bones #team rancher #trafficblr

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once-upon-an-animation · 6 months

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So over the past few weeks, I’ve been toying with the idea of writing a retelling of the OG series from Annabeth’s perspective.

I’m interested in doing this because though I loved the PJO when I was a child, as I grow older, I find myself craving more nuance from the stories and the characters than what’s already there on the page. I thought hopefully the show would fulfill me, but uhh….amazing character depth is not one of the things I’d call the show’s biggest strong suits, at least not for Annabeth.

Now, I’m aware of the “Daughter of Wisdom” series on AO3, a fanfic series that does the exact same thing. I read that fic years ago and enjoyed it; I thought at the time that the fic was well done. However, I have a lot of ideas for scenes and details that I don’t think really showed up in that fic series, and so I find myself craving to create the POV for Annabeth and certain aspects of CHB that I’ve always wanted to see. I also wanted to spend more time emphasizing emotions and growth for Annabeth in a fic like this, and actually have her challenge and address her pride, sort of like a “I’m overcoming my biggest flaw” journey. I want to write this series from a sympathetic yet honest perspective about Annabeth’s life and her traits…including the traits that are not so pretty.

And so I want input from y’all on what you think would be worth including in a fic like this, and if there’s anything from the OG books that I should change, twist, replace, remove, deepen, or add something new. Here’s a list I already have going:

- emphasis on Annabeth’s relationship with Chiron and how it develops

- more emphasis on Annabeth’s relationship with Grover and how they get along when Percy isn’t there. Do they talk about Percy? And what do they think of each other? Does Grover feel intimidated by Annabeth, or feel like maybe she’s not proud of him because he let her down with the Cyclops incident and Thalia getting killed? Maybe at the end of the quest in TLT, before Percy gets back from Olympus, Annabeth reassures Grover that he’s a great protector and that she doesn’t resent him at all.

- Annabeth’s view of Luke and how/why it becomes complicated; how Annabeth reconciles the objectively bad things Luke has done with her desire for his redemption

- an emphasis on Annabeth and Thalia’s relationship after Thalia returns. How has it changed, Thalia remarking on Annabeth’s growth and teasing her about her crush on Percy, Annabeth helping Thalia cope with the loss of Luke to the “dark side” and also helping Thalia cope with how much the world has changed in 5 years and how Thalia now feels so out of place, Thalia helping Annabeth cope with continuous family struggles

- an emphasis on Annabeth’s relationship with other Athena children. Do they like each other? Hate each other? Are they competitive, all vying for their mom’s attention? Do they share some of Annabeth’s struggles; were their mortal parents also unimpressed about receiving a child they didn’t plan for?

- Annabeth’s relationship with other kids at camp: namely Clarisse, Silena, Beckendorf, and the Stoll Brothers (no, I don’t ship Connabeth, btw). But I also want to flesh out Katie Gardner and Pollux/Castor too.

- a proper resolution to Annabeth’s family drama that yes, recognizes how Frederick had a baby sprung on him that he didnt consent to, and how Mrs. Chase had no idea how to take care of a kid with special needs, but a resolution that also validates Annabeth’s feelings and highlights the ways in which Mr. and Mrs. Chase messed up and failed her with their poor choices.

- a new interpretation of Luke’s “did you love me”question

- An on-page apology from Annabeth to Rachel

- Annabeth’s relationship with her little brothers and how they might still try to love each other in context of their family drama, and not repeat the sins of their parents (breaking generational curses!)

- more emphasis on Annabeth and Athena’s relationship, and how Annabeth evolves from thinking her mother is this image of perfection, to realizing that Athena is just as faulty as the other gods and goddesses, and that Annabeth has a strength over Athena in that Annabeth has a bigger sense of humanity, and can change and adapt when she’s not doing something well. Annabeth can evolve in ways Athena cannot.

Anything else?

#rick riordan #annabeth chase #percy jackson #pjo #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo hoo toa #heroes of olympus #percabeth #thalia grace #luke castellan #grover underwood #the lightning thief #anti annabeth chase #anti percabeth

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hptransfest · 5 months

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Hello, everyone!

Before you sign up, please remember that this fest deals with mature subjects and the participants are responsible for curating their own experiences within the fest. This applies to viewing the prompts list, which is uncensored.

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#trans character #trans pride #harry potter #trans visibility #hp trans fest 2024

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dragon-creates · 6 months

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I’m looking for an artist to collab with for an AU

Hello! If you don’t know me already, my name is Dragon, the author of the TADC fics 5+1 and Royally Screwed (and also a funnybunny shipper). However, I am coming up with a totally new AU, something similar to the carnival and freakshow au as well as inspiration from Bendy and the Ink Machine, Poppy Playtime and Amanda the Adventurer.

I call it ‘The Amazing Digital REDACTED’ au.

In this au, you ‘the player’ play as Jax, an ex-employee of C&A returning to the abandoned building in order to find the rest of your work employees after a mysterious incident years ago. With hidden knowledge that he must enter the game in order to find them, Jax does just that while managing to retain his memories. Along with his accomplice Bubble (a helpful AI who wants to free the rest of the trapped souls) and some help from his friend Winter (yes Winter from 5+1 will be in this but that fic isn’t canon to this au) on the outside, Jax tries to fix his past mistakes and save everyone – especially a particular jester he loved and lost long ago.

Yup that’s right, Jax will be the main character of this au and you will be playing as him. Let me explain, there is a feature on AO3 that allows you to make multiple choices on how you want the story to play out, like a telltale video game if you understand what I’m saying. You will get to pick and choose how Jax goes about his adventure and receive more than one ending (with a canon ending as well). And yes, this au’s main ship is funnybunny as I believe that it deserves more recognition and I find that these two in this au are very interesting to explore (especially with their past).

However, this fic is going to take quite a long time to make and is going to be bigger than anything else that I have written in the past. That is why I want to team up with a fellow TADC/funnybunny artist (since I am not an artist and do better with writing and characters) and create a separate blog for this au to come up with comics and art together. If you’ve seen the blogs for the Carnival and Freakshow au’s, you know that with their comics and art they explore more of the world, drop some lore, do character sheets and explain the pasts of the characters. This is what I’m hoping for if I team up with an artist. This au will mostly be on tumblr however if it does well I might add it to twitter as well since I’m putting this post on twitter as well.

Here are what I have pictured for the characters so far.

Jax: Past name; Jack. Ex employee of C&A, main character and who you the player will be playing as. Before the ‘incident’, Jax used to work at C&A as part of a coding team, to make sure that there were no bugs before any games were released. While C&A wasn’t on his list of jobs to pick, it was the only one that seemed best due to the pay and the fact that they could pay for schooling for those with children. Since Jax has a little sister named Jane, and has no parental figures in his life, he takes the job in order to help pay for the both of them and to make sure that Jane gets a good education. Unlike his canon TADC counterpart, Jax is more quiet, tired and while sarcastic, isn’t all out cruel to everyone unless they are bad people (think Mike from the FNAF movie especially with his relationship with his younger sister). He becomes quite close with his boss’s daughter however, Penny (Pomni) with him starting to develop feelings for the shy girl. However, after the day of the ‘incident’ Jax is left with nothing but guilt since he knew things that contributed to that day. Now he has a chance to make things right and save everyone, and Pomni.

Pomni: Past name; Penny. Ex employee of C&A and daughter of the CEO Abel, Pomni is an extremely introverted and socially awkward person, due to being traumatised by her mother’s death. She and her father don’t have a good relationship, with reasons that will become clearer later. She was quite close to the past version of Ragatha, but other than her father, she doesn’t really have a relationship with anyone. She likes to work alone to focus on the numbers and accounting part of her job (she understands numbers more than people) until she meets Jack. Though Jack is usually a bit standoffish, he is sweet to Penny due to her shy nature and helps keep an eye on her throughout their jobs so that she doesn’t feel too overwhelmed. Overcome by his sudden kindness and protectiveness, Penny starts to develop feelings for Jax. However, after the day of the ‘incident’ she is now trapped in the game, forever a jester trapped in a box…until Jax shows up.

If you’d like to be an artist for this au and collab with me, you can send me a DM or @ me. Do either of these and a sketch of the characters and I will reach out to you and confirm that you can be my partner for this project.

Here are some visuals on how I envision the characters.

Jax:

Sans the goggles, think of Jax wearing this over his grey and dirty overalls, he could also be holding a makeshift weapon like a bat or a stick so that he can fight off enemies. This version of Jax is much more serious and he is ready to fight in order to get the job done.

Pomni:

(on the last pic, focus on the makeup rather than the outfit)

Overly baggy and childish, with blue and black instead of blue and red. This design is a reminder of her past trauma and as so, is implemented into her circus features. Due to it being too big for her, it makes it hard for her to run and escape, and the ridiculousness of it all is a huge slap in the face that this is her new life now and is fully erased of her past. Even the makeup covers up any kind of normalcy on her face.

Well that’s it for now, I hope you guys take this into consideration and I hope you all have a lovely day/afternoon/night.

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remuslupinfest · 10 months

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Hello, everyone!

Here’s a little F.A.Q. to help our claiming process!

First of all: CLAIMING is a first come, first serve process.

Also very important: THIS IS AN ANONYMOUSLY POSTING FEST, so we ask you not to divulge the prompt you are claiming. You’ll be able to talk about the prompt you’ve claimed within our creators-only Discord server once you join it.

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The information we ask is:

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#remus lupin #wolfstar #harry potter #harry potter fan fest #remadora #hp rare pairs #snupin #remus lupin rare pairs #remus lupin fest 2024 #moonflower #moonchaser #marauders #marauders era #marauders fest #marauders fic

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codfanficedits · 1 year

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One fucking mistake - Part Eight.

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x fem!Reader - She/her pronouns being used

Summary: Simon lost you after making a mistake on a mission.

