#its literally been like a year since he stepped down but i still i keep thinking he is

[starcurtain]

Teyvat's "Most Down Bad" Award Goes to Alhaitham for a Second Year Running

Seeing everyone making fun of Alhaitham for his "stalkerish" tendencies in this event is funny, because I feel like a lot of people missed that "Be literally everywhere Kaveh is" has been Alhaitham's MO from the day Kaveh appeared in the game.

From only grabbing his house keys after Kaveh returned from the desert (he couldn't have had both sets of keys at the end of the Archon Quest unless he went home and got Kaveh's copy) to ditching conversations to get back to his house only after Kaveh came home, to showing up without any warning or explanation in Kaveh's hangout with some ridiculous excuse about hearing his voice through noise-cancelling headphones... Refusing to offer any help in the Temple of Silence story quest other than staying in the library with Kaveh...

Since when does Alhaitham willingly cover anyone else's duties?

But this trend of "Be everywhere Kaveh is" didn't start when they were adults. It was already in place when they were still Akademiya students--and it's a trend that didn't end even when they had their fight.

Even when they weren't speaking, Alhaitham dogged Kaveh's every step through published responses to Kaveh's research articles in academic journals. He insisted on keeping a line of communication between himself and Kaveh open, even if the only way to do that was through very public ideological clashes. Pulling Kaveh's pigtails to get his attention lolol. It's implied that, for at least the few years between their fight and Kaveh moving in, this was the only communication between them--Alhaitham's refusal to allow their connection to entirely fade away. (And the fact that this is revealed in Kaveh's character stories--through his precious journal that records the moments of his life that had the most impact on him--shows just how deeply he values the fact that Alhaitham didn't give up.)

Another relevant side note: Alhaitham never asked Kaveh to give up his half of their house. Knowing half of it belonged to Kaveh, knowing that Kaveh may one day want to reclaim his part of it, knowing that it was listed as theirs, Alhaitham moved into the house and made zero effort to change its ownership. He was completely fine with living in "his and Kaveh's house." The stories suggest it was only months later (or even longer) that Kaveh even noticed he had the house, and he transferred away ownership of his portion without Alhaitham ever asking him (or even seemingly wanting him) to do so.

Please, let that sink in. Alhaitham actively left his grandmother's (presumably comfortable) house to move into "his and Kaveh's house," with no apparent explanation for why, and after doing so, he made no attempt to change that "his and Kaveh's" label. He moved into the house with no promise that Kaveh wouldn't show up on the doorstep the very next day and move in too. It almost feels like another deliberate provocation--I've moved into our house, are you going to come stop me? LBR, if Alhaitham had had his way, Kaveh would have been living there with him from Day 1...

There's also the fact that Kaveh literally can't write on a single message board anywhere in the entire nation of Sumeru without Alhaitham hunting his messages down and responding to them (which absolutely no one else does, by the way).

"NUH-UH!" "UH-HUH." "NUH-UH!"

Alhaitham's own character stories tell us explicitly that one of Alhaitham's defining character traits is "He is never where you need him to be," yet somehow...

Shot, and chaser:

Any time Kaveh is in the slightest bit of need or danger or just wants Alhaitham near, Alhaitham is "coincidentally" exactly where Kaveh needs him to be, whenever Kaveh needs him to be there.

Alhaitham didn't just "happen" to run into Kaveh in Port Ormos, an entirely different city from where he was supposed to be working. He didn't just "happen" to read the same terrible book as Kaveh when we know he otherwise would not waste a moment of his time on poorly-written literature...

He didn't just "happen" to appear when Kaveh was upset and needed a distraction in the House of Daena during Kaveh's hangout. He didn't just "happen" to be sitting around waiting when Kaveh needed answers after the Archon Quest. He didn't just "happen" to find Kaveh's academic publications and every single message board posting and respond to them at length and in public.

Which is exactly what Kaveh's mother told Kaveh he needed.

What level of down bad is "Abusing your powers as an Akademiya employee to keep tabs on your crush's library loans"? Just asking for a friend.

The only person for whom Alhaitham just "happens" to be available is Kaveh, over and over and over again--because he is very deliberately making himself a constant presence in Kaveh's life.

(Like, out of all things, I think people really underestimate the devs deliberately paralleling the romantic relationship between Kaveh's mother and father with Kaveh and Alhaitham's relationship. If you want to point to one thing that says "These two characters are intentionally queer-coded," it doesn't get any more obvious than this.)

Alhaitham, are you not embarrassed to be this transparent??? 🫣

[bigwishes]

Embarrassed?

Tom sat there staring down at his phone, typing like his life depended on it.

"if this is true I will literally trade anything to get bigger, you can make me a dumb jock, make my dick small, Ill even take being a walking joke, you can take anything you like so long as I can get huge!"

He had stumbled upon a site called "give'n'take" which was claiming that it would allow him to trade something he currently has for something he wanted. He had seen claims from guys claiming to of turned into their dream self over night by giving up something that they never really liked about themselves anyway.

But it was Hard for Tom to pick something he wanted to give up, he had almost won the genetic lottery in his eyes. A fat nine inches down stairs, 6.5ft tall, a good amount of body hair, not enough to be annoying but enough to drive guys wild. Everything had made him a walking stud that oozed confidence with every step. All but one thing that is. Tom had loved bodybuilding ever since he could remember, he loved the look of huge guys and he loved the idea of being one, but on his 23rd birthday he looked in the mirror and saw after years of work he looked nothing like a bodybuilder. sure he had some size but there was no real mass. He just looked like a guy who played sport on the weekend. He wanted to be so much bigger. He got hard imagining himself being the guy who had to turn sideways to get through a door or who rocked up to a house party in gym shorts and an XXL stringer tank top that clung to him like it was about to snap. Unfortunately his height was against him, his long muscle fibers took ages to develop and when they did it was so evenly spread out it didn't look like he had done anything at all.

He'd do anything to be bigger, he'd be happy with anything taken away so long as he was huge. So he left the choice up to the people behind the screen.

---

The next morning Tom woke up and instantly felt strange, he felt off balance some how like his body had gone up 30 pounds over night and when he got up and looked in the mirror he realised...it had.

"HOLY SHIT" Tom yelled out into his empty apartment.

His body had beefed up and become more defined without any more work. He couldn't worship himself for long though as he instantly began investigating to see what had been taken, but it didn't appear like anything was missing at all.

He was still packing, he hadn't shrunk in fact he might of even gained an inch or two and he didn't have any issues remembering anything from his engineering degree or any day to day stuff. The thought crossed his mind that maybe they had forgotten to take something, or maybe because he wanted to be big so badly they cut him a break.

Tom's worries melted away as he smiled and flexed his newly enhanced biceps.

"mmm, not as huge as I was hoping for but I'll keep working on it"

Tom picked up his gym bag and decided to head out to see what his new size could do, and to stick to the habit, he didn't want all this new size to make him forget to work out and end up losing it all in a few months.

Tom arrived at the gym and changed into his workout gear but he looked and felt different was he...bigger? nah, he thought to himself, its just him getting used to being this big although as he stared at his new size in his reflection a new thought entered his mind.

"Maybe this tank top is too tight...I probably shouldn't be such a show off and buy some looser clothes to cover up"

He shook his head and decided to think about it when he got home, right now he just wanted to see how strong he had gotten.

As Tom worked out something weird was happening, he knew how to exhaust his muscle, he new how to overload the weight and really make it feel like work but as he added weight with each set it felt just as easy as the last.

He'd occasionally see his reflection in the mirror wall and he looked like he was getting even bigger, and his tank top felt even tighter than before. Surely it was just the pump he thought to himself as he continued to lift and push his body.

He sat down at the cable row and put the pin almost at the bottom of all the plates, surely this would be a struggle for him. Tom leant back and pulled when suddenly.

Cutcshhhhhhh!

the sound of ripping fabric rung out in his ear as he felt the shoulder strap snap and felt the fabric split across his back.

"aw shit" Tom said as he stood up and took of his shirt.

Immediately he saw his reflection in the mirror, he looked huge. His muscles bulging he couldn't help but pull his gym shorts up and flex, this is what he wanted to be an absolute tank...

but, everyone probably thought he was a dickhead flexing outside of the changing room, he thought to himself. He started to wonder if he was that guy now, the guy who'd workout shirtless and annoy everyone in the gym.

He noticed a few dudes looking at him like they were waiting to get on the machine. His face turned a slight pink on his cheeks and he was flushed with embarrassment.

"oh s-sorry" Tom stuttered as he quickly tried to move out the way

Originally he thought he'd just move on to the next exercise but he realised he was shirtless and bolted for the changing room. Once inside he gazed at his reflection again.

"maybe...I shoulda asked to be just a little smaller, fuck now I gotta walk outta here shirtless"

Tom couldn't get a grip and didn't no what had come over him. He had never felt a shred of embarrassment in his life but now he was worried what people would think about him being shirtless in the gym.

The changing room was empty and Tom took the time for a few more poses before he was gonna make a run for the exit. He flexed his arms as hard as he could and felt the blood rushing into the muscle, but it was strange, the muscle wasn't just pumped up, it was like it was still pumping up. He tilted his head and watch in the mirror, slowly but surely his shoulders and arms were expanding, his chest was filling with mass and size. He saw his already huge legs slowly expanding out into colossal pillars as they stretched his shorts. He could hear the fabric starting to strain and quickly bend down to get his gym bag.

The moment he leant over he heard the changing room echo with a large tearing sound as he felt the tightness relieve across his ass. Tom's face turned bright red as he quickly reaches around to make sure it was just the shorts he had split and not his underwear.

He let out a sigh of relief as he felt his underwear was still in tact, he stood up and took a step hearing has his massive thighs tore and split his shorts with just one step. He was almost at the door when he saw his hulking figure in the mirror.

He stood frozen admiring his huge body, he flexed his entire body at once loving how huge he had become, he noticed his underwear was straining and the fabric was starting to become see through and then he remembered....he had to walk through the gym like this to get out....

A wave of embarrassment washed over him, everyone was gonna be staring at him

Tom quickly grabbed his bag and made a break for it through the busy gym. He had hoped to run but his body was so big that was almost an impossible task, so jogging was next but even just a slight jog left him out of breath and gasping for air. By the time he reached the door he had multiple people staring at him confused as he was huffing and puffing like he had just run a marathon.

He swung open the door to the gym and bumped between two guys that were on their way in. Tom tried to apologise but the only noises that came out were him gasping for air and trying to catch his breath. He flashed a quick apology wave as he climbed into his car which was luckily parked right in front of the entrance.

Tom looked down trying to slow his breathing and catch his breath when he noticed his huge hard on. His dick was like steel, the thought of everyone staring at him....judging him....

Tom started his car trying to ignore it but he heard the two guys he had just bumped into talking, muffled by his window.

"bro did you see that guy, there is just a thing as too big"

Hearing those worse Tom felt a swirl of shame and embarrassment swell in his stomach and work its way to his pelvis as he started taking deep and slow breaths.

"I know right dude, and the way he was so out of breath just walking through the gym, and working out in his underwear? what a loser"

the two men walking into the gym laughing as the door shut behind them

The words echoed in Tom's ears, he couldn't help it, he gripped his steering wheel so tight he thought he was going to break it, he bit his lip and closed his eyes as his dick began to twitch and erupt. Tom let out a pathetic moan as he looked down to see not just his underwear soaked but his car seat and thighs caked in cum.

Tom looked into his rear view mirror, his head, traps and shoulders completely blocking the view, his face was flush as he felt more embarrassed than ever before in his life, He started his car and quickly reversed out.

"god...I'm such..."

His dick instantly got hard again.

"fuck, I'm so big....I'm...too big"

Tom started panting as he drove out of the parking lot.

"I'm a fucking big, freakish, loserrrr--eerruuuuughh!!"

Tom couldn't help unload himself into his underwear and over his car seat thinking about how pathetic he was...

Well...he did say he was happy for them to take anything, His confidence seemed like a fair price.

[lila-lou]

✨Peanut✨

Summary: Stuck in a safe house with Soldier Boy is a test of patience—and nerves. He’s sharp-tongued, cocky, and impossible to ignore, pushing your boundaries just to see you flinch. You try to keep your distance, but he has a way of getting under your skin. You’re supposed to keep him in check, but the real challenge might be keeping yourself together.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, Language, Nickname, Shy!Reader, MENTION!Reader was touched without consent, Ben being as cocky as ever, some kind of fluff i guess

Word Count: 10523 (long ass shit here, lol)

A/N: English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙✨

The room felt heavy, like the air itself was holding its breath, waiting for him to make the next move. Soldier Boy—Ben, as Butcher had instructed you to call him—sat at the battered wooden table in the middle of the safe house. He was grinding pills into powder with the flat of his knife, muttering to himself, the motion aggressive and precise. Every scrape of the blade against the wood sent shivers down your spine.

You kept your eyes fixed on the television, not really watching whatever rerun was playing. It didn’t matter. Nothing could drown out the weight of his presence. The way he dominated the space even when he wasn’t speaking. Even when he wasn’t looking at you.

You didn’t know why he tolerated you. Out of all the people who’d tried to babysit him since Butcher hauled him out of whatever Russian nightmare he’d been buried in, you were the only one still standing. Maybe it was because you didn’t push him. Or maybe it was because you were too afraid to even try.

Two years ago, your fear of supes had been planted like a landmine in your chest. One night, one supe, one scar across your soul. That was all it took to change you forever. Now, being in the same room as one, especially him, felt like walking barefoot through a minefield. One wrong step, and everything could go to hell. Literally, in his case.

Ben scooped the powder into a neat little line, the corner of his mouth twitching into something that wasn’t quite a smirk. “You don’t have to sit there like a deer in headlights, you know”, he drawled, not looking up. His voice was gravelly, tinged with a roughness that made you want to shrink further into the couch. “Not gonna bite”.

You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening around the edge of the couch cushion. “I’m fine here”, you said quickly, your voice thin and brittle.

“Sure you are”. He leaned back in his chair, his shirt unbuttoned enough to show a glimpse of the skin of his chest. That chest. The one that could, and had, turned entire blocks into ash. He tapped his nose twice before snorting the line with practiced ease, sighing as he leaned back again. “You’re terrible at pretending, you know that?”.

Your breath hitched, and you cursed yourself for it. He noticed everything. “Pretending what?”, you muttered, eyes glued to the TV screen.

“That you’re not scared shitless of me”, he said, his tone almost amused now. “It’s cute. Kind of pathetic, but cute”.

Your stomach twisted. The urge to snap back at him rose like bile, but you shoved it down. Provoking him was the last thing you wanted to do. Instead, you focused on keeping your voice steady. “I’m not scared of you”.

Ben laughed—deep, low, and sharp enough to make you flinch. “Yeah, sure. Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart”.

You clenched your fists, your nails biting into your palms as you tried to keep your breathing even. This was your job. This was what Butcher had asked of you. Watch over him, keep him in line, don’t let him blow anything up. Easier said than done when every fiber of your being was screaming to get the hell out of there.

Ben finally looked at you, his green eyes narrowing slightly. “Relax. I’m not gonna hurt you”. His tone softened—just barely—but it still sent a shiver down your spine. “Not unless you give me a reason to”.

That didn’t exactly inspire confidence, but you nodded anyway, not trusting yourself to speak.

He reached for another pill, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “You know”, he said, his voice quieter now, “it’s exhausting, being treated like a goddamn bomb all the time”.

You blinked, surprised by the sudden shift in his tone. He wasn’t looking at you anymore, his gaze fixed on the table as he rolled the pill between his fingers. For a moment, he almost seemed… human. Vulnerable.

But you didn’t know what to say. Didn’t trust yourself to say anything. So you just stayed where you were, curled up on the couch, watching him out of the corner of your eye and praying you wouldn’t be the one to set him off.

Ben tossed the pill back, swallowing it dry like it was nothing before reaching for the whiskey bottle on the table. He took a swig, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and stood up. For one fleeting second, you thought he might leave the room, give you some space to breathe. But no—he grabbed a bag of popcorn from the counter, ripped it open with his teeth, and made his way to the couch.

You tensed immediately. There were at least three other places he could sit, but no, he dropped himself right beside you. Not just close—touching. His thigh pressed firmly against yours, the heat of him seeping through the fabric of your jeans like a live wire.

Your body locked up, your heart hammering so loud you were sure he could hear it. You didn’t dare move, didn’t dare breathe. If he noticed your discomfort—and of course, he did—he didn’t let on. He shoved a handful of popcorn into his mouth, his eyes flicking toward the TV screen before turning to you.

“Whatcha watching?”, he asked casually, his voice a little softer now but still holding that rough, unshakable edge.

You swallowed hard, your voice barely above a whisper. “Just… whatever was on”.

He snorted. “Riveting choice”. Another handful of popcorn disappeared into his mouth, and he leaned back, spreading out like he owned the place. Which, let’s face it, he kind of did. Every room he entered felt like it bent to him, like the walls themselves were trying to make room for him and his ego.

As the minutes dragged on, he kept up the small talk. About the shitty popcorn, the weather, the ancient couch springs that squeaked every time one of you shifted. His tone was light, conversational, but his eyes… his eyes were anything but.

He wasn’t looking at the TV anymore. He was watching you. Really watching you. The way your shoulders hunched in on themselves like you were trying to make yourself smaller. The way your hands fidgeted with the hem of your hoodie. The way your legs were pressed tightly together, like you were trying to disappear into the cushions.

“You’re tiny”, he said abruptly, almost thoughtfully, his gaze dragging up and down your frame. “Like, seriously. How are you even a person? You’re what, a buck twenty soaking wet?”.

You stiffened, your face flushing. “I’m… normal-sized”, you mumbled, refusing to meet his eyes.

He chuckled, low and gravelly, the sound vibrating through his chest. “Normal? Sweetheart, if I even looked at you wrong, you’d probably snap in half”.

Your stomach churned at the words, at the casual way he said them. Like it wasn’t a threat, just a fact. And maybe it was. He wasn’t wrong—he could break you without even trying. Supe or not, he was built like a goddamn tank, and you… well, you weren’t.

His gaze lingered on you, sharp and appraising, like he was trying to figure you out. “What’re you so scared of, huh?”, he asked, his voice quieter now, but no less dangerous. “You think I’m gonna hurt you?”.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. The lump in your throat was too big, your fear too loud.

“Relax, doll”, he said, leaning a little closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “If I wanted to crush you, I wouldn’t need to waste my time sitting here talking to you, now would I?”.

That didn’t make you feel any better. In fact, it made your skin crawl. But you nodded anyway, because what else could you do?

Ben smirked as he leaned back, stretching his arm casually over the back of the couch. He popped another piece of popcorn into his mouth, chewing slowly, his eyes never leaving you.

“So”, he drawled, cocking an eyebrow. “Got a boyfriend, Peanut?”.

The word caught you off guard, and you glanced at him sharply, your confusion momentarily outweighing your fear. “P-Peanut?”, you stammered, the nickname so unexpected it almost made you forget how close he was.

