#its my Parasite Shirt

[briarpatch-kids]

Sometimes I wish I was my cat. This must be the LIFE:

[earlymorningfoxhunt]

Freak On a Leash

I fucking love right Darkthur so much, I've been rotating these guys in my brain for the past week. Hes wonderful, I want him dead, here's my ramblings about em:

Arthurs horribly fucked up, hes not jazzed about killing but he sees it as a tool in his arsenal + it helps that he kinda enjoys the blood lust

John gets his arm amputated because of an infection/ it being mangled and dubbed too far gone by doctors, neither can protest in their comatose state. John is half awake even with anesthesia so he feels when they start sawing through flesh and bone. his coma period is much more horrific, with Lilly being the only thing to anchor him to hope. Arthur waking up feels like a godsend.

John can still feel the residual limb and can slightly move the elbow around. when he gains control of arthurs right leg, theres a learning curve to walk, tho they adjusted after having to sprint around the island caves.

Dreamlands is where they begin to bond/Arthur sees him as a person and John feels like more than an a voice in his head. its a stained relationship but they realize they still care about each other after they escape the pits.

Arthur invokes the "do you trust me" as they reach the plateau, John says yes

Arthur hold up the dagger to his chest

"i have your fucking heart"

Hastur is flabbergasted and almost impressed that this hobbled man he threw in the pits still has fire in him.

John is freaking the fuck out.

Arthur is using both of them as a hostage to negotiate 100% of what they want. "John will be mine, you will return us home, your stupid fucking cult will leave us alone, and you will rot in the dreamlands half the king you once were. you will lose to a mortal or die along with your better half."

"you're bluffing. would you really trade your life for this parasite? Arthur Lester, you're smarter than this."

Arthur doesn't break eye contact when he plunges the dagger into his chest.

the kings tendrils fly towards him with a guttural screech.

all forward momentum stops with the weapon, less than an inch from Hasturs fluttering heart. blood pumps down his tattered dress shirt with only a sharp inhale and twitching eye to indicate pain.

a smile dusts his face "is this really time for games, king?"

"how does it feel to be beneath someone you consider lesser? I bet it stings" Hastur growls and arthur twists the knife "down boy"

"John do you really want to stay with this freak?"

John, vaguely pissed off "my dick has lead me places i wouldn't go with a gun"

kiy: oo get it white boy

john: do NOT get it white boy

[seresinhangmanjake]

Super Soft!Simon Riley x reader - You're terrified that Simon's not making safe choices when he's on deployment, so he comforts you. (fluff, allusion to future smut (barely), drunk johnny, cod inaccuracies)

Johnny recounts the tale of their hard-earned achievement—a victory, as they have deemed it—with a number of beers in his system that you’ve long stopped counting. As he sits at your kitchen table, he is looser, giddier, freer with his words, and spares no detail of your boyfriend’s selfless acts of bravery during their last deployment. Acts that got him shot at; one of those bullets finding their home.

You’d be proud of him, if not for the fear that built up over months from recurring nightmares and an overactive imagination—all of which had you losing the love of your life. But that’s not out of character. You think about yourself, you think about your boyfriend, before you think about the lives he saves when he’s away from you. Maybe it’s wrong, or unfair, but you can’t help it.

While Simon’s work is not something he ever kept secret, you don’t need the reminder that the preservation of his life is not always his priority. It can't be. There are other factors that dictate his future. He has a team, people who depend on him. He has responsibilities and orders to follow. Control is often snatched from his fingertips. And so, what does that mean for the two of you? 

You don’t care to think about it. Not tonight. Not at midnight from a friend who should have passed out on your couch hours ago. So you stretch, yawn, and excuse yourself for bed before your brain implodes from any more of Johnny’s ramblings.

Simon knows. He spent the night squeezing your hip each time you tensed in his lap at Johnny’s words, and now, as you stand to head to the bedroom, he holds onto your hand until your fingers slip from his. Deep brown eyes are filled with guilt and apology and all you can offer in return is a slight upturn of the lips that barely qualifies as a smile.

Away from the men, you cry in your and Simon’s shared bed, waiting for him to encourage Johnny to the couch. There's a few more loud laughs, a whine when Simon cuts off his friend's alcohol supply, and then a final groan of acceptance as you hear the springs of your couch squeak under the weight of a muscled body. It’s only when the animated snores of your drunk friend reach your ears that the door to your room creaks on its hinges.

Simon’s footsteps are thumps muffled by carpeting. From your peripherals you see him shed his clothes as he moves to you. Shoes, then t-shirt, then jeans, until he's in his underwear and settling onto the mattress behind you. 

His arm slips under yours around your waist and he tugs your back to his chest, into the cocoon of warmth. 

“Do you know what I thought when I first saw you?” he asks, gruff and thick. His voice rumbles from his chest, vibrating against your spine as his breath brushes your ear. “That my life is over.

“Everything I want, everything I need—none of it matters anymore. All because of one look at a woman who was too busy with her friends to notice me,” he says. “I thought, I'm ruined now. If you leave this bar right this second, I won't be able to forget you. And if you don't leave, I can't ever let you go. I didn't know your name and you had me ready to change my whole world for you.”

You sniffle but don't bother to wipe away the tear that escapes. “That's insane, Si,” you whisper.

“It is,” he agrees, pressing a kiss just under your ear. “But it happened. I let you in and you latched on to my entire existence like this beautiful, little parasite. Just like I wanted you to. My life ended and it became our life. 

“I don't take a single step without considering you. Not here and not there. So if you think I don't try to be careful when I'm gone, you're wrong,” he tells you. “I try for you. I try for us.”

Yet, ‘trying’ means he still gets injured; he gets another circular scar to add to the healed knife slashes and the burned patch on his upper arm. ‘Trying’ is not always about picking the safer of two options, but about optimizing luck, which is rare enough as it is. And that terrifies you.

“What if you step wrong not knowing that it's wrong?” you ask. “What if you think it's right and then you're gone? You can't tell me that will never happen.”

Simon sighs. “No, I can't. But you trust me, don't you?”

Turning in his arms—your nose nearly nudging his—you place your hand on his cheek and run your thumb along his cheekbone. “Of course I do.”

“Then don't mourn me while I'm still here, love,” he breathes against your lips. “Can you do that for me?”

You nod, because you’d do anything for him. 

“Good girl.” Simon smiles lightly and slides his palm from your back down the length of your arm. He squeezes your fingers, then moves further, tucking his hand into the front of your underwear. “My girl,” he whispers and presses his lips to yours.

A/N: i dont usually write different stuff but i felt like it so i did

[bigglywiggly]

How had you ended up here? Nothing more than a microbe, a speck smaller than dust, standing atop the vast, mountainous flesh of your father's mistress? All around you, pale, pliant flesh as far as the eye could see, a veritable planet of flesh, housing an immeasurable ocean of thick, frothy sea. Rumblings surrounded you, rhythmic in its sound as the very "ground" beneath your feet shook with the force of an earthquake. The baying of a godlike being, of deep, bassy sound resonating from the very environment. You couldn't understand it, but you knew it was laughing.

Your father had met her not long after your mother's unfortunate passing. She clung to him like a parasite, speaking sweet nothing's to him under her breath every time you saw them together. Wherever your father went, there she was, stuck to him like glue, making him hang on every word that escaped her mouth.

He would shower her in niceties and gifts, whatever she wanted. Cars, jewelry, lavish trips, whatever she desired, and in return, he received arm candy. She was draining his bank account before my very eyes. I tried to tell him on multiple occasions she was manipulating him, that she didn't care about him and would leave once he had nothing left to offer, but he ignored me. Accusing me of not wanting him to find happiness, yelling that he deserved to be happy after Mom passed. She had poisoned his mind, and the only way I would ever convince him of it, was with proof.

When the 2 of them left the house on one of their extravagant nights out, I snuck into her room to find anything I could to incriminate her. Thinking I had all the time in the world and would never get caught, but it seemed she was always 2 steps ahead.

I heard the door click behind me, as I turned around, there she was. Standing before me, a malevolent look in her eyes, dangerous yet somehow...sexual? As she approached me, she slowly unbuttoned her blouse, sharpening her gaze as she closed the distance. With each button, a small tidal wave of creamy flesh poured out of her top, until she undid the final button and allowed the silken shirt to fall from her frame, flaccidly.

"I-"

"Shhhh..."

She spoke to me, putting a finger to my lips, she took the back of my head, and glared into my eyes. It was as if she was piercing my soul. The room started to haze around me and all I could see was her. Lost in her eyes, I lost all track of time and actions, lost control of myself as she slowly coaxed my head down, lowering me to my knees until I was face to face with her otherworldly bosom. She traced a finger around my mouth, opening it slightly with the tip before carefully inserting into my gaping maw. I suckled in supplication at her finger as I felt a great hunger within me arise.

"Shhhh..."

She spoke again, removing her finger.

"You shouldn't be in here, sweetie. This is Mommy's room, and mommy doesn't like naughty little boys poking their noses where they don't belong. But mommy is understanding and knows when a little boy is just looking for comforting. Mommy understands and is gonna make it all better."

As the words left her most, she took her left breast in hand, feeling it's incredible mass and hefted it up, guiding a rigid pink nipple to my mouth. As it approached, I lapped at the air, begging for the nipple. This brought a crooked smirk to her face as she inserted the nub.

Like clockwork, I began to suck at it, drawing anything from the breast I could. A faint moan escaped her lips as I suckled and nibbled on the tip, hoping for something, anything to come out.

"There's a good boy. You're hungry? Well don't you worry, mommy has lots and lots for hungry little boys. Indulge to your hearts content."

In the instant she finishes that sentence, it was like the turning of a faucet. Sweet, warm milk gushed forth, filling my mouth in a second. Torrents of her sugary nectar filled my mouth over and over again, filling faster than I could gulp. At this rate, I thought the mighty breast would be empty in a matter of seconds, but something started to feel off. No matter how much I swallowed and sucked up, more and more kept coming. Filling my mouth even faster each time.

Something clicked and you finally opened your eyes. You collected your surroundings and that's when a horrifying sight came into view. Her breast. Her titanic breast was all you could see, filling your entire vision. Her nipple wasn't even in your mouth anymore, you were just sucking from one of the individual ducts. You tried to look up to meet her eyes, but you could no longer see her face past the hemisphere of her brobdingnagian tit.

In an attempt to struggle, I tried to pull back but I wouldn't budge. I felt like something was pushing my back preventing me from moving. Angling myself sideways, I could barely make out the tip of a gigantic finger, it's first knuckle looked to be 2 stories below me. Just how small had I become?! This realization made you panic, was the milk doing this? I tried to stop swallowing but the torrents were so strong they fired into the back of my throat and poured down my throat.

After a few more seconds of this, the force at my back had loosened and I felt myself being drawn from her breast. As she pried me away, I could still see the geyser of her teat blasting out milk like a broken dam. As she pried me away, I felt I was stuck, my limbs wouldn't move, and I could tell I was stuck tight to her finger. Being drawn further and further back, my surroundings slowly became more clear. Everything moved incredibly slowly as her celestial body of a breast got further and further away. Roughly 6 inches from her breast looked to be over a mile from my perspective. Then there was a bassy rumble all around, as if the heavens had opened and thunder came raining down from all around me. She was speaking to me. I had no idea what she was saying, but it was clearly her. She raised me up, above her breast towards her face and spoke again, the rumbling rattled my very bones as I felt like my ear drums were going to shatter, I couldn't understand a word she said. She shot me a snarky grin then proceeded to lower me back to her breast, pressing me into her heavy, pillowy flesh. It felt like her breast was consuming me, I was pushed so deep and so surrounded, I thought I was going to be splattered, but no, she had other plans for me, clearly.

I felt her finger leave my back and found myself stuck to her skin, miles of dark, bumpy flesh as far as the eye could see. I was nothing more than a speck of dust, hell, smaller than dust, clinging to her areola. I clung as hard as I could, in fear of falling, but I found myself standing vertically on her, as if my feet adhered to her. It was as if this planetoid of a woman had her own gravitational pull.

Rumbling again surrounded me as the world moved, but I couldn't feel the motions. I could just see the world around her, the world I was no longer part of, move in the distance, slowly. I saw her reach for her shirt, casually placed her arms through the sleeves, then slowly buttoned it back up. I watched my new world becoming dark, almost as if it was indicating nighttime. A last sliver of light filled my vision as she sealed the final button.

-Time passes-

You're not sure how long you've been here at this point, you've been surviving off of her skin cells and any moisture that appears around you. She has become your world, even when bathing, you don't seem to be at risk, almost as if some otherworldly force is keeping you safe from the pouring water or a washcloth. Nothing seems to be able to remove you from your new home.

You wonder how this truly all came to be. If your dad missed you or even cared at this point. You see them together and hear the other world you left, but it's all alien at this point. You just wish you had someone to talk to, someone to cut through the loneliness. As you pondered these things, you saw the sky above slowly begin to illuminate, she was undoing her shirt. Was it shower time?

As she removed her shirt, your sky was filled with another person. A familiar person, someone you'd been missing all this time: Dad. He looked ragged, dark rings under his eyes, the whites bloodshot, what had happened? You felt the rumblings around you as she spoke, and something in the terrain began to change. You heard what sounded like surging beneath you, almost as if the sound of an ocean lapping against a shore. Was she... producing? A pit began to form in your stomach, as you looked up at captors nipple starting to slowly leak.

You screamed as loud as your lungs allowed, yelling at your father, jumping and waving your arms, but it was no use. At your size, no naked eye could ever make you out.

You sat there, defeated and thought to yourself, "Maybe it won't be so bad. At least I won't be alone anymore."

[nerdallwritey]

Perfect Every Time

Summary: You got up and joined him in the ankle deep water. “Do you want to try right now?” Astarion thought for a moment and clicked his tongue. “I have a better idea, actually.” He gave you a sideways look, his lips quirking up slightly.  “What?” you matched his smile. Rather than answering, Astarion reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head.  You furrowed your brow. “Looks an awful lot like you’re preparing to swim.” He started fiddling with the clasps on his pants and groaned in your direction. “Swimming is not the only thing one can do while submerged in water, dearest.” He gave you a sensual smile that sent heat to your cheeks.  OR Before your party travels into the Underdark, you and Astarion catch one last sunrise together.

Pairing: Astarion x f!reader Rating: 18+ Word count: 7.2k CW: smut, reader is new to sex, hand job, piv sex, water sex, dirty talk, mentions of Astarion's past trauma, blood drinking, extra mild angst, soft Astarion, porn with feelings, reader is an idiot (and a bard), so is Astarion (not a bard, just an idiot), Illmater's blood-stained rack Spoilers: Minor spoilers for Act 1 (in-game dialogue, plot points, etc.), as well as Astarion's plotline Also posted to: AO3 FAIR WARNING: This is PART 4 in my series, "Beauty and the Bard." Find the masterlist here.

a/n: Surprise!! I'm back with a new chapter of Beauty and the Bard! This part is shorter than the other ones (who cheered) because it morphed from a little smut scene into one that deserved its very own part. One million thanks to everyone who's read and enjoyed the series so far, it's so much fun chatting with you guys and hearing your thoughts and it truly means the world that you guys care so much about these goofs. I already have an idea for Part 5, so that will be coming soon, but I have a request to fill first! Thank you all for your patience. In the meantime, please enjoy our regularly scheduled silliness with Astarion and bard!tav :) (Thank you once again to @kermitwazowski for beta reading!) As a reminder, the last part was the Tiefling party!

Taglist: @a66-1, @khaleesiofthewolves, @khywren, @lollipopsandlandmines, @mizuki-nautilus - Let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist for this series!

Several days had passed since the hijinxs of the Tiefling party had taken place. By now, the former refugees of the Emerald Grove were well on their way to Baldur’s Gate, the looming threat of goblins and power hungry druids far from their minds, their thoughts instead replaced with hope for new beginnings in the city. 

Just like he’d promised, Halsin had returned the next day to discuss the parasites, officially joining your party of misfits on your journey towards the Shadow Cursed Lands and Moonrise Towers. His calming presence and sage advice was a welcome addition to the group, especially given that this leadership role had been thrust upon you by the others with next to no discussion. Having Halsin around finally felt like there was a responsible adult among you. Not that you all weren’t adults, but you definitely had your… quirks. Sure, Halsin turned into a bear if he let his emotions go unchecked, but Gale was a bomb. 

As for you and Astarion, not much had really changed, you were both still yourselves, but now you openly tortured your companions with more pet names and cheek kisses and obnoxiously loud banter. Lae’zel had threatened to cleave you both in half on multiple occasions, but had yet to follow through on that threat. The others would groan loudly or avert their eyes politely.

Your days with Astarion were spent fighting side-by-side and teasing one another, and your nights were spent chatting and reading together. Aside from the physical intimacy and emotional vulnerability that came with being in a new relationship, it was really as if nothing had changed. And those were small prices to pay for where you currently found yourself: wrapped together with a trancing Astarion.

Ever since the Tiefling party, Astarion would worm his way into your tent at night. Whether he asked permission, or stayed a little too late into the night reading or talking or drinking from you; you would never ask him to leave. You’d slept together every night, sometimes beside each other, and other nights wrapped in each others’ arms. You were allowing Astarion to set the pace, as you were in no rush to get anywhere in particular. You simply enjoyed his company and his magnetic presence. 

The pair of you hadn’t been too intimate since the party, barring stolen and sometimes steamy kisses. That was plenty for you, and Astarion continued checking in to see if you were okay with his touches and advances. Whenever you assured him that you were, he’d smile and return to your lips. You never asked him for more than he was willing to give, and even though you knew he wouldn’t say anything about it, you could tell he appreciated the courtesy despite the smug mask he so often wore.

Now, you found yourself stroking your hands through his hair as he tranced on your bare chest, breathing quietly; a habit he told you he’d picked up to look more alive when prowling the Gate. 

It was funny, honestly, how sweet and unassuming he looked when he wasn’t fully conscious. And yet, you knew the kind of violence and debauchery and bad jokes he enacted and adored when he was awake. A small sound escaped his lips and you paused in caressing his hair to make sure you weren’t waking him. When his breathing returned to normal, you resumed raking your fingers soothingly over his scalp. 

The hour was a little before dawn. Truthfully, you hadn’t gotten much sleep last night, knowing that today was the day your party would pack up camp and make your way into the Underdark for the foreseeable future. You’d re-emerge eventually to find the crèche Lae’zel knew to be nearby, but the Underdark was worth investigating for the sake of further answers about the tadpoles and a possible alternate route into the Shadow Cursed Lands. Plus, Shadowheart was adamant about seeing the rumored temple to Shar hidden down there.

All that to say, you and your companions wouldn’t be seeing the sun for quite a while. The thought saddened you immensely, knowing how much the man trancing on you would miss it terribly. How cruel, you thought, that your adventure was leading Astarion back into the shadows after he’d just gotten a taste of the sun for the first time in centuries. 

“Why are you awake, my darling?” came Astarion’s raspy voice from the dark. He shifted his head to look up at you, his grip around your midsection tightening a bit, his eyes heavy with grogginess.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you admitted. “You should get a little more if you can.”

Astarion chuckled. “Too busy thinking about me to sleep? I wouldn’t blame you.”

You sighed. “And if I was?”

Astarion’s face fell a little. “Why the hells would you allow yourself to lose sleep on my behalf, pet?” His voice was soft and one of his hands unwrapped itself from your body, taking your hand, and bringing it up to his mouth to kiss the back of your fingers. He cleared his throat. “I mean, obviously I can understand why,” he tried deflecting the sweetness that had seeped into his words by injecting his tone with fake bravado.

You let out an amused breath and allowed your hand in his hair to continue petting him gently. “I want to watch the sunrise with you again this morning.”

Astarion hummed. “And that kept you awake?”

“I didn’t want to oversleep.”

Now it was Astarion’s turn to let out an amused breath. “You could have asked. I would have woken you up.”

“No you wouldn’t, you keep letting me sleep in. It’s like you enjoy watching me sleep or something, you creep.” You poked his nose playfully.

“It’s just amazing how much drool someone of your stature can produce.”

You smacked the side of his head and he laughed softly. The two of you sat in comfortable silence for a little while before you decided to speak again.

“This will be the last sunrise we see for a while.”

Astarion let out a long sigh and remained silent. After a moment, he said, “I know.” 

He sounded sad. 

“It’s not forever, though,” you assured, moving your hand to stroke his cheek and regaining his attention.

He chuckled. “I know that, too.”

You yawned, a little more loudly than you meant to. “Good. I promise you’ll see the sun again.”

Astarion tsked. “Honestly, darling, did you get no sleep at all?”

“I got a little,” you lied.

He held your gaze, lifting a skeptical eyebrow. “I don’t believe you.”

“What does it matter?” you asked, caught. “I can handle a little lack of sleep.”

Astarion rolled his eyes and sat up to look at you more directly. “It matters because we need you alert. None of us knows what awaits us in the Underdark and I- we can’t have you getting hurt because you didn’t get enough rest!”

“I’ll be fine,” you assured, bending upwards to kiss the corner of his mouth. “Besides, I’ll have you to protect me when I get sloppy.”