Wordcount: 2125 | Rating: E (18+ only!)

Warnings: cussing, swearing, grieving, angst with no comfort, conversation, mentioning of memoryloss

A/N: Part eight! I had a lot of trouble starting this part. I'm a fulltime student and my classes have been kicking my ass, and I really don't want to be THAT person, but the next part might take a lil while, I'm sorry :(

Part 1 ~ Part 2 ~ Part 3 ~ Part 4 ~ Part 5 ~ Part 6 ~ Part 7 ~ AO3 Link

244 days.

You finally can remember it all. How Simon begged you to come with him on this mission, something he could’ve done by himself easily, but he tried to sweettalk you, bribe you, just anything so he wouldn’t have to go alone.

And you fell for it. How could you not? After all, he promised you he’d do the dishes, and you hated doing the dishes.

You remember Simon double checking your gear, softly tugging on the bulletproof vest to make sure that it was safe and secure. He always made sure you were safe and secure, no matter what happened, Simon had made it clear that you were his number one priority. You, and you alone.

The moment of eye contact that follows after always makes your heart flutter, the little lines next to his eyes when his lips tug to a smile, it is enough to make your stomach do a million summersaults. The moment you smile, and the little apples of your cheeks start to rise, he brushes his knuckles against the sensitive skin on your face. The callouses on his knuckles was something that you always enjoyed feeling, a little routine before a mission. Something you always held dear.

It didn’t matter that he was wearing his mask on the chopper flight to the area you had to scout. You could see in his eyes how much he was smiling every time you added something on the list of dishes, the fine lines around his eyes, the sparkle in his eyes.

A gasp. “I’ll let you even wash the food dish of the cat.”

“Lovie, we don’t have a cat.” His voice sounds amused.

“Nuh uh, I’ve been feeding the strays that live just outside the base.” You protest.

“Fine, fine, fine.” It isn’t even a real protest, Simon would do anything to make you happy.

“AND.” Your voice sounds happy, as if you just got the best idea ever known to man. “You have to wear an apron.”

“An apron?”

“Yeah, I still have a pink one.”

“Fine.”

“Really?!”

“Yeah, but I’m wearing nothing underneath it.” Simon snickers.

“Deal!”

“And, you can only look but you can’t touch.” He adds.

“But that’s not fair.”

“Life isn’t fair, lovie.”

Life indeed wasn’t fair.

Because the next thing you remember is a white flash, ringing in your ears and a lot of stumbling. A lot of pain when you tumbled down the stairs. You can remember Simon calling for you, screaming your name and you want to react, but your body doesn't allow you to.

Another loud noise, and you realise that a grenade must’ve gone off when you’re getting covered by debris.

It is dark when you wake up again, the sensation of someone tugging on your ankles is waking you up, your body hurts and you’re disorientated, your eyes flutter as you try to stay awake, as you try to grasp what has happened. The men towering over you speak a language you don’t understand, and frankly, there is nothing you understand at the moment.

Who are you? And why are you here?

One of the men pulls you up, his hands under your armpits as he drags you away, your skin is grey from the dust and debris and as your eyes finally focus you can see the fear in the eyes of the people around you.

You desperately try to remember, your brain knows there is something hidden inside, something that would explain all of it, but you can’t. You can’t seem to find the key to the door inside of you that hold all the information you need.

Your dog tags get caught on a pole of metal sticking out of the rubble, and you groan a little when it cuts off your airflow, even if it is for a brief moment. Neither you or the man carrying you realise how important those dog tags are. But of you are just focussed on getting you out of there.

Another groan when the ground gets more uneven, sharp pain being unbearable with every bump. You try so, so, so hard to stay away, but your body tries to protect you against the pain, and before you know it your eyes start to roll back, and it gets dark again.

When you wake up again, you’re in a bed, stripped of your belongings, but a variety of bandages around your limbs, a woman speaks to you in a hushed tone, but you can’t understand the language they’re speaking. A soft groan leaves your lips as you try to speak, but your throat is dry and everything hurts.

Later, you learn that you’re taken in by the local villagers, who have been tormented by the war for the longest time. The same war you and Simon participated in, the same war where you were convinced you were on the right side, only to learn that there are only losers when it comes to war.

As the universe continues your injuries start to heal, and while you still don’t speak a word of their language, the villagers are nice to you, almost as if caring for you is just what they need to take their mind of the running war in their area. You know something is missing, you can’t remember your name, age, your life, Simon. Nothing. Not an ounce of recognition when they show you your torn up uniform. Not an ounce of recognition when you hold up a mirror in front of your face.

Not an ounce of recognition when the local men are shouting against each other, and while you can’t make out what they’re saying, you know it is about you, the way they point and glare, the way they call you a fucking filthy Brit. The other half of the group of men is a lot more quiet, they plead, and you can only imagine it is for your life, yet you do not fear for it.

What is a life worth if you can’t remember it?

But they let you live, and while you’re not sure why, you end up being thankful for it. At night you always end up dreaming about the same things, it is almost like clockwork, either you dream about yourself, walking around a maze, which seems to be without end, a skull mask in the middle of the maze. You always, always wake up whenever you find the mask.

The other dreams is about a faceless man, tugging on the bulletproof vest you wore when you were found, his knuckles brushing against the apples of your cheeks. He tries to shield you before the white flash goes off, but your dreams never reveal his face to you.

One time they dragged you back to the area where they had found you, a black chopper had landed nearby and you could make out that they wanted to know if the men rummaging the area seemed familiar to you.

But they didn’t. Four tall men, and while they wore the same uniform as you, none of them rang a bell inside your mind. You shook your head, implying you didn’t know them, no matter the matching uniforms. Not even the heartbroken screams from the masked man could crack open your memories.

Looking back, when the dreams started to come, you knew you recognized the mask one of them was wearing, it was the exact same as you would always find in the maze, but for the life of you, you couldn’t remember the face beneath it.

Slowly, but surely small glimpses of your life started to seep into your mind again, droplets of memories coming back. The smell of oatmeal brought a snippet of your childhood back, the memories of it being breakfast, and secretly feeding a spoonful to the dog.

With every little dot you could connect to your former, came an explanation to the people around you, with a lot of gestures, and some drawing, you could get your point across.

The smell of lavender brought you back to the house of your grandma, the strong scent always lingered in her house, and if you pressed your eyes shut and let the sun settle down on your skin, you could go back to that time.

While you peel off the skin of an orange you’re hit with a new memory, your breath hitching in your throat as your mind slowly makes the memory clear. You’re peeling an orange, a large hand holding on to your thigh as you peel the fruit. “Thanks lovie.” The gruff voice sounds so clear when you remember it, as if he is in the room with you and you know that it is someone important to you, as your body warmed up when you remember his voice.

But you just remember his voice, and not his name.

It would frustrate the living shit out of you, knowing that there is so much more memories hidden away in you, and you just can’t seem to remember them. You know that there is so much more to you, yet you’re unable to discover your own secrets.

When you’re stargazing, late at night, a new memory pops up, the masked man laying next to you in the grass, while the both of you look up at the stars, in the corner of your eye you can see him takes his mask off, the balaclava being pulled up to his nose, before he leans over and presses a kiss on your lips.

The realisation dawns on you, and while you can’t remember his name, it is clear that he is important for you, that you are important to him, and a cold feeling comes over you when you realise you let him slip between your fingers just because you didn’t recognize him. A knot in your chest as you try to remember who he is, who you are, why you were wearing the uniform. Panic taking over when your mind can’t answer your questions. The knot in your chest spreads through your body and soon you find yourself unable to breathe. Short, desperate burst in which you try to suck in as many air as you can.

Deep breath in through your mouth, exhaling out your nose.

Fuck.

You remember, you remember walking in on him having a panic attack, you remember kneeling down to him, telling him to take a deep breathe in through his mouth, exhaling out his nose. You remember. You remember walking in on Simon.

Simon.

A loud sob leaves your mouth and your hand claws at your chest as you remember. You remember all the kisses, the three squeezes on your shoulder, or your bicep when he couldn’t tell you he loved you but still wanted you to know, you remember all the late evenings and lazy mornings.

Oh you finally remember.

Your loud sobs wake up the people who had cared for you, they’re worried and you can’t yet explain if the tears are from happiness or agony. But it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter because you finally remember. You could be described as hysterical when you point to your old uniform, back to yourself, trying to tell them that you DO remember, that you DO know who you are.

And never had you imagined how easy it would be to go back to your old life. You’d learn that you would be considered missing and killed in action for more than eight months now.

Eight months. You had missed 244 days of Simon’s life, and he had missed those days in yours.

The ambassy was kind enough to listen to your story, your fingerprints confirming your identity. K.I.A flashing the screen when they pull up your information. And you want nothing more than to go home, to feel safe in his embrace again. You’re not allowed to call him, since the two of you aren’t married he isn’t your legal contact person, and you have to wait, but you’ve waited 244 days, how much more will a few more hours hurt?

God, how you have missed him, with the returning memories, the feeling of longing for him also came back, and right now the only thing you wanted in life was to hold him again, to feel him again, to be his again.

The rest of the trip goes by fast, your mind can barely cope with the returned memories, let alone process what is happening when they put you back on a plane to your base, but you can feel the excitement, the love, oh you can feel it all.

Just like you can feel the dread seep into your bones when you see him, holding another woman’s hand.

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lavenderfluorite14 · 6 months

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A Taste of Plums | Astarion x Female!Tav

Chapter 5: Doubt

Summary: Tav tries to be a hero. Astarion is himself.

Chapter Warnings: PG-13. Tav has a panic attack but it happens from afar and is only vaguely described. Descriptions of gore and violence. Full tag list on AO3.

Tag List: DM me or reply to a chapter if you would like to be tagged in any updates!