He grinned, his teeth flashing white against his scruffy beard. “Yeah, Peanut. You’re tiny, right? Probably weigh, what, eighty-five? Ninety pounds tops? I could pick you up with one hand, and you’d barely be a snack”. He chuckled, the sound low and rumbling, like he found the whole thing hilarious. “Peanut fits”.

Your face burned with embarrassment, but you didn’t say anything. What could you say? He wasn’t exactly wrong, but hearing it said out loud—especially by him—made you feel smaller than ever. You tucked your legs up under you, trying to create some kind of barrier between his imposing presence and your body.

“C’mon”, he said, his voice lighter now, teasing almost. “You seriously don’t have some guy waiting around for you? Someone to take care of you? Feels like you’d need a bodyguard just to make it through the grocery store”.

You shook your head, your voice barely audible. “No boyfriend”.

He tilted his head, studying you with an intensity that made your skin crawl. “Huh. Surprising. A thing like you? I’d think guys would be lining up”.

His words weren’t comforting. They weren’t meant to be. They carried an undertone that made your stomach twist, a reminder of how easily he could take you if he wanted to. You shifted uncomfortably, pulling your hoodie tighter around yourself like it could somehow shield you from the heat of his gaze.

“What’s the matter, Peanut?”, he asked. “I’m just making conversation. You don’t have to look so freaked out all the time”.

“I’m not freaked out”, you lied, your voice trembling just enough to betray you.

He snorted, clearly not buying it. “Sure you’re not”. He leaned forward suddenly, resting his elbows on his knees, bringing himself closer to you. The smell of whiskey and faint cigar smoke clung to him, mingling with something sharper, something distinctly him.

“I’m not gonna hurt you. Told you already, didn’t I?”.

You nodded again, but the tension in your body didn’t ease. If anything, it grew worse as his eyes traveled over you again, lingering in ways that made you want to sink into the couch and disappear.

“Man”, he muttered, shaking his head. “You’re wound up tighter than a fucking spring”. He reached for the popcorn bag again, the casual motion a stark contrast to the intensity of his words. “I don’t know what the hell Butcher was thinking, sticking me with you. You’re not exactly intimidating”.

You bristled at that, a tiny flicker of indignation breaking through your fear. “I wasn’t supposed to intimidate you”, you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m just… here to keep an eye on you”.

He laughed—loud and abrupt, the sound startling in the otherwise quiet room. “You’re supposed to keep an eye on me?”. He leaned back again, throwing one arm across the back of the couch again and grinning down at you like he’d just heard the best joke of his life. “Fuck. That’s rich”.

You didn’t respond, biting your lip to keep the words locked in. You couldn’t afford to snap, couldn’t afford to give him a reason to escalate. Not with how close he was. Not with how easily he could overpower you.

Ben’s laugh faded into a low hum, almost as if he were talking to himself, but the words were loud enough to reach you. “You know”, he muttered, swirling the last of the whiskey in the bottle before setting it on the floor, “I could help you relax. You’re all wound up like a little bird that flew into the wrong fucking cage”.

The comment made your stomach tighten, your pulse spiking as you glanced at him out of the corner of your eye. His gaze wasn’t on the TV. It wasn’t even on the popcorn anymore. It was on you. Slowly, deliberately, like he was working through some kind of internal checklist, his eyes dragged from your face, to your neck, to the way your hoodie hugged your body.

“Yeah”, he said, his voice dropping lower, rougher.

“I’d probably crush you. Tiny little thing like you. But…”. He leaned his head back against the couch, as though considering something deeply. “I could figure it out. Work on my self-restraint”. He exhaled sharply through his nose, almost like a laugh, but it didn’t carry any humor. “Not sure you’d survive, though”.

Your throat went dry, and your mind raced for something—anything—to say to steer the conversation somewhere less terrifying. But the words wouldn’t come. It was like your brain had shut down entirely, overwhelmed by the weight of his presence and the dark, unsettling undertone to his words.

“I mean, shit”, he went on, almost lazily, like he was just idly musing. “It’d be a tight fit, no doubt about that. But I’d manage”. He turned his head toward you, one eyebrow quirking as though he was waiting for some kind of reaction. “What d’you think, Peanut? Think you could handle me?”.

Your heart felt like it might explode. You shifted slightly, trying to put even an inch of space between you, but the couch offered no escape. He noticed, of course he noticed, and the smirk on his face only widened.

“Relax”, he said again, though this time it sounded more like a command than a suggestion. “I’m just messing with you”. He leaned back again, popping another piece of popcorn into his mouth like the last thirty seconds hadn’t just happened.

But the tension in the air didn’t dissipate. His words lingered, sinking into your mind like oil, staining everything. You didn’t dare move, didn’t dare breathe too loudly, your entire body coiled as tightly as a spring.

Ben glanced at you again, his expression unreadable now, the grin gone. “You really gotta lighten up, Peanut”, he said, almost absently. “You’re making me feel like a fucking monster”.

You wanted to tell him he wasn’t making it easy. That his very presence was suffocating. That every word out of his mouth only fed the gnawing pit of fear in your stomach. But you couldn’t. So you stayed silent, staring at the TV and praying that he’d get bored soon. That the night would end without him pushing any further.

Ben shifted slightly on the couch, the springs groaning under his weight. He tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling as if lost in thought, but you could feel his attention still anchored on you, heavy and unrelenting.

“You know”, he started, his voice low and casual, “I heard Butcher and that cum-guzzler talking about you”. He popped another piece of popcorn into his mouth, chewing slowly as though giving himself time to savor the words that would follow. “Something about why you’re so jumpy around supes”.

Your heart clenched, and you went rigid. You hadn’t realized Butcher had told him—why would he? What purpose would it serve, giving Soldier Boy ammunition? You glanced at him sharply, trying to gauge his intentions, but his expression was frustratingly neutral, save for the slight quirk of a smirk playing on his lips.

He chuckled, low and gravelly, shaking his head. “Can’t say I blame you”, he continued. “Sounds like you had a real shitty time of it. Some asshole supe gets a little too handsy, decides he’s owed something just because he’s got powers. That about right?”.

The knot in your stomach tightened, but you didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Your throat felt like it was closing, the weight of his words pulling every horrible memory to the surface.

Ben didn’t seem to need a response. He let out a long breath, his smirk fading as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees again. “Here’s the thing, Peanut”, he said, his tone quieter now, almost contemplative. “Guys like that… they give the rest of us a bad name. Not that I give a shit about my reputation, but, you know, principle and all that”.

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady. “Why… why are you bringing this up?”.

He shrugged, the motion casual, but the intensity in his eyes betrayed him. “Just thinking out loud. If that’s the only experience you’ve got with supes… well, no wonder you’re scared shitless. That’s the memory you’re stuck with”. His gaze slid to you, sharp and probing. “But maybe I could fix that”.

“Fix it?”, you echoed, your voice trembling. “What… what does that mean?”.

He smirked again, leaning back and stretching his arm along the back of the couch, his fingers brushing just a hair’s breadth away from your shoulder. “I’m just saying”, he drawled, “maybe if you had a different kind of experience, you wouldn’t be so fucking scared all the time. Replace that shitty memory with a fucking awesome one”.

The implication in his words was crystal clear, and your stomach churned violently. Your fingers curled into the fabric of your hoodie, your nails digging into your palms. “That’s not…”. You trailed off, your voice barely above a whisper. “That’s not how it works”.

He tilted his head, studying you with a mixture of amusement and something darker. “You sure about that? Sometimes all it takes is one good memory to wipe out the bad. One moment to make you forget the rest of the bullshit”.

You shook your head, your pulse hammering in your ears. “I don’t think—”.

“Calm down, Peanut”, he interrupted, his voice dropping into that low, commanding tone again. “I’m not saying I’d do anything. Unless, you know, you wanted me to”.

Your breath hitched, and you pressed yourself further into the couch, as if the cushions could somehow swallow you whole. His gaze was piercing, unrelenting, and you could feel the weight of his words pressing down on you, suffocating.

“But hey”, he continued after a moment, his tone lightening again as he grabbed another handful of popcorn. “It’s your call. I’m just saying… I could make it worth your while”.

You didn’t respond, couldn’t respond. Your mind was racing, your body frozen in place.

The safe house was quiet except for the distant hum of the water running in the bathroom. Ben was in the shower, and you were stuck on the couch, your nerves coiled tighter than ever. It had been weeks since that first night, weeks of this strange, unbearable dance between the two of you. He hadn’t pushed things too far, but he hadn’t stopped either. The teasing, the lingering touches, the weight of his gaze—it was constant, suffocating, impossible to ignore.

And now, as you sat there waiting for him, you hated yourself for the stupid summer dress you’d chosen to wear. It was hot, unbearably so, and the safe house didn’t have air conditioning. The dress had seemed like a practical choice at the time—lightweight, easy to move in—but now it felt like a mistake. The fabric clung to your skin and you couldn’t help but feel exposed. Vulnerable.

You shifted uncomfortably, pulling the dress down as far as it would go and wrapping your arms around yourself. It didn’t help. The room felt stifling, and the faint sound of the shower only added to the tension. You couldn’t stop your mind from wandering, couldn’t stop the little voice whispering in the back of your head: What’s he going to say this time? What’s he going to do?

The shower shut off, and your breath caught. You stared at the TV, not really seeing it, your heart pounding as you heard the sound of the bathroom door creaking open.

Moments later, Ben emerged, a towel slung low around his hips and his hair damp, water droplets trailing down his chest. He was a vision of raw power and confidence, and he knew it. The smirk tugging at his lips told you as much.

“Hey, Peanut”, he said casually, like this was the most normal thing in the world. He grabbed a second towel and ran it through his hair, his muscles flexing with the motion. “Didn’t think I’d keep you waiting, did you?”.

You swallowed hard, your eyes darting back to the TV. “I wasn’t—”, you started, but your voice faltered. “I mean, I’m fine”.

“Sure you are”, he said, chuckling under his breath. He crossed the room, tossing the towel onto a chair as he made his way to the couch. You felt his presence before you saw him, the heat of him, the sheer weight of him, as he sat down beside you. Close. Too close. Again.

His eyes flicked to your dress, lingering for just a moment before he leaned back, draping his arm over the back of the couch. “Nice dress”, he commented, his tone light but his gaze sharp. “Didn’t know we were getting all dressed up today”.

Your face burned, and you tugged at the hem again, wishing it were longer. “It’s just… it’s hot”, you muttered, refusing to meet his eyes.

“That it is”, he agreed, his smirk widening. “But you didn’t have to go all out for me, Peanut. A little effort goes a long way, though, so… thanks”.

You clenched your jaw, your hands twisting the fabric of the dress in your lap. “I didn’t—”.

“I’m just messing with you. Don’t get so wound up”, his voice dropping into that familiar, teasing drawl.

You wanted to snap back, wanted to tell him to knock it off, but you couldn’t. You just sat there, frozen, your heart pounding as he shifted slightly closer, the edge of his thigh brushing against yours.

The problem wasn’t just that you were afraid of Ben anymore—though that fear was still there, lurking beneath every breath, every glance, every word. The problem was that, over the past few weeks, something else had crept in, something worse.

Attraction.

You hated yourself for it. Hated the way your pulse quickened when he smirked at you, the way your thoughts lingered on his voice, deep and rough like gravel underfoot. And now, as you sat beside him, that stupid towel slung so dangerously low on his hips, it was taking everything you had to keep your eyes on the TV.

But you failed. Of course, you did. Your gaze flicked toward him out of the corner of your eye, drawn like a moth to a flame. The towel clung to his hips precariously, the line of dark hair below his navel trailing downward, disappearing beneath the fabric. And lower—your breath hitched—the outline of him was visible, faint but undeniable.

You quickly looked away, your cheeks burning, your heart hammering in your chest. What the hell is wrong with me? you thought, biting the inside of your cheek so hard it almost hurt. This was Soldier Boy. Ben. The same man who teased you relentlessly, who could crush you without a second thought. A damn supe. And yet…

“You’re quiet, Peanut”, he said suddenly, his voice breaking through your frantic thoughts. His tone was casual, but you knew better than to believe it wasn’t deliberate. He always knew how to needle you just enough to get under your skin. “I mean, you’re always quiet, but today? What’s the deal?”.

You didn’t respond, your throat too dry to form a coherent excuse. You tried to keep your eyes locked on the TV, pretending to focus on the images flickering across the screen. But you could feel him watching you, the heat of his gaze sliding over your profile, lingering far too long for comfort.

“C’mon”, he pressed, his voice dropping an octave, rich and deep enough to make your stomach do an unwelcome flip. “You’re the only action I’ve got in this shithole they’re hiding me in. Least you could do is talk to me. I’m bored as hell over here”.

Your hands twisted in your lap, gripping the fabric of your dress like it was the only thing anchoring you to reality. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, not with the way his words made your skin flush and your heart pound.

“I don’t know what to say”, you mumbled finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

Ben leaned back against the couch, his towel shifting just slightly. “You don’t have to say much, Peanut”, he drawled, his smirk audible in his tone. “Just give me something. Anything. Hell, even a complaint about how much you hate being stuck with me. I know you’ve got those”.

You glanced at him for just a split second, and that was your mistake. He was sprawled out, all lazy confidence, the towel still clinging low on his hips, the light from the TV casting faint shadows over his chest. The sight made your stomach twist, and you quickly looked away again, your cheeks burning.

“I don’t hate you”, you blurted out, immediately regretting it.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Don’t you now?”. His smirk deepened, and he leaned in just slightly, the arm draped over the back of the couch brushing your shoulder. “Could’ve fooled me with the way you can’t even look at me half the time”.

You swallowed hard, your fingers knotting into the hem of your dress. “I just…”, you stammered, unsure how to explain without giving away too much. “You make me nervous”.

Ben tilted his head, his smirk softening into something almost curious. “Nervous, huh?”, he repeated, his voice quieter now, like he was mulling over the word. “Why? You still think I’m gonna hurt you?”.

“No”, you said quickly, though the fear still lingered at the edges of your mind. “It’s not that”.

“Then what?”, he asked, his tone deceptively gentle, but his gaze was sharp, unrelenting. “What is it about me that’s got you so wound up?”.

You didn’t answer, couldn’t answer. Your silence only seemed to amuse him further. He let out a low chuckle, leaning back again, his fingers lightly drumming against the armrest.

“Shit, Peanut”, he muttered, shaking his head. “You’re like a puzzle I can’t quite figure out. Makes me want to push, see how far you’ll bend before you break”.

His words sent a shiver down your spine, but you forced yourself to keep your breathing steady, to keep your focus anywhere but on him. You didn’t know how much longer you could keep this up, this fragile pretense of calm, but you knew one thing for sure: he wasn’t going to let this go. Not tonight.

The tension in the room was suffocating, and you couldn’t take it anymore. Your hands trembled as you placed them on your thighs, pushing yourself up from the couch. “I… I need some water”, you mumbled, not daring to look at him. You didn’t wait for his response—if he even had one—and walked quickly toward the little kitchen tucked into the corner of the safe house.

Your footsteps felt too loud against the worn wooden floor, the tiny kitchen offering no real reprieve from his presence. You grabbed a glass from the cupboard, your fingers trembling slightly as you filled it from the tap. You told yourself the sound of running water would drown out the pounding of your heart, but it didn’t.

The quiet click of his footsteps behind you made you freeze.

“Thirsty, huh?”, Ben’s voice came from far too close, his tone casual but laced with that ever-present teasing edge. He was right behind you now—you could feel him, his heat radiating like a furnace, the space between you barely a breath.

“I just needed some space”, you said, your voice quiet and shaky, gripping the glass like it was a lifeline.

“Space?”, he echoed, like the word was foreign to him. You heard him shift, his hand brushing lightly against the counter as he leaned against it. “Still can’t handle being near me?”.

You froze, the glass trembling slightly in your hands as you felt him step even closer. His body was right behind yours now, close enough that you could feel the faint brush of his chest against your back every time you shifted.

“You look really pretty today”, he murmured, his voice softer now, quieter, but no less unsettling. His words sent a shiver racing down your spine, and you gripped the glass tighter, your knuckles turning white.

He reached out, his fingers brushing against your hair, playing with a loose strand like it was the most natural thing in the world. The movement was slow, deliberate, as if he were testing your reaction.

“Didn’t think a little dress like that could make someone so…”. He trailed off, his fingers gently tucking the strand behind your ear from behind, his touch warm against your skin. “Sweet. You do surprise me, Peanut”.

Your heart pounded, your breath catching in your throat. “Ben, please…”, you whispered, barely able to get the words out. You didn’t know what you were asking for—for him to stop, to step back, to leave you alone—but your voice carried the weight of your unease.

“Oh c'mon now”, he murmured, his tone dipping into that low, velvety register that always made your stomach twist. “I’m just saying you look nice. No harm in that, right?”.

His hand lingered for a moment longer, brushing lightly against your shoulder, before he stepped back just enough to give you a fraction of space. But it didn’t feel like enough. The air around you still felt heavy, charged with his presence.

“You don’t take compliments well, do you?”, he asked, the faintest hint of amusement in his voice as he leaned casually against the counter. “What’s so scary about me telling you you’re pretty?”.

“Nothing”, you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper.

Ben’s gaze dropped, shamelessly traveling down your body. You could feel it, the weight of his eyes lingering on your legs. His tongue darted out, wetting his lips, and you caught the faint movement out of the corner of your eye. It sent a fresh wave of heat through your face, your stomach twisting into knots.

“You know”, he murmured, his voice low and teasing, almost contemplative, “it’s been quite a while for me.” He leaned a little closer, his arm brushing lightly against yours as he rested it on the counter beside you. “And with you here, looking like that, acting all shy and innocent…”.

He trailed off, his smirk widening as his gaze dragged back up to meet yours. “It’s really hard for me, Peanut”.

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, and your breath caught in your throat. Your grip tightened on the edge of the counter, your knuckles white as you fought to keep yourself grounded. “Ben, stop”, you said softly, your voice barely audible, but there was a tremble in it you couldn’t hide.

“Stop what?”, he asked innocently, though the glint in his eyes betrayed him. He wasn’t innocent, not even close. “I’m just being honest. You don’t want me to lie, do you?”.

You turned your head to look at him, your heart pounding as you met his gaze. His smirk was maddening, equal parts charming and infuriating, and the way he was looking at you—like he was sizing you up, deciding just how far he could push—made your pulse race for all the wrong reasons.

“I’m not… I’m not doing anything”, you stammered, your words tumbling over themselves. “I’m just—”.

“Just standing there, looking all sweet and pretty”, he interrupted, his tone playful. He straightened slightly, his height and presence towering over you as he leaned a little closer. “You have no idea, do you? How hard you make it for me to keep my hands to myself?”.

Your breath hitched, and you stepped back instinctively, the counter digging into your lower back as you put as much distance between you as you could in the small space. But he didn’t move closer—he just stayed there, watching you, his smirk softening into something almost… curious.

Ben’s smirk deepened as he watched you, his eyes narrowing slightly, like he was peeling back every layer of your defenses. “You know”, he murmured, his voice soft but still carrying that teasing edge, “I think you actually like me, Peanut”.