Astarion groaned. “You shouldn’t get sloppy,” he complained. “I swear, if you somehow hold us back down there, I’ll slaughter you myself.”

“Promise?”

He groaned again. “Would you, just once, allow me to threaten you seriously?”

“No,” you patted his cheek lovingly. 

He sighed and pushed some of his mussed hair out of his face. He took your hands in his. “Just… stay vigilant, alright?”

“Can do,” you said, withholding another obvious yawn.

“I saw that.”

“Saw what?”

He shook his head at you and sat up fully, stretching his arms above his head and giving you a clear view of the scar on his back. You sat up and kissed his bare shoulder.

“I’ll be fine,” you repeated.

“Mhm.” Astarion passed you one of his shirts. “Come on, darling, let’s get a move on.” He tossed on a spare shirt and watched you as you pulled his shirt over your head. 

“There’s still a little time before sunrise,” you said.

Astarion snorted and fixed some of your hair that was sticking up from putting on his shirt. “You could stay here if you want. Drown in your own drool. Up to you.”

You huffed at him, making him laugh again.

“Only joking, my love.”

“Sure,” you said, opening the flaps of your tent and crawling out into the blue that preceded dawn.

You went to stand, but felt Astarion’s cool fingers wrap around your wrist and pull you back. He turned you slightly and caught your lips in a kiss, one that wiped away whatever fake ire you had towards him and replaced it with a dopey grin. 

“What was that for?” you asked when he pulled away.

“Delicious,” he breathed, raising a seductive eyebrow. 

You laughed and grabbed his hand. “Come on.”

You’d only been able to catch two more sunrises with Astarion following the one you watched the morning after you’d slept together for the first time. You’d woken up once on your own after Astarion gently shifted himself away from you, and another time when he woke you up purposely, not wanting to be alone with his thoughts. You’d whine and moan whenever he let you sleep in, despite the fact that it was probably for the best to keep you in tip top shape for fighting and recharging your magic. He’d always find his way back to you, and you knew he needed his own space sometimes, but you still loved to watch him bask in the golden light of the morning and you couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed whenever you felt his gentle hand on your back before opening your eyes and seeing that the sun was already up.

Astarion led you through the forest again, his hand holding yours firmly. You knew your way to the ravine lookout by now, but you liked not having to take the lead for once. He helped you across the little stream that led into the clearing where you first laid together and you felt your cheeks flush at the memory.

“I can hear your heart picking up speed, darling.” He turned to smirk at you. “You’re adorable.”

“Pardon me for still being shy,” you half-joked.

“Mmm,” Astarion hummed. “I’ll pound that out of you eventually.” He furrowed his brow sensually at you and you scoffed.

“Shut up.”

“I, of course, don’t have to-”

You made a whiny sound and he laughed.

“I know, my love,” he said, removing his hand from yours and instead wrapping his arm around you to pull you close. “You’ve been so patient for me,” he nipped at your earlobe. “So good.” 

“I’m in no rush,” you reassured on a shaky exhale. 

Astarion made his own whiny sound and pulled you closer, leading you to the cliff’s edge where he’d opened up to you willingly for the first time, just a few days ago.

He sat, pulling you down with him, far enough away from the edge, where he knew you wouldn’t be nervous of falling. In the distance, the sky was just starting to indicate the sun’s arrival. 

You sighed happily and rested your head on his shoulder. You felt him tense a little. “Is this alright?” 

Instead of answering, he leaned his head on top of yours. 

“What’s something you want to do in the Underdark?” you probed.

Astarion groaned. “You don’t need to make small talk with me, darling, sometimes silence is golden.”

You scrunched your nose, knowing he hated pure silence. “I wasn’t being polite, I genuinely wanted to know.”

He groaned again. “Even worse.”

You laughed lightly and felt him laugh too, his arm gently shaking against your own. 

He thought for a moment before he responded. “That Zhentarim fellow we met mentioned a cache of supplies hidden somewhere down there. That might be fun to pillage.”

You laughed. “I’m surprised you ever stopped thinking about that!”

“Oh I didn’t, but I wanted you to think your little thought experiment had actually evoked some sort of… thought… in me.” He made a face.

“Want to try and rephrase that?”

“Not particularly.”

You hummed fondly, taking one of his hands in your own and examining how your fingers slotted together just so. 

“I suppose you want me to ask you the same question?” Astarion asked, clearly not wanting to ask.

You laughed. “Your interest in my interests always astounds me, Astarion.”

He rubbed his cheek against the top of your head. “Get better interests and I might actually want to pay attention.”

“Rude,” you muttered, a smile on your face. “But since you so desperately want to know, I’ll answer anyway.”

“Oh, goodie.”

You thought about it. There wasn’t actually all that much you knew about the Underdark, aside from the few mentions of it in the books you’d read growing up. One thing did stick out in your mind.

“Singing mushrooms.”

“........What?”

“I read somewhere that apparently there are colonies of sentient mushroom people who communicate through song.”

Astarion pulled his head off of yours to hang it in front of himself instead, groaning loudly. “That sounds like a nightmare.”

“It’s not! It’s fascinating!”

“Sentient mushrooms?”

“Yes.”

“That sing?”

“Yes.”

Astarion shook his head. “Am I still asleep? Do you hear yourself?”

“I’m not making it up!” you exclaimed incredulously. When he didn’t say anything else, you crossed your arms in front of yourself. “We’re going to see the mushrooms.”

“Whatever you say, darling.” He kissed the top of your head almost pityingly. 

“You’re an ass,” you said, pulling away from him and sitting back on your forearms. The sky was turning a faint pinkish orange in the distance. You snickered to yourself. “More like Ass-starion.”

The ass in question scowled. “That will not be one of your pet names for me.”

You shrugged. “I’m surprised no one’s called you that before.”

“I’ve been called far worse.” Astarion tilted his head up pompously, as if nothing you could say would hurt him.

“Okay great, so ‘Ass’ is nothing new.”

He sighed heavily. “It’s like you want me to throw you off the cliff.”

“Go ahead,” you challenged, catching his eye mischievously, knowing his threat was empty. 

Astarion looked at you and then towards the horizon. He inhaled deeply and rose to his feet. 

“What are you doing?” you laughed nervously as he approached the cliff’s edge that gave way into the ravine below. 

He peered over the edge, his brow furrowed in deep thought. 

You shifted uncomfortably and sat up completely straight. “Astarion, please be careful, you’re making me nervous.”

He ignored you and walked along the edge, looking past a batch of trees and into the distance to your right. He nodded and turned back towards where you sat.

“Up you go,” Astarion approached you and gestured his thumb upwards, indicating that he wanted you to stand. When he reached you, he helped you to your feet.

“You’re not actually going to throw me off the cliff, are you?” You kept your tone playful, but the anxiety you were masking was obvious.

Astarion smirked. “Stop annoying me and I won’t have to.”

You rolled your eyes and began to follow him as he started walking to the right, down a slanted slope and into a patch of trees. 

“What’s happening?” you asked when you caught up with him.

Astarion tilted his head. “I just thought an occasion such as this needed a change of scenery.”

“‘Occasion?’” you echoed.

He nodded. “It’s my last day in the sun-” he saw you about to protest and quickly added, “-for a little while. Might as well start the day off right.”

You hummed. “Why do I get the sense that you’re up to something?”

Astarion stopped in his tracks, a hand held to his unbeating heart in mock offense. “Me? Up to something? You’re far too paranoid, darling.”

“Uh huh.” You kept walking, but quickly realized you didn’t actually know where you were going. You looked back at Astarion for help and found him watching you. 

He rolled his eyes affectionately. “This way, dear, it’s not much farther.” He walked past you, deeper into the trees, and kept talking. “Did you know that that ravine we’ve been sitting above gives way into what I can only assume is either the Chianthar or the Sea of Swords?”

“I didn’t,” you said. “Though those are two very different bodies of water.”

“Give me a break, my geography lessons occurred well over 200 years ago. And we’re in the gods damn middle of nowhere, might I remind you.”

“Mhm,” you affirmed with a smile. “Go on.”

“Well, it just so happens that that ravine’s mouth isn’t far from our little sunrise spot.”

“‘Our?’” you teased.

“Focus, darling,” he said. He turned to the left, leading you back towards the cliff’s edge that had continued along the treeline.

“Astarion, please be careful,” you called after him, hesitantly following him towards the sound of rushing water. 

He turned back and held out a steadying hand for you as you approached the edge. Not too far below you were narrow rapids that gradually became calmer. The cliff that had been on the other side of the one you currently found yourself on had disappeared, forming a mouth where the ravine did in fact empty into a much larger, much calmer, body of water.

You wrapped your arms around Astarion’s middle to anchor yourself and leaned forward a little to see where the cliff you were on ended. A little farther down, you squinted to adjust your eyes to the dim lighting, and saw a tiny beach that quickly shot upwards into a new cliff. Rocks surrounded the shore, keeping it slightly out of view, and gentle waves lapped at the sand, far enough away from the rapids of the ravine to remain serene.

You caught Astarion’s eye and pointed towards the small patch of sand in the distance. “Is that where we’re going?”

Astarion pursed his lips. “Yes, that would be much easier than jumping in, wouldn’t it?”

You scoffed. “You expected me to jump in from this high up? There could be rocks we can’t see! And we don’t know how deep it is!”

Astarion sighed. “You’re no fun. Though I suppose you’re right, I hadn’t thought that far ahead.” With your arms still around his middle, he started walking back into the trees and down towards the tiny beach. 

You laughed as he dragged you along. “You can’t possibly be serious. You’d get your hair all wet!”

“Nobody said I was going to jump in with you,” he teased.

“I’m not going in alone,” you narrowed your eyes at him. 

“Pity,” he tutted. “I like it when you’re wet.” He smirked and you shoved yourself away from him. 

You picked up your pace to put distance between the two of you. When you didn’t hear his footsteps gaining on you, you decided to quickly slip behind a tree, hoping you’d lost him and that you’d be able to jump out to scare him as he sauntered past.

Unfortunately, nothing but silence greeted you. After a heartbeat or two, you peered around the trunk of your hiding spot but saw no sign of his sleek frame or shock of white hair. You started to second guess yourself; was it possible he’d passed you already? Or that he stopped, out of sight for some reason? 

“You’ll have to do better than that, darling,” came his voice softly next to your ear.

You yelped and clutched at your heart, which raced with surprise. 

Astarion sighed happily. “I do love the sound of your blood pumping.”

“How do you do that?” you asked, breathing deeply to calm yourself. 

“Years of practice.” He paused. “Centuries, even.”

You conceded with a nod. “I shouldn’t have even tried.”

“No, you shouldn’t have. The effort was hardly there, either.”

“Alright,” you rolled your eyes and continued on through the trees down to the beach.

“I mean honestly, have these weeks on the road with me taught you nothing about stealth?”

“I play music for a living. My job is making noise.”

“And I don’t know why I even try at this point.” He raised his eyebrows playfully.

“You like my noise,” you said, sing-songingly. 

“You’re loud, I’ll give you that.”

It was then that you emerged from the trees and onto a grassy dune that sloped downward onto the flat sand below. You slid down the dune with as much grace as you could muster, only falling on your ass once, before taking off your shoes and sinking your toes into the cool sand that made up the shoreline. Astarion followed after you, his long strides keeping him upright and as elegant as ever. He came to stand next to you, taking his own shoes off and placing them neatly beside yours.

You exhaled wistfully and grabbed Astarion’s bicep, leaning your head onto his shoulder. From here, you had a clear view of the sun on the horizon. The sky was a deep shade of pink, giving way to golds and oranges the closer you watched. You looked at Astarion, whose eyes were focused on the sunrise in the distance. 

“What are you thinking about?” you asked quietly.

Astarion looked over at you and blinked. Then he smiled. “Just that it’s truly a wonder you’ve made it this far in life.”

“What?!” you exclaimed, shocked and amused.

You could tell he was holding in a laugh. “You are inept at hiding and fall down sand dunes. What were we thinking when we started following you around Faerûn?”

“I’ll push you into the water, pretty boy.”

“I’d pull you in with me, my love.”

“Touché,” you smiled and released his arm, sitting on the sand. You pulled your legs to your chest and rested your cheek on your knee. Around you, reeds and tall grass swayed in the morning breeze. Astarion remained standing, watching the horizon. 

As much as you enjoyed watching the sunrise, you enjoyed watching Astarion watch it more. The way his attention became transfixed on the sky, the way the vibrant light painted itself onto him like a blank canvas, the way his entire body relaxed when the warmth of the sun finally reached his skin. 

You heard him sigh and watched as he walked forward a little, allowing the tiny waves rolling off the water to rush gently over his toes. He flinched a little in shock and you let out an affectionate breath through your nose.

“Cold?” you asked.

“You know, it’s funny,” Astarion said, his voice a million miles away. “It’s been so long since I’ve been able to move through water like this.”

“What do you mean?” You furrowed your brow. “I’ve seen you in the lake at camp before.”

“I don’t know, I guess I haven’t given it too much thought until now. Normally, I can’t move through running water like this. Don’t ask me why, it’s one of those idiotic vampire laws dictated by some ancient devil with an infuriating sense of humor. I can bathe, sure, but I haven’t been proper swimming since… before.”

You stayed quiet as he moved further into the water, letting the waves wash over his ankles.

“I have to imagine I knew how to swim at one point,” he said quietly.

“I could teach you,” you offered. “I was going to teach Shadowheart at some point too. You’re welcome to join us if you want.”

Astarion snorted. “And look like a fool in front of the cleric? I’ll pass.”

“You don’t need swim lessons to look like a fool,” you clarified. 

“Ha ha,” he said humorlessly. 

You got up and joined him in the ankle deep water. “Do you want to try right now?”

Astarion thought for a moment and clicked his tongue. “I have a better idea, actually.” He gave you a sideways look, his lips quirking up slightly. 

“What?” you matched his smile.

Rather than answering, Astarion reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head. 

You furrowed your brow. “Looks an awful lot like you’re preparing to swim.”

He started fiddling with the clasps on his pants and groaned in your direction. “Swimming is not the only thing one can do while submerged in water, dearest.” He gave you a sensual smile that sent heat to your cheeks. 

“Oh,” you said, stiffly watching him undress. “Should I-?” you awkwardly pulled at the collar of his shirt that was currently resting on your shoulders. 

He straightened, naked but for his underwear. He frowned a little. 

“You don’t have to do anything, my love. I just thought we might have some fun while watching the sunrise.”

You bit your bottom lip, thinking it over. “I do like fun.”

“I know that about you.” Astarion walked towards you and reached for the hem of your shirt. “May I?”

You nodded and lifted your arms to help. He took the shirt and tossed it over to where he’d discarded his own clothes. He stepped closer to you, pulling you to him so that you were chest to chest, and nuzzled his nose into the area where your neck met your shoulder. He placed a slow, gentle kiss there that had you inhaling sharply and exhaling unevenly. He groaned with need before pulling back and readjusting to kiss your lips. He came at it with more force than you were expecting, causing you to stumble back a little, but his hands firmly gripped your biceps, keeping you steady. You suppressed a giggle and instead smiled against his mouth before opening up for him and allowing his tongue to meet yours. Astarion hummed with pleasure, moving his mouth against yours and bringing his hands up to tangle in your hair. When he finally pulled away, he left one more chaste kiss against your lips before fully pulling back. 

His eyes were alight with something that morphed into joy when he saw the gooey grin on your face. He rolled his eyes affectionately before looking you up and down and exhaling a laugh.

“You are perfect,” he said, almost in awe.

You smiled. “When?”

Astarion pulled you closer, his eyes narrowing seductively. “Every time.”

You snickered and pulled away from him, a teasing grin plastered on his face. You bent to remove your own pants and watched to see what Astarion would do next. When you saw him reach for his underwear, you averted your eyes and heard him laugh.

“Nothing new over here, darling,” he said, and the soft splashing sounds that followed indicated he’d walked into the water.

“I know,” you replied, embarrassed. You turned back towards him and shrugged. “Habit, I guess.”

“Well, cut it out,” he called, now knee deep in the water. His body was rigid from the temperature, his shoulders rising up to his ears. He turned back to look back at you, still standing on the shore. “Illmater’s blood-stained RACK, this is cold!” 

“I don’t know what you expected,” you called back, hugging your arms to your chest and trying to convince yourself to brave the frigid waters and join him.

“I rather expected you would be in here with me to keep me warm,” he said, turning back towards the sunrise ahead of him.

You quickly pulled off your underwear and started walking into the water, tensing at the cold, but willing yourself to keep going. 

“If you wanted my blood, you could have just asked,” you said when you finally reached him.

“There you are, darling,” Astarion said and grabbed your hand. 

“Hi,” you said softly.

“Brace yourself,” he tipped his head forward a little.

“What?”

Without warning, Astarion lowered himself into the water so that it was just below his shoulders, and pulled you down with him. You hadn’t expected to be yanked so forcefully and unsurprisingly lost your footing. You plunged downward, reaching your free hand out to break your fall and ended up dunking your face below the surface. You were submerged for less than a second, but you came up sputtering and made eye contact with a gleeful vampire. He sucked in his lips to keep from laughing.

“And what was that?” you asked blandly, flicking wet tendrils of hair out of your face.

“Apologies, darling, I didn’t mean for you to get your pretty hair all wet,” he pouted at you and sounded less than sympathetic. 

“Uh huh,” you narrowed your eyes at him. You crawled closer to him, made weightless by the water, and sat beside him, the water level reaching slightly higher on your chest than his. You scooted back a little and dragged your arm out behind you. You pushed it forward quickly, creating a splash that soaked the back of Astarion’s head. He instantly hunched forward and yelped. 

“How dare you?!” he exclaimed, his curls flattening and falling partially into his face. 

“Whoops,” you shrugged. Your eyes widened when you saw him wind his own arm back in retaliation and quickly dunked your head below the surface to avoid his onslaught of water.

When you reemerged, you heard Astarion snicker.

“Look at that,” he said, his tone mocking, “you’re all wet for me.”

You wasted no time in splashing him directly in the face.

“Let’s not do this,” he said flatly, his eyes closed. He brought his hands up to wipe the water off his face, even though his hands were equally wet.

“But now you’re all wet for me,” you teased. 

“I’ll show you what I am,” Astarion growled and took your hand underwater. He pulled you closer and led your hand to his cock, which was already rigid with desire, despite the temperature of the water. 

You made eye contact with him as you started pumping your hand up and down his shaft and he hissed out a breath. 

“Easy, darling,” he said shakily. 

“What’s the matter?” you asked, close to his ear. “Don’t you want to cum while watching the sunrise?”

Astarion groaned and you moved your hand up to swipe your thumb across his tip and then back down to continue pumping. You lifted your weightless body up and swung your leg around so that you were sitting between his legs, facing him head on with the sunrise at your back. 

“I know what would make you even harder,” you cooed, wiping wet hair out of his face with your free hand. Instead of finishing the thought, you tilted your head to the side, offering up your neck to him. 

Astarion’s eyes, half lidded with lust, went wide and looked at you. You nodded to him, and he pulled you closer to his chest, kissing your throat feverishly upon contact. Your hand was still wedged between your legs, twisting around Astarion’s length. He moaned as he nosed along your throat for where your pulse thrummed the strongest.

“Thank you,” he said before sinking his fangs into you. 

You let out a moan of your own, your mouth falling open as goosebumps broke out along your arms. The cold water mixed with the ice in your veins created a delicious mixture of pleasure and pain. The hand pumping Astarion’s length started to slow as you felt yourself focusing instead on the satisfyingly dull thrum that came with him drinking from you. 

“Don’t stop,” he murmured against your skin, kissing your throat and licking a few wayward drops of blood that had escaped before returning to his meal.

You made a noise of affirmation and squeezed his dick before continuing to twist your hand up and down, from base to tip and back down again. 

Astarion whined lamely and dug his nails into your scalp and shoulder, which in turn made you moan wantonly. You rolled your hips, trying to find some relief of your own and ended up brushing your clit against the base of his cock. You both groaned in pleasure and you brought your free hand up to tangle into his hair as you continued rolling your hips. 

“Hah,” Astarion huffed sweetly as he pulled himself away from your throat, his cool breath made warm by your blood. He licked at the wounds he left behind and kissed them gratefully before angling his head to kiss your mouth deeply.

The metallic tang of your blood on his tongue sent a chill through your body and you opened your eyes when you felt Astarion’s hands make their way to your hips. You broke the kiss to give him a curious look. 

He returned your look with a blissed out smirk. “I want you to ride me,” he drawled. 

Your eyes widened and the hand that was still working his cock slowed to a stop. 

He surged forward to kiss you again and moved his hands to your ass, where he lifted your weightless form to position you over his length. 

“Are you sure?” you asked. “I thought I was close to getting you off.”

“You were, sweet girl, but I’d much rather finish inside, if it’s all the same to you.”

Your lips quirked up. “I think we can make that work.”

Taking his cock into your hand again, you guided the head to your entrance before sinking down on him slowly. Astarion’s eyes closed in satisfaction and he tipped his head up to the sky, golden light painting his beautiful face into something ethereal. You sucked in a breath and rested your forehead on his shoulder, taking a second to adjust to this new sensation. You hadn’t ridden him yet, nor had you ever fooled around in water, by yourself or otherwise. 