1 . 2. 3. 4.

There was shouting up ahead. How fun. Perhaps there would be a fight, Astarion hoped.

“Give us back Mayrina! We know you have our sister!”

Two loud angry men have cornered the doddering old granny from the Grove against an ancient tree. One braces a pitchfork threateningly at the unarmed old lady, the other clumsily brandishes a meat cleaver. It’s obvious to Astarion that these men are farmers, not seasoned highwaymen. Then the old woman spots Tav and the pleading begins.

“Petal! Please help me, I have no idea where their sister is,” she warbles feebly. It’s not enough to move Astarion, but Tav instantly jumps to the rescue.

“Leave Auntie Ethel alone, she’d never hurt anyone!” Tav declares. Ethel, that was her name.

“She’s with the hag!” One of the men yells. He lunges for Tav and Astarion springs into action, plunging his dagger into the man’s side. Beautiful blood spurts across Astarion’s leather doublet and the man crumples before him with a cry. It was going to be a good day.

“Thank you so much sweetness,” Auntie Ethel coos once the two men lay dead before her. “They were looking for their sister, Mayrina, the poor girl who’s-“ she pauses for a moment, then her face splits into a crooked grin. “-The poor girl who’s staying with me.” Tav’s heartbeat picks up, hammering in her chest. Behind her, Gale, Shadowheart, and Astarion all exchange a dark look.

“Do stop by my house. I’d love to thank you proper.” Auntie Ethel’s feline grin splits even wider as she vanishes in a puff of foul green smoke. Tav whirls around, immediately locking eyes with Astarion.

“Holy shit. Auntie Ethel really is a hag, isn’t she?” Tav’s eyes are wide, her voice frantic. Astarion shrugs.

“I don’t spend a lot of time around old ladies. I take it this isn’t normal?” Astarion says. Shadowheart rolls her eyes.

“No, it’s not normal to disappear in a puff of smoke after tricking a group of adventurers into killing your enemies!” Gale shoots back.

“We just killed innocent men.” The color drains from Tav’s face as her body begins to tremble. “I need to sit down,” she says. Gods below. They were two strangers who attacked them. There are worse crimes. Astarion sighs and crosses his arms as Tav leans against a tree, trying to collect herself. This was a far cry from the girl who had fearlessly insisted they investigate a desiccated tomb, who had threatened Mizora until she left their camp in a blaze of flame, who had helped Lae’Zel bully a tiefling just yesterday. After a moment Gale follows her and begins speaking to her in a low, comforting tone. Shadowheart and Astarion exchange another look.

“Here I thought Tav was proving to be capable,” Shadowheart says to him in Elvish.

“As was I. She better pull herself together soon or I’m going back to camp,” he returns.

“Really? You’d abandon your meal so quickly?” Shadowheart gives him yet another withering side-eye.

“Of course not. I still need her,” he replies under his breath. The soft golden light of a Calm Emotions spell envelops them and they turn towards Tav, whose heartbeat is slowly returning to its resting rate. She straightens up and makes her way back towards them, Gale in tow.

“I’m sorry about that, everyone. I made a bad call,” she admits. Her face is still flushed with shame.

“The old woman is clearly a hag of some kind. Hag deals are notoriously deceptive and unfair, but even so, it could be worth listening to what Ethel has to say about our parasites,” Gale interjects.

“We’ve come all this way. Might as well,” Shadowheart agrees, speaking in Common again.

“She sounds powerful, too,” Astarion adds, also in Common.

“And Mayrina is with her,” Tav says. Astarion shoots her an annoyed look. “I’m not saying we have to help her, I’m just saying we should check it out,” she explains.

“She’s ‘staying with Ethel’ because she almost certainly made a deal with her,” Astarion counters. “Mayrina is exactly where she wants to be.”

“Maybe. But let’s see for ourselves,” Tav urges. Astarion frowns, but it isn’t worth the fight. She will see that he’s right when they get to Ethel’s house.

They pick their way through the sunny marsh in silence. Tav leads the way, followed by Shadowheart, then Gale, and finally Astarion, who brings up the rear. Tav’s kindness had served him well so far, but as Astarion trudges through the sticky, sucking mud he decides that Tav’s kindness is getting out of hand. He doesn’t like how willingly she extends her kindness to others. It makes her weak, easy to use. So far that had worked to his advantage, but would they be running after every lost soul they met on their travels? At least the hag could help them. What could this Mayrina do? Unless she knows how to control ilithid parasites or she has experience killing powerful vampire lords, Astarion doesn’t care what happens to her.

Maybe he was wasting his time with Tav. Maybe she didn’t know what she was doing after all. Maybe her sweet, soft heart would only get her killed. Or worse, get him killed. He cozies up to Gale, who has hiked his robe up around his knees to avoid the muddy bog.

“I’m enjoying our long walks together, aren’t you, Gale?” Astarion says warmly, lowering his voice to a sultry hum. Gale looks over at him, confusion written plainly across his face.

“I am. In silence,” Gale says firmly. Astarion rolls his eyes. Wizards. Tav looks back at them and Astarion sees a clear flash of hurt flicker across her face. His stomach plummets and he feels a sharp stab of hatred for himself, but this is what he has to do. If Tav is too weak to handle this excursion, if she’s too busy fussing over strangers to advance his interests, then he will find someone who will. It doesn’t matter how nice she’s been to him. Or how well they get on. His literal skin is on the line. Unbidden, his mind conjures an image of what Cazador will do to him once he has him again and he grips the handles of his daggers until it hurts. Never again.

Despite the bright, warm sunlight the wetland is eerie. There’s a marked stillness about everything that makes the hairs on the back of his neck prickle and stand. Astarion realizes that it’s completely silent: there isn’t a single note of birdsong, not a hint of animal life. A soft breeze ruffles his curls and he smells it: fresh blood.

“What’s that?” Shadowheart points to something up ahead just beyond a wave of marsh grass. Tav crests the small hill and stops dead.

Blood drenches the remains of what must have been a quaint little camp. The bedrolls are ruined, the linens stained beyond repair. The fire has long since guttered out, half-cooked sausages smoldering on the coals. Uneaten food and abandoned packs sit ripe for the taking amidst slick pools of coagulating blood. Curiously, there isn’t a single carcass to be seen. Tav picks her way gingerly through the mess, picking out a blood spattered lute from the wreckage.

“Care to play us a song?” Shadowheart jokes. Tav gives the instrument an idle strum and winces. “Not like this, it’s out of tune,” she quips. She slips the bloody lute into her pack and turns away, rifling through the soiled supplies. They silently join her despite the grisly scene. Times are hard and supplies are thin.

“What do you think did this?” Tav asks lightly. She’s trying to sound calm, but Astarion can hear the subtle strain in her voice. She’s scared.

“I don’t know,” Gale answers as he pockets some cheese. “But we shouldn’t stick around to find out.” They all murmur in agreement and quickly move on, picking a new path through the swamp. Whatever it was, it wasted all that lovely blood.

For a while there is only the sticky slosh of their sodden footsteps through the muck. Astarion is sure his boots are ruined by now. Tav better buy him new ones. Then, the soft baa baaing of sheep reaches them. Sheep? In a swamp? The echoes bounce across the water in bright, distorted peals. Tav pivots them towards the sound.

The sheep are strange little creatures that toddle oddly over the grass. They almost seem sick. As Tav approaches them she bleats a loud, tremulous cry. One sheep baas back, a clumsy retort. Tav’s face stiffens and then reality as they know it melts before their very eyes.

Rot assaults their nostrils as the grass beneath them withers and dies, sinking into thick, black muck. Warped, petrified trees spring from the ground to pierce the endless sky, which leeches to a stony gray. Fog begins to roll in, settling into an ominous haze that obscures what little they can still see. And the dumb faces of the sheep crack and splinter apart, revealing the hateful eyes of ravenous redcaps.

No one moves. The fey glares at Tav, fangs bared. Its companions size them up them but make no motion to attack. Tav takes a deep breath.

“BAA!” She yells, her cry echoing impotently throughout the bog.

The redcap’s face contorts. “Baa,” it growls back with barely concealed animosity. Tav strides confidently past the creatures and they all follow close behind her, Astarion giggling all the way.

Once they are out of sight Tav’s self-assured composure collapses and she whirls to face them. “You saw that too, right?” She whispers, gesturing to the mire.

“Oh yes, her spell is well and truly broken now,” Gale says. “A fancy bit of illusion magic that falls apart at the slightest inspection.”

“Almost like she wants it to,” Astarion says.

“It’s an intimidation tactic. Lure in the fools but scare away those smart enough to see through her,” Shadowheart observes.

“So which are we?” Gale asks.

“We’ve come too far to turn back now,” Tav says. Her brow is set, her jaw is firm. But her eyes dart about the swamp as if looking for an escape. “Unless you want to confront those redcaps again.”

“Then by all means, lead the way, Oh Fearless Leader.” Astarion gives her a mock bow and gestures forward with a flourish. Tav curtsies back, bending deeply at the knees and twirling imaginary skirts. But she swiftly brushes past him, her sweet heart rabbiting in her chest.

“Please Ethel, I just can’t eat anymore!”

Mayrina’s begging is getting on his nerves. Usually he likes it when someone other than him is forced to beg, but Mayrina’s whining is neither pretty nor amusing. It’s just pathetic. What else did she expect? She made her bed and now she has to lie in it.

Tav seems to disagree. “You’re hurting her,” she says. “Do you treat all your guests like this?”

“She’s eating for two,” Ethel says contemptuously, her grandmotherly mask slipping. “But you should watch your tone, sweetie. That worm isn’t going to remove itself.” The threat is there, sharp and pointed. Mayrina snuffles loudly, drying her eyes on a handkerchief. Her hand rests protectively on her pregnant stomach. Tav eyes her, not completely cowed.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Tav asks Mayrina gently.