Your eyes widened at his words, and you shook your head quickly, your back pressing harder against the counter. “That’s not true”, you said, your voice trembling with the effort to sound convincing.

But he didn’t seem fazed. If anything, your reaction only amused him more. His hand darted out, slow and deliberate, resting gently on your hip. It wasn’t forceful, wasn’t threatening—it was almost careful, like he was testing the waters, giving you a chance to stop him.

Your breath hitched, and your body tensed under his touch. The heat of his palm burned through the thin fabric of your dress, the weight of his hand grounding you and overwhelming you all at once.

“You’re not pushing me away”, he said softly, his voice dropping lower, more intimate. His fingers flexed slightly, not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you he was there. “That’s gotta count for something”.

You opened your mouth to say something, to deny it, to tell him he was wrong, but no words came out. You were frozen, caught in the weight of his gaze, the closeness of him, the way his presence consumed every inch of space around you.

His other hand came up slowly, brushing against a strand of hair that had fallen into your face. He tucked it behind your ear, his touch featherlight, his green eyes locking onto yours. “You keep telling yourself you’re scared of me”, he murmured, his tone quiet, almost tender. “But I think you’re scared of something else”.

“Ben, I…”. Your voice cracked, and you trailed off, your hands clutching the edge of the counter like it was the only thing keeping you upright.

“Shh”, he whispered, his hand on your hip shifting just slightly, his thumb brushing against the curve of your waist. “You don’t have to say anything, Peanut. Not if you don’t want to”.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was your uneven breathing, the faint hum of the refrigerator in the corner. His touch wasn’t rough or demanding, but it was firm, grounding, impossible to ignore.

And then, slowly, he leaned in, his face close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. “Just… Push me away if you want me to stop. Promise I won´t be mad”, he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, his lips so close to yours you could feel the ghost of their presence.

Your heart pounded, your mind racing with conflicting emotions—fear, confusion, and something far more dangerous bubbling beneath the surface. You hated how much you craved his attention, hated how much his touch made your body betray you. But even as you stood there, frozen, his words echoed in your mind: Push me away.

Would you? Could you?

The choice was yours.

Bot you didn’t push him away. You stayed still, your breath hitching as Ben’s smirk deepened. He took your silence as permission—or maybe just a challenge he was eager to win.

Without a word, his hands slid more firmly around your waist. Before you could even process what was happening, he lifted you effortlessly, like you weighed nothing. The glass of water slipped from your fingers, landing with a dull clink on the counter as he set you down atop it. The cool surface against the back of your thighs made you shiver, but it was nothing compared to the heat radiating from him.

He stepped closer, pressing himself between your legs, his movements deliberate and unyielding. Your legs opened instinctively to accommodate him, the fabric of your dress sliding up as you shifted. The hem bunched high on your thighs, and your stomach dropped when you realized how exposed you were. The little triangle of fabric between your legs was on full display, and Ben’s gaze dropped to it immediately, his lips curling into a wolfish grin.

“Well, would you look at that”, he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, the faintest edge of amusement making it all the more dangerous. His hands trailed down to your knees, his thumbs brushing against the inside of your thighs, sending a shock of warmth through your body. “Peanut, you’ve been holding out on me”.

You squirmed, your hands gripping the edge of the counter as if it could anchor you against the storm of his presence. “Ben…”, you whispered, your voice trembling, unsure if it was a plea for him to stop or to keep going.

“Shh”, he said softly, his hands sliding higher, spreading your legs further apart. “I told you, I’m not gonna hurt you”.

But the way he looked at you—the hunger in his eyes, the possessive way his hands claimed your body—made your pulse race for entirely different reasons. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your neck as he pressed his hips against yours, his body firm and unyielding.

“You have no idea”, he whispered, his voice rough and thick with desire. “No idea how hard it’s been. Watching you, waiting for you to stop running, stop hiding. But now…”. His lips brushed against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “Now I’ve got you right where I want you”.

Your heart pounded, your mind spinning as his hands continued their slow, deliberate exploration of your body. You hated how your body reacted to him, how the heat pooled low in your belly, how your breathing quickened despite yourself. Hated how much you wanted him, even when you knew you shouldn’t.

And Ben—he knew it, too. You could see it in his smirk, in the way his eyes burned with triumph. He was in control, and he knew it. You wanted him, and that he sure knew too.

Ben’s smirk deepened as his hands slid higher, his thumbs brushing teasingly against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. His touch was firm but not rough, as if he were savoring every moment. He leaned back slightly to get a better look, his eyes darkening as they locked onto the little triangle of fabric barely covering you.

“You know”, he murmured, his voice low and full of heat, “I’ve been imagining this for weeks. But it’s even better than I thought”.

You opened your mouth to respond—to say something—but the words caught in your throat once more as he hooked a finger under the fabric. His gaze flicked up to meet yours, a wicked gleam in his green eyes as he gave you - again - just enough time to stop him.

But you didn’t.

With a sharp, controlled movement, he ripped the delicate material apart, the sound of tearing fabric echoing in the quiet kitchen. The force of it sent a jolt through your body, but it didn’t hurt. It was more of a shock—both from the action itself and the way his eyes devoured the sight before him.

Your breath hitched as the ruined panties fell away, leaving you bare to him. His hands stilled for a moment, his gaze fixated on your glistening, perfectly shaven lips. A low growl rumbled in his throat, his fingers tightening ever so slightly on your thighs.

”Fuck peanut”, he muttered, his voice rough with desire. “Look at you”.

Ben’s grip on your thighs tightened as his eyes darkened, roaming over every inch of you like you were something he was about to own. He let out a low, gravelly chuckle, shaking his head with that familiar smirk—cocky and unapologetically lewd.

“Is this what chicks are doing these days? All shaved, all fucking spotless?”. His thumb traced lazily along your inner thigh, teasing just close enough to make you squirm. “In the ’80s, everyone had a damn jungle down here. Didn’t matter who you were, movie star or some chick at a dive bar—hair everywhere. But this?”.

His thumb slid lower, brushing over the seam of your closed, glistening lips. The slickness made his touch effortless, his rough hands stark against your softness. “This is a whole fucking upgrade”, he murmured, almost to himself, his tone filthy and raw. “Smooth as hell… fuck Peanut, you’re like a fucking dream”.

Ben’s eyes stayed glued between your legs, completely enthralled, like he was witnessing something unreal. The pad of his thumb pressed further, parting your slick lips with almost lazy confidence. He slid it down to your entrance, where he paused, testing the way your body reacted to him.

“Fuck me”, he muttered under his breath, his voice gravelly and thick with lust. “You’re soaked, Peanut. Look at this. Look at you”.

Your breath hitched audibly, your chest rising and falling as his thumb pressed lightly against your entrance, his other hand tightening its grip on your thigh to keep you exactly where he wanted you. His touch was slow, deliberate, like he was savoring the moment.

“You’re fucking perfect”, he murmured, half to himself.

Ben’s thumb dipped just barely inside you, and the moment he felt how tight you were, he froze. His breath hitched, a low, guttural groan escaping his lips as he pulled his hand back. His grip on your thigh tightened, grounding himself as he muttered under his breath, “No fucking way. Not with my fingers. I’m not wasting this on anything but my dick”.

His green eyes flicked up to meet yours, filled with a dark hunger that sent a shiver racing down your spine. He took a deep breath, his smirk returning as he dragged his hands up the outside of your thighs, pushing the fabric of your dress higher as he went.

“You’re something else, Peanut”, he growled, his voice thick and unapologetically filthy. “This body, this tight little hole… it’s all mine”.

He grabbed the hem of your dress, tugging it upward with slow, deliberate movements, giving you every chance to stop him. But you didn’t. Instead, you lifted your arms instinctively, your breath catching in your throat as you helped him pull the dress over your head. The fabric slipped away easily, pooling on the floor beside the counter, leaving you bare except for your trembling body beneath his gaze.

Ben stepped back slightly, just enough to take you in, his eyes roaming over every inch of your exposed skin with raw, unfiltered desire. He let out a low whistle, his lips curving into a grin that was both predatory and approving.

“You’re even better than I imagined”. His hands moved back to your waist, firm and possessive as he pulled you closer to the edge of the counter, positioning you exactly where he wanted you.

“You don’t even realize, do you?”, he muttered, his hands trailing over your hips, your stomach, your thighs, like he couldn’t get enough of touching you. “How fucking perfect you are. How fucking lucky I am”.

He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear as he growled, “I told you, Peanut. You’re mine now. Every inch of you”.

With one swift motion, Ben pulled the towel from his hips and tossed it carelessly to the side, revealing himself fully. Your eyes widened the moment you saw him—huge, heavy, and impossibly intimidating. A gasp escaped your lips before you could stop it, and you instinctively pressed your hands against his chest, trying to push him away.

But he didn’t budge.

Your heart raced, panic and uncertainty flooding your senses. You weren’t a virgin, but this… this was different. The sheer size of him made your stomach twist with both fear and something else you didn’t want to name.

“Whoa there, Peanut”, Ben murmured, his voice low and teasing, but there was a glint of smug satisfaction in his eyes as he glanced down at himself, then back at you. “Scared already? Thought you said you weren’t afraid of me”.

“I just…”, you stammered, your palms pressing harder against his chest, but he didn’t move. He stood there, unyielding, his muscles firm under your touch as he watched you with that same maddening smirk.

“Relax”, he said again, his tone dipping into that familiar mix of amusement and raw lust.

Your voice came out in a shaky whisper, your eyes wide and fixed on him. “This… this won’t fit. No way”.

Ben’s smirk deepened, the gleam in his eyes turning even more smug, like your fear only fed his ego. He let out a low chuckle, his broad chest rumbling under your trembling hands. “Won’t fit, huh?”, he repeated, his tone dripping with amusement. “You really think I’d let that stop me?”.

Your breath hitched, your fingers curling slightly against his chest as you tried to pull back, but his hands on your hips held you firmly in place. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice a low, gravelly whisper. “Don’t sell yourself short, Peanut. You’ll take it. You just need a little… encouragement”.

Your stomach twisted at his words, a mix of fear and heat flooding your senses. “Ben, I—”, you started, but he cut you off, his hands sliding slowly up your sides, strong and possessive.

“I’ll make it fit”, he murmured, his voice low and dripping with confidence.

One of his hands moved between your bodies, and your breath hitched as he grabbed himself, his cock heavy and intimidating in his hand. His green eyes flicked up to yours briefly, watching your reaction.

“Just.. relax, Peanut”, he said softly, almost mockingly, as he positioned himself. “This is gonna feel real good. Trust me”.

You bit your lip hard as you felt the tip of him slide through your slick lips, the slow, deliberate motion making your body jolt with unexpected pleasure. The contrast of his roughness and your softness was overwhelming, your hips twitching instinctively as his thick head dragged against you.

“Fuck”, he muttered under his breath, his eyes locked on where your bodies touched. “You’re already soaking for me. You feel that, Peanut? That’s your body telling you it wants this. Wants me”.

A shaky whimper escaped your lips, and you hated yourself for the sound, for how much you wanted him. The warmth, the pressure, the way he moved—it was too much, too intense, too consuming.

Ben chuckled, his thumb brushing over your thigh as he kept guiding himself against you, letting his tip tease your entrance but not pushing in just yet. “Look at you”, he muttered. “Already whining, and I haven’t even given you the real thing yet”.

You bit your lip harder, trying to stifle another whimper. His free hand slid up your side, gripping your waist possessively as he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear.

“Don’t hold back now, Peanut", he growled. “I want to hear every little sound you make. Wanna know how much you’re feeling this”.

The heat pooling low in your belly was unbearable, your body trembling as he continued his slow, torturous motions. He wasn’t even inside you yet, but the weight of him was enough to leave you breathless.

Ben’s cocky smirk softened just slightly as he began to nudge himself inside you, his movements surprisingly slow and deliberate. He pressed forward an inch at a time, giving you room to adjust to his size. His hands gripped your hips firmly, keeping you steady as he worked himself in, his gaze locked on your face.

“Fuck, Peanut”, he muttered under his breath, the usual arrogance in his tone giving way to something deeper, rougher. “Tight as hell. I knew you’d feel good, but this? Fuck”.

You winced at the stretch, your body instinctively tensing around him as he pushed in further. The sensation was intense, overwhelming, and you couldn’t help the soft whimper that escaped your lips.

“Shh”, he murmured, his voice low and almost soothing as he paused, letting you adjust. “I know, baby. It’s a lot. But you’re doing good. So fucking good”.

Your hands gripped his forearms, your nails digging into his skin as he slid another inch deeper, the burn of the stretch making you gasp. “Ben”, you whispered, your voice trembling, your chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.

“I’ve got you”, he said, his voice steady and firm, his thumbs rubbing small circles against your skin in a rare gesture of comfort. “You’ll get used to it. Just breathe”.

You tried to focus on his words, on the way he moved so slowly, giving you time to adjust to every inch of him. The stretch was still intense, still bordering on too much, but as he eased in further, your body began to relax, the pain giving way to a different kind of pressure.

“That’s it”, he murmured, his lips quirking into a small smirk as he watched you. “See? I told you you’d take it, Peanut”.

You couldn’t form a response, your breath hitching again as he pushed in another inch. He groaned softly, his head falling forward briefly, his self-control evident in the way his muscles tensed under your touch.

Your body trembled, the overwhelming fullness leaving you unsure whether to push him away or pull him closer. He stayed still, his hands firm on your hips, his gaze softening just slightly as he gave you a moment to adjust.

“You’re doing so good, Peanut”, he said, his voice low and almost gentle, though the hunger in his eyes hadn’t faded. “Just a little more, and then I’ll make you feel real fucking good. I promise”.

Ben pushed in further, inch by inch, until he finally bottomed out, his hips pressing flush against yours. The sheer fullness, the stretch, was almost too much, and a breathless moan escaped your lips, mixed with a high-pitched whine that you couldn’t suppress. The sound seemed to drive him wild.

“Fuck”, Ben groaned, his head dropping forward to rest against your collarbone as his hands tightened on your hips. His breathing was ragged, and his entire body seemed to tense as he fought to keep himself in check. “You feel… Fuck, Peanut. You’re so fucking tight”.

You trembled under him, your hands instinctively clutching his broad shoulders as you tried to adjust to the overwhelming sensation of him filling you completely. He was so big, stretching you to your limits, and every inch of him pressed against places you didn’t even know could feel like this.

“Ben”, you whispered, your voice shaky, unsure if you were pleading for him to move or to give you more time to adjust.

“I know, baby”, he muttered, his voice gravelly and low, muffled against your skin. “I know. Just… fuck, just give me a second”. He groaned again, a deep, primal sound that vibrated through your chest, his hands gripping your waist like you were the only thing keeping him grounded.

“You’re perfect”, he murmured, lifting his head slightly to press his forehead against yours. His green eyes burned into yours, dark with lust and something deeper, something almost reverent. “Fucking perfect. You don’t even know what you’re doing to me”.

You let out a shaky breath, your body slowly relaxing more around him as he stayed still, letting you adjust to the fullness. His hands moved to cradle your thighs, spreading you wider as he groaned softly again, his lips brushing against your jawline.

“Breathe, Peanut”, he said, his voice softening for a moment as his thumbs rubbed gentle circles into your skin. “Just breathe. You’re taking me so damn well”.

The praise sent a rush of warmth through your body, making you shiver against him. Slowly, he began to pull back just an inch, testing, watching your reaction with sharp, hungry eyes. The drag of him against your sensitive walls made your breath hitch, and his smirk returned as he groaned again.

“Yeah”, he growled, his voice thick as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear. “You’re gonna love this, Peanut. I’ll make sure of it”.

Ben groaned deeply as he began to move, the drag of his length against your tight walls slow and deliberate. He pulled back just enough to make you feel every inch before sinking back in, his hips pressing flush against yours once more. The stretch still made you wince, but the intensity of the sensation was quickly mingling with something warmer, something almost unbearable.

“Shit”, he muttered against your collarbone, his breath hot and ragged. His lips grazed your skin, his teeth scraping lightly as he fought to keep his pace measured. “You’re squeezing me so damn tight. Like you were fucking made for me”.

A breathless whimper escaped you as he thrust again, a little deeper, a little harder. The fullness was still overwhelming, but with every slow, calculated movement, your body started to adjust, to mold to him. Your nails dug into his shoulders, and he smirked against your skin, clearly enjoying the way you clung to him.

Ben’s thrusts grew harder, his hips snapping into yours with more purpose, more force. The sound of your bodies meeting filled the room, raw and intimate, but you bit your lip, desperate to keep quiet.

But Ben noticed. Of course, he noticed.

“Peanut”, he growled, his voice low and commanding, roughened by pleasure. He angled his hips just slightly, hitting a spot that made your back arch involuntarily. “Don’t you fucking hold back on me”.

A soft whimper escaped you, and his smirk returned, wicked and dangerous. “That’s more like it”, he muttered, his hands gripping your hips even tighter as he thrust again, harder this time. “I want to hear you. Every. Fucking. Sound”.

You clenched your teeth, your nails digging harder into his shoulders as you fought to keep quiet, but it was no use. His pace was relentless now, each movement deliberate, dragging pleasure and desperation out of you with every stroke.

“C’mon, baby”, he murmured, leaning in close, his lips brushing against your ear. “Don’t be shy. I want to hear how much you love this. Want to hear you beg me for more”.

You shook your head weakly, trying to resist, but when he thrust again, deeper than before, a moan slipped past your lips, raw and unrestrained. Ben groaned in response, the sound rough and guttural as he rocked into you harder.

“Fuck, that’s it”, he growled, his teeth scraping against your neck as he buried himself to the hilt again. “That’s the sound I’ve been waiting for. Knew you couldn’t stay quiet forever”.

Your breath hitched as he moved faster, each thrust driving you closer to the edge. His hands moved up to grip your waist, holding you steady as he claimed every inch of you, his lips grazing your skin as he spoke again.

“You feel that?”, he muttered, his voice thick with satisfaction. “Feel how perfectly you’re taking me? That tight little body of yours was made for this, Peanut. Made for me”.

You couldn’t hold back anymore, your soft moans turning into desperate whimpers as he pushed you further and further. His words, his touch, the sheer intensity of him—it was too much, too overwhelming. And Ben—he soaked in every sound, every tremble, every gasp, his grin widening as he kept driving into you like he couldn’t get enough.

“That’s my girl”, he murmured, his hands sliding up to cup your face as his eyes locked onto yours. “Now stop holding back and let me hear it all”.

Ben could feel it—the way your body tightened around him, your walls fluttering as you approached the edge. His pace didn’t falter; if anything, it became sharper, more deliberate, each thrust angled perfectly to drive you closer to unraveling completely.

“You’re close, aren’t you, Peanut?”, he murmured. “I can feel it. You’re squeezing me like you don’t wanna let go”.

You whimpered, your nails raking against his shoulders as the pressure in your core built to an unbearable intensity. Your head fell back, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps, but Ben wasn’t about to let you hide from him.