Astarion kissed your ear before encouraging you: “Use me, my love. You’re deliciously warm.”

You nodded and tested lifting yourself up a little and bringing yourself back down. Your mouth dropped open and you adjusted your legs so you were resting on your knees, making it easier to bob on his dick. Your arms wrapped around his neck as you lifted yourself higher and brought yourself down with more force.

“That’s it,” Astarion cooed, “take your pleasure from me.”

“Touch me,” you whined, rolling your hips and picking up the pace of your bouncing.

“With pleasure,” he bent forward to kiss your neck, bringing his hand down to circle your clit. His other hand came up to squeeze your breast. 

“You make me feel so good,” you sighed, raking your nails over the ridges on his back.

“The feeling is mutual, d-arling,” his voice caught when you brought yourself down on his cock. “And I’m the only one who can make you feel this good,” he grazed his fangs across your collarbone. 

“I don’t know,” you said, your body shuddering with euphoria, “Halsin seems like he could give you a run for your money.”

Astarion raised a disbelieving eyebrow at you.

“Teasing, my love,” you kissed him softly before letting out a loud “Ah!” when he started raising his hips to meet yours.

“Oh really?” he asked, his voice coming out like a growl. “You think Halsin could fuck you as well as I can?”

“Hah,” you half laughed, half moaned. “I think technically, in this position, I’m fucking you?” A lopsided grin graced your lips. “But I don’t know, I’m new to all this.”

“Funny,” Astarion remarked sarcastically and pulled his hand away from your clit, making you whimper in protest. 

“Hey!”

“Take it back.”

“Take what back? I already said I was teasing!”

“Say I’m the only one who can fuck you like this.”

You smiled, panting and still riding him beneath the surface of the water. “Are you jealous or something?”

“Hardly,” he rolled his eyes. “But you’re mine and it wouldn’t kill you to remind yourself of that.”

“Sounds an awful lot like jealousy to me.”

Astarion groaned in what sounded like frustration and pleasure. “Do you want to cum or not?” 

You leaned forward and kissed him deeply, moving your mouth slowly in time with the rhythm of your hips. When you pulled away, a string of saliva connected you to his lower lip. 

“Astarion,” you said softly, “I don’t ever want anyone else to fuck me. Only you. For as long as you’ll have me.”

The smirk on Astarion’s face was smug. “Because?”

You rolled your eyes. “Because I’m yours, you stupid bat.” You kissed him, then whispered conspiratorially, “And I like you the most out of everyone at camp.”

“You flatter me,” Astarion said, immediately returning to his ministrations on your clit. You gasped at the contact, which quickly morphed into a moan of delight as you rested your forehead on his shoulder again. His hips rose to meet yours once more and the moan he let out as a result sounded as if he’d been holding it in for a while. Perhaps it was to sound eloquent during your back and forth, but the noise was music to your ears.

“Am I making you feel good?” you asked a little shyly.

Astarion opened one of his eyes to look at you. “My sweet, you’ve only ever made me feel good.”

“I know that’s not true.”

“It’s not, but it is true about the sex.”

“Thank the gods,” you laughed, though you shut your eyes tightly when Astarion hit a particularly pleasant spot inside you with a roll of his hips. “Whatever you just hit felt heavenly,” you relayed to him.

“Good to know,” he said mischievously, and repositioned you on his lap so he could rise to meet that spot every time you sank down on him. 

“Oh, Astarion,” you sighed, a grin overtaking your features.

“You like that, love?” he nipped at your shoulder. 

“Yes,” you sighed again.

Your bounces on his cock were starting to become sloppy as the knot of your climax began to build low in your stomach. You moved your hand to his and reversed the direction he was currently circling your clit.

“I’m close,” you confessed.

“Thank the gods, so am I,” Astarion’s voice was strained.

You opened your eyes to watch him as he approached his own peak and exhaled dreamily at the sight of him, bathed in the orange glow of the sun which was now halfway risen. 

“You’re so beautiful,” you whispered, “and I like you so much.”

“Don’t make me throw up when I’m trying to cum,” he opened up an eye and smirked at you. “You’re not half bad yourself, gorgeous thing.” He groaned when you sat back down on him forcefully. “Now, would you cum for me already? I’m dying here.”

“Almost there,” you laughed. “And you’re dead already.”

“You’re making this very difficult, darling.”

“Let me help you then,” you said, reaching a hand forward and lightly caressing his balls.

Astarion’s mouth hung open in silent pleasure, his fangs glistening in the emerging sunshine. He watched you wordlessly as you leaned forward.

“You’re so powerful,” you purred next to his ear. “You make me feel so good, and you’re the only one who can fuck me this well. The others will never know how good I feel because I’m yours and I’ll only ever be yours. You’re the only one who will ever be inside of me.”

“That’s right,” he groaned. “Your cunt is mine and I love the way it feels around me. The way it grips me so tight. You filthy thing, letting a vampire take your innocence. I could have killed you and instead I brought you the most pleasure you’ve ever felt. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” you moaned. “Astarion, please. Need to feel your cum in me.”

“You want this cock forever, darling? Prove it. Prove you want it by cumming for me and screaming my name.”

His command brought you to your peak and you wailed out in pure ecstasy. His name fell from your lips like a prayer, over and over, and your cunt gripped him like a vice, as if claiming it for itself. In return, Astarion groaned loudly and spilled inside of you, moaning your name repeatedly and throwing his head back in rapture and delight.

As you came down from your high, you leaned forward to place sloppy kisses on his exposed throat. He brought both his arms around you and pulled you closer as he returned from his climax. 

“You are-” he didn’t finish his sentence before crushing his lips into yours, moaning pathetically and you giggled in response. He bit your bottom lip with his blunt front teeth before releasing it and peppering kisses along your cheeks and jaw. 

“Go on,” you teased, encouraging him to finish his thought.

He looked as if he wanted to argue, but instead gave in and said, “You’re wonderful.”

The words caught you off guard and you bent forward to kiss him in a way that you hoped conveyed your gratitude. 

“I think you’re wonderful, too.”

“Obviously,” Astarion smirked.

You pushed him backwards, causing him to slip and submerge his head fully underwater briefly.

“My hair was just starting to dry, you wretched beast!” he sputtered, looking appalled. 

“Aw, but you’re so pretty like this!” You brushed some wet hair out of his eyes.

“Um, hello? I’m always pretty, darling.”

“Ah, you’re right, how could I forget.” You gingerly lifted yourself off of Astarion and floated yourself to sit beside him, facing the sunrise. 

“Perhaps you’ve had the lovely head of yours hit in battle one too many times.”

“That must be it,” you agreed jokingly, resting your head on his shoulder. 

He leaned his head on top of yours in return. You sighed happily, enjoying the vibrant hues of the sky above, still filled with the euphoria of your high and the presence of the man beside you.

“I really do like you, so much,” you said softly, accompanied by the quiet lapping of the waves on the shore nearby.

“Ugh,” Astarion groaned. “Let’s not get sentimental, darling. After we just had such an excellent time together.”

You laughed. “Pardon me for wanting to express my feelings.”

“You are pardoned.” He gave you a sideways smile. 

“Thank you, Mr. Magistrate.”

“Of course, beloved citizen.”

You both laughed quietly and returned to a pleasant silence. The sun rose steadily up into the sky and you knew you’d have to head back to camp soon to help pack up, but for now, you were content to sit and watch the horizon with your favorite traveling companion. 

“How are you doing that?” Astarion asked, breaking the silence.

“Doing what?”

“Tickling my thighs. Did you cast mage hand or something of the sort?”

You sat up a bit more to look and snorted. 

“Astarion, my love, I think it’s a fish that’s tickling you.”

“Ah,” he said calmly. Then he shot up, flinging you backwards and underwater. When you came up for air, he was rushing towards the shore, barreling through the water.

“At least it had the decency to wait until we were finished!” you called after him.

Astarion ignored you. “Slimy, disgusting, vile creatures!” He shook out his entire body as if he couldn’t rid himself of the sensation.

You watched him with adoration as he muttered to himself about how irredeemable that particular fish was as he pulled on his pants. It was then that you felt your heart swell with something big and alarming.

Oh no.

You were in love with him. 

Fuck!

[healmyhrt]

⌗ motion picture soundtrack, m. sturniolo

matt x fem!reader

summary: matt attempts to help while you’re going through a depressive episode.

disclaimers!: depression, self-harm, drug use (marijuana), established relationship, use of y/n

a/n: this was requested:)

i laid across the comforter, limbs spread out, with the lights all off. sitting in the dark made me feel safe for some reason. i liked the dark. i found comfort in darkness.

but sometimes the darkness can become the root to my problems.

i was diagnosed with depression when i was only 14 years old. since then, it’s gotten worse, but every now and then it gets better. and it got better when i met matt.

but now im getting bad again.

and i always get bad again.

i was high out of my mind, and getting lost in my thoughts the more the weed kicked in. i always used marijuana to cope with my problems, i know i shouldn’t, but i do.

even trying to stand up was a mistake. my body wouldn’t allow it. as soon as i raised my feet, my body sunk back into the mattress. i would have preferred to drown in the mattress, dying from suffocation.

red wine and sleeping pills

help me get back to your arms

light peers into the room as the door creaks open.

but i don’t move an inch. the weed made my body feel as light as a feather, and like it told me not to move at all or else i would ruin it.

“y/n?” matt makes it clear that it’s him. he walks over to the bed, and hands me a water bottle. “you need to drink something.” i push his hand away, and realizing how much energy it took out of me.

i ignore him, and he gets up, walking over to the lamp. “you can’t be like this forever.” he turns it on. the world that was black and empty is now filled with light.

but im still lost in my thoughts.

cheap sex and sad films

help me get where I belong

“i started a bath for you. come on.” he gently picks me up, and i feel nothing in my bones, my muscles, nothing at all.

once we reach the bathroom, matt sits me on the toilet seat, and starts undressing me. “arms.” he forms a small smile.

i try to lift my arms, but not even they could be moved. matt pulls my huge t-shirt over my head, carefully, and off of my arms.

he places his hands on the waistband of my underwear. “can i?” he raises an eyebrow. i nod as much as i can.

he slides them down my legs, and im seated on the toilet seat butt ass naked. matt picks me up effortlessly again, and gently places me in the bath water.

once im situated, he kneels next to the tub, and grabs a loofa. matt starts on my shoulders, and works his way down my arms. he turns my forearm toward him, and stops.

all he saw were scars.

I think you’re crazy, maybe

I think you’re crazy, maybe

matt sets the loofa down in the water, gently grabbing my arm. his warm fingers against my skin felt like spiders crawling all over me. he takes a closer look at them, some of them healed, some fresh.

“stop.” i mumble, using all of my energy to pull my arm away. looking up at matt, his eyes watering. “y/n, what is that?”

it felt like i was talking to my mother all over again. how she reacted when she found out i harmed myself. it was terrible, i never wanted to see her cry like that again. let alone matt.

“im sorry.”

matt holds his face in his hands. my eyes start to water, and i look at him. “matt, please don’t send me away.”

he immediately looks up, with a confused expression. “send you away?” i look at the water. “i don’t wanna go there again.”

matt’s face softens, and he leans closer to the tub. “y/n, who sent you away?” even talking about this makes me think of it. and i start crying uncontrollably. my thoughts are a parasite in my brain.

stop sending letters

letters always get burned

matt softly hugs me, and his arms around me help me remember feeling. feeling like i should have been.

its not like the movies

they fed us on little white lies

matt helps me back into bed, and i feel safer, now in warmers clothes. i lay my head onto the pillow, and stare at the ceiling, laughing. i could not stop laughing.

and then it stopped.

now all of the world was gray. and grayer. and even grayer. then it was black. pitch black.

matt lays down beside me, and i turn toward him. seeing his face made me feel some sort of comfort.

like i had been living in grayscale and matt was the first thing id ever seen in color.

i think you’re crazy, maybe

i think you’re crazy, maybe

matt leans in closer to me. “y/n, can i ask you a serious question?” i nod my head slowly. but my head pounded with every movement i made.

“are you okay, seriously?”

i wanted to sink into the pillow, letting matt never have to see my face again. and me not having to answer that question ever again.

i stared at him in silence.

my eyes started to water again, and i bit my bottom lip, trying to fight back the tears that threatened to leave my eyes. and matt just hugged me.

i will see you in the next life.

[oliversrarebooks]

chemical imbalance

You know that trope where horrifying things are treated as mundane? You know that trope where the whumper is talking around the whumpee like they aren't even a person? This is that story.

TW: alien abduction, alien parasites, body horror, brainwashing, mind control, restraints, tentacles, forced drugging, forced medical examination, complete dehumanization, condescension, defiant whumpee

The receptionist was young and lovely, their skin a fetching shade of blue-purple, and their human host was healthy and smiling, with the dazed, glassy expression that indicated it was well taken care of.

5X2 couldn't help the wave of intense jealousy. Their own human host's gut churned in panic. It was lucid enough to know it was being brought to the doctor, and didn't like the idea at all, stress hormones flooding its fragile body. 5X2 pumped out chemicals to soothe it, beamed calming imagery into its mind, even tried to reassure it through its psychic connection that it was just the doctor, the doctor was going to help it, and hopefully they'd both be feeling better. 

All of their efforts only put the smallest dent in the distress their host was feeling. Well, no wonder -- 5X2 couldn't even remember the last time their poor host had properly slept. They took a deep breath, reassuring their human host that they weren't angry at it, not at all. They loved their host and knew it wasn't its fault it was struggling so hard. The host thrashed mentally, adrenaline rising, coming dangerously close to waking fully as 5X2 wrangled its consciousness back under control.

"I'm 5X2-YLL, and I'm here for my 3100 appointment," they said to the receptionist, hoping they couldn't tell how much trouble they were having with their human.

Sympathetic waves rolled from the receptionist as they looked 5X2 up and down. Oh, they could tell. 5X2 knew their human looked an absolute mess, with a wild expression, deep bags under its eyes, and poor hygiene. The past few days, 5X2 had even taken sick leave from work, embarrassed to go out in public in this state -- that's how they knew they had no choice but to make a doctor's appointment.

"Right this way, 5X2. The doctor is running a bit behind, but if you'll just go into this examination room, they'll be with you shortly. Please have your host change into this medical gown... if you're able."

"Yes, thank you." The door clicked shut behind the receptionist as 5X2 looked around the small examination room. It looked like any other doctor's office, but they couldn't help but notice that the examination chair had formidable looking restraints on it. They supposed it was to be expected for a doctor who specialized in disorders of host control.

The far too lucid human noticed too, and all of its muscles tensed as it signaled to every corner of its body to escape, escape, escape. 5X2 had no choice but to inject yet another low dose of paralytics into its bloodstream, just to make sure it couldn't actually act on that misguided impulse. 

The paralytics kept the human from moving, but also meant that 5X2 had to do much more manual work puppeting its body, and they were so, so tired. With their host's clumsy fingers, they pulled off their shoes, shirt, and pants, and slipped on the flimsy medical gown. The human was expressing distress at having their physical form exposed, of all the ridiculous things. Sometimes 5X2 wished that its constant fears at least made sense. Instead, it was scared of the doctor, of being nude, even of the everyday, ordinary sight of other human hosts with their passengers atop their heads, tentacles nestled neatly in their ears and euphoric expressions on their faces.

I'm trying to help you, 5X2 conveyed through their psychic connection for what seemed like the billionth time this cycle.

All they got back in return was terror, anger, and the intense desire to go home.

We can go home after the appointment, 5X2 reminded it, beaming soothing images of their quarters, the cheery artificial sun lamp, their collection of exotic plants, their vibrant fiber arts, the beautiful view of stars from out of their window. Their host had always been calmed by these things in better days, but it wasn't working now. It didn't make any sense to 5X2 -- if it wanted to go home so badly, why didn't it respond to sensory landscapes of home? 

Surely it wasn't lucid enough to desire its human habitat...? The human habitat was a death world compared to the safety and comfort of the space station.

There was a knock on the door, and the doctor walked into the room. They carried an air of authority about them, perched on top of a petite human who moved with unusual grace. "Hello, 5X2," said the doctor in a kindly voice. "I understand you're here because you're having difficulty in controlling your human host. Is that correct?"

5X2 looked anywhere but at the doctor, pretending to be very interested in a cabinet full of jars of multi-colored fluids. "Ah, yes, that's correct."

"There's no need to be ashamed. There's a lot of unfair stigma attached to host difficulties, but I assure you that it's a far more common problem than you think. There's no judgement here. Please, tell me about what you've been experiencing."

"My human host is almost completely lucid for most of the cycle," 5X2 confessed, trying to suppress their waves of shame and sadness. "I can't keep it fully entranced, I can't soothe it, I can't even put it to sleep. It's constantly scared and stressed and won't stop filling its body with adrenaline."

"I see."

"I have to spend so much of my energy just keeping it from fully waking, and it's affecting my work and my social life. I can't even relax on my days off, because every time I let my guard down, it decides it's a good time to fight me," they said. "I love my host, but I'm at my limit. I can't go on like this. It's sick all of the time from stress hormones, and I'm constantly fatigued. If there's anything you can do, anything at all that would help..."

The doctor's host nodded sagely. "There's a number of common conditions that could cause symptoms like you're describing. If you don't mind, I'd like to take a blood sample from your host so we can run some lab tests while conducting the examination."

"Of course," said 5X2, holding out their host's arm while the doctor prepared a needle for the blood draw. As the needle grazed the host's skin, the human managed to wrest enough control to jerk backwards, irrationally panicked at the sight of the needle. "I'm so sorry. It's been especially determined to fight me on everything today."

"It's nothing to worry about. I see it all the time. Hosts can be smarter than we give them credit for -- it's probably realized that the doctor's appointment is for putting it back under."

"But why does it fight that? That doesn't make any sense -- doesn't it want to be calm and happy? Why would it want to be stressed and miserable?"

"Oh, it's not that it wants to be stressed and miserable. It's just the natural state of hosts that aren't fully entranced. It's not its fault that it's acting this way -- it just doesn't know any better," said the doctor. "To make the examination easier, it might be best if we strapped your host into the chair, if you don't mind the restricted mobility."

"Not at all. It'd be a relief to not have to suppress their impulses," said 5X2. Their human predictably howled with displeasure, scraping and clawing for any bit of control over its limbs as 5X2 fought its body into the chair and tried to hold it still as the doctor restrained it. It was even managing to resist the paralytics, utterly desperate to escape.

If this doctor couldn't help them, 5X2 was going to lose their mind.

With the host's body securely restrained, the doctor was finally able to take a blood sample. The human's consciousness was thrashing like a wounded dust-moth, but with their body secured, 5X2 could devote their whole efforts to dampening their mental distress.

"If you'll excuse me a moment, I'll bring this to the lab. We should get results in around ten deciclicks."

5X2 tried to relax in the chair as the doctor left the room, but of course their exhausting host was having none of it.

Why are you fighting so hard? they asked.

The answer was always the same.

I want to go home. I don't want to be a host. I don't want to be hypnotized again. Please let me go.

Incoherent nonsense. The poor, confused thing.

"All right, that's taken care of," said the doctor, entering the room and perching on a nearby stool. "Now, may I ask you some questions? How long have you been noticing these symptoms?"

"About a quarter star turn."

"I see. And have you previously sought help for them?"

"...No. I really should have, before it got to this point, but I was ashamed. I thought it was temporary, and that I could fix my host myself."

"At least you're here now. You're doing the right thing," said the doctor encouragingly. "How often does the human sleep?"

"Only once every few cycles, and for only a few clicks at a time. I can't keep it to anything resembling a schedule, either, and it doesn't seem to respond to sedation at all. The only mercy is that it often sleeps while I'm at work."

"And how do you normally soothe it?"

"I think I've tried just about everything. Before this all started, it was so easy -- a quick wash of sedative and neurotoxin, some soothing hallucinations, a little gentle urging of slumber, and it was out in a milliclick. It would normally sleep for half the cycle. But now, nothing works. Not toxins, not hallucinations, not psychic compulsions. It doesn't matter what I do, I simply cannot put it to sleep.  The only reason it sleeps at all is because its own consciousness turns itself off when it becomes too exhausted."

"You say it was easily controlled before?"

"Very much so. It took very well to deep trance, especially if I was listening to music. It enjoyed art and scenery and was calm as can be. I never imagined it was capable of so much anxiety."

"How close is its consciousness to the surface?"

"...Very. It's listening to everything we're saying. It might even be able to understand us. Well, as much as any host is capable of understanding."

"Has it ever become fully awake?"

5X2 hesitated.

"Please, don't be ashamed. I'm here to help you, but I need you to answer my questions honestly. Has it ever become fully awake?"

"...A handful of times," 5X2 admitted. "It didn't get very far before I was able to paralyze it and return it to my control, but... it was so terrifying, to feel my host wake, to take full control from me and do what it wished with its body."

"That's a very traumatic experience," said the doctor sympathetically. "Once we have the main issue sorted out, I recommend a visit to memory alteration to remove the unnecessary fear generation."

"Won't they judge me for losing control of my human?"

The doctor seemed lightly amused. "5X2, it's the memory alteration department. Don't you think they've seen far worse than that?"