“Busybodies are not welcome here. I’ll talk about your wriggler, but that’s it. Last warning,” Ethel interrupts. Something in the atmosphere drops and Astarion can feel the vibrating hum of wild magic in his fangs.

“She is a pregnant lady in distress. We can’t just stand by and pretend she’s not here!” Gale insists, his quiet fury palpable.

“You’re making it worse for her,” Astarion hisses. Auntie Ethel will punish Mayrina for their insolence. He knows the signs. “Let’s not make trouble for strangers. We have our own problems.” Tav hesitates, considering his words.

“Can you really remove it?” Tav asks Ethel.

“Quicker than you can say ‘yes Auntie.’ What do you say?”

“That depends on the price.”

“And that depends on the job. But I like you, petal. For you?” Auntie Ethel pauses, pretending to think. “I’ll take one of your pretty little peepers.”

Tav recoils in horror. “You want one of my EYES?”

“Don’t be precious. You have two, don’t’cha?”

“Absolutely not! The deal is off,” Tav says. Astarion, Gale, and Shadowheart all breathe a collective sigh of relief.

“Please Auntie, can I just-“ Auntie Ethel gives an irritated wave of her hand and Mayrina vanishes in a flash of green.

“That brat has had enough pampering for one day,” Ethel says scornfully. “Well then. Best be on your way now if there’s nothing I can do for you. But you know where to find me if you change your mind.” The old woman smiles her mean, fey smile as she shows them the door.

“That was a complete waste of time.” Astarion whines as they descend the stairs to Ethel’s house. “Can we go now?”

“Mayrina is still in there,” Tav says. “We can’t just leave her to the mercy of a hag.”

“I agree,” Gale says. “If that’s how she treats Mayrina in front of guests, then Auntie Ethel must be something truly special in private.”

“This place gives me the creeps. Whatever we do, let’s just wrap up our business here quickly,” Shadowheart says primly, crossing her arms over her chest. “Unless one of you wants to trade an eye for a dubious cure.” No one seems particularly keen.

“Darling,” Astarion begins, “I know you want to play hero like in one of your lovely little songs, but this is none of our business. The girl’s already made her deal.” Tav chews her lip.

“I know, but she’s made a bad one. Auntie Ethel is clearly hurting her. I can’t just walk away without trying to do something about it.”

“And what do you intend to do exactly? Kill a hag?” Astarion scoffs. On second thought, that might be pretty fun.

“I don’t know! Maybe, if it comes to that.” Tav swallows. “Maybe we can make another bargain for her or something. But if we leave now then we leave Mayrina to her horrible fate, a fate which we accidentally sealed.” She pauses, takes a deep breath, then continues. “We killed her brothers. We murdered innocents who were just trying to protect their sister. They may have been the only family she has. If we don’t intervene now, then no one will. We owe it to them and we owe it to her to help.” Astarion scowls.

No one had helped him. No one had intervened for him. His family, his friends, his colleagues, and his lovers had all left him to rot. No one had stopped Cazador from doing whatever he had pleased with him. Why did Mayrina, a foolish little stranger, deserve mercy and not Astarion?

“I agree with Tav. We can’t simply turn aside,” Gale says.

“As our leader commands then,” Astarion sneers as they all trudge back up the rickety stairs to Ethel’s home.

Astarion had been in worse places than Auntie Ethel’s Tea House, but not many. Auntie Ethel was a woman who delighted in tormenting people, who offered them hope, then twisted her help into a grotesque punishment for her own sick amusement. Astarion knew her type well.

The depths beyond Ethel’s fireplace were both a prison and a torture chamber, where Auntie Ethel kept her brutalized victims suspended in magical bonds. Tav reviewed each cell with her characteristic thoroughness, poking around where she definitely should not. Gale’s eyes roamed Ethel’s chamber of horrors with a grim, clinical eye that belied a deep fascination with her magic. Shadowheart remained quiet, silently cataloguing Ethel’s creations with disgust. However, there were moments where Astarion thought she almost seemed impressed.

But Astarion was right: there was nothing they could do for the hag’s victims. Tav tried to approach the only conscious victim, an elf, who was huddled in a corner whispering to himself. Tav bent down next to him, speaking sweetly in a soft tone. “Mindflayer!!” He shrieked, curling in on himself in an inconsolable ball. Astarion wanted to feel smug but he only felt a hollow emptiness as they left his elven kin quaking in the mud.

They followed the grotto, pushing past Ethel’s magic door and into a fetid, overgrown tunnel that spiraled into stinking depths. Clouds of poisonous fumes lingered in the cavern, choking them as they carefully picked their way forward. Eventually the tunnel opened up into a subterranean cave that shimmered with the light of bioluminescent stalagmites. Thick, twisted roots wound their way throughout the cave. Above them, a rotten cage hung suspended over a black abyss. Inside, Mayrina hiccuped and sobbed.

“You come into my home, interfere with my business, and now have the gall to barge into my private playhouse?” Auntie Ethel shrieks, materializing seamlessly out of the shadows. The sweet grandmother dissolves and a haggard, spindly witch lurches out of the darkness in her place. Her mouth gapes and yawns, her numerous teeth shining like terrible needles. “I’ll rip your spine out your arsehole!” She screams. Tav shoots Astarion a look and he nocks an arrow in his bow. “I’ll spice your blood to make my stew!” He pulls back the drawstring. “I’ll-" He lets the arrow fly and it strikes true, skewering Ethel where she stands.

“You little shits!” She snarls, bilious blood gushing from her wound. The hag unravels and splits into dust. How easy, Astarion thinks.

“You want the girl so bad, take her!” A disembodied voice screeches as Mayrina's cage explodes in flame. Four new hags rematerialize from the darkness, each one of perfect copy of Auntie Ethel's hideous form.

“We have to act fast!” Shadowheart cries. Gale conjures a deluge of water, quenching the flames as a rush of black smoke fills the cave. They all cough and hack, momentarily blinded. Ethel strikes, clawing Gale across his abdomen. A sour, noxious scent fills Astarion’s nostrils as the wizard bleeds. Gale gives an agonizing cry, but rebounds quickly with a hard rap of his staff to the hag’s skull. The illusion unravels and splits, dematerializing back into the smoke.

Meanwhile Astarion crouches down, easily blending into the smog. “Got some rat still stuck in your teeth, slave,” the witch whispers in his ear, her breath warm and rancid on his face. Ethel’s taunt hits him through his heart and he whirls around furiously, jabbing his dagger into any flesh he can. The mirage simply vanishes with an ugly chuckle.

“There she is!” Shadowheart points across the chasm, unleashing a bolt of radiant magic into the air. This time Shadowheart strikes true and Ethel is sent reeling across the mossy floor.

“Pretty clever, but not clever enough,” Ethel snarls. She gestures with her claw and suddenly Mayrina is cowering before them, transported from her wet cage. Her face warps and splits into multiple copies, an awful kaleidoscope of flesh. Each Mayrina cries and begs them not her hurt her.

“I’m the real Mayrina!” One sobs.

“Don’t listen to her, I am!” Another one chokes out.

“Mouthier than an arse and twice as full of shite,” Tav bellows. Ethel’s mask slides away as she recoils from Tav’s mockery. The real Mayrina collapses to the ground in a fit of hacking sobs. Astarion lunges towards the hag, putting his full weight behind his dagger as he plunges it into her stomach.

“You’re one thirsty night away from betraying everyone!” She screams, ripping Astarion off of her. Astarion stumbles back and falls to the ground, his daggers clattering out of reach. Her words fill him with a torrent of awful emotions: rage, shame, despair, recognition. If he unpacks it all now he may die.

Gale blasts the witch with Magic Missile and she severs herself again into three more copies, the real Ethel dissipating into invisibility. Suddenly Astarion’s limbs wrench themselves outwards of their own accord, locking him into place. He tries to fight it, but he’s trapped within the grip of a Hold Person spell, expertly cast by one of the hag’s shadows. He watches in frozen horror as another shoves Gale, who teeters on the brink of the pit. Shadowheart hurls flame at yet another, missing the hag by centimeters. A hag lunges at Tav, rending her open with its wicked claws. The enticing smell of Tav’s spilt blood fills his senses and he thrashes desperately in his magical bonds. He’s pathetic, helpless to do anything as they’re all slaughtered.

Gale rallies himself and casts another round of Magic Missile, aiming his projectiles towards each individual apparition. The phantoms all shatter on impact, releasing Astarion from his magical bonds. He falls to his feet, snatching up his knives.

Clutching her bleeding side, Tav pivots sharply and casts Faerie Fire, throwing the spell as widely as she can. The pink light of the ring illuminates Ethel’s hideous face, her invisibility spell broken. Shadowheart raises her hands for the coup de grace, necrotic energy sizzling in her fists.

“Wait, lovelies,” Ethel gasps. “Killing me is a waste of time. I’ll find a way to return. Always have, always will.” She licks her thin lips. “But it’s unpleasant. So let’s be civil about this. After all, I have something you want.”

“Hah!” Tav barks a laugh. “This should be good.”

“Just wait until you hear my offer,” Auntie Ethel purrs. “Let me leave with the girl and her babe and I will give you power!” Her claws begin to shine with the sickly green glow of her magic. Now Ethel has Astarion’s full attention. “You want to be smarter?” She looks at Gale. “Wiser?” She turns pointedly to Shadowheart. “More dexterous?” She gestures to Astarion. “More charismatic? Done! It your choice, sweetness.” Well, well, well, what a delicious turn of events.

“If you want your worthless little life, you’ll give me everything,” Tav orders, her voice like sharpened steel. “I want the girl and the power.” She advances on the hag, placing the blade of her rapier against Ethel’s bobbing throat. The air crackles with psychic energy, wreathing Tav in a vicious violet halo.