“Uh-uh”, he said sharply, his hands gripping your hips harder as he slowed his thrusts just enough to regain your attention. “Don’t you fucking look away”.

Your eyes fluttered open, your gaze hazy and unfocused as you tried to meet his. His green eyes burned with intensity, dark with hunger and something possessive that made your stomach twist. He leaned in, his forehead pressing against yours, his movements deliberate and unyielding as he pushed you closer and closer.

“When you come”, he growled, his voice rough and commanding, “you look at me, Peanut. Got it?”.

You nodded weakly, unable to form words, your body trembling as you teetered on the edge. He thrust harder, deeper, his rhythm relentless now, each motion pulling soft cries from your lips that you couldn’t control.

“That’s it”, he muttered, his gaze locked on yours, unyielding. “That’s my girl. Let me see it. Let me see you fall apart for me”.

The final thrust sent you over the edge, your body clenching tightly around him as your release crashed through you. Your eyes locked onto his, your vision blurring with the intensity of it, and Ben groaned deeply, the sound rough and raw as he watched every second of your undoing.

“Fuck, Peanut”, he muttered, his voice strained as your walls gripped him like a vice. “You’re so fucking perfect like this”.

Your body trembled as the waves of pleasure coursed through you, and even as you came undone beneath him, Ben didn’t stop. His movements slowed just enough to let you ride out your high, his hands firm and steady on your hips as he kept you exactly where he wanted you.

“Fucking beautiful when you come. Told you I’d make you love this”, he murmured, his smirk returning as he leaned in to brush his lips against your ear.

Ben wasn’t close to being done with you—not by a long shot. After a moment of catching his breath, he scooped you up effortlessly, carrying you to the couch and sitting down with you straddling his lap. His hands gripped your hips firmly, guiding you as he eased you down onto him again. The stretch made your breath hitch all over again, but your body had already molded to him, making it easier this time.

“You’re not done yet, Peanut”, he murmured, his voice low and smug, a crooked grin tugging at his lips. “Not until I’ve had my fill”.

You didn’t know how much more you could take, but your body responded on instinct, your arms wrapping around his neck as he thrust up into you, slow and steady. Every motion sent shivers through you, the pressure building again despite how spent you already felt. His hands roamed your body, gripping, caressing, holding you steady as he moved beneath you.

Time blurred. You lost count of how many times he made you come—how many times your body tensed, shook, and fell apart in his arms. Ben took his time, alternating between hard, commanding movements and surprising moments of gentleness, as though savoring every second. His voice was a constant in your ear, filthy and possessive, coaxing every moan, whimper, and gasp out of you like they belonged to him.

By the time you collapsed against his chest, your body spent and trembling, you couldn’t even think straight. Your breaths came in soft, shaky gasps, your cheek resting against his chest. Ben’s hands moved to your back, stroking gently now, his touch grounding as you slowly came down from the overwhelming high.

“Shh”, he murmured, his voice softer now. “You’re done, baby. You’ve earned your rest”.

His arms wrapped around you, holding you securely against him as he leaned back into the couch. The tension in your body eased, and you felt your eyelids grow heavy, the steady rhythm of his breathing and the warmth of his body lulling you into a daze.

Surprisingly, Ben didn’t push for more. He simply held you, his rough hands surprisingly gentle as they traced lazy circles on your back. His cocky smirk had softened into something almost content, his head resting against the back of the couch as he watched you drift off.

“Guess I wore you out”, he muttered, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest as he shifted slightly to make you more comfortable. “Can’t say I blame you, Peanut. You did good”.

You didn’t respond—couldn’t respond—as sleep overtook you. Completely spent, your body went limp against him, your soft breaths warm against his skin as you passed out in his arms. And for once, Ben didn’t press or tease. He just stayed there, holding you close, his gaze lingering on you with something almost resembling pride.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰

-

Taglist: @blackcherrywhiskey @baby19sthings @suckitands33 @spnfamily-j2 @lyarr24 @deans-baby-momma @reignsboy19 @kawaii-arfid-memes @mekkencspony @lovziy @artemys-ackles @fitxgrld @libby99hb @lovelyvirtualperson @a-lil-pr1ncess @nancymcl @the-last-ry @spndeanwinchesterlvr @hobby27 @themarebarroww @kr804573 @impala67rollingthroughtown @deans-queen @deadlymistletoe @selfdestructionandrhum @utyblyn @winchesterwild78 @jackles010378 @chirazsstuff @foxyjwls007 @smoothdogsgirl @woooonau @whimsyfinny @freyabear @laaadygisbooornex3 @quietgirll75 @perpetualabsurdity @pughsexual @berryblues46 @deanwinchestersgirl8734 @kr804573 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing

[starryeyedjanai]

Steve and Eddie meet through their local buy-nothing-sell-nothing group when Steve’s getting ready to move in with Robin and he realizes he can't keep everything he owns while trying to merge households with her.

The first time they meet, Steve hadn't even been meaning to actually meet the person picking up the free toaster oven he’s giving away.

He’s setting his toaster oven outside his house on the porch when Eddie hops out of his van to pick it up and it would be rude to duck back inside without saying anything since he obviously sees him coming up, so they make small talk for a minute and Steve has to keep his eyeballs in check because they keep wanting to rake all the way down this guy’s body.

He’s covered in tattoos and so extremely Steve's type, but he knows better than to hit on someone who lives in his neighborhood and is not here for that reason.

He laments to Robin about it the next day, about the hot guy who’s probably using Steve's toaster oven as they speak, who he’ll probably never see again.

Robin rolls her eyes fondly at him and tells him that maybe if he puts more stuff up for grabs on the facebook group, he might see him again, but Steve suspects she just wants him to get rid of more of his stuff so it doesn't overcrowd their new apartment.

The set of items he puts up in the group next is an old blender and a butcher block that has three of the knives missing—seriously where did those knives go? He has yet to find them.

He tries to pretend he isn't secretly hoping Eddie will comment under his post that he wants the items, but he isn't fooling himself when his heart literally skips a beat when the first comment is from Eddie. He messages him and tells him to stop by later that day.

When Eddie shows up, they talk for longer than last time, Eddie asking why Steve needs to get rid of so much stuff and Steve asking why Eddie needs all this stuff—especially considering Steve snooped through the group and saw that Eddie joined over a year ago and hadn't once commented before now (he doesn't mention that thought, but he is thinking it real hard).

Eddie laughs and says he was in the market for a toaster oven when Steve posted one and wouldn't you know it? He also needs a blender—the knife set is just a bonus, he says.

Steve tries not to read too much into it, but his brain is spinning the interaction around in his head for the next week.

He puts up a space heater in the group and within minutes, Eddie has claimed it.

“I should just get your number and text you directly when I find something I want to get rid of next time,” Steve says flippantly when Eddie comes by to grab it that night. “Instead of clogging up the facebook group.”

Eddie smirks at him and steps a little closer. He says, “Maybe you should.”

His neighbor’s car alarm decides to go off right at that moment, ruining the flirty atmosphere with its incessant shrill. They can barely hear each other over the drone of it, so Eddie leaves without giving Steve his number and Steve is left feeling like he keeps having these missed connection moments with Eddie.

In a fit of desperation to see Eddie again, Steve puts up a bunch of random stuff in the group the next day—a shoe rack that’s missing a piece, a step stool, a cheap side table he got from Ikea—and Eddie is still the first person to comment like he’s been refreshing the page, just waiting for Steve to post.

“I left without giving you my number last time and I didn't want to be creepy and message you unprompted,” Eddie says as they load the side table into his van. “I think I was overthinking things and then got kind of spooked.”

“It doesn't look like anything could spook you,” Steve says.

When they get the side table inside the back of the van, Eddie turns to him and admits, “A very pretty boy could.”

Steve can feel his face getting hot. “You think I’m pretty?” he asks.

Eddie nods. “Why do you think I keep coming here? There's no way a person who’s lived here for as long as I have would need all this stuff.”

“Did you need any of it?” Steve asks in a teasing voice. “Or were you just so blown away by how cute my profile picture is that you just had to meet me?”

“Oh, I needed the toaster oven, but everything after that was just to see you again,” Eddie says before biting his lip.

There’s an entire swarm of butterflies in his stomach when Eddie's hand brushes his, when Steve takes Eddie's hand in his and leads him inside his box-filled house.

Later, when they’re making out on Steve's couch—when Steve really should still be packing since he has to move in less than a week—he pulls back to ask, “Wait, so are you gonna put the rest of the stuff you don't need back up for grabs in the group? I feel like that would start so much neighborhood gossip.”

Eddie grins wide and Steve wants to kiss him again, wants to feel his smile against his mouth.

“Oh, we’ll be the talk of the town, baby,” Eddie says, pulling him back in.

[starry-bi-sky]

Stillborn danyal al ghul au incorrect quotes - dpxdc au

Vlad and Danny, fighting for the nth time this month: Danyal, exhausted: hey if i call you dad will you like. Stop. I have a test tomorrow. Vlad, has a parental bone in EVERY part of his body: *immediately stopping* Vlad: What do you mEAN YOU HAVE A TEST. WHY DIDN'T YOU LEAD WITH THAT-- Danny: BECAUSE YOU'RE TRYING TO KILL DR. FENTON AGAIN, VLADIMIR.

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

Danny, flopping into bed facefirst: i need sleep or rehab. again Tucker (maybe?? I haven't decided yet who he's friends with): i thought you were clean Danny, into a pillow: not if this keeps up.

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

Tucker: favorite superhero go Sam: Wonder Woman Danny: the Flash Tucker: Okay Sam's is obvious but, Danny I would've thought you'd say like, Martian Manhunter or Superman or Starfire. But Flash?? Danny: i had a foster in Central City for a few years and met him, he's a really nice guy. He made me promise to invite him to my high school graduation and is part of the reason I made it to rehab and ended up getting rehomed and picked up by the Fentons. Danny: I have a hoodie with his logo on it in my closet, i saved up to buy it and its the first thing I got with the allowance the Fentons got me

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

Danny wearing three layers and a scarf in the middle of summer: *shivering* Sam: how are you cold you're literally made of lava Danny, hissing: lava cools at contact with the air and I'm trying to keep my body temperature at a reasonable level, SAM. Tucker, touching Danny: you feel warm to me Danny: to YOU

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

Danny:...i could eat lava Tucker: Sam: Danny: Tucker: do it. no balls Danny, getting up: bET--

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

Danny: Dash: The Both Of Them: *under the bleachers to smoke/vape* Danny, smokes: I wont tell if you won't tell Dash, vapes: ....deal

-----------

Danny, breaking into Vlad's lab: YOU FUCKER QUIT-- what the hell is that Vlad, working on his newest invention: Language. ....And it's something I'm working on, go away Danny: what? no, fuck you. You're trying to kill Jack again and this looks interesting. I was gonna come beat you but now I'm curious what the hell this is (Vlad spends a good hour explaining what he's doing before they start arguing and Danny starts a fight)

------

Danny laying on the ground staring the ceiling, feeling like shit: Jazz, popping by his room: ,,,what'cha doing, Danny? Danny: Danny, internally: 'Jazz says i should be more open' Danny: considering the benefits of relapsing Jazz, immediately stepping into the room: oh okay so lets talk.

-----------

Danny, meeting Robin as Phantom for the first time unaware of his identity and his own birthright: Robin: Phantom: Phantom: fuck you Robin, a 12 year old: fUCK YOU

-----------

Vlad: Jack Fenton iced me out of my early adulthood and got you, his foster son, killed by his own invention. He is a danger to society and I personally want him dead. Danny: okay, cool motive still murder. Danny, louder: I DONT NEED YOU TO TAKE REVENGE ON MY BEHALF

-----------

Vlad, grabbing Danny's shoulders: aren't you tired of being nice Danny: Vlad: don't you want to go apeshit Danny, in the american foster system since infancy, was in rehab at 11 years old, has been fucked over metaphorically, emotionally, physically, ten times over: Danny: i feel like we need to have a talk

----------

DP/Regular DPDC Vlad: *gripping by the shoulders* DPDC Vlad: how Stillborn Vlad: what DP/DC Vlad: how are you getting him to like you. Stillborn Vlad:,,, well first off i don't torture him so jot that down Stillborn Vlad: second of all, like is a strong word. Stillborn Vlad: Daniel only likes me on tuesdays and when i show him how to make fireballs

[justmeinatree]

please please please (NO PRESSURE BUT) (IM BEGGING YA)

something extremely smutty where like niall is working out: (literally need nothing else completely go ham its up to you but just like LOOK:)

the little jerk as he lifts up yk what im talking aboutt lets not pretend we're not *respectfully* looking.

as if i could say no to this 😅 it’s not the smuttiest thing, but if we’re open to a part 2, there’s a lot of room to play 😏

Word Count : 1.3k

it was the breathy grunts that first got your attention. 

you’d never cared much for niall’s workouts, always preferring to have the quiet time, enjoying a cuppa, maybe a book or tv show. but as you were just getting cozy with your tea, pulling the blanket over your legs, you could hear him from down the hall.

it piqued your interest, the sounds he was making having reached your ears, and for some reason, shooting down to your centre, leaving a little tingle of interest.

and for that same reason, you were now leaving your warmth and comfort, flinging the blanket back over the arm of the couch, trudging down the hall. 

once you pop head around the doorframe though, eyes coming into contact with your boyfriend, the tingle of interest in your cunt quickly turned to a dribble of excitement.

because fuck, was this the scene you’d been missing out on all these years ? you’ll have to remember to scold yourself for that one later, but for now, your brain was short wiring. niall was currently laying on his exercise mat, legs bent up at the knees, slightly spread, his arms straight up above his head, doing some sit ups with an exercise ball in his hands. and, since the universe wanted to punish you even more, with every flex of his abs, his hips would thrust up just a bit with the force of the movement. 

he was glistening, a sheen of sweat all over his skin, torso bare for your eyes to ogle. and when did your drip of excitement turn into a full fledged puddle of arousal ? how long had you been watching ? why are you quite literally feeling yourself leaking down your inner thighs ? 

it’s once he lays back down, taking a moment to breathe between sets, that you make your presence known. you weren’t exactly trying to, but a small whimper managed to escape your throat without permission. but really, his entire body was stretched out, muscles flexed, and if you look really closely, you can see the outline of his cock through his shorts. you really can’t be blamed.

niall’s eyes flick over to the door, noticing you, quirking his eyebrow, “what is it, love ?”

you bite your lip, heat rising on your cheeks at the prospect of being caught. however, niall was your boyfriend, had been for a long time, and moments like this don’t much embarrass you anymore, “d’you always look this good while you workout ?”

a loud breathy chuckle erupts from niall, echoing through the room, “gonna start joining me, sweet girl ?”

you squint at him, tilting your head to the side, looking at him with a playfully untrusting look, “was this your plan all along ?”

and so maybe he wanted to see if being a little louder than usual, a little more grunty than usual, would make you come over. and maybe he chose to forego his shirt, and maybe he spread his legs a tiny bit more than usual, in an effort to keep you around. “does it really matter now ?” he smiles innocently, “can see how wet your thighs are getting.”

“i hope you plan on doing something about that,” you smirk, shaking your head at your boyfriend’s antics.

“can’t do anything from way over there,” he hums, nodding his head in a come hither motion, “c’m’ere.”

as you finally step into the room, waltzing over to niall, he quickly reaches out for your ankles, his sheer strength taking over your moment of weakness, making you stop with your feet spread on either side of his head, eyes locked straight up between your thighs.

it was still early enough in the day, you hadn’t changed from your sleep shorts, tiny piece of fabric without any panties, something niall typically likes to tease you about, “why even wear anything if you’re gonna put those on,” he always drones on before bed.

but for now, he’s not complaining a bit, a fairly good view of your sopping cunt, peaking through the drenched fabric, arousal coating your inner thighs, “s’a good thing i’m parched,” he groans, hands gliding up your calves, stopping behind your knee, abruptly giving a tug, making your legs buckle. you squeak loudly, echoing through the room, as you were caught off guard, knees colliding with the mat underneath niall.

with your cunt sitting right above his face, niall groans, feeling the hot hot heat radiating off of you, “christ, and i thought i was warm,” he mumbles, his tongue darting out to lick along your skin.

he swirls around your thigh, taking his sweet time, lapping up any bit of arousal that’s made it way past your shorts, before moving onto the other thigh.

your legs were trembling, head tipped back, as your breathing accelerates. he was avoiding any area near your pussy, every ounce of your being aching for more. more tongue, more touches, more niall. more, more, more.

but once your skin was cleaned up, he pats your legs, groaning, “perfect post workout snack. think m’gonna jump into the shower now, baby.”

your eyebrows furrow immediately, because absolutely the fuck not, “like hell you are,” you quip, shuffling yourself until your centre is hovering right above his stiffening member. “you clean me, i clean you,” you murmur, leaning down over him.

and just like he did for you, your tongue slowly laps up the beads of sweat over his stomach and chest, feeling the ridges of his abs with every stroke. 

your eyes flutter shut, the musky, heady scent of sweaty man wafting through the air, the salty taste on your tongue, it was doing things you never could have imagined. not once had you really given workout niall a chance like this, something he always does much too early in the morning for your liking. but the more you were delving into it, the more your brain was swirling with want. with need.

you couldn’t stop, too caught up in licking as much of him as you could, tongue flicking over his nipples, mouth attaching to his pulse point. 

and it was working. you were teasing him right back. his telltale little breathy pants huffing against your ear whenever you were close to his neck, fingernails indenting your hips, his cock now painfully hard.

you’re not even sure niall’s noticed that his hips have started rolling, searching for any sort of relief, something you’re not too keen on giving into quite yet. 

so a moment later, you pull away, coming to a stand, “better get that shower going, we have some things to do today.”

niall scrubs his face in his hands, groaning loudly for a moment, before getting up with you. and as quick as a flash, he’s got you scooped up in his arms, running off.

you squeal again, laughing loudly, as he whips down the hall, around the corners, and into the washroom. he quickly closes the door behind himself, setting you down on your feet, pinning you against the wall, “can forget about all those things you have planned today. gonna be too busy.”

you hum, your body melting against the wall, as niall’s mouth leaves a trail of open mouth kisses over your shoulder and neck, teeth nibbling on the shell of your ear, “hmm tell me. tell me what we’re gonna do.”

“gonna start by showering with me,” he murmurs against your ear, “and if you’re a good girl, i might use the shower head on you.”

you whimper, nodding quickly, “please, fuck. what else ?”

niall tuts, shaking his head, “depends how good you are for me. now how about stripping down and washing me off in the shower ?”

“yes, yes anything. m’a good girl, i promise.”

……

Masterlist

[oepionie]

BELOVED BAT-WIFE. lilia vanrouge

Characters: Lilia Vanrouge x Fem! Reader, Platonic! Sebek x Fem! Reader

Synopsis: Lilia's wife makes an impromptu visit at NRC. Sebek is dragged into this mess and has to help her sneak into the campus.

A/N:: This is the first fic I've written in years!