"You're right, just a silly insecurity on my part," said 5X2, mirroring the doctor's amusement.

"Let me perform some quick examinations on your host's body while we have you here," said the doctor. "Your host is partially lucid and fearful right now, correct?"

"Extremely so," said 5X2, feeling the horrible squirm in their host's gut at the mention of the doctor examining it.

The doctor waved a small light in front of the human's eyes. "Pupils are very dilated. It's focusing clearly on my light, indicating a high degree of responsiveness. Dark circles indicate a dangerous lack of sleep, and the skin seems unusually flaky and dry. This all matches the symptoms you've described."

They moved around to 5X2's side, using the light to peer into its host's ear. "Everything looks healthy and normal here," they said, giving a slight tug to 5X2's left connector tentacle. "Connection seems firm. I assume it's enmeshed with the correct portions of the brain? You have at least six tendrils on each side of the frontal lobe, three in the parietal, and two in the occipital?"

"Of course, doctor."

"I know it sounds obvious, but I have to ask. Believe it or not, I've had more than one patient that neglected to enmesh the frontal lobe entirely. You can imagine what kind of a state their poor host was in."

"I'm amazed that anyone in this age is so ignorant. That sounds like torture for them."

"You're not wrong," said the doctor, clicking off their light. "From the outside, there doesn't seem to be any issues, but if we can't resolve the problem, we may need to do some scans to check that all of your tendrils are properly connected. It's uncommon, but there are certain disorders that prevent proper cohesion of tendril to host brain."

"I'll subject myself to any tests if it will help."

"I know how intensely uncomfortable it must be to have your host so wakeful, for both you and it," said the doctor. "I'm certain we can help you. It's extremely rare for this sort of problem to be beyond the reach of modern medicine."

A knock at the door, and the receptionist entered the room. "I have the results from the lab for you," they said, slipping out again quickly.

The doctor's host took the readout and looked it over, as 5X2 waited in anticipation and 5X2's host trembled in terror. Finally, there was a wave of satisfaction from the doctor. "I have good news for you, 5X2. The lab results may have given us an important clue to your problem."

"Truly? What is it?"

"You see here..." The doctor placed the readout in front of 5X2. It was full of miniature graphs and jargon that they didn't have a hope of understanding. "Most of the toxin levels in the human's blood were highly elevated -- no doubt due to your efforts to keep it under control -- but one in particular was abnormally low, almost undetectable."

"And that is?"

"In basic terms, it's a powerful hypnotic, the primary toxin used to keep the human mind asleep and docile. Without this important chemical, your host's mind is far more alert than it should ever be. That makes it less receptive to all of your efforts to soothe it, allows stress and fear hormones to build up in its delicate brain, and causes it to resist being put to sleep."

"And that's what's missing?" said 5X2, feeling waves of relief at having an answer.

"It would seem so. The absence of this hypnotic would make it next to impossible to keep a healthy human under trance. It's no wonder your efforts to sedate and entrance your host were fruitless. I'm honestly impressed you were able to walk into my office."

"Is there a cure?"

"There are a few different conditions that can cause this. To start with, I'm going to give you a prescription for a course of medication that should help promote the natural release of this chemical from your toxin glands. It has a few minor potential side effects, which the informational packet will describe."

"No side effects can possibly be worse than what I'm going through now. How long will that take to have an effect?"

"It should be at full strength in eight to ten cycles. We can see how you're responding, then, and I can advise you on a further course of treatment."

5X2 steadied themself. Eight to ten cycles. They could endure eight to ten more cycles.

"But in the meantime, we can simply inject your host with a big, healthy dose of the chemical cocktail it's been missing."

5X2's elation was almost drowned out by its host's panic and despair. "You can do that? You can do that right now?"

"Certainly," said the doctor, pulling a jar of translucent blue liquid from a shelf. "Let me prepare the injection. It's all natural and safe for both of you. I'm sure you're both eager to get some reprieve from fighting each other."

"And I'll be able to put my host to sleep? To keep it under trance?"

"With this extra strength, time release formula, it should be well out of it for the next few cycles, exceedingly simple to control. You can both finally get the rest you need."

"Oh, thank you, thank you, you don't know how much of a relief that is."

No! No, no, no! the human was screaming through their connection. Don't let them inject me with that! Let me go! I want to go home! I need to wake up -- I need to --

"I need to wake up!" 

5X2 felt their consciousness suddenly cut off from their host's body as the human woke. It pulled at the restraints, trying to get its hand free.

"Please let me go! Don't do this!" the human yelled, as the doctor looked on with curiosity.

"Oh, you're awake? Now, now, we're only trying to help you," said the doctor. "Aren't you tired of fighting? Aren't you scared and hurting?"

"I'm scared and hurting because of what you're doing to me! This isn't right! Humans aren't meant to live like this -- you've taken my entire life from me!" Tears streamed down its face. "You're a doctor -- if you have any compassion at all, please listen to me! We don't want to be hypnotized and turned into puppets. We don't want to spend our whole lives sleeping and hallucinating and floating along in a mindless trance. We want to be free!"

The doctor patted its head. "I know this must all seem so scary to you, but it's only because of a chemical imbalance. That's why your passenger brought you here to the doctor, to help you. Your passenger loves you very much and only wants the best for you. Do you understand?"

"No, I don't want this. This is wrong -- please listen!"

"You're going to feel so much better in just a few minutes. I promise. Just trust me," said the doctor, their host easily pinning down 5X2's host's restrained arm and administering the injection. 

"No, please!" 5X2's host struggled uselessly against the tight restraints, its panic reaching a fever pitch, as 5X2 sat in their own mind and watched. "Please! Please listen! Let me go! Let me... go..."

The human host's body relaxed, sagging against the restraints as its control over itself suddenly diminished. 5X2 could feel a lovely sense of peace wash over their host, a sensation they hadn't felt in a quarter star turn. 

5X2, eager to take back its host, sent deep, hypnotic compulsions to fog its host's mind, to sink it into a pleasant daze, to pull it back under their control, and they were delighted when the host responded swiftly and easily. All of that fight, that fear, that anger began to evaporate like mist as 5X2 gently soothed its host into a trance.

You want to be a good host, 5X2 coaxed. You want to stop resisting. You want to weaken your feeble mental defenses and let me in.

I want to... Their host's thoughts were faltering and slow, easy to manipulate, just as they should be. I want to be a good host... want to let you in... want to drop my defenses... stop resisting...

Yes, that's right. Lower those defenses. You're safe, completely safe. You can relax now.

There was only a slight hesitation before the response. Safe... relax...

 5X2 felt the human's resistance melt away, leaving its mind like soft clay in their grasp.

Finally.

5X2 rewarded their host's compliance with a pleasant vision of the ship's recreation district, filled with laughter and games and live music, one that their host used to be fond of before it became impossibly defiant. Their host latched onto the familiar, mollifying hallucination right away, like a young one with its comfort-toy.

Fun... pretty...

Yes, it is fun and pretty, said 5X2. You deserve it, because you're being very good right now. Aren't you glad I took you to the doctor?

Feels... hazy...

And isn't that good?

Mmhmm... good... so good... thank you...

"How is it feeling now?" asked the doctor. "Any better?"

"Oh, yes, that was absolutely brilliant," said 5X2. "It's completely docile and enjoying its favorite hallucination right now. I can't thank you enough."

"Excellent. I'm just glad that worked. I'll make an appointment for you ten cycles from now, and give you the prescriptions for the medication I recommend, along with a course of injectables to keep your host nice and compliant. It shouldn't give you any more trouble."

"That sounds perfect."

"I recommend putting your host to sleep for the next cycle. It must be so fatigued after all of that pointless struggle, and a prolonged period of rest will help it to reacclimate to your control."

"I don't think I need to worry about the last part," said 5X2 gleefully. "It seems so relieved to be back under. But I agree that it needs sleep. Maybe I can get some sleep too."

5X2's host was already flooded with the injected sedative, so they sent a simple but strong compulsion to lull it asleep. Its exhausted mind responded right away, filling it with a deep, irresistible drowsiness, its remaining thoughts dulling and fading as it drifted away peacefully. The cheerful hallucination of the recreational zone would give it pleasant dreams. 5X2 couldn't remember the last time their host had been so quiet, not a hint of stress or nightmares.

It was so charming to feel their delightful host curling up comfortably in its own mind and going to sleep. It reminded 5X2 of how much they loved their host, before everything had gone wrong.

"It worked," said 5X2 in awe.

"Asleep already? I thought so. It was so worn out."

"Thank you again, doctor, for all of your help. My host wanted to thank you, too, before it fell asleep. I can tell that it already feels so much happier."

"It's my pleasure." The doctor released 5X2's host from the chair. 

5X2 stood up, shedding the medical gown and putting the host's clothes back on its body. Control was simple and seamless now, the host's body moving exactly in accordance with 5X2's wishes. They could hardly believe what a difference a little chemical persuasion made. With their newfound freedom, a part of them wanted to go out and indulge in all of the fine pleasures they had missed out on for so long -- but really, they knew it would be far more prudent to go home and sleep.

They'd do that after they picked up those prescriptions, of course. They weren't going to let a simple chemical imbalance ruin their life any more.

Masterlist

It's always the weirdest things you need to get out of your system, right? I don't know where this came from, but I'm tempted to write more about this alien parasite society. Like how they acquire humans, and how other pairs are doing...

What would you do if you had a passenger of your own?

[dadbodbuck]

does the swallow dream of flying?

Rating: G | WC: 1.6k | Pairing: Buck/Tommy

Summary:

Tommy calls Eddie after he breaks up with Buck. Eddie has some choice words for him. Coda for 8x06.

{ Read it here on Ao3! }

OR read below!

“Eddie,” Tommy says, voice hoarse on the other end of the line. He sounds—if not drunk, then so heartbroken it sounds like inebriation. “I wanted to—I’m calling to say goodbye.”

Eddie’s not quite sure if he means it the way he thinks he does, but his stomach almost falls out through the soles of his feet anyway. He sits bolt upright in bed, carefully extricating himself away from Buck, who’s doing his best impression of a endoparasite (“A parasite that lives on the skin of its host, Eddie, it’s really fascinating stuff—”) and somehow latched onto Eddie’s waist with an iron grip while also being dead asleep.

What little vestiges of sleep had been clinging to him fall completely away as he steps into his own hallway, quietly hissing, “Are you okay? Where are you?”

“I mean—at home?” Tommy says, confused, and okay, yeah, he’s definitely slurring his words a little, “Where else would I be?”

Eddie sighs and drags a hand over his face. “Are you going to be safe? Do I need to call someone?”

“No! No, it’s not like that,” Tommy assures him, “Sorry, I should have clarified. I’ll be okay. This is just… this is it. For us. Since Ev—since Buck and I broke up.”

“From what I heard, you’re the one who broke up with him,” Eddie huffs, “Or did I just spend the last three hours getting snot on my nice white shirt for a mutual thing?”

“This is what I mean!” Tommy insists, “He’s your best friend. I’m—I know I don’t rank that high. I just… fuck, I really enjoyed spending time with you these past six months. It’ll—it’ll always be,” a rough, shaky breath, “I’ll remember it fondly.”

Eddie feels a shocking flare of irritation, and it leads him out onto his back patio, so he knows he won’t wake Buck up. “What the fuck happened, man?”

“I had—I had to end it,” Tommy says, with a shake in his voice like a motorcycle’s death wobble, “It wasn’t going to last. If I didn’t pull the plug it would have broken me. I didn’t want to—I didn’t want it to get to the point where either one of us would get our hearts broken.”

“Really? Because from where I’m sitting, neither one of you sound especially put together right now,” Eddie positively seethes, “He’s fucking gutted, Kinard. He told me—” (“I didn’t know if I loved him this morning, and then he called me Buck and I felt sick. What—what else could it be?”) “—well, he told me a lot that, frankly, I don’t think you should hear from anyone but him. And you don’t even know what you did to him because you ran! You didn’t even try—”

“Please stop,” Tommy says, sounding smaller than Eddie has ever heard him, “It’s… it’s better this way.”

“Better for who?” Eddie snaps.

“For him!” Tommy insists, “For both of us, but especially for him. I’m not the forever guy. I’m not his forever guy, and I’m not yours, either. I just want… I want a clean break. I—I want—”

There’s a sniffle, a choked-off sob, and Tommy says, “I just want to be left alone. It would hurt less if people would just leave me the fuck alone.”

“That’s a shitty excuse, and you know it,” Eddie accuses, “Tommy, listen. I’m not saying this to make you feel bad, I’m saying this because—despite the fact that you’re apparently the biggest idiot I’ve ever met—I care about you. I care about you outside of your relationship to Buck. Or did you forget the fact that you were my friend before you were his boyfriend?”

“So, what,” Tommy says, irritation seeping into his voice, “You want to keep talking to me? I know how that goes. You’ll text me every once in a while, we won’t hang out if Buck’s going to be there, so you’ll lose interest and our fun trips and sparring sessions will be fewer and further between, and it’ll hurt. It’ll hurt worse than this. Why do you think I’m doing this, Eddie? I’m doing this because it’s the only way I can keep myself sane.

“You want to know why? You want to know why I broke up with him? Because I woke up the morning of our anniversary and realized I was falling in love with him. I haven’t been able to eat. I haven’t been able to sleep. I—I realized I would let him do anything to me, and that’s not something I ever want to feel again. So I couldn’t. There—there’s your fucking answer. I broke up with him because a little heartbreak is better than ever letting myself get hurt like that ever again.”

The words kind of prickle at some sense in the back of Eddie’s brain. The anger fades a little, and into something a lot more like concern. “Hurt like what, Tommy?”

“I don’t—I don’t know how to tell someone no once they’re in my life like that,” Tommy confesses through gritted teeth, “Maybe it’s my dad’s fault, maybe Don’t Ask Don’t Tell’s fault, maybe it’s just me. Every relationship I’ve ever been in has ended in me making the same mistake. I stayed too long, I let them—I let them believe I wanted to marry them, or I let them take out their anger on me, or I—I—other stuff. Evan—Buck doesn’t deserve that.”

“You’re right,” Eddie acquiesces, “He doesn’t. He deserves a partner who can communicate openly with him. Which you had been doing. You’re capable of being open, Tommy. You did it before.”

Tommy pauses on the other end of the line. “I—I don’t know what to do, Eddie.”

“Did you want to break up with him?” Eddie presses.

“No,” Tommy says, easy as breathing, “Of course not. I want him around for the rest of my life. But that’s… selfish.”

“And breaking up with him because you don’t want to talk through something difficult and scary is so altruistic,” Eddie counters, “You know, there’s this thing Buck says about love—you don’t find it, you make it. I think he heard it on a scene we were at years ago. From this old gay couple, been together for decades and decades.”

Tommy’s quiet on the other end, and then Eddie hears the hitch of his breath. Tommy is sobbing, silent and restrained, but so hard the exhalation of breath sounds nearly painful.

(“I’m starting to think the curse wasn’t just Billy Boils. Maybe it’s me—I mean, I move into Abby’s place, and she leaves me. I pick out an apartment with Ali, and she leaves me. Taylor moves in, and she leaves me. And now this? I can’t… Eddie, I can’t keep doing this. I’m—maybe I’m just the guy who’s good for a fun time, not a long time. I—what am I doing wrong?”

“Buck, you’re not doing anything wrong. I’m so sorry.”

“Do you think—do you think you could ever fall in love with me?”

“I think if I wasn’t this way, I already would have.”)

“I’m not going to tell you what to do, Tommy,” Eddie says, “But I really think you should talk to him. Tell him where your head’s at. Buck’s really good at—at understanding why you hurt him, and he’s even better at forgiving.”

“I—I—I can’t—”

“You can,” Eddie insists, “So pull yourself together, do some box breathing, get some sleep, and come over to my house tomorrow. I’ll make my hangover cure. I’ll lock the doors if I have to.”

Tommy’s quiet, which Eddie interprets as a fully-blown panic attack.

“If you don’t, I will call Athena Grant,” Eddie threatens, “You don’t want to know the things she’s willing to do for Buck. I’ve seen her break at least three laws with my own eyes.”

This, at least, gets a laugh out of Tommy. “Okay—Jesus, yeah. What time?”

“If you’re not over here by nine I’m sending the cavalry,” Eddie says primly, “And bring flowers. Nobody’s ever gotten Buck flowers before.”

Tommy takes a slow, shaky breath out. “Thanks, Eddie. You didn’t—you didn’t have to do all this for me.”

“Everyone always says Buck has a habit of worming his way into your heart, but nobody ever talks about me,” Eddie grins, “You’re stuck with me now, Kinard. Rain or shine. Even when you’re the stupidest motherfucker on the planet.”

“I’ll text you tomorrow when I’m on my way,” Tommy says, “I’ll—I should go eat some carbs and drink water now.”

“Take care of yourself, man,” Eddie says, “And don’t you ever call me to say goodbye again. Or break up with Buck like that. Also—call him Evan. It’s fucking weird to hear you call him Buck.”

“Okay,” Tommy acquiesces, quiet. “Damn. I was so worried about falling in love with Evan that I didn’t even realize I already loved you.”

“I’m sneaky like that,” Eddie says, “I’ll see you tomorrow—or else.”

(The next day, Tommy knocks on the door at nine sharp. He hasn’t changed out of his pajamas, his hair is a mess, he looks too gaunt and the bags under his eyes could fit a small country. But he’s holding a bouquet of wildflowers.

“I got this one because they’re the same color as your eyes,” Tommy says to Buck, who stands in the living room with his mouth ajar.

“What’s going on right now?” Buck says, eyes darting over to Eddie suspiciously.

“I’m going on a walk,” Eddie says, putting his sunglasses on his forehead and twisting at the hips to pop his back, “Don’t fuck on any of my furniture.”)

[purrpletiger]

FRESH DRAWING GUIDE:

Hello everybody, I've come to give you all this absurd reference guide for drawing Fresh. yep. I decided to spend hours slapping this together.

If I got anything wrong or should add anything PLEEEASE lemme know! All ideas welcome!

If you want to see my "research" on this character, let me know in the replies, because there's so much to talk about with him and I'd love to do a character analysis or two, I couldn't put much about his personality or source posts in this because it's just a drawing guide!

Link to all the full images

Transcript and close-ups of the text on the image: (May be in a strange order)

Fresh was created by @loverofpiggies (CQ)

Main Outfit:

YOLO sunglasses

Backwards propeller cap

Pink Polo shirt

Crayola Jacket

Gold Tooth

SWAG fannypack

Convertible Zip-off pants

White Heelie shoes

Pink socks

He has thick eyebrows to emote! (The eyebrows are usually depicted with black hair but one human design has eyebrows that match the pink hair color!)

The bag says SWAG on it

His glasses say YOLO by default, but the letters can magically change mid-scene...

this design for Fresh is Tall, we dunno how tall but taller than CQ's Sans characters (or just Geno since he's literally sans undertale with some added steps). But his height is just his host's height sooo it can vary.

those (cyan and yellow) shoe details are on the innerside but not outerside

HE HAS HEELIES!

Pink glove cuffs!

his skateboard is inconsistent dont worry about it

Glasses Off:

The host's soul shows up in their left eyesocket

- The soul tends to look unstable (cracks & a sortve stroboscopic effect.. i couldn't think of a better word.) but not in some cases...

It doesn't have to be a white upside-down heart, that's just a reference to an undertale monster soul.

He has a purple substance full of little RADs that emanate from his eyesockets (when his sunglasses are off)

"The soul in Fresh's eyes CAN be cracked. That soul isn't his. it belongs to his host. And.... after a while.... things go bad for the host, and he needs a new one." -CQ

(example of soul with unstable effect with no cracks) (example of soul with cracks but lacking the effect)

The purple aura(?) can glow and emanate from the eyes when his glasses are on too

i miss this one design specifically. the colors and the SK8 OR B SK8 shirt were peak

I miss the SWAG necklace...

Fresh leaves a rainbow cloud of smoke when he "poofs". Either teleporting him and his host body somewhere or leaving his host behind.

Human Designs:

Fresh can possess humans too.

They all look physically different because they're different people that he's possessing.

Fresh can possess pretty much any body, but I thought I'd show the varied examples of humans anyway

Don't forget the orange jacket flaps! or his hat propeller!

I dunno what's up with the multicolor tongue thing. I think it was extra parasites in the host's mouth? I feel like it was scrapped at some point... but I could be wrong

FURBIES!:

Oh yeah, he also does this: (no image for the bat tho)

"I mean when he fights he pulls Furbies out of his magical fanny pack. takes out a wiffle bat. and hits the furby at his enemies.

And then the furby explodes in a blaze of glory." -CQ

Despite using some furbies as explosives, he seems to 'care' about and treat these two like precious babies:

This one is potentially named McFreshby The Fresh Furbrah (Fresh is mentioned to have one named that, and this is the only other furby he's been depicted with)

It can also do THIS: (roll its eyes back into a spookier look)

This is DJ FurBs. that's all i know about him

The REAL Parasite:

Fresh is actually this little parasite controlling a host body. (if you didn't know that why are you reading this post rn!?! but nah I love new Fresh fans, welcome!)