“You greedy little shite,” Ethel sneers, sizing her up. There’s a moment of terrible stillness.

“Fine.”

Ethel reaches up to her oily scalp. There’s a wretched tearing sound and the hag hurls a chunk of something wet and hairy at Tav’s feet. It glistens in the muck.

“But what about our deal? What about my husband?” Mayrina pleads. Her bloodshot eyes are ringed with smeared kohl.

“Deals off you dumb cow! And you have this one,” Auntie Ethel jerks a thumb at Tav, “to thank for it.” Mayrina rounds on Tav, rage flashing in her eyes. “But not to worry,” Ethel continues, “I’ll find another one just as plump and ripe. People always need lotions and potions,” she smiles wickedly.

“Good luck, auntie.” Tav jeers.

“Luck has nothing to do with it.” She gestures to the sickening clump of skin, “It’s only the deal that counts,” Ethel replies. “Bye, bye, petal. I’ll not soon forget this,” she threatens ominously. Ethel disappears for good in a flash of foul green light.

Tav bends down and plucks the slimy piece of hag scalp from the cave floor. Astarion considers her, regarding her with dark appraisal. She’s soft, but she has an appreciation for power and an eye for opportunity. Potential. He remembers how fascinated she had been with the Necromancy of Thay. Maybe she just needs some of his guidance. Some shaping. Together, they could take so much more than magical trinkets. Perhaps this hadn’t been a waste after all.

“You miserable bitch!” Mayrina howls, rounding on them all. “You’ve ruined it! You’ve ruined everything!”

“We saved you from a hag!” Tav yells back, incredulous. “She was mistreating you, we all saw it! Aren’t you happy to be free again?”

“I don’t want to be free! I want my husband back, alive and well!” Mayrina wails.

“Ethel was never going to help you. I’m sorry Mayrina, but it’s the truth,” Tav replies adamantly.

“Yes she was! Soon my child would have been born and this nightmare would have been over!”

“I’m sorry, your child? You were going to give your baby to the hag?”

“Don’t you dare judge me!” Mayrina hisses. “I have nothing. My baby would have been raised in rags. This is the nicest dress I own.” She gestures to her filthy emerald shift. “Ethel would have given my child a good life. Taught them magic, even! More than I could have done.” Mayrina leans against a gnarled root, sagging in defeat and despair. She places a hand on her abdomen, rubbing soothing circles on her swollen stomach. She seems so young.

“No she wouldn’t have, Mayrina. Hags never truly give you what they promise.”

“I didn’t bloody ask you!” Mayrina shouts, incensed once more. “Now I’ll never see my husband again. And I’ll have to drag his coffin and our baby back to our empty house through the mud all by myself! I hope you’re fucking happy!” Mayrina storms away, disappearing with her unborn child into the overgrown tunnel and up into the world.

“Did we do the right thing, or did we just ruin that woman’s already miserable life?” Tav asks. She’s caked in dirt and blood. She doesn’t seem proud or heroic, she just seems tired.

“Well, what’s done is done,” Astarion offers. “There’s no point dwelling on things you can’t change now.”

Tav sighs. Astarion knows that she feels responsible for this mess, but in his experience it’s better to simply not reflect on things. If you don’t reflect, you don’t have to feel.

“Grief can be a bitter wound. It’s too fresh now, but once Mayrina has time and space to think she’ll see the great service you did for her,” Gale says soothingly. “With our help, of course.” Gale doesn’t wink, but Astarion can feel it in his smug voice. Tav smiles weakly back at Gale and Astarion almost pushes him into the chasm himself.

“It’s true. Most don’t see loss as a gift at first. But in time, those that accept my Lady’s blessings will find comfort in her embrace,” Shadowheart recites.

“Thank you, Shadowheart,” Tav sighs. Shadowheart says her lines dutifully but Astarion can see, perhaps clearer than the others, that her eyes are far away.

“Besides,” Astarion chimes back in. “Just look at the delicious little snack you have now.” Lice skitters across the scalp, disappearing into the dirty hair.

“Yummy,” Tav says flatly.

“Unless of course, you’d rather give it to me?” Astarion pouts playfully. He’s joking, but he would also snatch the horrible scalp up in a heartbeat.

Tav bumps him with her hip. “No way, it’s mine! Go find your own,” she laughs. He supposes it was worth a shot.

Even the putrid air from the foul swamp seems fresh after Ethel’s lair. Everyone is exhausted and covered in refuse. All of them need at least two baths. They begin the long walk back to camp when a particularly disgusting wave of air hits them. Everyone recoils, but Astarion recognizes the awful smell: ironvine. A monster hunter is nearby. His lip curls. A Gur.

Chapter 6: Found

#astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion fanfiction #astarion longfic #A Taste of Plums #The Night Shift #Auntie Ethel #Mayrina bg3

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sisterspooky1013 · 11 months

Text

Gaslight, Chapter 7/48

(On previous posts I listed the chapter count as 58. I was trippin, it’s 48)

Rated X | Read it here on AO3

Dana taps her pen rapidly against the desktop, re-reading the chart for the umpteenth time.

Male, age 32, presenting with acute abdominal pain. Blood and urine tests came back normal, as well as x-ray and ultrasound. She puts in an order for a CT scan and an endoscopy, making a note for herself to follow it with a barium swallow if those tests aren’t conclusive.

“Who died?”

Dana looks up to see Dr. Thomas entering their shared office and smiles wearily.

“I guess that isn’t a great joke for a hospital setting, is it?” the younger woman adds, taking a seat behind her desk and cracking open a can of soda.

Her copper-skinned face and wide, bright smile had been a welcome second impression after Dana’s initial entry into St. Agnes, and the two became fast friends. Thick-waisted and ample-breasted, Dr. Thomas insisted that Dana call her by her first name, Tiffany, and simply smiled sadly and told her it didn’t matter when Dana asked if they had met during her previous tenure there.

“Sorry if I’m being moody,” Dana says with a sigh, leaning back in her seat. “I didn’t sleep well last night and it’s my husband’s birthday today—I’m just feeling a bit overwhelmed.”

Tiffany arches a curious eyebrow as she logs into her computer.

“Does he have unrealistic birthday expectations or something?” she posits. “One of those people that expects to be treated like royalty?”

Dana shakes her head.

“It has nothing to do with him. I think I’m just putting a lot of pressure on myself.”

What she doesn’t tell Tiffany is that as she and Cal have become more physically intimate over the course of the last week—mostly just kissing, and one instance of wine inspired dry humping on the living room couch—her dreams have intensified to the point that they wake her several times at night.

Sometimes they, she and the man, are in the kitchen with the green countertops. She’s washing dishes and he wraps his arms around her waist, or they are dancing in the middle of the room, sometimes kissing as they move across the floor. She can see his face, his hooded green eyes and full mouth, his impish smile. He’s tall, close in height to Cal, and sometimes he is walking her slowly backwards, grabbing at her ass and pulling her close so she can feel him, stiff against her belly. There is always music, though she can’t quite hear it; she senses that it’s there. In some dreams he’s looking up at her from between her thighs, in others his cock is hovering inches from her face. But it’s the ones where she’s riding him, feeling him not just physically but emotionally, that affect her the most. Those are the dreams that pull her from a dead sleep flushed and humming, that send Cal down the hallway to check on her after another nightmare. They are the reason she can’t quite bring herself to return to the master bedroom, for fear that she will call out the other man’s name in her sleep. But then, at least, she’d know what his name is.

“Men are easy,” Tiffany says, giving her a meaningful look. “Give him a steak dinner and a hummer and you’re good to go til next year.”

Dana barks a surprised laugh, but her belly twists. She has the passing thought that maybe being fully intimate with Cal will relieve her of these sordid memories, these haunting dreams. But at the same time, they feel like all she has left of something that was clearly very important to her at one time.

“We’re getting dinner at Mercato,” she supplies. “Have you been there?”

“Yeah, Rick’s taken me there a few times. It’s nice,” Tiffany answers. “Do you have a sitter for the kids?”

“They’ll be at the neighbors’ while we’re out to dinner, but it’s a school night so we can’t stay out too late.”

“Sounds like fun,” Tiffany quips, then stands and drapes her stethoscope over her neck. “I have rounds. See you tomorrow?”

“Yep.”

Tiffany gets as far as the threshold of the door, then stops and looks back at her with a serious expression. Dana lifts her eyebrows in question and waits.

“Don’t forget to cup the balls,” Tiffany says, holding her hand palm up with the fingers curled as though cradling a pair of testicles.

Dana’s groan at her tasteless joke is cut short by the clip of the door closing.

“You look great,” Cal says uncomfortably, and Dana smiles demurely.

“Thanks,” she replies, pulling in a breath and looking around the restaurant.

It’s small, only a dozen tables or so, and the ambiance is decidedly romantic: low lighting, flickering candles, smooth jazz music lilting from cleverly hidden speakers. She tugs on the neckline of her dress, which is a low scoop that reveals the tops of her pushed-up breasts. She’d felt good when she put it on, admiring her silhouette in the bathroom mirror, but now that Cal’s eyes keep falling down to her chest as they try, awkwardly, to make conversation, she feels exposed and vulnerable. They’ve only gotten as far as water glasses on the table beside their menus, and already she can’t wait for this meal to be over.

“How was work today?” he attempts, and she remembers Tiffany’s advice regarding his gift.

“It was okay,” she says blandly, and again they fall into tense silence. Cal’s shoulder jumps and his head quirks to the side, and she knows she’s making him uncomfortable with her own discomfort. “Um, I didn’t really know what to get you for your birthday—” she starts, but Cal stops her.

“You don’t need to get me anything, Dana,” he insists, and she nods once.