Tags: Fluff, Established relationship, Maybe a bit OOC?, Reader is not Yuu and is said to be a mage

Word Count: 800+|💌Masterlist | Batwife masterlist

"Lady Vanrouge! When you told me you planned to visit, this wasn't what I had in mind!" Sebek hissed, staring at you through the gate's frame. He responded to your SMS asking him to meet you at the school gates as soon as possible. Despite the fact that it was two in the morning, he ran to your position right away. How he arrived in under 10 minutes is remarkable.

"I did say it was a last-minute decision." Shaking your head, you pulled the hood to your robe up and slipped on a pair of leather gloves. Indeed, you did send Sebek a letter to inform him of your plans beforehand. Leaving out the fact that you planned to sneak in like some petty thief.

"Now hold this gate steady for me, ok?"

Sebek's eyes practically sprang out of his head when you started climbing the tall gate. He yelled at you to be careful as he grasped the gate with both hands, firmly grasping the metal bars. You easily climbed to the top and laughed as you tossed yourself to the opposite side. Shrieking, Sebek ran to catch you, nearly toppling over from the force.

"Nice catch, my boy!" You grinned, patting his shoulder and setting yourself down. Sebek heaved, kneeling over and pressing a palm over his chest to calm his racing heart from the stunt you just pulled.

"You-Lady Vanrouge-!" Sebek started. "You're a mage! Why would you do that!"

"Teleporting or flying would definitely be easier…but that's boring~" You drawled, a cheeky grin on your face.

"Now, which way is that mirror again? It's been ages since I last set foot on this campus-literally!"

You linked both your arms together and began to pull the boy towards the academy, ignoring any and all of his complaints.

"I really think we shouldn't be doing this." Sebek muttered, begrudgingly pushing the doors to the mirror chamber open. You both slid inside, the door behind you closing with a snap.

It was already late at night, and the moon shone through the windows, its light reflecting off the mirrors. You took a step closer to Diasomnia's portal, tracing the engravings on its frame.

Had they changed parts of it? You noticed certain details that were not previously present.

"Well, too late to back off now. You're making me start to think you don't actually want me here." You pouted, shifting your gaze to Sebek's rigid body beside the doorway. He jumped and dashed over, his cheeks flushed pink.

"Of course I do, Lady Vanrouge! Your presence is always appreciated! I only wish you had chosen safer means to visit!" He yelled, his booming voice practically rattling the walls. Chuckling, you ran your fingers through his hair before patting his head.

"I jest. Now, let's not keep them waiting. Shall we?" You clasped Sebek's hand with your own and stepped into the mirror.

A blur of colours hit you for a moment before you found yourself whisked away to the dark brooding castle Diasomnia calls a dorm. Standing atop the cobblestone steps, you took a deep breath. The air was thick with smothering moisture, like a fog.

The dim light of a window in the distance drew your attention. Among the many windows in the castle, it was the only chamber that was lit up.

"O-Oh? Is someone still up at this late hour?" You wondered, still light-headed from the teleportation. Sebek placed a hand on your back to stabilise your wobbly form. "Ah yes. That's probably Master Lillia, he tends to hold gaming sessions at this hour."

"Is that so?" You huffed, brows furrowing as you glared at the window. "...That damn bat."

Of course, this wasn't news to you. Silver frequently wrote to you about his father's long gaming sessions, which sometimes lasted days or even weeks. Just as you were about to march up to the castle, an arm wrapped around your chest, pulling you back.

"No need to look so mad, dear." A deep voice lulled.

Behind you two, Lillia appeared with an impish smile on his face. Sebek flinched before greeting Lilia vigorously while maintaining a stiff posture of attention.

"Good evening, Sebek! Would you go and get Silver and Malleus for me? This is going to be a lovely reunion." Lillia spoke, crossing his arms over his chest. He was perched upon a nearby tree, hanging off one of the branches.

"Yes Sir!" With that, Sebek was off, dashing towards the castle.

With a frown etched onto your face, you turned your gaze back to the fae who was still upside down. Lillia hummed, leaning forward to press his lips against yours. "Hello there, beastie."

"Still pulling the same old trick, I see." You grumbled, grabbing his arm to pull him down. Lillia smushed his cheek against your shoulder, peering up at you through his lashes.

"It's a classic of mine, isn't it?"

Likes and Reblogs are greatly appreciated and really motivating on my end!

[6ix9inewiturmom]

Long day- matt Sturniolo

Summary: You had a long day at work and matt gives you some lovin to help with your long day :)

Warnings: SMUT, P in V, parsing, oral (fem receiving), unprotected sex, cream pie, use of Y/N, Dirty talking, Degradation, aftercare!

A/N: I LOVE SWEET MATT!! ITS MY ABSOLUTE FAVORITE!! ignore the song, i couldn’t find one so since he knows sm about bags

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Today has genuinely been the worst and longest day of my life. I’ve worked front desk at a salon for the last year and a half now, i had people coming in asking me about what to do for their hair type, karen’s complaining about their hair, just overall horrible, im just the front desk lady for right now i cant really tell these fucking people what to do, make a damn appointment. Matt and I have been together for 3 years, and have been dating to the public for a year and a half, when i graduated cosmetology school. thankfully after this cursed wednesday evening i was on my way to Matt and i’s house that we also share with his triplet brothers. i pull into the driveway and make my way to the door and unlocking it.

“Baby?” i yell walking up the steps.

“he’s been in his room playing video games streaming for like 4 hours” nick says shooting me a quick smile before looking back at his phone.

i knock softly on the door “jesus christ im streaming guys” matt slams his head set down on his table and opens the door “Wha- oh my god Y/N i’m so sorry i thought it was one of them” he says quickly changing his tone giving me a soft peck on the lips.

“it’s fine” i breath out giving him a smile walking into his room.

“tell the stream Hi, baby” he pulls my hand into frame making me force a smile onto my face.

“hi everyone” i awkwardly wave to his camera watching the chat go absolutely crazy when i entered.

“okay well i’m gonna end this cause the mother of my future kids just got here” he says making a smile appear on my face.

he ends the stream and turns around facing me almost analyzing me.

“why do you keep looking at me like that?” i roll my eyes and make my way to our shared closet pulling out a pair of his sweats and a T shirt of his.

he walks towards me leaning against the door frame “all of your clothes in that closet and you still choose to wear mine, but to answer your question you seem off” he says softening his tone.

“i’m fucking fine matt, damn, all on my ass for nothing” i groan out pushing him out of my way and falling on the bed scrolling on my phone.

“umm okay” he huffs sitting down next to me on the bed “so how was work?” he says breaking the silence of tiktok playing in the background.

i groan “it was long i guess” i place my phone on the bedside table and turn towards him.

“you guess?” he questions giving me a soft smile.

“find it was so dreadful, answering calls from people who can look up these answers on google, and oh my god i had this karen come in and” i laugh softly “and she literally accidentally tried this hair mask and fried half her hair and blamed it on me, knowing i’m just the front desk representative, then on top of all of that this lady yelled at me for eating carrots at the front desk” i say while he’s staring at me passionately listening to everything i have to say.

“did you say anything to that lady who yelled at you?” he asked while looking in my eyes as passionately as he can.

“my manager heard her yelling at me calling me ‘unprofessional and rude’ and ended up almost calling the cops on her for causing a disturbance” i smile back at him.

“well it sounds like to me you need a little distraction from your long day at work eh?” he smirks leaning into me as i playfully roll my eyes and lean into him crashing his lips onto mine smiling into his kiss.

he softly places his hand on my cheek pointing his tongue out a little begging to explore my mouth, i slightly open my mouth as his tongue dives into my mouth immediately taking dominance from my tongue and intertwining with mine. his hand travels from my cheek to my breast giving my bare breast a gentle squeeze causing a soft whimper to escape my lips. his hand travels down to my waist and toying with the waistband of my his sweatpants.

“can i?” matt pulls away and softly asks me.

i smile and playfully roll my eyes “yes matt you can”

he carefully crawls on top of me tapping my waist as a signal to lift my hips up. he pulls my pink lacy underwear and pants down together in one throwing them on the other side of the room.

“such a pretty pussy” he says softly running his slim fingers in between my wet folds collecting my arousal onto his fingers “and so wet” he smirks back up at me.

“matt” i drag his name out in a whine, “please don’t tease me” i stare desperately into his eyes through my eyelashes.

“Only because you asked so nicely my love” he smiles at me leaning down and starts placing mouth kisses directly into my clit flicking upwards with his tongue.

“Oh fuck Matt” I moan out placing my hand on top of his head and pulling at his hair causing him to grunt through my pussy sending vibrations through me.

“You like this hm?” he smiles and shoves his fingers into my hole curving them slightly upward and making me go absolutely insane.

“Yes!” I chant repeatedly.

My walls tighten around his fingers and my clit spasms between his teeth. “Someone’s close eh?” he smirks leaning his head upwards while moving his fingers in and out while reaching my sensitive clit with his thumb making figure 8 movements around my bud.

“S-so close Matt” I cry out arching my back off the bed and rolling my eyes back.

“Uh-huh? You close?” he taunts smiling at me and immediately thrusts his fingers into me touching my G-spot so easily.

“YES- FUCK MATT” My hips twitched upwards “FUCK I'M GONNA CUM” I scream out bucking my hips up.

“Come on baby, cum for me” his voice softens looking down at me coming unglued from just his fingers with amusement in his eyes.

With just his words, the knot in my stomach broke and cum dripped down from me and onto his fingers.

He lightly tapped my leg “I ain't done with you just yet, sweetheart” he said smirking at me.

“Matt I don't know if I can take another one..” I said out of breath still coming down from my very intense orgasm.

“You know your safe word, Y/N,” he says ripping his shirt off. “And you never have to be afraid of using it, I'll stop immediately you know this.” he pulls his sweatpants and boxers off in one freeing his hard cock and slapping his stomach.

he crawls over me placing my legs on either side of his hips and slowly agonizing using his tip to slide through my wet folds teasing me.

“Matt,” i whine “please fuck me”

“Patience sweet girl, patience” he smiles at me slapping his cock on my clit and making me jerk upwards and squeal.

He slowly puts his tip into me then removes it and slowly enters it again and removes it before roughly bottoming out into me gripping the headboard for support making his knuckles white.

“Oh Matt” i moan out.

He rolls his hips deeper into me smirking down at me “You like this hm? God, you feel so fucking good wrapped around my cock, and taking it so fucking well” he groans out.

My legs wrap around his waist forcing his body to get deeper each time he pushes himself into me making my eyes roll back into my head causing me to see starts, My moans become hoarse from the strain on my voice.

“Aww has my gorgeous whore gone dumb? Can't talk? What happened to all that attitude you had earlier?” he grabs my chin between his thumb and index finger.

“Uh huh, uh huh” i bite my lower lip and nodding vigorously.

“Words or I stop” he thrusts his hips deeper into me and maintains his violent thrusts.

“YES MATT FUCK- RIGHT FUCKIN THERE” I finally answer him with a strain in my voice.

My response only made him thrust into me deeper and faster. My cervix spasms around his cock signaling how close i am making a long groan exit from his lips. “Hold it”

He rolls his hips and pounds his hips into mine “Matt” I drag out his name with a moan.

“Come on, you got it” he nods his head continuing to thrust and abuse my cervix.

“S-so f-fucking close” I whisper scream out.

“Cum” he buries his head into my neck moving his hips in a way that kisses my cervix making me release all over his cock creating a white ring around the base of his cock.

His thrusts become sloppier as he releases into me painting my once pink walls a nice white color and slowly pulling out watching a mixture of his cum and mine slowly fall from my hole.

He vaults to his bathroom quickly so no one catches a glimpse of him or me in our naked state to grabs a warm cloth and slowly runs it down my legs cleaning him and me up before lying next to me placing my head on his chest.

“I'm sorry for the attitude I had earlier, I just had a rough day and shouldn't have taken it out on you,” I say “Thank you for lighting my mood up” I smile facing the TV drawing small circles on his stomach.

“Hey don't worry about it, we all got bad days baby, I'm just glad you're good now, that's all that matters to me” he softly says running his fingers through my hair and massaging my scalp and falling fast asleep in Matts arms.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

A/N Pt 2: HEY LOVES!! Sorry I haven't been so active in trying to recover from being violently hungover for the last 2 days LMFAOO… I HOPE U GUYS ENJOY!! i promise ill be active more!!

[nochedie]

lattes and lemures | sam winchester ☕️

pairing: sam winchester x reader

genre: mostly fluff, tiny bit of hurt/comfort

wordcount: 6.3k

summary: after a strange death in salem, the winchesters arrive to check things out. sam bumps into you outside the coffee shop you work at, and all of a sudden the case isn’t the only thing keeping him there.

a/n: okay first of all this is a TOTALLY fictional representation of salem. you can view it as completely different than the real salem! it holds very limited familiarity to the actual place, just needed a town known for it’s spookiness/catering to tourists that way! second this is the first longish fic i have done in so long! i love sam so much and i just needed to write about him in such a sweet way! to be honest this idea literally came to me in a dream lmfao… it was quite a bit different than this but i took the basic idea and ran with it and it actually (i think) turned out okay! if you have any feedback i am all ears, i know i have such a long way to go here but this is the first baby steps!

📍 salem, ma.

after catching wind of some.. spirit-esque happenings in the witch-iest town in the us, sam and dean winchester drove into the parking lot of the first motel they could find with vacancies: raven’s rest.

considering its past, salem is a hotbed for tourists, and usually anything supernatural happening in salem was just a hoax to sell more tickets to whatever brand new attraction introduced that year. sam and dean knew this for sure, but there was something about this case that felt different. and, truthfully, they didn’t have any other cases to look into.

sam’s head was still reeling from the events of the past year. he had gone from happy, pre-law at stanford with a beautiful girlfriend, to dropping out of college chasing ghosts. and jess was gone. it was like it had all happened in the blink of an eye.

he opened the door of the impala, stepping out onto the gravel and making his way to the front desk, followed close behind by dean.

the motel reception was poorly decorated in occult decor, purple walls with chipped paint adorned with framed tarot cards, a taxidermy raven sitting atop the desk and a few plastic bats hanging from the ceiling.

“well. isn’t this cozy.” dean looked around the room with a slight disgust.

there was nobody manning the front desk, so the taller of the two brothers tapped on the bell to alert whoever may be working that they would like a room. no sooner had the bell rung when an eccentric looking older lady burst out from a door marked “staff only”.

“looking for a room?” she spoke, or well, practically sung. her red lipstick smudged down her face and long, black hair cascaded down her back. her name tag read “mother wystan”.

“u-uh… yeah! yeah…” sam stuttered, a little taken aback.

“no need to be scared, my dear. i won’t bite. that’s nyx’s job.” the lady giggled, turning to the key pegboard to grab the key to one of the vacant rooms, which seemed to be an awful lot of them.

“um. nyx?” sam questioned, looking over at dean who was just as confused by the interaction.

“nyx.” she gestures to the taxidermy raven.

“oh! right.” sam laughs politely.

“raven’s rest. he is the raven! and he sure is resting.” dean snarked, grabbing a card from his wallet to pay for the night and handing it over to “mother wystan”.

“thank you, mr… blackwood.” she reads the name off of one of the stolen credit cards in dean’s wallet, earning a nod in acknowledgment from him. “you’re in room 47. it’s just along the hall to your right. have a whimsical stay!” she hands the key over to sam, who takes it with an awkward smile before making their way to their room.

the room in comparison was just as tired as the reception, with walls well in need of a few spots of filler and a repainting, and bedsheets that look like they haven’t been touched since the 70s.

“i need some of whatever the hell she’s on.” dean lays down on the bed nearest to the door, kicking off his shoes. “you can take first shower.”

sam nods and makes his way over to the bathroom, shutting and locking the door. he stared at his reflection in the mirror for a while, taking a deep breath. everything was messed up. sure, it was nice to be with his brother again, but this isn’t what he wanted. none of it is.

after showering off a day of sitting shotgun in the impala, sam leaves the bathroom and dean is up and in there immediately. sam falls asleep almost as soon as his head hits the pillow.

the next morning, bright and early, sam is already wide awake. he looks over to the other bed, noticing that his older brother is still fast asleep. he slowly gets out of bed, walking into the bathroom to get ready for the day.

after slipping on his favorite brown carhartt hoodie, he leaves a note for dean letting him know he just nipped out to get some coffee for them both and not to worry before leaving the motel room.

he walks down the street for a couple of minutes, stopping abruptly in his tracks when someone almost bumps into him. they had stepped out the door of a coffee shop and were just putting the board outside.

“woah! oh god, i’m so sorry. i wasn’t looking where i was-“ you looked up, breath hitching in your throat as you locked eyes with the male in front of you. he was… totally gorgeous, but there was also a softness there. he looked like if the colour brown was a person, you thought, soft and warm with doe eyes. “-going…”

“it’s okay, i wasn’t either.” he smiled, keeping his eyes locked on yours. you were wearing a green apron with the coffee shop branding on it, so he knew you worked here. that would be helpful, as this is just across the street from where the murder they were investigating occurred, and they needed to speak to people who may have been around at the time.

“sorry, did you want to come in? we don’t open for ten minutes, but i could make an exception as an apology?” honestly, you were a little hopeful he would say yes to coming in. you didn’t want to let him pass you by.

“yeah, i was just going to grab some coffee, i’m staying a little down the street.” he gestured in the direction he came.

“oh, great! come in..” you stepped to the side, letting him through.

“i’m sam, by the way.” he smiled as you led him to take a seat at the table closest to the counter.

“my names y/n. it’s nice to meet you.” really, really nice. “so, what coffee would you like?” you enquired, stepping behind the counter.

“um, i’ll take a latte. and could i get a black coffee with a shot of espresso to go?” he suddenly remembered he had wanted to talk to you about the murder across the street, and if you both took a little too long, dean’s coffee would get cold. “do you mind making the black coffee a little later though? i’m gonna be here a bit longer.”

“oh, sure. latte coming right up.” you start brewing the coffee, leaning over the counter to see him clearly. “what brings you to salem?”

“uh… just working a job nearby. pest control.”

“oh, that’s.. interesting.” you finish making his latte, bringing it over to the table.

“thanks.. how much do i owe you?”

“think of it as a welcome gift.” you both shared a smile, before you started to walk back over to the counter.

“wait- can i ask you something?” sam questioned.

you turned around and took a few steps back towards his table. “sure, what’s up?”

“what do you know about the.. murder across the street?”

“oh.. um, i don’t know much. just whispers about town, but i did know the guy.”

“did he have any enemies? anybody that might want to hurt him?”

“no, he was a really nice man. he was a regular, always got the same thing, macchiato with a caramel shot. i thought it was weird when he didn’t come in for a few days, and then we heard the news. it sucks.”

“i bet. has anything weird happened around here recently?”

“weird how? i mean, it’s always at least a little weird around here.” you watched outside as a man wearing a pumpkin on his head handed out event fliers. “exhibit a.”

sam chuckled. “weirder than usual, then.”

“well, no. not really.”

“flickering lights, cold spots?”

“what are you, ghost hunting?” you joked, letting out a light chuckle. something about sam’s reaction, you saw right through him. “wait. are you ghost hunting?”