The main parasite is this purple one with the eyemouth and four(?) tendrils, the other colored tentacles are prrrobably Fresh's offspring (freshmageddon moment?) (I'm not actually sure, I'm just pretty sure they're not part of the main parasite but are parasite tentacles)

You can also see Fresh's five or more purple tendrils here stretching out all over his host's body

All art from CrayonQueen/@loverofpiggies

Reference guide made by PurrpleParrasite/@purrpletiger

pls suggest changes or additions if u have ideas!

That's all!

[gallonofgoldfish]

Whiskey and Winning

It's easy to get distracted at the rodeo. At least, it should be, under the lights and in the crowded stands, but you've only got one thing on your mind. Champion bronco rider Abby Anderson could say the same.

Pairing: cowpoke!abby x reader (sort of)

Content: established relationship, fluff, poor attempts at depicting the rodeo, reader is barely described, i swear im not slut shaming i just think the term buckle bunny is funny, i don't think any warnings apply

A/N: wrote this last night in a haze. i hardly know anything about tlou and rodeos actually make me really sad but yk. the parasites. might make another part to this at some point. didn't tell my friends i was posting this so if you guys see this hello i love you thank you for hyping me up <3. also friendly reminder fuck neil druckmann and do not give that zionist your money!!!

WC: 1080

The blare of the announcer’s voice from the overhead speakers is deafening, but you haven’t heard a word he’s said. The lights are blinding, but you won’t squint against their glare. The stadium is packed full—roaring with the drunken cheers of thousands of strangers, glittering with the flash of every camera and belt buckle and rhinestone-studded hat suffocating in the stands—but it may as well be empty save for the two of you.

The world is quiet. Eerily so, though maybe the ringing in your ears is playing a part in that. It’s narrow. It’s tinged by the black splotches at the edge of your vision and strained by the clench of your jaw.

The world is the cowpoke settling onto the bare back of the bronc in the chute only a few feet away from you. It’s the wide-brimmed ten-gallon pressed firmly down over the dirty blonde braid hanging between her shoulders. The collared white shirt stretching over her back, quilted with Marlboro patches and brand logos. The crimson bandana you’d had in your hair an hour earlier, resting around her neck.

The world is Abby Anderson, from the freckles strewn over her scarred, sunburned face to the cold focus in her steely blue eyes that evaporates when her gaze settles on you. Ice turns to the warmth of Jack Daniel’s, neat in its absence. To the gray of campfire smoke winding into the white-speckled sky, burning away the chill in the air. Warding off the spectators and the clamor and the awful, twisting feeling of waiting.

This is what it’s about, right?

The rush. The thrill.

The hitch in the air as her hand tightens on the rigging one last time. 

A grin splits her features.

She winks.

And then she’s gone. The gate swings open and the bucking mare takes off with her on its back and the world bursts back into a mess of color and noise. Eight seconds.

You’re yelling—you’re not sure what you’re yelling, but it’s loud enough to leave your throat raw and earn some sideways looks from the flock of buckle bunnies pressed up against the railing alongside you. 

Seven.

Part of Pour Some Sugar on Me blasts from the staticky speakers, and Abby appears on the jumbotrons in perfect detail. 

Six.

The bay mare thrashes into the air, but Abby’s faster, stronger, the muscles in her arms pushing against the seams of her shirt as she holds her free hand held up in the air. 

Five.

The snarling wolves engraved on her belt buckle flash under the lights. 

Four.

Every kick whips the fringe along the edges of her shotgun chaps, but the timer ticks down anyway. 

Three.

She holds on, anyway.

A closer shot brings her face into focus: grit teeth, a furrowed brow, a muscle ticking along the edge of her jaw. 

Two.

Sweat runs down the side of her features and into the scar on her cheek beneath the shadow of her hat’s brim. 

She’s in the middle of the arena now, gritty sand flying up around her. 

One?

If you could tear your eyes off of her, you’d check the time to make sure you’re counting right.

The music stops. An airhorn sounds. She’s still the rider—some distant, mythical thing up on a screen and down in the dirt.

Abby’s mouth opens in a shout when the second set of floodlights kick in, raising her head only to lock eyes with the pair of wranglers who burst out of the chutes after her to rope the bronc back in. She rocks forward with the mare’s motion one more time before swinging herself off its back and bailing into the sand. 

You finally get a breath out, resting your head against your forearm on the railing and heaving a sigh.

The announcer’s words retreat to the back of your thoughts again, but not before you catch her score. 95.

Ninety–fucking–five. The day’s record.

Just as the stadium begins to die down, the strangers beside you erupt into another round of cheers. Abby’s on her feet again, dusting herself off and sweeping her hat off of her head to shake out the loose strands of hair framing her face. And she’s walking. Jogging. Full-on running, back towards the chutes.

Or maybe not. 

She vaults the rickety fencing at the edge of the ring like she’s been practicing and hauls herself up into the stands. You can’t bite back your smile at the sight of her, shoulders heaving, beaming, alive. The crooks of her boots expertly find the backs of the plastic stadium seats between spectators’ shoulders. As she makes her way over, the strangers along the railing surge towards her, arms outstretched over the section’s edge. 

Abby doesn’t even see them; her stare never leaves yours except to glance at the railing before stepping up on the platform and hooking an arm through the top metal rung. 

She’s real again then—the world in flannel and denim and muddy boots, inches away.

Abby. Your Abby.

You’re breathing it in. Smoke from the night before. Pine and sweat.

Then, you’re tasting it. Whiskey and winning.

Her hat settles atop your head. Calloused, resin-stuck fingers thread through your hair at the back of your neck and reel you in. Your lips are on hers—or maybe it’s the other way around—and you laugh against each other.

Heat creeps into your cheeks long before you pull away.

“You shouldn’t be up here,” you scold, but your smile chases off any thread of sternness your voice might’ve held.

“Agree to disagree.” She wipes her forehead on her sleeve and huffs, one brow arched. The rosy blush in her features lingers even when the sweat is gone. 

The screens over her shoulder change to show two familiar shapes. 

“We’re on the jumbotron,” you say. 

Abby doesn’t bother looking back. Just laughs “Good,” then kisses you again. This one is quicker, lighter, but your stomach flutters all the same.

“Go.” You squeeze her arm. “I’m sure you’re gettin’ somethin’ good for a ride like that.”

She scoffs. “I do this for no damn awards,” she drawls.

“Can’t all be adrenaline,” you murmur, tugging at her bandana.

That sly, smoky look creeps across her features again as the hat lifts from your head and sinks back down onto hers.. The corner of her mouth tugs upward. Her eyes dart over your face. Stepping down, she leaves you two more words and a pounding in your chest:

“It ain’t.”

[oralmisery]

Stiff by Day, Stiffer at Night

written for @steddiesmuttyseptember

[ complete fic on ao3 ]

Rating: E | WC: 7,007 | Tags: Smut, Humor, Lingerie, Blow jobs, Hand jobs, Brat Steve Harrington, Bathing/Washing, Light Dom/Sub undertones

Week three prompt: Lingerie

Steve is a mannequin that comes alive at night. 

Eddie occasionally dumpster dives at Starcourt Mall. 

The corroded coffin boys break in Eddie’s new find like teenage boys do–with mischief and vandalism. The not so lifeless Steve holds Eddie accountable and makes him clean up the mess he and his friends made.

Eddie knew Starcourt Mall was a corporate parasite draining the economic and cultural vitality of Hawkins; practically stealing customers from local businesses–the mom and pop stores that are generational legacies. However, being that the local businesses’ version of economy and culture consist of sneering at Eddie's crumpled single bills and following him around their stores like he was going to walk away with their entire inventory in his pockets, he wasn't remorseful in the least for being a patron of the new mall. Besides, there was a record store Eddie could browse while Jeff dared Gareth to steal panties from Victoria's secret. It had an actual metal section, small but existent.

The mall also had some of the most unique dumpster finds, not that Eddie made it a habit, he just looked from time to time.

“Why did you-mphf , even take this thing?”, Gareth said. He and Eddie were finding it difficult to maneuver Eddie's latest find through the trailer's small doorway.

“Same reason-push man-you and Jeff stole frilly underwear-oof ”, Eddie said, knocking his elbow into the wall and almost losing his footing. “I saw something, I wanted it, and no one stopped me, besides my acquisition was free”.

“Can't believe you went dumpster diving for a mannequin” Gareth said, finally angling the mannequin's legs right so they could get inside the trailer. They started down the hallway to Eddie's room.

The mannequin was a masculine one, tall and fit with defined musculature that was somehow supposed to represent the average man. It was bare when Eddie found it and the smooth white plastic body proved slippery to hold. The sculpted hair on the head pressed into Eddie's stomach when Gareth gave an impatient push.

“Slander , I didn't go into the dumpster, it was just right outside of it, mint condition” Eddie said, hands grappling with the mannequins shoulders as they tipped it up to stand in the middle of his room. “Ya know this thing will actually get use, which is more than I can say for the lingerie y’all pilfered. Who are you going to give it to? I don't think I’ve even seen you talk to a girl”.

Gareth's face scrunched up and he opened his mouth to argue but was cut off by Jeff, “we can give them to Gareth's mom”. Gareth’s outrage turned to a new target and he swiped one of Eddie's pillows to whack a laughing Jeff.

Jeff dodged, “What are you going to use the mannequin for?” he asked Eddie, holding a swinging Gareth back with his superior arm length.

Eddie turned the mannequin a couple inches to the right, looking over its plastic figure with roving eyes, “So many applications Jeff, imagine! a prop for our sessions, a corroded coffin mascot, a model for new t-shirts”. Eddie turned and smiled, wide and mischievous, “also I'm gonna scare the shit out of Wayne with it”.

Eddie wiggled his fingers at the others, "now get comfy, we are not parting ways until we get our setlist right, I'm going to roll a joint and grab some beer” he bounded from the room.

Eddie plopped down at the small kitchen table and opened his lunchbox to roll a joint. He twisted the filter paper with ease and sealed it with a quick swipe of tongue. With the joint tucked behind an ear, he grabbed a six pack from the fridge and headed back to his room.

“Okay boys, so I think we- what the fuck ?”.

The mannequin was now wearing a pale baby-blue, lace lingerie set. 

“I think he looks really good, right Eddie?” Gareth said as Jeff cackled.

Eddie bit his tongue. It did look good. The light blue bra stretched tight around perfectly sculpted pecs. The cups of the bra were completely transparent, the only opaque elements were delicately embroidered flowers and petals. Eddie could easily imagine pink nipples, bruising the sheer blue purple between the floral adornments. The same sheer fabric curtained around the bottom of the bra, creating an hourglass figure on a chiseled torso. Dainty straps enhanced broad shoulders. The whole piece stretched into a shape vastly different from the curves expected of it on a feminine figure. The paradox had Eddie's mouth watering. 

The most modest part of the ensemble was the front of the panties. There was a wide triangle of opaque blue cloth, then the rest was just as sheer and flower adorned as the bra. Even though the mannequin’s groin was smooth and flat, the square muscular cut of the hips sparked the image of blue cloth pulling obscenely over a bulge. Eddie swallowed thickly. Unlike Jeff and Gareth, humor wasn't at all the emotion Eddie was experiencing right now. He didn't want them to know what he was actually feeling, lest they stop being his friends.

Eddie laughed, loud and performative “I'd prefer if the top was more filled out” he said. He might as well have spoken absolute gibberish for how meaningless those words were, but he wasn't going to expose himself. He was a goddamn dungeon master and he knows how to put on an act, how to control a room–reveal information only when he's ready to. 

When players are a little too close to unraveling the mystery you give them a distraction, a side quest.

A misdirection.

Eddie swirled around and grabbed a marker from his desk, he uncapped it and flourished it in the air. He grinned at Gareth and Jeff, then nodded at the scantily clad mannequin.

“I think it needs some ink”

—----

Eddie woke up to something jabbing his ribs. He shifted with growing annoyance, wondering what was digging into his side. Then he recalled, not long before Gareth and Jeff left, that Jeff had pulled off the mannequin's arm and they took turns brandishing it like a sword. Eddie dimly remembered the arm next to him in bed when he passed out in a tipsy haze. He rolled over and started to sink back into sleep.

Something wiggled along his spine.

Eddie jerked upright and to the side with a strangled gasp. He moved so fast that his spine made an odd popping noise and by some miracle he didn't end up on the floor. Something was alive in his bed.

“Is that my fucking arm?”.

Eddie screeched and whirled towards the voice that just spoke. There was a man in his fucking room. It was too dark to see anything more than a silhouette, backlit with meager moonlight from the small window.

“W-what th- H-holy shit , I don't have any money man!”, Eddie said, frantic and garbled. He felt light headed; his heartbeat a rapid pulse in his ears. So at odds with the sluggish ebb of his thoughts and the sleep still encumbering his limbs. 

“I dont want fucking money, give me my arm asshole”, the voice said. 

“Wha -I don't know what that means, l-look just take whatever and go”.

The voice groaned like the home invader was the one inconvenienced.

“Like I want to be here? You're the one that kidnapped me from the mall, then stole my arm! now give it back”, the man said, a slight whine edging into his vexed tone. 

Eddie wasn't convinced they were having the same conversation. His body moved on autopilot, trying to appease the man’s commands as he mentally debated if this was all a vivid dream. He patted his person as if he had anything on him besides a worn t-shirt and boxers.

“Next to you, Jesus”

Eddie blinked, still processing, “Kidnap ? The fuck-I never, how ev-, I-I took a mannequ-” he said, dazed, his hands reaching out blindly on the bed sheet next to him. His left hand bumped into something warm and smooth.

There was a click. The darkness was cut through with the bright glow of his bedside lamp. 

Eddie noticed first that the man in his room wasn't wearing clothes. Mostly. He looked around Eddie’s age and was just miles of smooth tan skin and toned lines that were not at all hindered by a pale blue lingerie set. Indecent was not a word Eddie used often, the term usually directed at him, but the current display had him clutching his metaphorical pearls. Also, there were crude scrawlings of black marker all over the man’s face, like the first person to fall asleep at a truly vicious sleepover. He had uneven sketchy glasses, a stupid french villain mustache and a crooked goatee. 

The second thing Eddie noticed was his searching hand was resting on a hairy forearm. There was a severed arm in his bed.

“WHAT THE FUC-” Eddie leaped up and away, tripping over the blankets wrapped around his legs and falling straight into the almost naked burglar. The man grabbed Eddie (third thing Eddie noticed is the guy only had one arm) trying to keep vertical but they both went down in a tangle of limbs.

“Ow! fuck, Dude ”, the stranger groaned.

“Oh my god, what the fuck, there’s a fucking arm in my be-,” Eddie’s words muffled into incomprehensible noises when the other rolled them sideways, pinning Eddie under him as he sat up. The man didn't respond to Eddie's alarmed yelp. Instead, he reached over to grab the arm on the bed spread.

“Ew , don't touch i-”

The man ignored him and Eddie noticed that for all the separation of limbs going on there was remarkably little blood. None. No gore, exposed bones or flaps of skin. The place where the mans’ shoulder ended was fuzzy–like TV static. The end of the arm was the same way, like Eddie couldn't focus properly on what he was seeing.

The man hoisted up the arm and with a quick motion, snapped it back into place. He shook it out and started moving both shoulders in circles. Like a seasoned athlete warming up for a game.

Eddie watched speechless, mouth hung open. He wanted drugs to be the explanation, but he was unfortunately familiar enough with being high that he knew what stone cold sober felt like. Eddie's eyes lowered. There were more doodles and words scrawled on the man's chest and stomach. Eddie paused on a hand-drawn devil face, horns and everything–Hellfire’s club logo, right above the man’s belly button. Eddie remembered drawing it, and cursing when he made the second horn too big cause the marker skidded across a plastic ab.

With a dread thick in his gut, Eddie turned his head slowly and glanced at the corner of the room where they had left the defaced, barely-clothed mannequin.

The corner was empty.

“Where am I? This is not the GAP”

Eddie looked back at the man still sitting on him, now with two arms, crossed across his chest. His handsome face was carved with a scowl, bordering a pout. Eddie absentmindedly observed that the guy was hot . Like, probably the hottest man Eddie had seen in real life. And it wasn't the sexy underwear–the same pale blue combo that Gareth had stolen. The man was so attractive, he made a dying marker look good. He had brown swoopy hair, expressive eyebrows, pink lips and moles everywhere .

“You-you're the mannequin ?” Eddie asked. The question feels stupid–obvious but also absurd. Like asking if the moon was real and if it was made of cheese in the same breath.  

“Yes, duh ” the man rolled his eyes, “also it’s Steve, now why am I here? Did you rob the GAP or something?”, Steve said, eyeing Eddie's room like it was tainted.

Eddie blinked, dazed. The mannequin had a name. And it was rude as hell.

“Hellooo, do you have ears? Why did you rob the GAP and take me? Where's the new summer collection, huh? I was in The All-american Polo with a contrast collar, slim fit and the #5 khakis, size 32", Steve said. His chin tilted up as he stared at Eddie down his nose.

“I didn't rob anywhere, are you talking about the GAP in the mall ? Starcourt mall?" Eddie asked.

The annoyance disappeared from Steve's face, leaving it cold and intimidating–anger sunk under the surface to fester. His eyes narrowed, “are you always this slow?” he asked, voice tight. 

Eddie opened and closed his mouth. The manne- Steve’s glare was making his skin feel hot and itchy. He’s had unrealistic dreams start like this before, unfortunately the way those usually end is not a likely outcome in this situation.

“I didn’t know you're from the GAP, you were out by the dumpsters, man”

“The dumpster?!” Steve looked affronted. He jumped up and off Eddie to start pacing the room ranting. 

“The fucking dumpster ? They were going to throw me away? I'm supposed to be displaying hot new summer looks at reasonable prices. I’m the frontline of fashion, dammit! I don’t deserve to-to model a fucking trash bag ”. He abruptly stopped and whirled around on Eddie who was sitting up, trying to drag himself back on the bed.

“Why am I in this ”, Steve asked, plucking at the lacy bra on his chest, “also fucking marker? Are you serious, you guys 8 years old or something?”. Steve waved an angry hand from his face to down his body. He planted his other hand on a jutted hip.

Eddie's eyes followed Steve’s wave as if it was an invitation. His eyes slid down Steve's figure, marker and all. Eddie swallowed, the bulge wrapped in baby-blue was bigger than the one he had imagined.

“Are you going to answer any of my questions or just keep staring at my crotch?” Steve asked. Both hands on his hips now, unashamed, almost presenting in contrast to his sharp words.

Eddie's eyes flew up, his cheeks hot. 

“Uh yeah, or…no, I’m 20 not 8 years old”, Eddie said. Steve’s glare was volatile. Eddie put up his hands in surrender, “sorry , we were being stupid, just messing around. I'm so sorry, we didn't know you were, uh, alive …do, ah, all mannequins come to life?”

“As far as I know, Just me” Steve answered, preoccupied, looking off into the distance. He ran a hand through his hair and pursed his lips, “Ugh , can't believe they threw me out, I'm the best male sport model they have, I'm the only one that does the athletic stance”. He demonstrates with a pose that Eddie assumed was flawless but he's a little distracted with how the lingerie stretched around Steve’s spread thighs, leaving a little less of his crotch to imagination.

“Uh, well that's great…I mean the pose not the being… fired ? not sure why they threw you out but, um, I can drive you back-" Eddie hiccupped when he was roughly pulled up by the front of his T-shirt. Steve leaned in close and snarled.

“Absolutely not, you're gonna clean up what you did” Steve said. His face inches from Eddie’s.

“What?” Eddie asked, wrong-footed. They were so close, he could see flashes of the inside of Steve's mouth.

Steve furrowed his brow and shook Eddie, “all the marker, you're gonna wash it off”.

[ continue reading ]

[tiredofthehumanlife]

He bloody kissed me😱

Barbie dolls: rosekiller x you (Evan rosier, Barty crouch jr, and your gay ass)

Words: 6.7k ish

Summary: gn!reader btw but so basically Barty and Evan decide to include you in their sex life so yeah

Warnings: allusions to Jegulus, Barty gets called a fucktoy, choking, Barty is v submissive and then Evan is like dominant?? And then r is like the medium between the two, KNIVES KNIVES, blood lots of blood, they lap up the blood like hounds, Barty cried during sex but like he's chill dont worry about him, handcuffs Barty is restrained, Voldemort mentioned, Evan quite enjoys degrading Barty, lots of praise, choking with a belt, Barty is the only one who cums, I don't think you people read these, Barty gets called a slut, cumslut, and a whore, cuckolding undertones srry ig, Barty's comes in his pants, is it comes or cums?, Barty's happy trail is mentioned so often it deserves a space in the credits, scarring, cannibalism undertones (they aren't under they're very present), AFTERCARE INCLUDED SUCK MY DICK ITS PART OF SEX, if you know me 😐not anymore

Being friends with Barty and Evan was enjoyable. They were funny, they were nice on occasion, however they were also insane. More specifically they were insane in bed. It wasn't even something you wanted to know. Everything you learned about their sex life was involuntary.