“I didn’t, actually,” she admits, and he smiles shyly. “But I had this idea that maybe we could sort of—recreate something. An event that was important but that I can’t remember. Kind of a do-over.”

His smile blooms into a delighted grin, and she feels a warm flush in her belly.

“Really? Like what?”

Dana shrugs. “I don’t know, you tell me. This is something I can’t help you with, unfortunately.”

Cal sits back in his seat, pondering with a playful glint in his eye. The waiter approaches their table and asks about a drink order, and Cal turns to Dana.

“Let’s get out of here,” he says, and she flashes her eyes over to the waiter in embarrassment.

“Right now?” she asks in a low voice.

“I apologize,” Cal directs to the apron-clad man waiting beside the table expectantly. “There’s somewhere else we need to be.”

He tosses a twenty dollar bill on the table top and stands up, extending his hand to Dana. She takes it and follows him out of the restaurant, choosing to trust him enough not to ask where they’re going.

When Cal pulls the front door of O’Blarney’s open, smoke seeps out and curls into the evening air. She walks in and is greeted by all the trappings of a dive bar: pool tables, dart boards, worn down pinball machines, and the saturated stink of cigarettes and hops. The floor is covered in patchy green carpet and the man behind the bar looks like he’s ready to pose for a mugshot.

Cal directs her to a table and then goes to the bar to get them drinks, returning with a beer for him and a cocktail for her. She takes an experimental sip and smiles with pleasant surprise.

“Gin and tonic?” she asks, and he bobs his head.

“That’s what you used to drink when we met,” he says, scooting his chair closer to hers.

She looks around at the clientele. The bar is relatively busy for a Monday evening, and most of the patrons have the comfortable posture of regulars. A swarthy man in a camo jacket leers at her, and Cal slings his arm over the back of her chair posessively.

“So, what are we recreating?” she asks, taking another sip.

“This is where we met,” he tells her fondly, and her eyebrows lift in surprise.

“Here?”

Cal nods, clearly enjoying her reaction.

“Tell me,” she encourages him, touching his knee lightly for emphasis. He covers her hand with his and holds it there, and she feels a little flutter of excitement.

“I used to come here all the time,” he begins. “Me and my buddy Ryan would come almost every night after work to play pool or just talk. I started seeing you come in every once in a while with another regular, this woman Erin, do you remember her?”

“Erin?” Dana repeats. “I don’t think so.”

“Anyway, you were here with Erin one night and I decided to make my move.” Dana smiles at him and he shakes his head dismissively. “I totally struck out. I think I asked you if you were new to the area or some cliche bullshit, and you pretty much brushed me off. But I saw you again a couple weeks later so I tried just introducing myself, and you were polite but clearly not interested.”

“Ouch,” Dana says with a sympathetic pout.

“I know, it was rough. But there was just something about you. I don’t know, it just felt like I needed to know you, so I decided to go big—”

“Oh, no,” Dana groans, but she’s smiling around her anguished expression and Cal laughs.

“I know, I had no idea who I was dealing with. And Ryan was a horrible influence. He got me all hyped up on this “Say Anything” style gesture that would show you that I was worth giving a chance. And of course I got totally hammered first, for courage.”

“Oh, Cal,” Dana says, pressing one hand to her cheek. “You did something ridiculous, didn’t you?”

“I got up on that stage,” he says, pointing to a small elevated platform in the corner of the room, “even though it was not karaoke night, and I, uh—I sang you a song.”

“You didn’t.”

“Oh, I did. Very off key. But the bartender was kind enough to play the song so I had some accompaniment.”

“What was the song?” she asks hesitantly.

Cal clears his throat, closes his eyes, and sings, “Hands, touching hands. Reaching out. Touching me, touching youuuuu.”

“You’re joking,” Dana says flatly, and he opens his eyes and looks at her.

“Sweet Caroline, bah bah bah. Good times never seemed so good,” he croons creakily.

A genuine grin stretches across her face, and Cal elbows her in encouragement.

“So good, so good, so good,” she completes softly.

“I’ve been inclined,” he says in a whisper as he leans in, “to believe they never would.”

She accepts his kiss, returning it with a few soft smooches befitting a public setting. He pulls away, eyeing her with nothing short of adoration, and she finds herself feeling quite happy.

“And I went for that?” she questions cheekily.

“Absolutely not,” he answers, and she laughs. “By the time I stumbled off the stage you were gone. But I guess it did make some kind of impression, because about a week later Ryan and I were sitting over there shooting the shit,” he says with a thumb hitched toward a table near the wall, “and the waitress brought a drink over courtesy of a mystery woman at the bar.”

Dana makes a face, impressed with her own forwardness.

“And the rest is history?” she asks, and Cal bobs his head side to side.

“Somewhat. We stayed up all night talking, and you actually overslept and missed an interview,” he explains.

“What for?” she asks.

“The FBI, of all things. You said you weren’t totally sold on it being the right path for you, and when you woke up and realized you’d missed it, you decided it was fate.”

“Fate?” she repeats incredulously. Cal shrugs.

“Your words, not mine.”

“Hm,” she says, pondering.

She does remember the call from the FBI and setting up an interview. Her father was incensed that she was even considering it.

“Tell me about when you met my dad,” she asks, her voice suddenly tight.

“Oof,” Cal says with a grimace, and Dana mirrors it. “It was a little bit rough. He asked me about my family and where I’m from, which didn’t set us off on a great foot.”

“You lost your parents young,” she says, and he realizes she doesn’t remember the details.

“I never even met my dad,” he tells her, and her hand slides sympathetically back over his knee. “My mom was a junkie, and she OD’d when I was thirteen. I was in and out of foster care until I turned eighteen and joined the army.”

“I’m sure Dad liked that, though?” she says hopefully.

“Yes, once I was able to get that far and tell him about some of my accomplishments, he came around a little. But then I got you pregnant, and we weren’t married, and that knocked me down quite a few pegs.”

“Would it be wrong to say that I’m glad I don’t remember having to tell him that?” she asks with a pained smile.

“I only wish I were so lucky,” he replies, and they sit there for a moment, sharing smiles and affectionate glances. Cal blinks and shakes his head a little as though suddenly dazed.

“What?”

“I just got the most intense sensation of deja vu,” he says. “It happens to me a lot, actually.”

“Perhaps we’re living in an alternate universe,” she suggests, and he eyes her skeptically before he checks his watch.

“It’s almost eight, we better go get those rugrats to bed,” he says, and they stand, settling the bill before they walk out of the bar arm in arm.

After washing her face and pulling on an oversized sleep shirt, Dana turns down the guest bed and slides under the covers.

She thinks about her date with Cal, about her appointment with Michelle tomorrow, about Abby attending summer camp in a couple weeks when school gets out. She thinks about how grounded she’s beginning to feel, though the edges may always be fuzzy, and contentment washes through her body as she relaxes into the bed.

From down the hall, she hears a persistent murmur, like someone is talking. There is no TV in the master bedroom, and it almost sounds like maybe Cal is on the phone. She rises from the bed and creeps quietly down the hall, straining her ears. As she nears the bedroom door she recognizes that the sound is music, and she knocks gently.

“Yeah,” Cal says quietly. “You can come in.”

She pushes the door open and spots him sitting in an armchair near the window. He’s still wearing his slacks and dress shirt, his loosened tie hanging limply around his neck. He’s slumped down in the chair, his long legs extended before him and his elbows propped on the armrests, fingers steepled under his chin. His eyes are slightly swollen, his mouth set. He looks miserable.

Sweet Caroline, good times never seemed so good. I’ve been inclined to believe they never would.

She follows the sound to a small boombox on the dresser, then looks back to Cal.

“Are you okay?” she asks gently, still standing in the doorway.

He nods, then sniffs, and his jaw jerks to the side.

Dana enters the room, pushing the door closed behind her, and approaches him. He watches her with an anguished expression as she kneels down on the floor beside the chair, resting one hand on his knee.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, surprised that he’s not feeling the same buoyant optimism after their date.

Cal shakes his head solemnly, then reaches out and pushes her hair behind her ear.

“I don’t want to put my shit on you, Dana. Don’t worry about it,” he says, then attempts a smile.

“You’re not putting anything on me,” she says. “Please, tell me what happened.”

His watery smile widens, and her heart aches.

“Nothing happened, mija. We had a great night. It was a great birthday. It’s just hard sometimes, you know?”

She nods. She does know.

“I’m sorry,” she says, and he closes his eyes and grimaces.

“Please stop saying that,” he whispers.

She has the impulse to apologize again, so she sucks her bottom lip between her teeth. She thinks about the man from her dreams, how he feels so close in her mind and yet she can’t reach him. She thinks that maybe that’s how it is for Cal: she’s right here, but she’s also eight years away.

She shuffles forward on her knees, navigating around one of his legs until she’s positioned between them, her hands resting on the tops of his thighs. Cal opens his eyes and watches her, his jaw twitching. Dana swallows, tamping down the butterflies erupting in her belly as she slides her hands up to his hips. He tenses, but doesn’t move. His breathing is shallow, coming out in urgent little puffs. She hooks her fingers under the waist of his slacks and meets his eye.

“Let’s go to bed,” she says huskily, and he shifts a little in his seat.

“Are you sure?” he asks, but she can already see him responding in her periphery. She knows how much he wants her, and she wants to want him too. She wants to feel the way she feels in her dreams: seen, adored, worshiped.

She nods.

He rises slowly from the chair and she stands, wrapping her arms around his waist as he cradles her face in his hands. And she does feel adored by him, she has since the day she came home. She just wasn’t ready to accept it.

And when I hurt, hurting runs off my shoulders. How can I hurt when holding you?

He walks her backwards toward the bed, lays her down gently, touches her like she is the most precious thing on earth. He worships her, he loves her, he makes her come.