“no! that’s crazy. i’m just interested, that’s all.” he wasn’t a very good liar.

“hm.” your eyes narrowed, and you took a seat across from him. pest control, him talking about cold spots and flickering lights, asking about the murder, him not being from around here... “you think i’ve lived in salem my whole life and haven’t bumped into any hunters?”

he had been taking a sip of his coffee, which he proceeded to almost choke on.

“don’t worry, i’m not a… witch, vampire, ghost, ghoul, demon, whatever else. but i feel like it would be a great disservice to my hometown if i didn’t believe in those things. and there were a few hunters a few years back i bumped into and.. let’s just say they pulled the wool off my eyes. not by choice, i’m very stubborn.”

every second he spent with you he liked you even more, and every second his smile grew wider.

“so. you think it’s a ghost? the thing that killed mr beckett?”

“well, me and my brother are gonna check some things out, but that’s our first instinct, yeah. is there anything you can tell me about mr beckett that might help? any reason a ghost would want rid of him?”

“sorry, i can’t think of anything… maybe he had some skeletons in his closet?” you shrugged, a little disappointed in yourself that you couldn’t be of more help. “i get off work at midday today. come find me then? maybe we can do a little digging together?”

his eyes lit up at the prospect of seeing you again. “yeah! that sounds great.”

“how’s your coffee? are you ready for me to make the to-go cup for your brother?” the coffee shop would be opening very soon, and you were sure you would have more customers soon enough, and you were disappointed that you couldn’t sit here all day and get to know sam better.

“it’s great, yeah i think i’m ready now.” he finishes his coffee and waits for you to make dean’s. as he took the cup from your hand, his hand brushed against yours, causing a spark so poignant you let your hand linger for a matter of seconds.

“okay.. um. well, i’ll see you at midday?”

“definitely. i’ll see you soon, y/n.” with a smile, he turned and walked out of the coffee shop.

just before you clocked out, a customer had left the morning paper on the counter. the front page alerted you that there had been another murder. this time it was a lady, piper sawyer, who owned an antique shop down the street. the mo was the exact same. no signs of a break-in, all bulbs in the house were blown, and the victim was missing one eye.

you hung up your apron and changed out of your work clothes, grabbing the paper from the counter and rushing outside to wait for sam.

he arrived just a few moments later, with another man, more intimidating looking but handsome all the same.

“hey, y/n. this is dean, my brother.”

after you and dean had exchanged friendly first greetings, you held out the paper to sam. “there’s been another murder. i was trying to link the two victims and i think i thought of something.”

“you did? what is it?”

“well, every year in salem we have this festival. there’s stalls to buy trinkets or play games, people dress up, there’s a bonfire, and there’s a stage performance at the end of the festival each year. both piper and mr beckett were supposed to be involved this year. piper had a stall planned for her antiques and she was providing the costumes for the stage performance, and mr beckett had modernised the script for the play they were due to perform.”

“alright.. well i guess we better figure out who else is involved in the festival. is there any reason why some ghost would even care about it? any urban legends around it, anything?”

“uh- not that i know of… but it has been going for a long time, since the 1800s i’m pretty sure.”

“alright. come on, is there a library around? any place we could do some research?”

“yeah, just up the road.”

“alright, come on.” almost as if his hands were moving by themselves, he grabbed your hand. you had to take a second, but it felt so right. your hand in his like part of a puzzle. you locked eyes, your gaze only broken by dean clearing his throat.

dean looked between the two of you, a knowing smile playing on his lips. “i’m gonna scope out the murder scenes, see what i can find. you two kids do some research then meet back at the motel, okay? call me if you need me.”

you and sam nodded before you lead him off in the direction of the local library.

you stepped inside, the warm air of the heater above the door hitting your face. your hand in sam’s the whole time, neither of you wanting to let go. you took a seat at one of the empty tables, sam sitting down next to you and pulling his laptop out of his bag.

you spent a couple hours trawling for old news articles about the festival, anything that could be useful. until you finally found a post on some paranormal forum, about the festival in 1906. a girl had died when one of the stage rafters fell on top of her, but it didn’t say her name. “sam, if there was anything spooky happening at that festival, wouldn’t they want to make a big song and dance about it? i mean… surely. they create as much hype as possible and ghost stories always bring in the tourists.”

“yeah, that’s what i thought too. do you think they tried to cover it up somehow?”

“yeah.. but why? faulty maintenance? but what could they really prove back then? they would just put it down to an accident, right?”

“right. so.. none of this really makes any sense. can we contact the person who posted this?”

“i mean, i can try, but who knows if they’ll even respond.”

“let’s give it a try.” you shifted the laptop towards you, typing out an email to “beyondtheveil88”. sam’s eyes stayed fixed right on you, travelling down to your fingers as they typed. each passing moment he noticed something different about you. whether it be the face you made while concentrating, the way you changed your mind about what you were going to type and deleted a sentence about fifteen times. without meaning to, a small chuckle left his lips.

you looked up, fixing on his pretty hazel eyes. “what?”

“just… you.” he let his gaze linger a few seconds, before you both awkwardly turned to look away from each other. you both started to speak to try and change the subject and fill the awkward silence, followed by a “sorry, you go-“ in unison.

“go ahead.” you smiled, letting him speak first.

“i was just going to ask what happened a few years ago, when you bumped into the hunters?”

“oh. it was actually witch stuff, fittingly. there was a witch hexing a bunch of people just because they got drunk and destroyed her flower patch in her front garden. kind of extreme, i guess she loved her plants. anyway, my uh- one of my friends was… one of the people she hexed. anyway.. these two older guys, they told me to stay out of it for my own good. i didn’t listen. i wanted to know what happened to my friend, you know? i went to her house, broke in through the back door just quick enough to save both their asses with their own knife. i was freaked but, they gave me a little a-z of monsters class after. nothing aside from whispers since though, about anything extraordinary in salem, until now, i guess.”

“you’re just…” perfect. that’s what he had started to say, but stopped himself just in time. he didn’t want to come on too strong and scare you away, but. there was so much more for him to learn about you, and he couldn’t wait.

“i’m just what?” you enquired, raising a brow in anticipation.

“nothing, let’s just, get back to the email.” he changed the subject quickly, pointing at the laptop screen.

you turned your attention to the screen, typing for a few more moments before signing off the email from both you and sam. something about your names together at the end, lit something in both of you. it felt right, like a perfect pair. “how’s that?”

sam leaned a little closer to you to read the email, and you couldn’t help but sneak a look at his face as he read. you took in each little detail. the warm tone of his skin, the way his hair tousled perfectly. you broke your gaze away just before he could catch you.

“looks good, ready to send it?” sam acknowledged the short nod of your head by hitting send on the email.

“don’t let us down beyondtheveil88!” you cross your fingers as if that was somehow going to conjure an instant response.

sam placed his hands over yours. “even if not, we’ll find some other way.” his eyes shifted down to his hands which had come to rest over yours without him even knowing. but it didn’t feel wrong. his eyes shifted up to meet yours and you held the gaze for what felt like an hour, before a short ping sound from the laptop startled you both out of your thoughts. it was an email.

“it’s a link.” sam’s eyebrows creased in confusion as he hovered the mouse over the link.

“you’re really gonna click some random link in an email?” you snickered, but sam had already clicked it by that point. luckily, it was safe. it brought you to a page you hadn’t found in your research earlier. “what is all this?” you and sam spent a few minutes reading through the page.

“her name was evelyn maude fletcher. she was playing the lead in the play. a play about… a ghost who kills the people that killed her. looks like pretty much everybody working on that play covered up her death.”

“you think she still thinks she’s playing the role?”

“yeah. sure looks like it to me. but why now?”

“no idea. do you think they’re doing the same play this year? that would make sense, i mean, like i said, mr beckett had to modernise the dialogue in the play because it was pretty old.”

“its gotta be just the play, not the festival. i mean, both vics had something to do with the play specifically. who else is involved with it?”

“i’m not sure, but i think i know someone who would. come on.” you stood up from the table, sam grabbing his laptop and standing up after you, following you out of the library into the chilly air.

you made your way through town, and ended up right where sam had started, raven’s rest. “the motel? why here?”

“is this where you’re staying? maybe not the nicest place to stay, but nell knows a thing or two about the festival.” you and sam trudge along the gravel to the front entrance.

“nell?” sam tries not to trip on the uneven surface you were walking on, putting out a hand to rest on your back as you tried not to trip yourself.

“she owns the place, would’ve checked you in? some people know her as mother wystan.”

“ah. right. i definitely remember her.” sam thought back to the interesting greeting he and dean received the day before.

“she’s definitely memorable.” you let out a laugh, stepping in through the doors and heading to the front desk. once again, there wasn���t anybody manning it.

“she’s usually in the back room.” you pinged the bell, waiting a few moments. “huh. she’s usually out here as soon as the bell rings… nell? nell it’s y/n!” you raised your voice to shout towards the door. it was only then that you noticed the splatter of blood by the door. “crap.” you gestured to the splatter with your hand, taking a sharp intake of breath. you were going to have to go in there.

“hey, it’s okay. i’ll go in and check. you stay here where it’s safe, okay?” sam rubbed your back in comfort, before taking a step towards the door. your hand reached out and grabbed his.

“no. we can both go.” you stepped forward with him, keeping your hand in his as he linked your fingers.

“okay, but stay behind me.” you nodded, and you and sam made your way over to the door. sam reached out to grab the handle, he was fairly certain that the spirit was gone by now, there was no cold air, no lights flickering or strange occurrences, but it didn’t hurt to be prepared. “there’s um- there’s an iron pole in my bag, keep hold of it. if the spirits still in there it’ll vanish if you swing that through it.”

you opened sam’s bag and grabbed the pole with one hand, and sam’s hand with the other, bracing yourself as sam pushed the door open.

you stepped into the room, horrified at the sight before you. there was no light coming from the plenty lamps dotted around, because the bulbs were smashed. and nell lay on the ground, cold, with just one eye.

you had known nell since you were just a kid. she was like your favorite eccentric spinster aunt. you lived close by raven’s rest, and as a kid you thought nell was the coolest person in the world. she taught you how to read tarot, though you had forgotten now, and she had comforted you when your friend had passed a few years prior.

your eyes welled up with tears, and sam used his body to shield you from the sight. you racked your brain trying to think of what nell had to do with this, but she knew everything about the festival, so it wasn’t far fetched to think she had some role in the production.

sam lead you back out the door, closing the door behind you. “you okay?” his doe eyes bore into yours, sadness clear on his face for you.

“no… but i’ll be okay eventually.” he reached out to rub your shoulder in comfort, taking a moment to hesitate before pulling you into his chest in a tight embrace. you welcomed the feeling, his strong arms wrapped around you. you wrapped your arms around him too, squeezing him tight. you pulled away from each other only when you heard footsteps. you looked towards the door just in time to see dean arriving.

“hey. what’s going on? everything okay?” dean looked worried by your tear stained face, worried that something might have just happened to his brother.

“it’s the owner of the motel. she was the third victim.” sam shared with dean, as you walked over to the back room door. you looked over to sam, he was preoccupied filling dean in on what you had found. you grabbed the door handle and went inside. you knew nell kept a record of most things. she would want you to do what you could with it to save as many people as you could. you tried to ignore nell’s body on the floor, not wanting to see her like that. you took a look around the room, opening the drawers to try and find anything that would help. you thought you heard a drawer open behind you, and you turned to see one open in a chest of drawers just across the room. you looked around, suddenly getting cold. you walked over to the open drawer, pulling out a diary. there was a page folded over towards the back, and when you opened it up, it was a list of names. nell was directing the play. everybody’s names were here, along with what they were doing or providing for the play. harrison beckett was on script modernisation, piper sawyer on costuming, nell wystan directing. there were a lot more names on the list, covering everything from lighting to casting. there didn’t seem to be any kind of a pattern to the victims.

sam noticed you were gone after a couple of minutes, calling out your name and bursting into the room, startling you. “sorry, i-i thought you were in danger. what’s that?” he takes a couple steps towards you, not stopping until your arms were touching.

“nell made a list. it’s everyone working on the play… i think she’s still here, sam. she opened the drawer for me.” sam rubbed your back in comfort.

“there’s no way we can protect all of these people… we need to find out where evelyn is buried.”

“to do what?”

“ghosts are only tethered to the earth’s plane if their bones are still here. so, we’re gonna salt and burn her bones. that’ll burn her ghost too.”

you took a deep breath, nodding your head and opening sam’s bag to put nell’s diary inside. “okay, let’s go.”

it had just gotten dark when you left the motel, anonymously calling in nell’s passing beforehand.

“couple of ground rules before you set foot inside this car, okay? no eating in the car. no scratching the seats. driver picks the music. got it?”

“i don’t even have any food, dean.” you snark, earning a chuckle from sam.

“get in the car.” dean retorted. you smiled, opening the back door and sliding over to the middle. “alright. where’s the nearest cemetery?”

you gave dean directions from the backseat, shortly pulling into ashwood cemetery.

“y/n, maybe it’s not a good idea you come with us. maybe you should wait here. it’s not safe.” sam turned to you in the backseat, his voice soft and concerned.

“i’m coming, sam.” you opened the back door and stepped out, dean following after you and handing you a flashlight.

you spent the next twenty minutes searching the cemetery before you finally found evelyn’s headstone. “she’s here.” you bent down, coming level with her headstone. “i’m sorry. i know you don’t want to be doing this either.”

sam heard your words as he made his way over to you, and his gaze softened. you felt so much, and he wondered if you could feel so much for him, too, over time.

“alright. let’s get going before miss fletcher here catches wind.” dean grabs his shovel and starts digging, switching with sam halfway through.

you watched as sam dug, sweat beading on his forehead and dirt speckled on his face. he had taken off his hoodie and was wearing a long sleeved t-shirt underneath, the sleeves rolled halfway up and leading into view his arm muscles which contracted each time the shovel hit the soil.

the shovel hit the wood, and you half expected to see the apparition of evelyn appear immediately, try and stop this from happening. you stayed alert, but even as sam climbed out of the hole, doused the bones in salt and set them alight, she was nowhere to be found.

“it just me or did that seem a bit too easy to you?” dean questioned, grabbing the shovel from sam to recover the grave. you hated to say it, but you felt the same. but that should be it. you burned the bones, there was nothing else to do.

the next day, it was back to work. it seemed a little mundane compared to what you had been doing the day before, but you had rent to pay, after all.

the bell rung over top of the door, alerting you that someone was there as you were cleaning one of the tables. you begun your regular welcome greeting, turning around and coming eye to eye with sam. “oh, hey! i thought you guys would’ve skipped town already.”

“without saying goodbye? definitely not. i spoke to dean and.. we don’t have any jobs lined up so, we’re going to stay, at least until the festival in a couple days.”

“really?” you tried to hide your smile but it was far too bright, and he matched it straight away.

you and sam had spent the past couple of days getting to know each other, talking for hours on end. sam and dean had found another motel to hole up at, as raven’s rest was now an active crime scene, and you were spending most of your time there too.

before you knew it, it was the day of the festival. nell had already prepared everything for the play, piper’s costumes had already been donated, and mr barrett had already completed the script, so everything was going ahead just as normal.

dean had already gone off by himself two minutes after arriving, leaving you and sam alone. you took a walk together through the stalls, enjoying each others company. you weren’t sure what the future held for the two of you… but you were convinced that if you had the chance, you two could become something.

“sam…”

“yeah?” the both of you stopped walking, turning to face each other. you were interrupted by a loud announcement over the speakers: the play was about to begin.

“never mind, it can wait. shall we go and watch? it’ll be nice to see all of nell’s hard work.” you offered your hand, which he gladly took and you both walked over to the stage.

the first half of the play went perfectly, but you noticed a difference in the way the lead held herself after a couple acts. her entire demeanour changed. “sam…” you started, interrupted by the bulbs around the stage, on the stalls and all around the festival beginning to smash. “oh no.”

“can ghosts possess humans?”

“yeah, if they get angry enough. do you think…”

“yeah. definitely. but we burnt the bones!”

“y/n… didn’t you say that piper sawyer had an antique store? and she donated the costumes? what’s the betting the costume is the same one evelyn wore when she died?”

“i don’t think piper would have let anybody wear an antique dress.. they’re a lot more fragile than her other antiques. she provided costuming for the last couple plays and i’m pretty sure both of those were newer costumes she made herself. but she did use a few genuine antiques, i remember someone talking about the antique jewellery used in the performance last year.” you turned your attention to evelyn, using the body of the lead actress in the play. there was a locket around her neck. “the locket, look!”

“what if that’s not it? and how the hell are we gonna get close?” sam grabs onto you instinctively as evelyn shouts out the lines of the play, something about an eye for an eye, and suddenly the missing eyes made sense. sam held you close as the wind picked up, looking around for his brother. “dean! where the hell is he?”

your mind was racing, as you watched evelyn eyeing the next victim. malcolm everett, the sound guy. “we gotta stop her.” evelyn was preoccupied with malcolm, and you might have enough time to grab the locket. you knew sam would never let you go if he knew what you were about to do. you pushed away from sam, enough for him to lose his grip but not enough to hurt him. and then you started running in the direction of the stage.

“y/n? y/n stop! hey! you’re gonna get hurt!” sam started straight after you, but you ran track in high school, and you were pretty fast. you ran up the side steps, but evelyn had already caught wind of what you were doing. you leaped forward, your hand outstretched and you ripped the necklace from her neck just in time for evelyn to throw you across the venue, your back hitting one of the stalls and taking the wind out of you.

“y/n!” sam froze, before forcing one foot in front of the other as he ran over to you, dodging all the festival goers who had realised this was not in fact part of the show and were now fleeing. he didn’t know if you were okay, and if you weren’t he just couldn’t handle it. not after jess.

you were cut and bruised as some of the wood from the stall had shattered, but in general you were okay, and you still had the locket in your hand.

you tried to stand up, but you were still getting your breath back. sam’s hand was on your face as soon as he reached you, checking you over for injuries and pulling you into his chest in a tight embrace. “i cannot believe you did that. you got hurt and it could’ve been ten times worse!” he tried to read your face to see if you were in pain, he tried to hide it but he was terrified.

“don’t talk about that right now, just this.” you weakly held up the locket, handing it to sam. “burn it, quick. i can’t.” you didn’t have the strength yet and there was no time to waste. sam took the locket from you and threw it into a bonfire at the centre of the festival. if this didn’t work, he didn’t know what you could do.

there was a beam of light as evelyn was thrown from the lead actress’ body, and you watched as her spirit set alight. while you were thankful that this had worked… you couldn’t help but feel deep sorrow for evelyn. all she wanted was justice, her soul was angry, but it was angry for the wrong people. you wished there was another way, but there wasn’t. sam was back at your side in a flash, taking hold of your hands and supporting you as you stood up.

dean ran over just a few moments later, panting and taking a moment to catch his breath. “what’d i miss?”

“and where the hell were you?”

“i was just taking care of something.”

“you were with a girl, weren’t you?”

“no! ..okay, yes. but that ghost totally possessed my date in the first half and knocked me out!”