Barty would come in with a new bandage and an impossible to recreate grin. You'd get worried that he got into trouble and ask his what happened. He give you a bright smile and mutter 'ask my boyfriend'. You fell for it everytime, too. Your love for your friends often trumped your common sense. Always so worried for him you'd forget he was a physchopath dating a psychopath. He had shown up with bruises before, a hickey, a bruise on his arm in the shape of a hand, yada yada. If you didn't know them as well as you wished you didn't you would've thought Evan was beating Barty without his consent. Unfortunately you did know them, you knew they were a match made in hell. Bruises and cuts before, sure but never this bad.

From the second Barty entered the Great Hall, you were zoned in on his neck. A long blue stripe spanned across his throat, with more purple in a squarish shape. Evan was happily holding onto Barty's arm over his shoulders. They split when they reached the table, Barty coming to sit next to you and Evan across from him. Dorcas and Pandora were deep in a conversation about the way someone would go about turning into a tree. Regulus was ignoring all of you, deeply focused on his breakfast and the book in his lap. You gripped onto Barty's shoulder staring at his neck.

"Barty, what happened to your neck?" You whispered. Evan snorted across from you. You sent him a glare, assuming he was laughing at Barty.

"Belt." Barty said, reaching around you to steal a sausage off Regulus' plate.

"A belt? Barty, what? Who the hell did you get into a fight with? Who rips off their belt in the middle of a tossle? The fuck is wrong these people?" You started glancing around the Hall to see if you could find someone with a black eye or two.

"Who you looking for, baby?" Evan asked. You turned back to the table to stare at Evan. He raised an eyebrow at you. You looked between Barty's cocky grin and Evan's teasing look. The realization finally hit you, your shoulders slumping. You sighed and ripped your hand away from Barty's shoulder, wiping it off on your shirt.

"You two are filthy. Truly." Barty shrugged. Evan sneakily pulled a slice of toast off of Dorcas' plate. She continued arguing with Pandora about human trees.

"Well you can't lie, you think it's hot." Barty said, leaning in to your personal space. "Don't you, baby" You felt your ears go red. You stared at Barty's smug face. You reached up and pushed him away from you.

"No comment." Evan laughed at you.

"See that's basically a yes." Evan muttered. You shook your head.

"I think you two are disgusting little parasites. It's filthy and foul." You said, crossing your arms. Barty leaned his head on your shoulder, blinking up at you.

"I love it when you talk sexy." You shoved Barty off of you. Evan shrugged. You three went to your regular conversation over your assignments, most of which Barty didn't do and still aced the class.

In fact it wasn't until a week later they brought up their sex life to you, again. This time you shockingly hadn't fallen for their tricks. You were all piled in the boys' dorm. Dorcas, Pandora, and Marlene were all sat on Evan's bed. Marlene was painting Pandora's nails, not that she was very good at it. Dorcas had her head resting on top of Marlene's thigh, 'resting her eyes' as she said. Regulus had laid down for a nap hours ago. He had a very exhausting day, having to speak to Potter and all that. His curtains were drawn and you were glad the others had all silently agreed to stay quiet while speaking. You were sat on Barty's bed, which was next to Evan's. Barty and Evan were sitting next to you. Evan had his head rested on your shoulder, as him and Barty quietly whispered to each other. You were focused on your book, blocking out everyone's voices.

You kept your full attention on the story, the words sweeping you away into another world. Just as things were ramping up, a fight sparking between two characters, Marlene interrupted your train of thought. Her voice dragging you out of the world.

"Are you really going to let them do that next to you?" You gave her a confused look, tilting your head.

"Do what?" As you spoke you turned to look next to you. You found your boys with their tongues down each others throats. Barty had his leg thrown over Evan's lap, pushing Evan's shirt up. Evan yanked at Barty's hair. You were suddenly aware of the wet noises right next to your ear, their moans sending a chill of disgust down your spine.

"Oh! Boys, cut it out." You swatted them with your book. They broke apart sitting straight again. Evan pulled his shirt down. You noticed them both readjusting their pants, much to your dissapointment. You muttered about how nasty they were as you turned back to your book.

"Nothing was stopping you from joining, sweetheart." Evan whispered. You shuttered. You stared moved back to read where yu left off, though now you were unfocused. You could only think of the image of Barty running his nails down Evan's stomach. Evan biting down on Barty's tongue, his hand edging towards the band of Barty's pants. You kept restarting on your paragraph, trying your hardest to focus on the words. All you could think about was them. Within a second you realized your disgust was a red herring. You pretended to gag, you called them gross, you told them they were filthy rabbits, you told them to get a room, but really deep down you were...

attracted to them.

Oh god. Oh god, Oh god. You were attracted to not only your best friends, but your best friends who were dating. Not what do you do. Tell them? Have them stare at you with their 'I'm actively sitting next to my boyfriend' eyes? Ignore it? Just have them be all gross and loving and stuff in front of you all the time? You sighed deeply. It appears your best choice of action is to ignore it. You felt Evan wrap his arm around yours, using it as a pillow.

So you did ignore it, mostly. You really just stared at them wistfully as they went about loving each other and leaving the evidence of their long nights out in the open. It felt like they were taunting you with their hickeys, bruises, and kisses. Their gentle touches, showing the other they loved them, burning your own skin. They were completely clueless, just being in a happy realationship. All the while their best friend was yearning for them to touch you in the way they did each other. They did seem to catch the shift in tension. They hadn't said anything yet, but they'd share glances with each other.

Finally they did sit you down under the impression you were meeting up to get Regulus to confess his feelings. Barty held onto both your hands as he revealed that this meeting wasn't about Regulus, it was about you. Evan asked what was wrong, what was going on. You gave them both a confused look, lying and saying 'what i have no ideaaaaaa'. They both glared at you, giving you time to gather your own courage. You three sat in silence as you sucked in a deep breath.

"Okay yeah, well so basically-" You paused suddenly feeling like you should lie more to get yourself out of this terrible situation. You stared at the dormitory floor, wishing you were anywhere but Barty's bed.

"I am totally into these two hufflepuffs. I just I can't pick which one I want more. I just- It's all I can think about. And I know I've been distracted. But I will be working on focusing on my friends more. I know it must've been putting a strain on our friendship but I'm working on it." Lies, but hey why communicate when you could fib. Barty squeezed your hands. Evan sighed and rolled his eyes. So mayhaps they saw through it. Mayhaps they'll ignore it and let you slide.

"Do you genuinely think you're good at lying or do you just think we're stupid?" Evan asked. You gave him a confused look. You shook your head.

"I don't- I have no idea what you're talking about right-"

"Be serious."

"Okay so I lied. I'm a fibber. What about it?" You caved the second Barty spoke up. You had the backbone of an uncooked spaghetti noddle, but you still gave it a shot.

"Can you just tell us what's going on? You keep being weird." Evan groaned, crossing his arms. You sighed and pulled your hands out of Barty's.

"Alright fine, so maybe the Hufflepuffs were you. But maybe we don't need to talk about that or address that at all. Maybe ignoring it all was the friends we made along the way." Barty grabbed onto your hands again, Evan squatting down in front of you.

"Well, darling, have you considered that maybe we're totally into you too?" Barty asked, lightly squeezing your hands. Evan rested his hands on your knees.

"Obviously not." Evan muttered.

"Listen, the feelings are mutual. We've discovered this now. We're also sitting on a bed." Barty gestured to his sheets underneath you. Evan scoffed.

"Of course you're suggesting intercourse at a time like this." You whispered.

"You're not saying no." Evan pointed out.

"I am not, I am saying though, not now. Give me like a week or so to wrap my head around all this jazz." And with that you left to think. You retracted. You stayed quiet and ignored you friends. All of your energy put into figuring out what you wanted to do. It ended up only taking you about 3 days of silence for you to realize what you wanted to do. Which was to fuck them for a month straight, but you'd settle for a few minutes.

Within a flash of an eye you were searching for them all over the castle. You evenyually found them, sitting on the couch with Barty's head resting on Evan's shoulder. They were both decked in their pajamas, cozily curled up against each other. You stood in front of them waiting on them to look up at you. Evan did first, Barty's eyes closed. As they both stared at you, you steeled yourself.

"I know what I want." Evan nodded, giving you encouragement to finish your thought. "I want you to show me everything." They both looked at each other before standing. Evan latched onto your hand before grabbing onto Barty by the back of his shirt. Evan dragged you both up the stairs, his grip gentler on you. You were smiling the whole way up the staircase. Barty caught a glimpse of your face and blew you a kiss.

Barty moved to his bed, taking you with him. He laid down on his back and patted the mattress next to him. You sat next to him and watched him unbutton his shirt. Evan squatted down next to his bed digging under it. Barty smiled up at you pointing to his lips before puckering them. You met his demands, leaning down to him. Barty quickly buried his hand on the back of your head, tugging the hair between his fingers. You groaned into his mouth. Barty took the opertunity to slip his tongue past your lips. You felt Barty's hand leave your head, only to be replaced by another hand. Evan pulled your head back, your throat being fully exposed. Evan dipped his head down, dragging his teeth down the column of your neck. You heard Barty sigh under you both. Evan pulled back and set a shoebox on top of Barty's chest, using him a table. Evan pulled the lid off, glancing up at you to make sure your attention was on him.

"This is most of everything, babe. We're still learning what's enjoyable and what's not. I thought we'd start here. Barty is our test subject, for today. Trust me, he wont mind." Evan said. You leaned forward peering into the box. What you found wasn't really all that intresting, a belt, lube, condoms, a knife, handcuffs that looked particularly cheap, but it was more the gaurentee of what was to come, Barty. You felt a grin grow, looking up at Evan. He nodded.

"Knew you'd be curious. So here's my preposition, I'll do something and you watch. Then if you wanted to try, I could talk you through it, yeah?" You nodded excitedly at Evan. Evan removed the box from Barty, instead setting it next to you on the bed. Barty sat up and slipped his shirt off entirely, dropping it to the floor. Evan straddled Barty's hips. Barty pinned his hands underneath Evan's legs. Barty looked giddy. You sat next to them, watching them intently. Evan sighed, running his hands up and down Barty's chest.

"Barty doesn't really need much of anything, he's truly just a fuck toy. He quite enjoys choking, but the belt is really something that needs more buildup." You listened intently to Evan. You wanted to pay your full attention to Evan but he kept tweaking Barty's nipples while talking. Evan slid his hand up to Barty's throat. Evan squeezed, watching Barty's grin grow. Barty stared up at Evan. His eyes slipped away from Evan's to yours. Evan squeezed harder making Barty's eyes roll back.

"How do you know you're not hurting him, more than he wants I mean?" You asked, looking away from Barty to look at Evan. Evan smiled at you, glad you were excited to learn.

"He'll tap me three times if he wants me to stop, or he'll say 'snakes'. " Evan turned his focus back to Barty. Barty's mouth had gone slack, staring up at the ceiling. Evan looked back to you.

"Do you wanna try?" You felt a wave of warmth pass over you at the question. You nodded. You were slightly concerned that you'll do it wrong. Barty's face and Evan's muttered praises as you took Evan's place. You straddled Barty as he breathed harder, catching his breath.

You felt his bulge pressing into your leg as you settled your hands on his stomach. Evan sat where you were, next to the box, off to the side. Evan rubbed your shoulder as you traced Barty's happy trail. Evan gently grabbed the back of your hand pulling it up towards Barty's neck. You looked to Barty, uncertain that he didn't just enjoy choking because Evan was the one doing it. Barty smiled up at you, nodding eagerly. Evan pressed a kiss to your shoulder, placing your hand on Barty's throat. Evan took his hand off yours, giving you a moment to pull away if you needed. He placed his hand back on yours, squeezing on the sides.

"Squeeze him like that, yeah?" You nodded, mimicking Evan's force. Barty was smiling at you the whole time, egging you on.

"Harder. Pretty please, darling?" Barty muttered. You glanced at Evan, out of the corner of your eye. Evan nodded, reasueingly rubbing your arm. He ran his hand down to yours, showing you how to add more pressure properly. When Evan removed his hand and you took over, Barty moaned. He opened his mouth again. You wanted to lean over to Evan and ask why Barty did that but it felt mean. You were enjoying the look on Barty's face. You looked over at Evan with a growing grin. Evan smiled at you.

"Yeah?" You nodded, looking back down at Barty. You realeased your grip. Barty opened his eyes watching as your hand returned to his happy trail. Evan ignored Barty's whining, focusing on you in stead.

"What's next? You wanna pick from the box?" Evan asked. You nodded, although you were starting to feel like Evan was babying you. You leaned over Barty to look inside the box. You pulled the handcuffs out, showing them to Evan. He took the out of your hands.

"Barty, hands up." Barty raised his arms from his sides. Evan pulled the handcuffs through the top part of the headboard. You helped move Barty's hands to the handcuffs. Evan pulled Barty's wrists into them, locking the cuffs. Evan noticed the worring look on your face.

"He can get out of them if he wants to, they're actually a toy from like a random gas station in the middle of nowhere." You looked back to see Barty waving around his free hand. Evan tsked pulling Barty's hand back towards the cuffs. Barty grinned, leaving his hands above his head. He sent you a wink as you looked back into the box. Evan looked with you, curious it see what you would pull out next. You glanced over at him, meeting his eyes. He gave you an encouraging look as you reached into the shoebox. You pulled out the knife, holding the handle out to Evan. Evan smiled at you, taking the Knife out of your hands.

Now that you were actually looking at it you could tell it was less of a knife and more of a dagger. The handle and sheath was green, tiny gemstones forming flowers. If you didn't have an impatient Barty bucking his hips up into yours, you would've marveled at the beauty.

Evan pulled the sheath off the dagger, who knew a knife could get prettier with its clothes off? It was very pretty, two small slivers of space in the middle dragging from the handle down towards the tip. If you were Barty, you'd be quite excited. Evidently he was, moaning at the sound of Evan pulling the knife out of the sheath. Evan looked up at you to make sure you were paying attention before moving the dagger towards Barty. Evan gently dragged it over his skin, doing nothing more than enticing Barty.

"Pay attention, baby. You have to be gentle. You don't want to hurt him, more than usual." You followed along, watching Evan's hands. Evan placed one hand further up Barty's chest, the other one spinning the blade around. Evan pointed the tip down, pressing the metal into Barty's stomach. He dragged it down slowly, a small trail of blood following it. Barty groaned. You ignored him, focusing on Evan. Evan looked up at you as he pulled the bloody blade away, showing you the small mark he left. It was barely two inches big, off to the side. You stared at the red on the side of blade. Something deep inside you told you to lean forward and run your tongue over the blade. You didn't.

You gently took the blade out of Evan's hand. He nodded at you, whispering something about 'being good'. You didn't catch it but felt it was an inappropriate time to bring up your chronic 'huh?'-ing. You stared down at Barty, checking with him again if he was ready. Barty smiled at you, bucking his hips up. You groaned and shot your hands down to his hips. You pushed them down into the mattress.

"Sit still." You ordered, your tone biting at Barty's grin. He wanted to roll his eyes but your and Evan's wicked smiles made him reconsider. Barty stayed still, waiting. You brought the knife down towards his stomach. Off to the left side of his bellybutton closer to his hipbone. You watched Barty's reaction as you made a small cut in a downwards angle. Evan encouraged you with a kiss to your cheek as Barty whimpered underneath you. You watched the cut dribble out blood, a swam of excitement passing over your skin making you flush more. You looked up to Barty's contorted face. His eyebrows pushed up, his teeth digging into his inner cheek, eyes squeezed shut.

"Good?" You muttered, patting his face. Barty opened his eyes, looking up at your concerned face. You saw tears swelling in his waterline. He nodded egearly, flashing his teeth to settle your worries.

You pulled back, looking back at the cut you made. It was smaller than Evan's on Barty's other hip. You glanced over at that one to compare the two. Just to make sure you were doing it right. You noticed a scar under Evan's cut. It was two letters, ER made out of small cuts. You glanced over at Evan to see his cocky grin. He raised an eyebrow at you. You turned back to your cut, deciding you'd make a similar mark. Although you expected it to only last for tonight, a wand's flick and it's gone. You pressed the blade to the end of the last cut, pulling it up. Barty whined again, tugging at his cuffs.

You pulled the blade back admiring your downward pointing arrow. You stared at the blood making a mess on Barty's skin. You checked on Evan, finding him watching the blade with all the intensity of a man watching his best friend butcher his boyfriend. Consensually, of course. You glanced at Barty's face, seeing his tears rolling down his cheeks in a mess. He seemed to sense your concern immediately speaking to you.

"Good. 's good. So good, please keep going, please." His words pushed against each other, mixing together from his desperation. You focused back on his side, wiping away some of blood that was obstructing your view. You made 4 more cuts, turning the downward arrow into a small heart. With each stroke of your hands, Barty let out a whine. Evan started to coo at Barty, the longer you spent at his hip. Evan leaned towards Barty's face, brushing his hair away from his sweaty forehead. Evan muttered to Barty degradation in his soft tone.

It was quite confusing, his tone made it sound nice but when you focused on Evan's words you felt sick to your stomach. When you finally pulled back from Barty's hip there was a lovely little heart on the opposite side of Evan's initials. You looked up to see Barty's face wet with his tears and his eyes red. You creened, leaning forward to kiss Barty's wet cheeks.

"You're such a good boy, Barty. I'm so proud of you, doing such a good job for us." You muttered in his ear as Evan called him a slut in the other. Barty whined at the contrasting words. You pulled back from his face, looking down at the heart. The surrounding area was red with blood and flushed pain. You met Evan's eyes. He left a kiss on Barty's cheekbone before leaning towards you. He stared down at the heart, complimenting your good work. While you enjoyed how the cuts had effected Barty, his bulge pressing into your inner thigh desperately hard, you liked seeing his blood more. You wanted to lick Barty's stomach clean. You stared at Evan. He looked at you confused.

"Can I lick it?" You muttered, scared to ask much louder than a breath. Evan stared at you for a second as a grin that would make Voldemort himself quiver with fear. He gave you a small nod. You looked to Barty, his chest was heaving, his eyes still red and his arms still held tightly above his head. He nodded aggressively, trying to get his message across as fast as possible.

"Do it." Barty whispered. Evan tsked at Barty.

"Manners, Barty. Be nice to our quest." Evan chided Barty, pushing his hair back again. Barty nodded against Evan's hand.

"I'll be good. I'll be good, I promise. Rosie, I promise." Barty whined, his words mashing together again. You ignored Evan's coos as you dropped your head to Barty's hip. You tentatively swiped the tip of your tongue over a small drop of blood away from the cuts. You heard Barty moan as your eyes rolled back from his metallic taste. You were no longer taking small steps, he was too good to not spoil. You flattened your tongue out licking up every drop of Barty's blood. Loud moans rolled off Barty's tongue as you continued your work. You loved the extreme intimacy of it, also the bloody taste but that's a separate matter.

You felt Evan's hand met the back of your head again, pulling your face away from Barty's stomach. His eyes snagged on the dark shadow smeared over the bottom half of your face.

He always scolded you for being a messy eater. Evan never considered he'd find your freaky grin splattered with his boyfriend's blood so attractive. The room had gotten darker somewhere between choking Barty and now, though you weren't sure when too focused on Barty and Evan.

So no Evan couldn't see the exact shade of red on your face but he could still taste the copper on your lips. Barty told Evan he was a messy kisser, clacking teeth and sloppily slipping his tongue into Barty's mouth. But Barty had never seen Evan like this.

Evan was swiping his tongue everywhere but your mouth it seemed. He was rabid, more than usual. Evan was messily and harshly kissing you, his hand holding onto your hair tightly. Evan was moaning into your lips as he tried to get more of the coppery taste of Barty's blood in his mouth. Evan liked the taste the Barty, but he thinks he might like the taste of Barty more when he takes it from your mouth.

You pulled back from the kiss, dropping to Barty's hip again. You swiped your mouth over the surrounding area of Barty's cuts, occasionally tracing the lines with the tip of your tongue. The feeling of warmth from your mouth around his wounds made Barty wail in pleasure. He wanted to yank at your hair as much as Evan already has.

Barty pulled at the cuffs above his head. You lifted your head, looking up at Barty. He understood why Evan pounced on you like that before. The sight of his blood smeared across your mouth made him want to kiss it off like Evan already had. You leaned in towards Barty's face. Barty could smell the copper on you as you tilted your head. Barty learched his head forward, colliding his lips with yours.

He moaned at the taste of his own blood invading his mouth. Evan rubbed your back as he moved behind you. You nipped at Barty's bottom lip. He messily tried to lick at the blood around your mouth as he kissed you. You pulled away from his lips, sliding down to his neck. You swirled your tongue around him as you dragged your teeth over his skin.

Barty moaned, yanking at the cuffs holding his arms up again. You slid your free hand up Barty's throat, over his chin, and to his mouth. You slipped two of your fingers past his lips. Barty reacted instantly, swiping his tongue over your fingertips. You could feel the blood on your face smearing onto Barty's neck as you made yet another hickey. You pulled back letting his skin go. Evan helped you sit up straight, holding on to you by your waist. You pointed the tip of the dagger at Barty, making him whimper around your fingers.

"You'll be a good little slut and listen to us, won't you?" Your tone was edging on pity. Barty nodded, his movement restrained by your fingers pressing into his tongue. Evan pulled his chin over your shoulder, pressing his lips to your ear.