And all the while she is thinking. Thinking of him—he. His hands on her hips and his mouth on her ear, and the way his body fits into hers like a missing piece of a puzzle.

She sleeps in the master bedroom, Cal wrapped around her like a vine. Awash in dopamine and oxytocin, she prays that she won’t always long for her dreams.

She flexes her hips forward and back, her slick lips sliding over his shaft as he kisses her sweetly. She wants him, and she feels ready—so ready. She feels the press of his head against her opening and she arches her back, angling herself just right, and he begins to slide into her. There is a stretch, a sting, and she gasps a little even as she’s still taking him deeper, wanting more of him. They stay still for moments, panting against each other’s mouths, until he sits up and takes her face in his hands. His kisses grow urgent, needy, and she rises up halfway, falling back down with a little whimper. He moans, his hips jumping off the bed, trying to get more of her. She’s never felt so wanted in her entire life.

“Fuck, Scully. I love you,” he groans, and she feels herself rising, gathering, melting into him. Becoming one.

Tagging @today-in-fic

#the x files #x files fanfic #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #xf fanfic #x files #the x-files

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some-little-infamy · 4 months

Text

Nostalgic for Disaster

(Read on AO3)

Eddie made a mistake.

Okay, Eddie made a series of mistakes, one terrible choice after another that brought him to this moment, the culmination of a day’s worth of regrets.

The first one was going back to look at the woman from the shop, Kim. The second was talking to her, and the third was flirting with her. The fourth was inviting her to dinner, and the fifth was actually going. He supposes there’s a sixth in there, arguably the worst of them all - ignoring the way that seeing Kim brings back such visceral memories of Shannon.

The longer this dinner goes on, the stronger those flashes of memory become. Sometimes it’s a smile, or the glint of Kim’s eyes. Her mannerisms and speech cadence are completely different, but that doesn’t stop Eddie from latching onto every minute similarity.

The more he does, the more guilty he feels about it - about being here with Kim for all the wrong reasons. He’s in a relationship, one committed enough that they nearly moved in together. And he lied to Christopher and Buck about who he was going out with, more or less. He never said it was with Marisol, but obviously they assumed, and he didn’t correct them.

So Eddie orders a drink with dinner - a strong one. And then a second with appetizers, a third with the entree, and two more before dessert and the check comes.

He isn’t sure he’s getting what he wants out of this. All he’s done is spiral, too busy clinging to a lost past to properly enjoy the conversation he’s having, even if he smiles and laughs in all the right places.

“Do you need a ride home?” Kim asks at the end of the night. Six words and Eddie knows that whatever he thinks he’s doing here isn’t working. She must sense his distance and distraction, or maybe it’s the way his words are starting to slur now, eyes glazing over from the liquor.

He’s about to agree when he thinks through what that would mean. He’s going to need to get his car the next day, which he’d have to explain to Buck when he drops off Christopher… which is if he can even keep Christopher overnight. Eddie only asked about a few hours…

“No. I can…” he trails off, trying to think through the slight haze around his thoughts. “I’ll get a ride.” “I’ll wait with you until it comes,” Kim says. It isn’t a question, and Eddie doesn’t argue, though it limits his options to an uber that he can’t afford (going to a restaurant way outside of town and away from anyone who may recognize him seemed like a good idea at the time), or a favor from a friend who may or may not keep this secret for him.

Well, what’s one more questionable decision to tack onto the list.

Eddie hits two buttons on his phone and waits.

“Tommy? Hey. I need a favor.”

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

Tommy pulls up half an hour later, window rolled down, the upper half of his body leaning out the window to chastise Eddie the second he hits the brakes.

“I know the helicopter ride was my idea, but I’m going to have to start charging you if you make a habit out of-” Tommy starts, but trails off seeing the woman standing behind Eddie with her arm around his waist. Tommy doesn’t say it, but he doesn’t have to - his look says it all.

“Thanks, Tommy,” Eddie manages. He’s starting to sober up a bit, the air from waiting outside helping. “Sorry.”

“I offered to take him home myself but he was very insistent on calling you,” the woman adds, sounding confused, as if she hopes saying it out loud will get an explanation as to why from either of the men.

It doesn’t.

“I’ll, uh, text you later. It was really good to see you Sha… Kim,” Eddie hopes the name slip comes across as nothing more than a drunken stumble.

“Get home safe,” she replies, something safe and noncommittal. Eddie doesn’t blame her. Eddie doesn’t blame anyone other than himself.

Once she’s sure Eddie can manage the walk to the passenger side of Tommy’s car on his own Kim turns to leave, and he wonders if he’ll ever get the chance to see her again.

Eddie gets into the car, buckles, and focuses on a few deep breaths to stop the swirling surroundings once the truck starts moving. They drive in silence for thirty seconds… a full minute… two minutes…

“So,” Tommy starts finally. “You gonna tell me what that was all about?”

“I got too drunk to drive home,” Eddie says.

“Yeah, that bit is pretty obvious. I mean the part where you were on a date with someone who isn’t Marisol.” Tommy keeps his eyes on the road ahead while he speaks, probably more for Eddie’s benefit than his own. “That I’m guessing Evan doesn’t know about since you called me instead of him.”

“Evan’s watching Christopher…” Eddie tries to deflect.

“So Evan knows?” Tommy re-words, not giving Eddie the easy out.

“No,” Eddie admits, turning his head to look out the passenger window. “I’m not cheating, you know. It isn’t like we’re…” “Living together? You were about a week ago, so it isn’t like you two aren’t serious. Too serious to be sneaking around behind her back with another woman, I’m guessing, which is why you felt the need to hide it.”

“I know. It’s also why I ended up drinking my way through dinner,” Eddie sighs. “It was a mistake.”

“Glad you know that,” Tommy says. “If you don’t want to be with her, just tell her. Don’t do… whatever this is. Neither of you deserve that.”

It isn’t judgy. Tommy, bless him, isn’t like that - at least not with Eddie. What Tommy’s good at is being honest in a way that doesn’t pull any punches but also doesn’t deal any low blows.

There’s more silence after that. Eddie doesn’t have a response. He isn’t sure Tommy’s looking for one. They’re a few minutes away from Eddie’s place when Tommy finally talks again.

“What’s your plan for tomorrow?” Tommy asks. When Eddie looks over to him with a rueful half-smile, Tommy sighs. “I’m your plan for tomorrow, aren’t I?”

“Please?” Eddie practically begs. “I’ll pay for gas. You can even stay here for the night, so you don’t have to drive back and forth.”

“I take it that means you don’t plan on telling Evan?” Tommy questions.

Eddie frowns. “Are you going to tell him?” It comes out more pleading than questioning, praying Tommy can keep this one thing from Buck.

“I’m not going to lie to him,” Tommy starts slowly. “But, I won’t offer the information. If he doesn’t ask, I won’t tell.”

Eddie considers arguing the point, but honestly, it’s a better deal than he deserves.

“And what about the ride back?” Eddie asks, feeling like he’s pushing his luck.

“I get the bed,” Tommy replies without hesitation. “And you seriously consider telling Evan about this on your own. He’s your best friend, and you obviously have some things to talk through.”

Eddie sighs. “Deal.”

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

Eddie spends half the night sick to his stomach from the alcohol, going back and forth from the sofa to the bathroom at least half a dozen times. If it keeps Tommy up he doesn't say anything about it when he gently shakes Eddie awake at the crack of dawn to go get Eddie's car before it gets towed.

“Thanks again, Tommy. I don't know what came over me yesterday.” It's only a half-lie. Eddie might know what came over him, but he doesn't understand it.

Tommy spares him any further chastising. “Take care of yourself, Eddie,” is all he says before driving off, leaving Eddie with a long car ride back in the morning traffic rush to sit with his own thoughts and the events of the past 24 hours.

He's no better off when he gets to Buck's than he was when Tommy left him.

“Looks like someone had a long night,” Buck greets with a smirk.

“You can say that again,” Eddie mutters, but his frown quickly turns to a grin aa he walks in to the sight of Christopher with whipped cream on the corner of his mouth, a plate of half-eaten waffles in front of him.

“Those look like they're more dessert than breakfast,” Eddie observes, eyeing the chocolate syrup they're slathered with.

“Waffles are breakfast, dad,” Christopher insists, as if this fact is too obvious to be questioned. The ‘duh’ isn't spoken but heavily implied by his tone.

“Of course. Sorry I dared to question you.”

“So I guess not living together is working out for you two,” Buck says, and Eddie tenses. Every word Buck says hits like a punch to the gut at the secret he's keeping and how every word Eddie speaks feels like a lie even when it isn't.

He gets how Buck could only live with the guilt of keeping his own secret for a day before needing to come clean and tell Eddie - this is torture.

It's entirely self-inflicted torture at that. Eddie may believe he deserves it, but Buck certainly doesn't deserve the deceit, especially since he's the one being nice enough to watch Christopher while Eddie is out losing his goddamn mind, apparently.

“Hey Christopher, why don't you play some video games when you're done eating until it's time to go?” Eddie suggests.

Christopher agrees eagerly, rushing his last bites to ensure as much gaming time as possible before Eddie changes his mind.

Buck raises an eyebrow. Eddie nods back towards Buck’s bedroom and the two silently slip away from the distracted Christopher, Eddie shutting the door behind him.

Buck doesn't ask what's wrong, waiting for Eddie to initiate whatever conversation he needs to have here. If only Eddie knew what that was.

He figures he should start with the truth.

“I wasn’t with Marisol.”

Eddie waits, watching Buck absorbing that statement, his face shifting from confusion to worry, eyeing Eddie up and down, his gaze lingering on any exposed skin.

“You're not fighting again, ah, are you?” Buck asks.

“What? No! Of course not,” Eddie reassures him, that potentiality never even crossing his mind.