“oh, convenient.”

sam and dean bickered for a few more minutes before dean told sam he would be at the nearest bar and that he could drive the impala back to the motel, throwing him the keys as he spoke and leaving you both alone again.

your lower leg was injured from the fall, and sam put his arm around you to support you. he could tell the pain on your face even with the support, so he stood in front of you, bending down. “get on my back, i’ll carry you to the car.”

“are you sure?”

“you’re hurt, y/n. please let me do this.” you jumped onto his back and he lifted you with ease, careful not to touch the injured part of your leg. “does that hurt?”

“not anymore than walking did.” you wrapped your arms around his neck. this was nice, but you didn’t like not being able to see him.

sam walked you both over to the car and put you down gently to open the car door. you sat down in the passenger seat and he sat down in the drivers seat before starting up the car and driving back to the motel.

when you got back to the motel room, you sat down on the bed and sam grabbed a first aid kit from his bag to patch you up. you had a cut just below your right eye from a wood splinter, and sam grabbed an alcohol wipe to clean it up first. “this might hurt, okay?” you winced in pain at the feeling, and sam flinched a little, not wanting to cause you any pain, but, it had to be cleaned up. he pat the area dry before placing a few steri-strips over it. your eyes locked on his as he worked, concern written all over his face. after a few moments, his eyes wandered to meet yours. there was a moment of silence, to the point you could’ve heard a pin drop, and sam brought his hand up to rest on your cheek. before you knew it, his lips met yours in a sweet, tender kiss. he still held your cheek, so soft it was like he was afraid he might break you. your lips parted but your faces stay close to each other, eyes remaining closed for a matter of seconds to relish in the moment. “was that… okay?” sam asked, not wanting to make you uncomfortable.

“of course it was okay.” you closed the distance between your lips again, and sam’s other hand raised to comb itself into your hair, his other hand moving from your cheek to rest on your waist. the kiss was short and sweet again, neither of you wanted to rush things.

“y/n?”

“yeah?”

“back at the festival, before the show.. you were about to tell me something.”

“oh.. yeah. i’ve been thinking… and today really made up my mind… can i… come with you?” your life these past few days had been some of the best in your life. sure, there was danger but… at the end of it you had truly done something. you had saved lives, and you truly felt like you had a purpose. a purpose more than making coffee.

“are you sure that’s what you want? i don’t want to put you in danger.”

“it’s my choice, sam. and i want to do it. i know there’s danger, i don’t mind. i want to do this. and i… i want to be with you, too.”

sam placed a kiss to your forehead, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“if you’re sure.”

“i’m sure.”

comments, feedback etc always appreciated! thank you for reading!

[marlynnofmany]

Decoy

Zhee stopped abruptly on the raised pathway, making one of many bug-alien hisses. This one was quiet and annoyed. The annoyed part didn’t narrow things down much for me, since he found many things irritating and wasn’t shy about telling the world about it (whichever world we were on at the time), but the quietness seemed significant.

I was glad I hadn’t bumped into him, and not just because he had the package we were supposed to deliver strapped to his back. (I’d volunteered to hold the thing, but he insisted that I keep my hands free since I only had two feet and was that much more likely to fall into the swamp. I’d wanted to argue that, but didn’t).

“What’s wrong?” I asked in an undertone.

“Them,” Zhee hissed, peering around a tower of sprouting plants and decaying wood that had once been a massive tree. The path curved off in that direction, blocked from view.

I crept forward for a look. Voices murmured. Then something splashed, and people were complaining loudly.

There on the path ahead of us were three Mesmers, all varying shades of gem-bedecked green to Zhee’s purple, waving their pincher arms about in irritation while a Frillian stood to one side with a fancy hovercart full of supplies and a long-suffering expression. The water rippled next to a half-submerged log. I wondered if one of them had thrown something or if a local creature had jumped in. Two of the Mesmers were holding bits of tech that I didn’t recognize from a distance.

Zhee was still hissing. “Why are they here, of all places? Blocking my way instead of getting on each other’s nerves literally anywhere else?”

“Who are they?” I asked. They hadn’t spotted us yet, busy as they were with complaining more than Zhee ever did.

“Rich idiots from my hatching year,” he grumbled. “They are not going to make this interaction pleasant.”

I looked around the swamp, with all its murky water and sparse trees. “We can’t really go around, can we?” The walkway was the only sign of civilization. While it was plenty wide for people to pass each other, even with hovercarts, it was the only one in eyesight. There weren’t even stepping stones.

“No,” Zhee said. “Wading through the water wouldn’t do us any good; we’d still be in sight.”

“I’m not even sure it’s shallow enough to wade through,” I said, eyeballing the water. It had all manner of algae and alien moss floating in it.

“It is,” Zhee told me. “I’ve delivered here before. But they’ll see us either way.”

“What are they even doing?” I asked. It seemed too much to hope that they’d just leave if we waited a few minutes.

Zhee jabbed a pincher into the soft bark of the stump. “Nature photography. Looking for rare specimens with their expensive cameras. Probably on the trail of a Shrieking Tatterwing or Hooting Fungus.”

“There’s a fungus that hoots?”

Zhee angled his antennae into a frown at me. “It’s an animal. Just looks like fungus.”

“Got it.”

Neither of us moved for a moment, just watching the trio of spangly birdwatchers and their assistant who probably wasn’t paid enough to deal with them. They really did argue a lot. As far as I could tell, the three of them were having two different debates at once: whose fault it was that the water creature had fled, and whether the glimpse of a wingbeat in the distance was worth leaving the path to investigate.

That gave me an idea. “Hey, are they likely to go off after a sound they haven’t heard before? Or something they can’t quite place?”

Zhee gave me a look. “Are you thinking of imitating an animal call from your planet?”

“Yeah. Either verbally or—” I leaned over the water to pluck something like a blade of grass from a spray of plantlife. “I can make a pretty sharp bird call with this.”

Zhee’s alien face regarded me, tilting slightly. “How?”

“Like this.” I stretched it taut between my thumbs, in the way I’d learned to do as an outdoorsy kid. There was just enough of a gap between my knuckles. With all my fingers spread wide, I blew through the gap, and it made a piercing shriek that could have been a bird.

The Mesmers looked around; Zhee and I shrank back out of sight. I adjusted the grass and tried again, this time getting a warbly call that sounded like a duck with a stuffy nose.

When I held my silence, I heard a heated debate over what kind of creature had made the sounds, and whether they came from the same one or two different beasts. But the argument wrapped up quickly with the reminded that they really were here to find a Hooting Fungus.

“Knew it,” Zhee said.

“This is worth a shot, then.” I let the grass flutter to the pathway and laced my fingers together into another childhood favorite. With my hands cupped around nothing and as airtight as I could make them, I again blew into the gap between my thumbs, this time just the top half. The air circled through into a satisfying hoot.

They got very excited at that.

“I told you! I caught a glimpse over there!”

“It sounded like it came from more over this way; it must have moved!”

“Hurry, before it moves farther out!”

Two splashes, then a third, and I was grinning in delighted surprise at Zhee. The quiet burble of a hover engine reached my ears as the Frillian took the sensible route off-road after them.

After a few moments, we peeked around the stump. There they went, off into the murk, complaining and shushing each other and aiming their cameras upward. Soon enough they were out of sight behind more trees.

Zhee stepped forward. “Well,” he said. “That was shockingly successful.”

“You’re welcome,” I said happily.

We strolled along the empty pathway, with plenty of time to get our delivery there in time.

Zhee said, “You should make those noises on the ship when no one’s watching. See if they think an animal got in.”

I looked at him in amusement. “You’re only saying that because you already know what it is.”

“Yes,” he said haughtily, which made me laugh.