"You're doing good. Do you want me to show you the belt now?" You grinned as you nodded. Evan lightly kissed you before focusing back on the box. He plucked the dagger from your hands, much to your disappointment. You pulled your hand away from Barty's mouth back to his chest. Evan put the knife back it's rightful sheath before taking the belt out from the box. He tapped Barty's chin. Barty lifted his head up. Evan slid the belt behind Barty's head. He glanced at you as he slipped the end through the buckle and pulled. It wasn't tight enough to squeeze Barty yet but it was close enough that it wouldn't slip off. Evan held the end of the belt out towards you. You took it, still straddling Barty's hips. Evan moved behind you, running his hands up and down your back as he whispered to you.

"Now pull." You listened to Evan, yanking on the strap. The leather around Barty's neck tightened as his jaw went slack.

"Good. Tighter." You turned your head, looking back at Evan. He gave you a nod. You pulled on the end of the belt again, this time gentler. Barty's eyes rolled back before he refocused on staring at you. He looked like he was going to cry again. Evan hummed running his hands around from your back to your stomach.

"Release it." You loosened your grip on the strap. The belt around Barty's throat quickly loosened as he sucked in a breath. Barty's chest heaved up and down as he caught up with his lungs. Evan nodded against your shoulder, pulling you closer to him. After Barty finally evened his breaths Evan whispered to you again.

"Again. Pull." You stared into Barty's eyes as you pulled again, this time getting the right tightness on the first try. Barty let out a strangled groan. You watched Barty's face as Evan's hands traveled upwards. Your shirt gathered around his wrists as Evan moved his hands up towards your nipples. Evan pressed a kiss to your temple.

"Release." You let the end of the belt slide through your hands. Barty gasped as his breath returned. Evan nodded. As Evan gave you his repetitive instructions, you found the pace of the pulling and releasing. You were able to torment Barty's airway without Evan's instruction. Evan seemed to be quite proud of this, kissing along the curve of your neck. Barty was enjoying this more than the two of you combined, his eyes rolling back and moans slipping past his lips everytime you tightened the belt.

You liked it. A lot. You liked watching the belt dig into Barty's skin. You liked his moans. You liked his erection pressing against your leg. You liked how he left his life in your hands with the hope for pleasure. You liked how Barty's moans encouraged Evan to roll your nipples between his fingers and suck harder on your neck. You liked how Evan's motions made you grind down on Barty's lap, making Barty groan. Starting the cycle all over again.

You kept your pace with the belt, giving Barty time to catch his breath and not die. You leaned back against Evan's chest. You pulled your arm back, resting your hand on the back of Evan's head. You watched Barty's eyes focus on you again, staring at Evan's hand as it slid down your chest. You yanked on the belt again. Barty tilted his head back, whimpering loudly. Your hips moved on their own, grinding down on Barty again.

Evan groaned in your ear, dipping his hand down to the waistband of your pants. You shook your head against Evan, dropping your hand from his hair to the back of his hand. You dragged his fingers back to your chest. Evan easily accepted this, going back to tweaking your nipples. You keep pulling and releasing the belt while you bucked your hips against Barty's. His pajama pants were thin, which made it all the more exciting. You released the belt again, giving Barty time to catch up with the world again. Evan pulled his chin over your shoulder to stare down at Barty.

"You're loving all the attention, aren't you? You're such a pathetic fucking cumslut." Evan mocked Barty's moans, as Barty yanked at his handcuffs again. Just as Barty was about to bite a quip back to Evan, you yanked on the end of the belt. The leather dug into the skin of Barty's neck. You realized now why Barty's neck was always bruised, he talked too much. Evan chuckled. His laugh vibrated through you, his chest pressed against your back.

"Look at you, learning so well. Shutting Barty up like that, I'm proud of you." Evan whispered, his lips pressing against your ear. Your grip on the belt faultered from your shiver. Barty let in a fast breath. Evan tsked next to you, holding onto your hand with his. He tightened the belt, pecking your jaw.

Evan turned his attention back to your nipples, as you focused back on grinding down onto Barty's lap. You picked but the pace of tightening and releasing easily. As Barty started to get more desperate, bucking his hips up, you quickened the pace. Evan licked up your neck, nipping under your chin. You moaned, dropping your head back on Evan's shoulder. Through the split seconds of peace, Barty liked the image of you grinding against him with his boyfriend sucking at your neck.

Your tightest squeeze around his neck, coupled with your loudest moan from Evan, was what pushed Barty over the edge. Wetting his boxers and thin pajama pants. His head was light from the lack of air and the heavy pleasure. You dropped the tail end of the belt, giving all your attention to Evan. You pulled him back from your neck, meeting his lips feveriously.

Barty watched you both intently as he ignored the feeling of his underwear sticking to him. You nipped at Evans bottom lip as he slipped his tongue past your lips. You dragged your teeth over it, before pulling back to stare down at Barty with a mocking look.

"Awe did our little whore cum in his pants? All untouched. Pitiful." You mocked his blissed outface. Barty lolled his head to the side, letting it rest on his bicep. You gently dragged your finger over his happy trail. Evan moved out from behind you, sitting next to Barty's tired body. You traced around the little heart by Barty's hip.  Barty let out a whimper, nuzzling his face against Evan's hand.

"Yeah? Baby's tired?" Evan said, in a high pitched voice you'd used on a dog with a broken leg. Barty made a pathetic noise, nodding his head. You gently slipped your fingers between Barty's bruised neck and the leather belt. You pulled, slipping the belt off of him. Barty closed his eyes, leaning further towards Evan. Evan reached up to the headboard, releasing Barty's wrists. Barty dropped his arms, if you didn't know better you'd mock him for his broken marionette position. You rolled the belt up, gently placing it in the box. You held your hand out for the handcuffs from Evan, dropping those into the box as well.

You helped Evan, help Barty up onto his feet. You both gently lead Barty to the bathroom, taking the box with you.

When you three entered, turning on the light, you looked to the mirror. You found your face was still tinted red from Barty, as long as your hands. You looked over Evan. He had a red tint too, spefically over his lips, you wondered if he'd still taste like copper. Barty was the worst of all, he looked like he tried to make great friends with a bear. His neck would most definitely be bruising, his hair was sweaty and pointing in odd directions, his own blood smeared and dried around his bottom lip and down his throat. He had a smile on though, gazing at you both with loving eyes.

Evan turned both bathtub knobs to the max, dipping his hand under the water before tinkering with the temperature.

"Oh, Evan Darling, where is your wand?" Evan gestured to his bed, helping Barty step out of his now soaked pants. You quickly fetched it before handing it over to Evan. Evan pointed the tip at Barty's stomach. Barty grumbled, yanking the wand out of Evan's hands.

"I want the scar. It's a little heart, how could I not love it?" Evan hummed at Barty's bargaining. Evan glanced over at you. You shrugged and held your hands up, instead focusing on making a warm bubble bath for Barty.

"I suppose." Evan muttered. You know if Barty had access to all of his Barty brain he'd 'yippee' though now you settled from his little sigh of triumph. Evan pointed his wand back at Barty's cuts, quickly scaring over them like they've been there for years. Barty smiled happily running his fingers over the new heart scar. Evan turned back to you, finding the bath dyed acid green and a pile of bubbles on top. Evan gave you a grimace. You scoffed at him, latching on to Barty's hand.

"Have you never heard of fun? Whimsy? Joy and all things nice? Party pooper." You muttered as you helped Barty into the bath. Barty grinned up at Evan.

"It's great. Love, love, love green." Evan rolled his eyes at Barty. You both assisted Barty through his bathing routine, praising him for how well he did tonight. Evan focused mainly on Barty's hair routine as you whispered to Barty appreciation for his hard work. You switched roles when it came to washing Barty's body.

You worked on the stains, being gentle to his bruises. Evan's praises made Barty hide his face in your arm, as you rinsed him off.

As you drained the tub Evan set out pajamas for Barty on the sink counter. You helped dry off Barty. You asked if he wanted to blow dry his hair, Barty said it was 'too mother fucking loud'. Evan dressed Barty, sealing his new outfit with a peck to Barty's cheek. Barty hopped up on the counter, watching as Evan wiped your face clean. You cleaned his chin with the same wet rag.

Then you three brushed your teeth, Barty trying to fight you over the sink territory. You did not amuse him, rolling your eyes at him and moving to Evan's sink. Barty tucked himself into Evan's bed. Evan washed off the dagger in his sink as you scrubbed under your nails.

"Are you guys going to come give me love or just stand in the bathroom all day." Barty yelled across the room into the bathroom. Evan scoffed and wiped the knife off with a towel. Evan leaned his head out the bathroom door.

"Barty, respectfully, shut your fucking mouth." Evan turned back to the dagger, sheathing it and putting back in its place.

"Make me, bitch." Evan stared up at the ceiling when Barty's voice chimed again. You continued to run the tiny brush under your nails as you stood in the bathroom door frame.

"We're almost done, Baby. Just be patient." You said towards the Barty shaped pile of blankets. You moved back to the sink, rinsing the suds off. Evan closed the shoebox, flicking his wand at it. The box flew out the bathroom and tucked itself under Evan's bed, as you assumed.

"I'm no good at that." Barty said, although it was muffled from the 900 blankets stacked on top of him. Evan kissed your cheek, smiling at your now unstained hands.

"We can tell." Evan muttered. Evan turned the bathroom light off on his way out. He dragged you towards his bed, pointing at the mattress.

"I heard that."

"I know." Evan rolled his eyes as he walked over to Barty's bed. You tucked yourself into Evan's bed. Barty quickly snuggled up against you, wrapping his arms around you, squeezing tightly. He intertwined your legs.

"Alright give me a little oxygen." You whispered. Barty grumbled, loosening his grip. You glanced over at Evan watching him swish his wand at the mattress. He came back muttering about clean sheets. Evan spooned Barty, reaching over him to hold your hand. Barty fell asleep first, snoring loudly. You were next, falling asleep feeling Evan press a peck to your temple.

Part two

[cipheramnesia]

Part 3: The Death, Rebirth, and Afterlife of Parasite Alice

The Riverside Clinic for Wellness and Long-term Care weathered safely the storms of the burn just as all the worst memories navigate the mindscape unimpeded. The venerable history of the red brick and white trimmed building carried it through the poor and homeless left in squalor to the airy chill of lobotomy and electroshock therapy, two wings wide and three floors tall. Its height well serviced its intent, too short for escape even via a yearning leap from the roof to its concrete driveway.

The persistance of such single-minded enclosure of the divergent mind carried forward to the interior, with mutiply sectioned floors along each wing navigable only through a network of stairwells. A more modern elevator spired through the center of the building, lever operated and gated by iron on all sides. None of the layers of white tile or muted gray carpet or soothing art prints or geometic wall paintings over the years could fully excise the prison lovingly built into the architecture. Inside, it promised no escape. Outside its dignified facade offered warm reassurance that aging loved ones to difficult children and everyone in between would be safely forgotten.

Some part of Alice understood all this as the square black truck complained about stopping at the brick stairs with their awkwardly late addition of a wheel chair accessible ramp, leading to wide white doors set with large windows blocked by gauzy white curtains. The driver helped her out of the car and she said, "I can do it just fine!" before almost falling as her legs wobbled. She didn't like strangers touching her, but now everyone was a stranger and she leaned on a stranger just for the simple task of reaching the door of the building where she will die of cancer.

The doors swung inward to reveal an average man with a surfeit of dignity to his gray peppered mustache and deep, dark eyes beneath a noble high forehead and a gently swept back head of mostly gray hair. His thick belly preceded his wide shoulders into any room, and his hands were noticeably large with thick fingers, moving quickly and nimbly to pull a wheelchair onto the small porch. He wore checked trousers, a pale yellow golf shirt, and his arms were exceptionally hairy.

"So good to meet you," he let one hand overtake his stomach to greet Alice, which she disregarded. "My name is Dr Hopewell, and I'm the administrator here at Riverside. I've heard quite a bit about you, and I wanted to make you comfortable right away. You're quite the special guest!" He smiled away the dignity of his profile.

"I don't need a wheelchair," she said. The driver shrugged and let her go, forcing her to grab to armrests to keep standing. "I'm just tired." She gave daggers out of her eyes to both men before maneuvering herself into the seat. "Don't get used to this."

The driver passed a clipboard over her head. "You gotta sign for the delivery, also initial there... and there. Sign and date there too. Okay, nice knowing you."

Dr. Hopewell was already turning her and rolling her into the building before the driver started the truck. "Don't worry Alice, we'll make sure you have the best of care here. You're a celebrity after all, but there may be a few bumps ahead!" They wheeled past a heavy wood door and a much larger orderly took over, pushing her down the hall then bumping up a flight of stairs.

"We specialize these days in unique individuals like yourself. I understand you won't persue treatment?" She folded her arms and rolled her eyes. "Well, if you change your mind, we can be ready to start immediately." The chair and orderly bumped back down stairs into another long hallway. "But here is your room, and we've put you with someone you should get along with. She's very unique."

The room was small, two beds with a curtain divider, wall mounted TV sets, a closet bathroom, one tall window and a few small sets of sad artificial wood drawers.

Another woman sat in a rolling tube frame chair in the far corner of the room. She was big and soft and still in pajamas, her belly stuck out a bit from under the top, and her sloping shoulders seemed to be a permanent fixture of her slouch while the sweeping curve of her neck to her chin echoed in her faint jawline. Her nose was long and straight and Alice thought it was very fine with her dark black eyes looking a thousand miles away and her arrow straight glossy black hair hanging behind the chair. Alice wondered what it would be like to hold her hand. Would she squeeze hard or gently? Interlaced or fingers to thumb.

She about the woman's hands and lips and eyes enought, it took her longer than it should have to realize the other woman was also shimmering with the golden glow of the burn.

[fauustic]

don't cry, my treasure.

soft miguel o'hara x gender-neutral reader drabble

had to write this and get it out of my brain before i post my miguel series..

summary: you accidentally stir miguel awake while you're dealing with insomnia, he decides to take care of you. fluff. comfort.

warnings: brief mentions of previous injuries (fighting crime is serious business!!), just miguel being a silly little thing.. i love sleepy miguel sm.

words: 3k

Sleep came in waves, pushing against the lid of your eyes and taking you away in its current just to spit you back out into reality.

You were always tired, you've realized as you stretched your aching bones and rubbed your swollen cheek– spider suit catching your eye as it was thrown haphazardly on your bedside chair like an afterthought. 

And nightmares, nightmares kept you up like a stalker always two steps behind– waiting, preying on your frazzled mind like a parasite constantly leeching off your sanity. So here you were, grasping at the sleeveless sleep-shirt as it clamped onto your sweat-sleek stomach like a second skin.

Shallow breaths escaped from your trembling lips like you were just dumped into a pool of ice-cold water, spider senses lit aflame with the abrupt, irrational fear stabbed through your heart.

You tried to stay quiet, you didn't want to be any more of a burden when you knew how much your lover struggled through insomniac nights as well– he had just gotten back from countless hours stove away in his dim and dark lab after a few days of power naps and caffeine. Miguel was downright exhausted, snores meeting your ears whenever you'd wake up from a dark turn in the dreams you do have.

But this time was different, as you shied away from his back that you were latched onto like a koala. Your skin peeled off his, and if you were with anyone else you would have thought it was gross. But Miguel loves closeness, the affection you just can't help but give and he takes and takes like a starved man. His muscles on his shoulders rolled and neck cracked as Miguel stirred, a breathy little groan hissing past the fangs he unknowingly had on full display when he shifted on his back– scarlet gaze screwed shut as his hands reached towards your usual spot on your shared bed. The pads of his fingers melted into your hip, little claws kissing the unveiled flesh from the lack of control he had over himself from still ebbing away the sleep hazing his mind.

Your name rolled off his tongue like a blessing, raspy and a bit puzzled; "Everythin' alright?" Miguel slurred, face barely leaving the pillow as his tied-back hair came askew; the little tendrils, that usually would never see the lines on his forehead, brushing against his eyebrow and curling ever so slightly. Call you love-struck, but you swear the curl shaped a little heart. "Miss you so close already," he huffed into the domestic atmosphere, thumb swirling imaginary shapes into the canvas of your skin.

With every month passing by, the intimacy came easier; Miguel's thoughts came and went in the bubble of security you brought him. The clinginess you never would have expected from the man who has the Spider Society at his beck and call rivalled the mimicry of a grizzly bear secretly being a very soft teddy bear. And with you, he was nothing less than a man who acted as if every drop of love you had for him was his last.

It took a long time for him to open up his heart for you to create space for yourself, but as you leaned back into his space to cup your palm into the angle of his jaw– everything felt worth it. Like you belonged here.

"Bad dream." Was all you said, kissing the ridge of his nose like Miguel was the most fragile thing in the world. And he practically became putty in your hands, eyes fluttering open accompanying a subtle frown. Drool pooled at the corner of his mouth, sharp canine peeking through the plush of his lips. Though he looked like he had just woken from hibernation, his features glazed with gentle understanding.

"That's no good," He murmured into your touch like a prayer, sitting up until the duvet pooled in his lap. Miguel hogged most of the bed unintentionally with his almost seven-foot self, the height that had many opposed to him on their knees in angst, but when he sat up and leaned towards your form like a magnet– Miguel was nothing more than a man who worshipped you. "Déjame cuidarte, ¿de acuerdo? (Let me take care of you, okay?)"

Before you even had the mind to protest, he pulled forward until his lips met the damp hair curled against the back of your neck. "Migs, you need rest–" you began but to no avail, he was already adjusting his boxers and shuffling towards your bathroom with a slumped posture. It had your stomach churn with butterflies even after all these months, the sweetness he's learned all over again despite the trauma he's endured leaking into your daily life and becoming something you absolutely adored about him.

Silence enveloped the apartment amidst the sleepy fumbling from within the washroom, flashes of vibrancy peering into the curtains you had against the windows that took up the wall closest to the busiest flow of air traffic. A memory was brought to mind as you peeked through the fabric, met with the city of stars and man-made comets passing by the skyscraper your home is within.

Funnily enough, you had wanted to live in the underground district of Nueva York, finding yourself more enraptured by the architecture that hid machinery and structures that kept the top afloat. But that was before you met Miguel and was thrown into the ring of being a part of the Spider Society– so you just made Miguel come along with your weekly trips to the landmarks hidden away.

"C'mere, muñeco." The fallen angel on your mind interrupted the delicate quiet of your home, calling through the cracked door after a moment of the water running, warmth seeping into the bedroom and tickling the flesh peeking out from your loose-sleepwear. 

When you pushed through the threshold and granted with the presence of Miguel bent over the tub and testing the temperature of the water mumbling to himself, you were already in the process of ripping off your shirt– but you couldn't help but stutter to a halt in a flustered mess when he turned his attention to you– glasses framing his sleepy eyes like a weapon within itself. Breath hitched and sweat coating your palms in lovesick anxiety, you fumbled into the dim light of the washroom.

Clumsily, you bumped your hip into the counter as your shirt finally came off, an uncharacteristic yelp coming from you and surely you expected to meet the cold tile floor until a pair of hands settled on the curves of your hips– claws indenting on the skin barely above his boxers holding into your figure for dear life. 

"Easy now, mi sirenita." Miguel practically cooed into your ear, kissing the shell of it before trailing down the column of your neck– nibbling into the blemished canvas of your clavicle. A faint bite mark etched your skin like oil paint, muddied with purple and red hues. Just as it was fading away, Miguel's lips grazed the dent with admiration before settling his blunt canines into the desired point and biting down. You gasped breathily, heat pooling your cheeks and your knees threatening to give out.

The unspoken desire of his want to care for you was written in your hips when Miguel caressed into where you had hurt yourself from your clumsiness, yet his lack of self restraint was symbolized through the bite just below your neck– very rarely absent without the pierce-marks of fangs. But he wanted to be delicate with you tonight, treat you as one of his most prized possessions when he truly just loved you a little too much. 

Pushing him away with the palm of your hand on his chest, a gentle scold resting on your tired expression like an empty threat. "Ew, Migs. That's too cheesy." You whined, allowing him to slip the briefs from your body before taking your hand in his and leading you to the tub. You sunk down into the sudsy, bubbling water with a splash that had him sighly fondly. Drips of bubbles coated his frames and before he had the chance to wipe them off, your hands wrapped around his neck just to tug him closer to the edge of the tub.

Miguel furrowed his brows at your antics as you kissed his cheek, his hands finding purchase on the edge so he didn't take the risk of slipping into the bubbly water. The thought makes you giggle as his fingers cup the angle of your jaw, calculated and a bit sorrowful. Miguel hated seeing you hurt, so knowing that your miscalculations in a mission with him had a right hook land on your 'good side,' he felt as if he had failed you. Didn't change the fact he pummelled the pesky little anomaly in your honor – but you didn’t miss the misty eyes he held so sadly for you as he patched up your bleeding nose. 

And here he was, kissing the corner of your lips with so much delicacy that you could almost cry.

A faint whimper left his lips as they grazed the sudden wetness dripping down your cheeks, the sleepy look in his eye blanketed with haste concern as he checked your body for any other sores inflicted from the bad feud– and as Miguel’s kisses were met with bubbles and blemished skin, he whispered against your flesh like a saint worshipping their holiness. “No llores, tesoro, por favor no llores.. (Don’t cry, treasure, please don’t cry) Hate seeing that look on your face, can’t stand it.” He breathed into your neck, any care about getting wet was out the window of your apartment when a strangled choke erupted from your throat like a hiccup.