Buck relaxes for just a second, not bothering to hide the relief that answer gives him.

“Who were you with?” Buck asks. Eddie sees how hard he’s trying to sound neutral, simply curious rather than concerned, though it shows through the cracks all the same. “Her name is Kim,” Eddie says.

“...okay.” Buck says, understanding slowly dawning on him as he processes.

“It was just dinner,” Eddie’s quick to say.

“Was it a date?” Buck asks.

“It was a mistake,” Eddie says, not directly answering Buck’s question. “Nothing happened.”

“But you wanted it to.”

It isn’t a question, and Eddie doesn’t volunteer an answer.

“Why? I know things were rough with the nun stuff, and the moving in, but I thought you two were past that.”

“We were - we are.” “Okay,” Buck starts again slowly. “Then… why?”

A great question, Eddie thinks to himself.

If anyone is going to understand, if anyone is going to get it, it’s Buck. Buck is his best friend. Buck is the person Eddie’s trusted with not only his own life, but Christopher’s. So it seems fitting that he trust Buck with this, too.

“She looks like Shannon,” Eddie says, the confession barely above a whisper.

Buck freezes, sensing the dangerous waters this conversation is entering. “Eddie…” “If I didn’t know any better…” Eddie’s suddenly far away, remembering how it felt to sit across from her at dinner. He’s too distracted by a mixture of mourning and longing to notice Buck’s look shift to proper worry. “Being with her is just… I can’t stay away. I don’t want to stay away. It’s like she never left.”

“But she did, Eddie. She died,” Buck reminds him gently, as if he could ever forget.

Except he can, when he's with Kim. It's like the accident never happened at times.

“I know that. I know it isn’t her… but it’s the closest I’ve felt to her since she left. It’s like… it’s like part of her is still here. Like she never left. ” Eddie hears how desperate he sounds now that he says it out loud, his words laced with an underlying tremor as he speaks. “I don’t want to lose her again.” A tear escapes Eddie’s rapidly blinking eyes, unable to keep down the swell of emotion that rises up with the admission.

“Hey, hey,” Buck says, wrapping an arm around Eddie. “She isn’t Shannon. Whatever feelings you have when you, you're with this woman, they’re from your memories. You haven’t lost them.”

Eddie’s breathing comes short and sharp, and he has to focus very hard to even it back out, staving off his rising panic.

“You can’t keep seeing her just to remember Shannon. It, it isn’t fair to you, or her… or to Marisol,” Buck adds.

Eddie fights the urge to grow defensive, to insist he hasn’t hurt anyone other than himself, but after a moment seems to deflate in on himself. “I know.”

“I know,” Eddie repeats, not sure who he's trying to convince more - Buck, or himself.

#911 abc #911 on abc #eddie diaz #tommy kinard #evan buckley #911 spoilers #911 coda fic #cheating #(if we consider a date with no kiss cheating) (and if we're assuming Eddie and Marisol are meant to be exclusive)#elle writes a few deadbeat lines #Eddie/Marisol #BuckTommy #Eddie/Kim #A bit of Eddie introspection before the next episode when I'm about to be so on my Bobby bullshit

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absurdthirst · 1 year

Text

Kinktober 2023: October 12th

Day 12: Orgasm Denial/Control, Lingerie, Role Reversal

Javi Gutierrez x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: Handjobs, dom/sub dynamics, safe words, orgasm denial, begging, cum play

|| Kinktober List || MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

All you want for Javi is pleasure. Soft, aching, consuming pleasure. His face scrunches up, his bottom lip nearly bruised with biting and still he gives you the softest eyes that you’ve ever seen in this world.

“How are you doing, baby?” Your hand caresses his sweaty cheek and immediately the rasp of his stubby whiskers rake against your palm. Nuzzling into you and seeking more contact from you. Wanting you to touch him.

“Please, please, amore.” He pants softly, that broad chest heaving and the stretched skin showing the details of his sternum as he grips the headboard as if it is a life raft in a storm. “I need to cum.”

“Ssshhhhhhhh, Ssshhhhh.” You coo softly, the hand that isn’t caressing his cheek, squeezing his cock and slowly starting to pump it again. “You’ll cum, sweet boy, I promise.” Your thumb presses against the heavily leaking tip and you smear the wetness around to add to the lube and pre-cum that coats his cock and drips down onto his balls from his hair around the base. “Just not right now.”

He looks fucking glorious. His tanned skin seemingly even darker as the blood flushes underneath. Normally warm, butterscotch eyes darker than rich coffee as his pupils are blown wide with desire and need. Every time his chest heaves, his cock twitches in your hand, his hips jerking up to beg for more. Even as you dispense the most intense pleasure of his life.

He wants this. Had begged for you to take control and make him feel. Nothing beyond the two of you and this moment. He wants to see what it is like to be denied an orgasm. To be pushed beyond the dull ache and the gathered tension in the pit of his stomach. His mind is free of everything but the slick crevices of your hand curled around his cock as you slowly slide your hand back down from the head and to the base.

“It’s so good, so bad, oh it hurts amore.” He has been rambling for long minutes, unable to decide if it’s pleasure or pain when it’s both. Mingled together and wrapped, twisted and fused until you’re unable to differentiate if you want it to stop or last forever. The broken groan slips from his mouth as the breath catches in his lungs, sounding almost like a sob.

Squeezing the base of his cock, you let go. Watching his body melt into the bed, deflating and withering from the contact of your hand.

“No, no, no, no,” his head whips back and forth across the flat pillow behind his head, pushing his hips up off the bed as if he could reach your hand, like you haven’t pulled it towards your body. “I need it, touch me, amore. Don’t- I can’t- I need-”

His words are broken, unable to complete a single thought beyond the loss of your hand. Of the pressure that you have made him crave through the torturously luxurious strokes to his cock.

“You want a minute?” You ask gently, giving him a moment to collect himself, to cool down. Your hand still pressed down to his jaw, a reassuring, grounding presence. Letting him take a few breaths, feeding the oxygen back to his body to clear his head.

Javi might have had lovers, he might have experience, but he’s never given someone control like this. Never felt that he could. There was this image that was expected, demanded, because of his name. Because of his family. Because of who he had been born to be and wasn’t. Not really. The facade that lovers, that the world saw, was not the man that was currently writhing in your bed and begging to cum.

“I need you.” He whines, biting his lip and closing his eyes as he tries to breath through the feeling of loss and his body trying to balance itself back out. “Please, amore.”

Leaning up, you press your lips against his. Smiling when his moan is followed by his eager tongue. Desperate for what contact you will give him.

“Sweet boy.” You purr, slowly dragging your finger up the curved, thick length of his cock and wrapping two fingers around the protective foreskin to drag it down. Revealing the sensitive head of his cock to the air again. His shudder is sweet. “Does it feel good?”

“So good.” Javi is immediately agreeing, nodding effusively and almost gasping for air again at the simple squeeze of your lubricated fingers on his scorched skin. “So good, so good, please.” He begs.

You’ve kept him this way for nearly an hour. Poised just on the edge of giving in and cumming. Always managing to stop him before he orgasms and letting him calm down before working him up again. The reading and movies that he had watched about orgasm denial were no match for experiencing it for himself. Knowing that you would keep him safe and not judge him for wanting this. It’s why you were in love. There was nothing that Javi Gutierrez couldn’t share with you.

You twist your wrist slowly, letting him feel the tension of your fingers before moving back, slowly starting to guide the skin over the hardness up and down his length with sure, firm strokes.

“Oh yes,” He cries, closing his eyes and tensing his entire body. Despite needing to cum, he had told you he wouldn’t until you gave him permission. Still not using the safeword that had been agreed upon. The headboard creaks as he pulls against it, resisting the urge to let go and jerk himself to completion. “Yes, fuck, yes!”

He’s throbbing in your hand. The tattooing beat of his heart pulsing in your hand, so measured and quick that you could keep rhythm with it. Thighs shaking as you methodically work him closer to that impossible ledge again. Feeling his body jerk and spasm as he fights the urge to give in, to cum. “I- I- I can’t-” he gasps out, shaking his head again and scrunching his eyes up, entire face set in near agony as his toes curl. It’s the longest he’s ever been touched without cumming and he feels like he would cum if you just flicked your tongue over his nipple, or squeezed him again.

“You want to cum, sweet boy?” He whimpers when you ask, nearly about to cry and you swear that one tear does leak out from his closed eyes as he tries to be good for you. Tries to deny what he wants most as your hand moves up and down, up and down over his nearly oversensitive cock. “You want to cum all over your chest like a dirty boy for me?”

“Ohh fuuuuuuuuck.” He shudders out a breath, letting go of the headboard and clenching his fists as he slams them into the soft mattress, absorbing the blows with a soft thud. “I’m- I can’t-”

“Cum for me.” You order softly, immediately feeling the way that his entire body bucks and bows up, feet pushing his ass off the bed and into your hand as he starts to cum.

Shouting, Javi cums and cums, shooting rope after rope of his seed over his chest and stomach. A stray shot hitting him in the chin as he cums like a geyser and groans as his body shakes in the almost painful pleasure of release. Rocking his hips up until your grip until you have milked him dry and still, he keeps moving. Craving the relief, the pressure is gone and it leaves behind a gloriously empty feeling.

Through it all, you praise him. Cooing over how well he’s doing. How good he’s been for you, your fingers already playing in the thick, pearlescent fluid as it starts to cool on his skin. Knowing that you will be softly pampering him while he comes down from his high, much more intense after being denied for so long.

#pedro pascal #absurdthirst kinktober #kinktober 2023 #kinktober #javi gutierrez #javi gutierrez x reader #javi gutierrez x you #javi gutierrez smut #javi gutierrez fanfiction #javi gutierrez imagine #javi gutierrez x f!reader

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