“I’ll consider it,” I said, already thinking about what other animal calls I could bring out when my alien crewmates least expected.

~~~

The ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book. More to come! And I am currently drafting a sequel!

[lightseoul]

cw. gn!reader, flighty!reader, reader works in forensics, prohero!katsuki, aged up (around mid 20s)

a/n. this was fun to write lmao. this is definitely not self-indulgent :0 again, would surely appreciate reblogs and comments <3

You’re a runner.

And no, not in the dystopian, getting-out-of-a-manmade-maze sense.

You run from feelings.

And that happens to include the kind when someone gets a little bit too close for comfort.

But you also do run in the literal sense.

In fact, you just did.

Panting, you round the next corner of your office building’s hallway, what was once a sprint (at least, the type that was possible in a crowded skyscraper in Tokyō) now faltering into a light jog.

Huffing, you chance a peek behind your shoulder, a sigh wracking your body when you conclude that the man of the hour is finally out of sight.

“What’s up with you?”

The man’s red-headed best friend quirks an amused eyebrow at you when you halt at the sound, startled.

He slows down in his steps as he appraises the mess that you currently are; from the looks of it, he’s heading in the direction you’re desperately trying to run away from, and for a split second, you’re half your mind to drag him with you to the elevator and vanish before the man could spot the both of you.

Why the fuck are you acting like this?

“I—Was just wanting to—” At this point, you’re severely out of breath. And you’d chalk it up to the physical exertion you definitely aren’t used to, but you know it’s more than that.

The warmth of your cheeks seems to suggest that, too.

“Hold up.”

You look up at Kirishima, one hand still on your hip to help keep you upright despite the exhaustion.

He tilts his head. “Aren’t you supposed to be in a meeting with Bakubro?”

Even just the mention of his name triggers your fight-or-flight response.

It also happens to send a flood of longing right through you.

“Yeah,” you rasp, before checking over your shoulder again. Coast: still clear.

“What are you—” Kirishima starts, eyebrows pinched in confusion, before what looks like realization and amusement flash across his features.

“Did he—”

“Yeah,” you cut him off before he could say it.

Apparently, being confessed to out of the blue by the man you’ve been in love with for a year cuts your sentence-formation capabilities to not more than one worded ones at a time.

Just as you expected, worry dances its way across Kirishima’s face.

“Are you running away from him?”

You choke on your spit.

“Hey, easy, Y/N,” Kirishima says while awkwardly rubbing your back as you cough your lungs out.

You stand upright when you finally gather your bearings, ready to explain, or attempt to explain to Kirishima (but more to yourself) why you just fled the meeting room where you and Bakugou were discussing the forensics of his new case.

It’s not like you didn’t see it coming.

The feelings, not the outright confession.

Midoriya, Kirishima, and his other friends have made it pretty obvious with their background teasing that the emotionally constipated blonde has taken a particular interest in you.

(Background because the aforementioned blonde would indubitably kill them if he found out they were teasing you, let alone about him.)

You just couldn’t bring yourself to believe it and hell—start to hope—until a while ago, when the Bakugou Katsuki himself slammed his fist on the table, spitting out the three words you’ve been dreaming to hear from him since you first worked on that gory ass mission together.

Well, four. If you count the curse slotted among the ‘I like you’.

But as it turns out, the reality of it all—Bakugou’s vulnerability, mutual feelings, and possibly dating a Pro Hero—scared you.

And so you ran.

And you were about to confess all this to poor Kirishima when a booming voice echoes through the hallway, effectively triggering your (definitely) flight response once more.

At that, you bolt to the elevators, leaving behind a speechless Kirishima.

Luckily for you, Bakugou has always been good at chasing what he wants.

[gabessquishytum]

I keep seeing all these ideas where Dream is famous and I wanna take it a step farther. With Dream being rockstar famous, and known for his wild temper and deeply chaotic life, he gets approached by a large Hollywood studio to star in a new reality television show. It would be him, his new manager and husband Hob, their teenage sons and a revolving door of friends, neighbors and family. They'll move him out of his posh Soho flat and into a luxury mansion in Beverly Hills. All he needs to do is sign on the dotted line.

Dream obviously thinks it's stupid. After all, he's a pretty private guy and a right asshole at times and he doesn't think he'll make good television. But Hob disagrees. It's been forever since Dream's name was last in the papers and fans are clambering for new content. Besides, they can play up their personalities for the camera and Hob wouldn't just let them run amok in their private life.

So he agrees a bit unwillingly. That is until he finds out how fun it is to lie directly to the camera, make Desire's life hell when they guest star, and ruin production by showing them how satisfied his husband is in every room of the house.

- 🤜 anon

I love the idea of an Endless reality TV show SO MUCH!!! Can you imagine the chaos?! It'd be so brilliant.

Robyn and Orpheus are in their late teens, so old enough to enjoy occasionally popping up in an episode or two - but when filming starts they get to find out exactly how protective their dad (Hob) is over their privacy. Hob has written strict boundaries into the contract with the production company so the cameras literally can't go into certain parts of the mansion, and certainly can't film the boys without at least one guardian being present. Hob would happily take the company to court and sue if they cross any lines. The same rules apply for Delirium, who is also still quite young and occasionally likes to show up in an episode.

Meanwhile Dream is basically just having a great time doing increasingly weird things. He takes baths in oat milk, claiming that its been part of his routine for years. He puts a really terrible fake tattoo on his upper thigh and walks around showing it off like it's real. He does "vocal exercises" with Orpheus as part of his "art" and Orpheus spends the whole time trying not crack up while Dream makes these awful noises.

And of course, who would forget -

Hob, holding a tiny pig: Dream Endless, come to the foyer... I have a little gift for you

Dream: oh my god is that a chicken?!

Plus the amount of times the camera has caught Hob looking thoroughly wrecked... in the kitchen covered in hickies, with his pants down in the pool area, black lipstick smeared all over his face in the bathroom... so many bits of footage have had to be cut because Dream will just drop to his knees wherever and start trying to suck Hob’s dick. He's famous, he can do what he wants!

The show is, of course, a hit. Much to Desire's chagrin. Although they are secretly hoping to get a spinoff show out of this - hopefully one where they get to slap the smug smile off Dream’s annoying face...

[talesofesther]

under the sunlight

Summary: After 200 years of darkness, Astarion feels the sun on his skin again.

A/N: It's been quite a long while since I've enjoyed a game the way I'm enjoying BG3, a feeling I've missed all too much. And of course, this pretty, charming boy has secured his place in my heart fairly quickly. I love him, he deserves all the warmth and softness in the world. And this is a moment I've been wanting to visualize for a while. So, here's a small drabble about Astarion's first time back in the sunlight.

Requests for Astarion are open, if anyone wants more of him here. <3

Masterlist

The world around him smelled like smoke and burnt flesh, the air stung as it ghosted over his dry lips. Dust and remains of rubble clung to his skin, his body felt heavy and sore all over. Each movement more painful than the last, for seconds that felt like hours.

The pale elf didn't know how it happened, all he knew was that the mind flayer ship he had been trapped in had started to fall, and fall, and fall; until it crashed, and he crashed with it. He also had no idea how he had survived, but he wasn't about to complain.

A deep groan escaped Astarion as he steadily regained consciousness. He kept his eyes clenched shut, a headache pounding his head and making him wince.

He scratched the dirt and grass beneath him, grounding himself. His muscles complained as he slowly started to push himself up, and as he tried opening his eyes, a hiss fell past his lips and he blinked several times. Squinting, he tried to adjust his sight to the bright sunlight.

He stilled. Hand frozen midair as he was about to shake the dust off his hair.

Sunlight.

Moving faster than he probably should, given his state, the vampire crawled backward until his back hit the trunk of a tree. His skin only partially hidden from the warm glow.

He tucked his knees closer to his chest, eyes wide as he watched the soft slivers of sunlight that sneaked between the leaves dance on the tip of his fingers. With a trembling hand, he gingerly curled a finger around one strip of sunlight, as if the light would bend its rules for him to hold it.

Sharp fangs dug into his lower lip, scratching and drawing a drop of his own blood. There was a tightness in his chest, clawing at his throat; whether it was fear or hope he didn't know. Maybe a bit of both.

A soft breeze flew by, carrying away the stench of smoke and bringing a distinct perfume, no doubt from the berry bushes nearby. The skies cleared, welcoming, beckoning him under.

With his palm up, Astarion eyed the stripe of sunlight resting on his hand. The soft glow had a gentle warmth to it, kissing his pale skin ever so tenderly. It was enough to blur his sight, tears brimming on the bottom lid of his eyes.

Could it be?

Wobbling in his stance, feet unsteady, Astarion pushed himself up. He took one, and then two steps forward—resembling a wild cat walking into a cozy home, after sleeping countless nights out in cold streets.

When the warm light of the sun embraced him—without pain, without burning—a quiet whimper fell past his lips, and Astarion closed his eyes. He angled his chin up to the sky, pleading for the sun's attention. For it to kiss his cheeks and dry the drops of blood on his clothes. For it to shine on his silver hair and warm up his cold skin.

He blinked his eyes open, lower lip trembling when his sight was temporarily blinded by the light. He looked around him, to the bright greenery and the blue skies and the mountains far away.

It was so warm. After 200 years of cold nights. He felt so warm.

Tears fell down pale cheeks, glimmering, under the sunlight.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment. <3

You do not have permission to repost, copy, or translate my works on any platforms (even with credit), please respect.

Astarion’s taglist: @milkiane @v1ci0us

[getinthefuckingjaeger]

the problem with Scamanders

for @jakes3resin (you did a lot, my turn for presents now)

“You could have written, you know.” 

Bucky’s legs stopped as though glued to the cobbled street of the little village he found himself wandering that night. His shoulders fell back along with his head, neck tilted almost painfully to the night sky as he heaved a great sigh. Christ and Merlin, here we fucking go.

He stayed stubbornly still, ignoring the crick in his neck the longer he tilted his head like that. It's not a bad view - an explosion of stars in the night sky fills his eyes in the absence of a German air raid. The shops in the highstreet of this unassuming village in Ipswich are all asleep around him. Thin fog that isn't really a fog flows languidly between his military-shine boots before climbing his legs like vines to a tree. The magic is warm like sunshine and soft as a caress when it touches Bucky’s hands. He flexed his fingers to disperse the white wisps and tuck them into his trousers pockets. 

He still absolutely refuses to budge. No, sir. 

“Merlin, you’re still as stubborn as a Hippogriff, aren’t you Johnny?” A low chuckle cuts through the otherwise quiet night and Bucky can hear the sounds of expensive Oxfords getting closer to where he stands, until there is a wall of flesh and magic by his side, a firm shoulder pressing against his. “Come on, then. Give us a smile.” 

Bucky grimaces at the sky. Looks down at his feet with another sigh. Then looks to his side, and into a face so much like his own. 

With wizards' lifespan as long as it is, the face Bucky sees had barely aged from the last time he saw it. The same gold skin tanned by Quidditch, the same dark mahogany curls falling from its coiffed hairstyle and hanging over the same dark blue eyes - almost navy in the darkness.

But where there’s an absence in signs of age, there is stark evidence of war on that familiar face. Bucky notes the discolored scars peppering the left side of the man’s face like something exploded too close for comfort, the way his nose sits a little crooked like it was set-wrong and far too late to rectify, and - Bucky paused a moment to stare - a thin, barely visible line that runs from under his left ear to his adam’s apple. 

Familiar aftershave fills his lungs, reminding him of a childhood on a vast estate and the summer sun warming his back, as he paddles through cool sparkling waters of the massive fountain on the cul de sac of their mansion’s driveway. He can almost hear his aunt’s exasperated complaints and boisterous laughter of his cousin and uncles, the sounds of struggle as his father tried to push Newt off his perch on the edges of the marble fountain. 

That was another life, then.

“Auror Scamander, sir.” Bucky lets the mask of Major Egan take over as he steps away from his cousin. “Hope you’ve been well, sir.” 

Only years with Buck could ever prepare him to withstand the quiet, appraising look that Theseus is giving him. The stare weighs heavy on his chest as he looks just over Theseus’ shoulder as he would to any senior officer in the USAAF.  Theseus, damn the man, tilts his head just so and catches Bucky’s eyes - his smile is tired, resigned. 

“I’ve been better - the ah, hunt keeps me on my toes, so to speak.” Bucky watches as Theseus tugs lightly at his coat and white silk scarf. “Newt sends his regards, as does Tina - he also sends his thanks, for looking after Frank the... Thunderbird?” 

Bucky and Theseus share a commiserating look, the first one in almost a decade since Bucky was sent back. It wasn’t a chore to disapparate from Texas to the deserts of Arizona after lights out a few times a month. Certainly one of the most rewarding things he’s ever voluntarily done, to be able to run his hands over the beak of such a majestic creature. It’s through Frank that Bucky realizes the calm that one can find sitting in the middle of a literal storm as the massive avian flies over his head. 

I fell in love with the big birds, Buck told him once. Bucky had agreed, but couldn’t explain that his big bird is a little more literal than Gale’s. And that it creates thunderstorms when it flies. 

The glint of Theseus’ cufflinks pulls Bucky away from desert storms and back into the cold English night air. The Scamander crest twinkles under the starlight like a taunt. Bucky didn’t even realize Theseus had put out all the street lights. Goddamn aurors. 

He moves to a parade rest to remind himself of who and where he is now - that he’s no longer just John Egan, cousin of Newton and Theseus Scamander, the three remaining Scamander. 

“Why haven’t you written, Johnny?” Theseus remains a respectable distance from him, but Bucky can tell how much he’s probably itching to shake him by the shoulders in frustration. “Years of silence from you and your mother’s family in Wisconsin. Newt tried to look for you when he’s stateside, but you’re always never there. It's like you vanished - if Frank hadn’t hinted at it, or if your likeness weren't still moving on the family tapestry we’d have thought you dead.” 

Bucky tenses just as Theseus rocks back on his heels like the weight of his anger was a physical thing. 

“What was it all for then, if we thought you died, too?” 

It plays out like a picture reel in Bucky’s head - him, at eight years old with his right hand in Theseus’ left as they walk down the carpeted floor of the Scamander ancient mansion. 27, a war hero, as tall as the suit of armors that used to dot the hallways and the greatest wizard he’s ever known. Then there was Newt, only a year younger than Theseus, his figure painted in hues of red, purple, and green from the large stained glass windows - Bucky can still recall Newt’s excited chatter about all the wonderful creatures on the estate and the Hippogriffs that Aunt Artemis has in her enclosure. 

Then Bucky, at thirteen years old and shaking with barely suppressed excitement as he clutched his shiny new broomstick that Theseus gave him for Christmas. The grand bubble of joy that buoyed him through the entire afternoon of flying lessons with Theseus, half the family sitting on picnic blankets spread over snow covered grounds, the fabric charmed to be warm and dry. The lightness he felt as he shot himself across the estate grounds despite Theseus’ yelling is something he has tried time and time again to recreate as his fort lifts-off. 

And finally at eighteen, once again walking down the carpeted floor of the Scamander mansion. Alone, at night, confused and hurting. Aunt Artemis had gone to town that autumn morning with his parents but none returned. Newt has disappeared - likely on another errand for Dumbledore - and he has never seen Theseus so angry as he threw Aurors, his own colleagues, out of their parlor. 

The subsequent argument he had with Theseus - just the memory of it brings him shame of how it inevitably ended. 

“You need to go, Johnny - Grindelwald is hunting us down.”

“I can fight, T - I’m of age!” 

“I know, I know, you can. I just can’t allow you - think of the family, Johnny. Grindelwald will try to kill you and Newt to get to me, and I can’t protect both of you at once.”

“Fine, I get it. Can’t trust the half-blood to take care of himself, huh?” 

“You said I needed to go and I did what you told me to.” 

Bucky drops the parade rest and shoves his hands in his pockets where Theseus cant see how they shake. Un-fucking-believeable that he’s flown multiple missions, have survived so many things he shouldn’t up there where hell resides above the clouds, but his hands have never shaken like this. Not once. “I had a lot of time to think and I realized - as much as I fucking hated it- you couldn’t afford distractions.”

“It’s not like that-”

Bucky shakes his head and shuffles in his boots. He itches for a cigarette. “I ain’t saying that to be an ass, T. I understand that now more than ever - this war I’m fighting… it puts things in perspective.” 

“I see.”

And Theseus does see - Bucky holds his gaze for as long as he can stand. He kicks a loose stone and it skids neatly over to Theseus’ toes. His cousin nudged the stone back to Bucky. They share a grin. “How bad is it, your end?” He falls back into parade rest, puts away John Egan who was once Mr. Scamander to his peers in Hogwarts, and brings Major Egan to the forefront once again. 

“As well as it is going for yours, I’d imagine Major.” Theseus, always the best one out of the three Scamander scions at reading people, adjusts his posture from soft and imploring, to hard and imposing. Demanding respect, like the Head of the British Auror Office. He pursed his lips in thought. “You may want to properly practice your wandless magic, Major Egan. I’ll take care of MACUSA and the Ministry.”

Bucky splutters. He thinks of an alder wand that used to be an extension of himself and how the yoke of his B-17 can never replace that kind of power.

“How do you expect me to do that, sir?” He grits out. Easy, John, easy now the Buck in his head soothes his ire. “Between the suicide missions and trying to keep everyone’s head on straight - how the fuck do you expect me to do that, sir?” 

“You’ll figure it out, Major.” It came out like an order. Theseus’s lips quirked. “You apparrated from one state to another back in your Muggle flight school, didn’t you? Apparating from London tonight must have been a breeze. Power like that needs tending to. Particularly when you have talent for wandless casting.” 

“With all due respect, sir, but last I checked you’re not my CO - you ain’t even an American, so you can kindly shove-”

“Do it for Major Cleven and your boys, then.” 

The ensuing silence rings through Bucky’s head as the streetlights come back up one by one. Theseus’ hard look softens just a touch as he walks backwards and away from Bucky.  

“I heard your boys are flying a mission tomorrow morning - Bremen again, I think - arresto momentum and subtle shielding charms will do.” Theseus winks, then apropos of nothing, said “I’ll come round’ for tea.”

That broke through Bucky’s bewildered suspension, but not fast enough to stop Theseus from disapparating with a soft pop. 

“Goddamn wizards.” 

Bucky spun and disapparate just as the last streetlight returned.

[axonthegoat]

Four isn't exactly sure what he was excepting when he stepped through the strange portal, but hero's from across time certainly wasn't it, Although he had never once met any of these people two of them, or maybe just one? had one of the colors feeling so emotional about it, even he could feel it, which was...odd to say the least, though maybe Vio had been on a adventure similar to this? While all of the others had wrote of the adventures and stories of them being split, that one big 5th adventure that had the colors separated, Vio never wrote of his, or at least with the intention for Four to read of it as he never came across such a book amongst the shelves of that strange place in the sacred realm.

He could feel the need to split getting stronger and stronger, as he finished setting his stuff up in his little corner of the Camp, taking a look around, tail tip flicking slightly he noticed they were running low on wood, good that can be his excuse to get away then, With a nod to himself Four sheaved the four sword and called out to the rest

"Hey! were running low on wood for the fire, I'm going to go collect some!" Four called out though the second tallest Link, Warrior he believes he went with, was quick to call after him, "Take someone with you! The dangers of this adventure are still unknown, and it would be best to not get caught off guard!" as the captain called back Four halted, blinking a few time's he just huffed but nodded, turning to look over the other hero's he now travels with. It took but a moment for his eyes to land on Legend, a prickly veteran hero, who's been keeping an eye on Four since they met, although Four was sure it was because he's a tiefling, the spawn of a demon, naturally a hero would be wary of such a person, but something tugs at him to go up to him, something tugs at him to call out to Legend.

and seeing as how that...something, smells of moonlit bark and underbrush, Four decides to trust that feeling and approached where Legend was chatting with Hyrule,

"Hey" Four called out as he approached the two, both looking over at him, Hyrule smiled a bit, though it was tense, while legend just watched him "as much as I'd like to disagree, Warrior's is right, wanna come with me to get wood?" Four questioned nodding at Legend, who...looked a bit startled.

Hyrule also looked surprised, but before he could protest, Legend had stood up and grabbed his sword, walking off towards the tree line from the clearing they had made, "Sure, i could stretch my legs a bit anyway" he hummed, a strange look in his eye as he passed Four, with a nod to Hyrule Four chased after Legend.

It was.....tense and silent as the two walked, the need to split only getting stronger and stronger, this time it feels less like the colors all getting pent up and needing to stretch, but more that one of them was trying to force their way through, for a moment, Legend looked as though he wanted to say something, as Four quite literally fell apart, the colors went tumbling swears and groans of pain as Vio scrambled to his feet and over his brothers

the purple clad hero beelined for, a startled bunny looking Legend, pushing himself up to grab Legend's face and pull him down, Vio turned Legends face from side to side a bit, concern etched across his features, finally speaking up, ignoring his brothers protests

"Goodness....Kit it really is you...." Vio trailed off, lightly squeezing Legend's face, Legend himself was wide eyed and almost disbelieving as he looked up into Vio's face, slowly falling to his knees, a breathily whispered "Brother?" that had Vio pulling the taller man into a tight hug, Legend to the other colors surprise, buried his face in Vio's chest, the other colors were shocked into silence, paused in their attempts to move out of the pile that had formed from Vio forcing a split. The color in question just choked out a laugh, lightly headbutting the top of Legends head, "Stars, it only feels like its been a year since I last saw you, and yet look at how big you've gotten! and so many scars too? my just how many more times have you had to save hyrule since we parted ways?" Vio laughed a little, rubbing his hand down Legends head, Legend gripped Vio tightly, just shaking his head a small bit, but not saying a word, Vio just sighed, tail curling around their brother, ear flicking in the direction of their other brothers, "go on ahead and get some wood and enjoy your time split, I think I'll be...here catching up" Vio hummed, and although their brothers have many questions, they simply moved away heading off for their own things, they'll get their explanation later, so for now, they left Vio and Legend alone, giving them a chance to catch up from how ever they may have known each other

[yes-these-obsessions-are-healthy]

Just struck me that I still don’t know whether the Veil should be taken down or not.

For ten years, I’ve read Solavellan stories of Lavellan fighting tooth and nail to prevent the Veil from coming down. These stories were from the very reasonable perspective that “What’s done is done. Modern Thedas has problems just as the Pre-Veil world did. You need to let go of your regrets and live with the consequences. You can make change here and now in the present.” In pretty much every Solavellan story that tackles this topic of Past v. Present, Lavellan is using her political influence to secure serious change for elves and greater protections for the Dalish especially. These stories are not in favor of preserving the abusive status quo. Rather, Lavellan convinces Solas that his place is at her side teaching the elves the truth of the gods and the past and using his Wisdom to change hearts and minds as he always wished.

There’s also the obvious “Why are you risking the mass deaths of all these people? Is there really no way to take down the Veil safely? Safely-er???”

But for people who want the Veil to be taken down, the arguments can be summarized as the Veil being the status quo, and its continued existence is perpetuating it. The world was meant to be magical; the Veil must be undone to bring the world back to what it normally was. The elves deserve their power and magic back, etc. etc. One could argue that Solas keeping the veil up is him still bound to his past decisions, and worse, folding to the pressure of the status quo and betraying his role of rebeller.

The biggest point of contention for me is that it is not made clear in the slightest what exactly will happen if the Veil is taken down, and while I’m all for the destruction of oppressive systems, when it comes to something like literal MAGIC, I feel like I’m well within my right to be skeptical and apprehensive since Solas is pointedly vague about the specifics. In Trespasser, he says, to paraphrase “..even if this world must die”. The word die is not expounded upon. Die, how? Are we talking the abstract, metaphorical meaning of the word “die” (i.e. the French monarchy ‘died’ and a republic government was born from it), or do we mean a more visceral “die” (i.e. it’s gonna be like a nuclear reactor meltdown and people are going to keel over like they stepped into the Elephant Foot room in Chernobyl because of the sudden tsunami of magic re-entering the world), or do we mean both?

Solavellan fics have taken this to mean what is essentially a global genocide that will destroy most people, and thus the arguments with Solas over the years have been, to sum up a few examples, “You killed a world. You would kill a second world to bring back the first?” and ‘We *are* just as real as the ancient elves were. You need to accept that we are, and accept that the Elvhen empire is gone.” and “We are (elves) are not lesser than our ancestors, we are different. This world is no more broken than the one before. You had all the magic in the world and the elves used it to enslave and kill one another and tranquil the Titans. In this world we have far less access to magic and similar issues with slavery and the Chantry and Tevinter mageocracy. The suffering is just as widespread, but the magnitude is lesser by several degrees (the difference between the devastation and suffering incurred from medieval warfare v. modern warfare).”

The contention of not wanting Solas to tear down the Veil hinges on this ambiguity, and of Solas not seeing the modern elves as real or his people.

Now we can argue: “Solas is lost in the sauce of regret and more than a little blinded from culture shock and nostalgia in his motivation to tear down the veil since half of it stems from his wish to bring back the eminence and power of the ancient elves.’ —-From this we can only surmise what his intentions are here, even. Does he mean elevation and equality (elves will be more powerful but not necessarily treated as superior to the other races—separate but equal), or does he mean ‘the elves were far more powerful and superior to other races in their own way, and we are restoring that’, with the implication that, like elves in other fantasies, they’ll have powers and eminence that could overshadow the other races, and that is simply how nature intended it to be (read: sneaking in some soft social darwinist essentialism))—-‘but yes, the Veil does need to come down because the byproduct will be that elves and mages get more power’.

And beyond that resides a semi magical ecological reason: his wish to see magic and spirits meld with the world once again since that’s how it originally was. The Veil, he states, is unnatural.

What is also confusing is between Trespasser and Veilguard, Solas remains inconsistent on who “the people” are. In a memory he says “the people need me”. Veilguard makes it out like he’s somewhat quietly accepted the modern elves as his people. Probably lesser or somewhat rendered inferior by their supreme distance from the elvhen empire and their lack of magic, but still his responsibility, the living legacy of his mistakes.

I suppose the thorn in my brain is that

The ironic thing is that I’m all for the destruction of the status quo and oppressive systems so long as there’s a clear, cohesive game plan. Fucking go nuts. But when it comes to change in fictional worlds, I get really nervous, probably because most people don’t know how to write or plot out massive societal change in a way that’s believable or well-thought out since fiction can’t ever competently account for the infinite fractals of perspective and experience under such tumultuous events. There is always going to be some glaring oversight since fiction authors are forced to cram a thousand different affected elements into a single narrative, and you will always end up with a story that either leans pro-revolution or anti-revolution, even if it’s a 51%/49% split. Someone is going to be unhappy with the argument made by the text in question. Someone is going to argue that it doesn’t account for X, Y, Z…

Where am I going with this.. Yeah I’m conflicted about the “to tear down the veil or not” because it is so wrapped up in one man’s personal emotional journey. Liberals like to inexplicably twist and weave individual stories into revolution narratives in order to 1) humanize a large abstract political movement but also 2) Use the character as a personification of the movement, with their personality and morality a direct reflection of the morality, and thus validity, of the movement.

It’s an ouroboros of logos and pathos ethos. We can sympathize with Solas because of the cause he champions. By way of literary device, our view of the cause is (deliberately or unconsciously) meant to be influenced by Solas’s personality: the face of the Rebellion and of elf emancipation, a thoughtful, somber, conflicted man with many huge blunders and misjudgments under his belt. He means well, but will his plan work? Perhaps it’s best that everything be left alone. He’s the one with the power to pull it off, but how many of his plans have backfired? This along with the aforementioned ambiguity of what will happen to the world when it’s torn down leaves us with a discordant uncertainty. We want elves to have rights, we want mages to be more free, we want spirits to not be so easily corrupted.

The writers clearly want the Veil to be kept up. It’s “the right thing to do” because tearing down the Veil will mean the “death” of modern Thedas. The fact there isn’t an outright statement of “yeah this is what will happen during this ‘death’” is used as a discouragement, but I feel like that sticking point was written in a day and age when people had fucks left to give about the system, when there was still a healthy fear of unknown risk and a preference for a theoretical scenario where change is slow, regimented, monitor-able, with casualties all but 0.

The game peddling this same fear of change in 2024 is being given to a world that is now more and more commonly scoffing at reluctance to implement systemic change for fear of the unknown. “Who cares, elves deserve rights.”

But is the world Solas is promising actually possible? He has done so many things that have resulted in disastrous, world-changing, life-ruining, unintended consequences. We simply don’t know how modern bodies will react to a sudden global influx of magic to the atmosphere, how many benign spirits will become corrupted when they’re suddenly in direct contact with mortals who are just stewing in their negative emotions that will be undoubtedly heightened by the apocalypse. There are bubbles of the Veil that act all funky and get Veil jumpers killed all the time. Those are simply bubbles.

Varric: People are dying

Solas: That’s what people do

All art is political. It all has a message. Unintended, intended, subliminal, explicit, personal, popular interpretation, weird tinfoil hattery.

The cognitive dissonance, or discomfort I feel is that Solas’s story exemplifies two simultaneous arguments: One, that you need to move on past your regret. You need to live here, now. Life is making mistakes. You may make the largest mistakes, you may work every day to atone for them, but at a certain point you need to accept that this is what life is. You can mourn, you can grieve, you can even still feel pangs of guilt and shame, but you have to be more than that, more than a martyr. Some people are not meant to be the hero. You should focus on putting good into the world now, changing it for the future, not to seek out the past.

That is a beautiful tragic sentiment, especially when the sorrow and guilt are magnified a thousand-fold by the knowledge that your actions have led to the death and suffering of so many in your sincere pursuit of protecting people. When does the sense of responsibility and duty become a spiral of self-destruction? When is the time to stop when all of your efforts make things worse and worse? Solas was a man who took action when action is clearly not in his wheelhouse because the grass is always greener for him. He cannot live with making huge pyrrhic choices because he empathizes so keenly with all sapient life and the tragedy of “what could’ve been”…

But then the second underlying argument posed by the upkeep of the Veil, if you’re Epler: Revolution is bad. Change even for a good cause is bad. Live with the shit rules you have.

idk I’m just getting my thoughts down. I guess I’m still pro- preserve the Veil solely because my personality forbids me from committing to such a choice without knowing the full list of side effects, which Solas (or maybe the writers themselves) haven’t thought out. And again it’s really weird because I don’t have these same reservations about real world social justice and progress. 😶