“Just missed you,” You admitted as you shifted into the water that submerged your legs, leaning into his warmth as close as you could. A sniffle had Miguel folding into your damp hair, his own tied-back curls kissing your forehead.

Miguel shuddered, the stoicism he was able to keep up in your presence throughout the daylight behind black sunglasses and a subtle pout in the rare moments where he leaves his lab crumbled the moment he heard you express your craving for him. “I.. missed you too. Shock, I missed you too–” Miguel breathed into your lips, his face angled towards you in a way that ruined everyone else for you. His lashes drooped addictively as you let out a stifled giggle at his lingo he’s never been able to shake. 

“Come join me,” you murmur as you escape his space and instead sink lower into the bathtub. You swear he practically whined, his fang peeking just slightly into your view as Miguel’s face scrunched into displeasure. His bottom lip rolled against the pointy canine, something he was always a bit self-conscious of– but with you it was like he never needed to think that he was anything different.

“You know last time– I could barely even fit in the damn thing,” He complained yet he still stripped off his loose sweatpants nonetheless, shameless as his free hand, middle finger specifically, pushed his frames up with a steadiness that proved alone he was the leader of such a "pretentious" society. Had you mentioned the thought aloud, Miguel's signature frown and deadpan stare would have replaced that sweet look in his eye in an instant. So you just smiled and opened your arms in a warm welcome.

Miguel grunted in response, faux annoyance coating his tone when you could depict the subtle curl of his lips– he was always more than content with himself whenever he was able to get as close to you as possible. You scooted forward to allow some kind of space for him, and soon enough his chest was used as a pillow for the back of your head and your hims were encompassed by his legs, feet dangling from the tub because he was right; Miguel’s stature was never fit any anything deemed for the average person. And Miguel was anything but normal, and he hated himself for that.

You could hear the mumbles of curses that slipped from his tongue when he slipped further into the bubbly water, shoulders hunched and arms resting on the cusp of the tub. It was a tight fit, your back nestled into the heat of his abdomen as his chin rested on the top of your head– and by the way Miguel shifted and oozed with insecurity you could tell your wishes he so easily obliged was backfiring from his poisoned trauma. From the mirror in the washroom, you could see the scrunch of his nose as he laid his glasses aside, atop the lid of the toilet just beside where you two sat intertwined.

Reaching back, you found his hands and clutched onto them as if he was a fading star, gentleness contrasting the explosion rumbling in his throat as his thoughts laced with venom swarmed his very being. It reminded you of the first glances you got of him when you first was recruited to the society, a downcast stare always miles underneath the horizon and a frown that never left his face. But as your fingers found comfort within his bruised knuckles, washing away the tainted sin the moment you brought the bruises to your lips and left fluttering touches– Miguel melted into your bared soul like a stray desperate for love and affection.

To you, you were his food. He feasted on what you gave, that warm feeling that curled into his ribcage and soothed his aching heart and whatever else is rotted in that dark imprisonment. Miguel took and took and took, nestled into your physicality as you ceaselessly gave and gave and gave.

But for you, all you needed to see his eyes blink into reality, grounded by what he was so depraved of growing up. Miguel’s tension left his cheeks, softening as you intertwined your hand into his and the other brushing against the fat of his thigh– squeezing reassuringly. Like a switch was turned on, Miguel devolved into a puddle around you as a huff of relief caressed the shell of your ear.

Miguel’s shins kicked up water, splashing your nose and drenching your nostrils with the scent of bubblegum. And you laughed heartily as his chin met your shoulder– nibbling so softly as if he was chewing the stress from his mind. His arms that once rested on the edge wrapped around the underneath of your arms, cupping your waist before he finally settled his hands on the core of your stomach. His deep breaths filled the silence of the bathroom, and you could practically hear snores before you broke the sweet quietness.

“You’re so pretty,” you murmured into his cheek when you turned towards the chin digging into your shoulder and then you feathered your lips onto the bone of his cheek, “such a pretty thing. My sweet thing.” Praise rolled off that sleepy ooze of warmth inside your heart, and when you felt Miguel shift and his mouth that once formed an “o” contort into an upside down close-lipped smile, you knew you hit gold.

He shook his head in disbelief, breath meeting the nestle of your neck when his cheeks lit aflame and sputtered in broken Spanish. A whimper rumbled against your bare skin, and soon enough purring vibrated your back like a cat knowing it’s being spoken to. “Sabes, eres... eres increíble. Too much, you’re too much. Christ.”

Bubbles popped around the two of you, the lights set on the lowest option so Miguel didn’t develop on one those terrible migraines that pounced the moment he was at his most vulnerable: a rare dinner date he had reserved, making out in the luminescence of his lab’s technological panels, the first time you had spent the night at his own apartment before you had moved in together.

You hummed as he begrudgingly separated his hands from you, only to lather the shampoo you love in between his fingers and starting on your scalp. He was too tender with you tonight, but you needed this treatment more than anything. Your love for him leaked from your pores and intermingled with his muscles, relaxing the both of you without even needing to say anything. But you felt the urge to tell him, to tell him everything on your mind that very moment. Yet, sleep was a fickle thing and you were exhausted, so you only huffed out a whisper before submitting to the skilled massage on your muscles.

“Love you, honey.” You breathed into the domesticity of it all, his claws peeking from the pads of his fingers just the way Miguel knew you liked against your scalp. The purring in his chest only increased tenfold, scooting closer to your back if that was even possible. The both of you hold these memories close to your intertwined hearts, knowing you only had so much time together outside of your shared second lives. You haven’t been able to reassure your feelings for him in quite a few days, and despite not needing to really say your affections aloud– Miguel preferred physicality anyways, you still caught on that vocalizing your feelings for the other had you running laps around his mind every minute and every hour of the day.

He only kissed the back of your head, just upon the mole you didn’t know you had. Without a word, the sudsy kisses trailed further down until it met where your spine began, and he bit down just faintly. 

“I’m so glad I found you,” He murmured into the soap pooling down your shoulders, soft but echoing around in the walls of the bathroom like a promise, a truth that will forever hold its meaning. Within this city of stars, the only celestial he had eyes on were you.

“Te amo, mi tesoro. Te amo mucho, cuidaré de ti para siempre (I will take care of you forever).”

[partycatty]

dom bi han x dom reader?

no one wants to relinquish control

(English is not my first language)

wait this is so me fr

bi-han > give in

arguments, spars, and insults come to a head when you're alone with the grandmaster

warnings: mostly plot, ur both meanies, BI-HAN BOANURRRRRR 🚨 , short smut at the end

notes: shoutout to my pookie bear @doki-doki-imagines for fueling my insanity and giving me such yummy ideas about this <3

[ masterlist ]

• if there's one thing bi-han hated, it was someone who thought they were better than him. that, and your entire existence.

• not a day goes by where you wouldn't fight to the death for the lin kuei, but you just always felt the need to speak up and take charge where bi-han fails to meet your own expectations.

• who the hell do you think you are, trying to beat bi-han at his own job?! he's the grandmaster, you're a grunt, but you exude the confidence of a member with influence. this irks him beyond belief.

• "someone should put you in your place," he'd growl at you in frustration, grabbing a fistful of your shirt to hold you close. you're not afraid of him, though, and simply stare at him with a condescending unamusement that makes the veins in his forehead pop.

• "i'd like to see you try," you purr in response, holding eye contact to show there is not a single ounce of fear in your body. damn him for training his recruits to be so fearless.

• and try he does, pairing you with him when it comes to training. but the fight is so evenly matched, a tie is drawn almost every time. you're as strong as him, and your biggest advantage is that you fill him with so much rage his movements become sloppy and loses its calculated touch.

• when it is determined to be a tie, bi-han grunts out loudly and throws his ice weapon to the ground, making it shatter and dissipate. he storms off, leaving you feeling even more confident that you're a little parasite in his skin.

• a day rolls around where a mission is to be planned, and you stand alongside the brothers, insisting your opinion was just as valid as a higher up.

• "and so we strike along the south-" bi-han moves a figurine to the south side of the map, ready to further his debrief before you chime in.

• "the west had less guards," you interject, planting your index finger along the parchment. "if we enter through the west wing and make our way down south through the tunnels, we-"

• bi-han tries to talk over you. "if you'd use your eyes, you'd notice that the west wing is also the hardest to approach stealthily."

• "even so, grandmaster, that's not to say that the south side is equally as quiet, i presume? you said so yourself that the south is bordered by a cliff-"

• "will you shut your mouth and listen to me?"

• "will you come up with a better plan, then?" you smirk and lean against the table, enjoying your verbal sparring. bi-han, however, is fuming. kuai liang and tomas stand to the side, exchanging tiny smiles at the display.

• "easy, brother," kuai liang will step in, putting a hand on his shoulder. "perhaps it is best to approach the mission from multiple angles."

• bi-han shakes his brother's hand from his shoulder, scowling. he places an accusatory finger your way.

• "this brat has been nothing but a thorn in our sides," he growls, eyes fixated on you darkly. "why we invite their knowledge to our private meetings baffles me."

• "like i'm not the most useful person here?" you retort, putting your flat palm on your chest. "if you recall, grandmaster, it is i that led our army to battle the last few times, while you were busy groveling in your princess chambers. i step up where you can't. i deserve to have a say."

• bi-han turns around to leave, not before pivoting back and trying to throw a sharp, icy spear into your shoulder, one that you dodge as it lodges into the wall behind you. grumbling insults, he leaves from the conversation. maybe planning can happen another time?

• "that was incredible," smoke compliments. "nobody stands up to the grandmaster like that."

• "for good reason, tomas," kuai liang steps in. "he is our grandmaster. at times, it may just be best to follow his command, reader."

• "like hell," you reply, hands on your hips. "one of you should be grandmaster. would serve the clan good." all they can do is shrug neutrally, but one of them suggests to defuse his anger by following bi-han out. reluctantly, you follow the cold breeze until you lean against the door of his personal office.

• it was suspiciously tidy, and you wanted to make a jab at his lack of usage for his office, but the truth was likely that he preferred things orderly and simple. just like him, you snickered to yourself.

• "out," he commanded, his back to you yet he knew the sound of your loud, annoying footsteps.

• "not happening," you groan, eyeing him up from across the room. "what's your deal with me? honestly?"

• "where would i even begin?" he grumbles, fists clenching hard. "final time. out."

• you opened your mouth wide, replying with a firm, flat "no." you weren't really trying to act like some kind of brat to him, you genuinely did not take his order seriously. if you wanted something, you'd do it. and you wanted to stand your ground. "tell me what your issue is." you take more steps toward him, waiting for an answer in the center of the room.

• something inside of him snaps and he spins to face you, shooting a thick sheet of ice around your ankles and trapping you where you stand.

• "you are the most obnoxious, annoying, pretentious, self-entitled, stupid, incompetent, arrogant, useless—" bi-han DRIVES insults into you, jabbing a finger into your shoulder harder and harder with each descriptor. you're dumbfounded as you watch your grandmaster spew cold air from his lips, growing angrier by the second.

• your eyes flicker downward, and you feel your lips curl up devilishly at a new realization. under his pants, a thick tent was evident through his fuming anger.

• "i know why you're mad," your voice drops an octave, biting in your bottom lip to stop a grin. "you like me."

• bi-han's berating stops abruptly, the accusatory finger still in your face. a reddish blush creeps up his cheeks, reaching the tips of his ears.

• "what?" he asks curtly, tilting his head to see if he heard you right.

• "you heard me," you chuckle, leaning in. "you're mad you like me. because i'm better than you."

• "s...stop talking."

• "stop lying, then."

• "i'm not lying, you—!"

• "so you're just hard for no reason?" as you ask, bi-han's scowling lips drop into a tight line. his hand falls in front of his crotch, trying to casually conceal the bulge, but the damage was already done. your shit-eating grin only heated him further.

• the ice around your ankles melted as bi-han stood there at a horrified loss for words. you confirmed your newfound suspicion with so much ease it's a mystery how this man was considered enigmatic.

• how you got here exactly felt like a sweaty blur. your hips swiveled mercilessly against bi-han's, tugging on the ribbon that was one his sigil-bearing armband around his thick neck. low grunts and pants spill from his lips as he tries to gather as much of the flesh of your ass within his palms, squeezing and massaging the skin like it would disappear should he even consider loosening his grip.

• "yeah, you fuckin' like that, don't you?" you ask, slamming yourself onto his thick cock. your other hand couldn't help itself as it swung out and placed a crisp slap to his bare cheek to knock him back into reality. he returns the aggression with a hard buck upward, making you lurch forward and kiss the tips of your noses together.

• "you disgust me," bi-han groans, now taking control of the thrusts as his hips come up to ruin your momentum. as your lips part to gasp in surprise, he spits a thick wad of saliva into your mouth. "i'll use you for all you're worth."

• it feels like an obscene, sinful heaven as he fucks up into you while you choke him. it feels like a sick competition to see who would give in first, who would fold and beg for more.

• being sick and tired of your weight holding him down, bi-han, in one swift motion, manages to flip you over and get you on all fours. before you could protest, he freezes your knees and hands to the ground.

• "fucking annoying..." he mumbles, running a hand up your spine with the other landing a slap your ass. his soft pants become more frequent, and you feel him begin to spasm inside of you.

• "you're real close, grandmaster," you coo playfully, tight moans coming from your lips with each thrust. "i can feel how much you need me."

• "i don't need you," bi-han shamefully mutters, his moans getting increasingly higher, though still quiet. "i don't... hhh—"

• "admit it, you fuckin' liar," you giggle, bouncing your ass back onto him, relishing in the way his dick manages to hit the sweetest points in your walls.

• your banter falls silent as you both reach your high, caught off guard from the overwhelming pleasure as your bodies are used for each other's personal benefit. bi-han bites down on your shoulder as his hips snap forward, spilling his seed inside of you. his mouth is colder than a normal human's, and you find yourself enjoying the goosebumps it creates.

• after several seconds of deep breaths, bi-han pulls out and you feel terribly empty. his cum drips down your folds, tickling your inner thigh. he really filled you up.

• he pulls his pants back up, but you notice that the ice on your limbs remains as you stay on all fours completely nude. as bi-han smooths his hair and reties his armband, you crane your neck to speak to him.

• "h-hey," you shout out, brows knitted together in worry. "you gonna unfreeze me?"

• "no," he replies bluntly, crossing his arms.

• "wh... the fuck you mean, no?!" you wiggle, trying to break free but the ice is unusually thick. "we were in a meeting!"

• "and it'll go just fine without you," he says, cupping your ass with nails. "consider this a lesson."

• "i'll teach you a lesson when i shove my foot up your—" bi-han coldly silences you, literally. his hand wraps around your mouth and creates an icy barrier, preventing you from speaking your mind.

• "you're much more tolerable when you're not talking," a smirk toys at his face as he seems pleased with his work while you squirm in frustration.

[screamingintothestarss]

winner!

summary: you go to an arcade with crosshair

pairing: crosshair x reader

rating: 16+

warnings: light swearing, banter, slightly suggestive content, crosshair being a gremlin, light fluff?

word count: 3.1k

notes: so sorry for the lack of content, school is eating up all of my time rn but we ball regardless. enjoy!

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“You coming?” A low voice drawls, its serpentine timbre rattling around in your ears. 

A carton of mantell mix is plopped into your hands, and you flash the vendor a pretty smile before turning to the voice’s owner.

“Thought you weren’t excited,” you quip, popping a piece into your mouth.

“I’m never excited.” It comes out flat and lifeless, but you know him better than that. Like the popcorn crumbs on your shirt, you brush him off and head towards strobing lights and neon signs. 

He’s like a shadow, you’d say: a silent protector–an assassin. He remained in the shadows so your light could shine. Wherever you went, rest assured he was somewhere nearby, keen eyes clear-cut and focused. You remained in his scope, and if someone else dared to come into the picture, he wouldn’t hesitate to take the shot. He took pride in it, silently puffing out his chest and putting on a show for you, and you loved it. 

Deft fingers snake their way toward the carton, breaking the shadow, and you quickly pull the box close to your chest.

“Nuh-uh, you said you didn’t want any!”

“Well, I do now,” he counters, a playful lilt to his voice.  

“Crosshair, you do this every time. You always say that you don’t want anything, and when I get something, then, and only then, do you want it!” 

“Maybe I just like you,” he drawls, and you hate how it has you reeling, stripping your head of all logic and replacing it with cotton candy and heat. You sharpen your tongue, but before your words can spear him, the carton of mix is plucked from your hands, and you groan. 

“Are you kriffing-”

A large hand digs in and pulls up a handful. He’s full of smug, lithe body craning down to your ear only to shovel it into his mouth, and then he’s crunching into your ear–loudly. Bleeding behind the eyes, you’re seeing red, and you shoot him a withering glare. He stares at you; your brows knit together and lips all pouty–he thinks he’s fallen in love for the fifth time today. 

You’re not having it. 

You shove his face away from your ear and try to retrieve your snack, but he’s dodging your attacks with infuriating finesse. You’re flailing around his lean form, arms swinging this way and that without avail. It’s almost like a game: you go left, and he’s going right; you step forward and he’s stepping back: going up? Well, he’s coming back down. Your simmering frustration boils over, and he laughs, the sound burrowing into your ears like a parasite.

This is the most fun he’s had all day, he thinks.

He activates his finisher: holding the mix in one hand and raising it straight into the air. You were done for. 

“I swear I’m actually going to kill you!”

“Mhm.”

Then he’s staring at you, and he has to keep himself from getting lost in your colors. He figures red doesn’t suit you though, and sets the box into your hands with a dull thunk. He stalks off, dripping with audacity, and you try not to slip on the puddles. 

“You’re such an asshole!” It’s venomous: slick and corrosive, but non-lethal. A part of you knows it’s all in good fun, but it doesn’t assuage the feeling of wanting to rip his head off. You stick an indignant hand into the mix, and your eyebrows shoot up.

It’s nearly empty. 

“Your mother’s a droid!”

He ignores your insults, a sly smile smudged across his face. His arms are loosely folded across his torso as he uses his side to keep the door propped open for you. You smack his stomach as you brush past him, and he laughs through his nose, staring at your backside as you fade into bright lights. 

A cacophony of strobing lights, sounds, and smells override your senses as you try to gauge where to go first. Familiar blue and white lights catch your eye, and you make your way over. 

You stand before a skeeball machine, setting your snack down to run a hand over its console. You’re about to lay a heavy hand on the start button, but realization hits you. 

“Kriff, I forgot the-”

“Tokens?” That slithering tone wraps itself around your ears again, and you swallow the annoyance bubbling up your throat. You lazily whirl your body around, and find that same smirk you wanted to wipe off of him earlier. He’s leaning against the body of a machine, little gold coins clinking in his palm as they shift. He’s devilishly alluring, and it's the effortlessness that has you perplexed. He’d be doing the most mundane of tasks, and it would have you fiending, your eyes tracing long fingers and even longer legs. 

Cool brown eyes slide up and down your frame, stripping you bare on the arcade floor. You have half a mind to smack him, a staccato tch tch tch snapping off your tongue, but instead you redden, the tips of your ears ablaze.

“T-thanks.”

He slots a coin into the machine for you, and the start button blinks to life. You turn towards him, a question waiting behind your lips. 

“You’re not going to-?” The words die in your throat as he gives you that look, and you huff. 

“You’re such a buzzkill, you know that?”

He tuts. “You’d lose.”

Oh. Oh.

So that was the game he wanted to play.

Crosshair loved to goad you on, pushing your buttons to see what made you tick. You both were in a constant game of tug of war, and he wasn't cutting you any slack. If this was the hill he wanted to die on, fine: you just had to pull on the end of your rope a little harder. 

You flutter your eyelashes at him and shrug. Fronting nonchalance, you lay your hand on the start button with a smack. Blue and white lights snap to strobes of rainbow, and balls dispense from the holder with a hiss.  

It's on.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You're moving like a well-oiled machine, gracefully rolling smooth little balls up the lane into little holes. 

75 points turn into 100, 100 quickly turns into 250, and 250 shoots up to 500. 

Crosshair stands behind you with folded arms, feigning uninterest, but the way you're looking right now chips away at that mask as your points rack up.

The timer runs down, and you get a few more tosses in before flashing red lights put you to a stop. A cheeky grin lines your face, and you saunter over to him, tongue slick with audacity. 

"Read it."

"What?"

"My score."

He stares at you for a moment and scoffs. That smug he'd been dripping with earlier was drying up, and you were loving it. 

Wordlessly, he strides over to the machine and cranes his head to peek at the purple 8-bit font. 

"25,000." The number rolls around uncomfortably on his tongue, and he isn't sure he likes the taste. 

Then you're at his side, laying an insincere hand on a broad shoulder. 

"Remember it when I wipe ass with you."

Your warm breath fans in his ear, igniting the sparks in his chest. His sharp eyes slide over to yours, oozing with challenge. He straightens, and the glow of the machine highlights that familiar glint in his eye. 

He reaches into his pants pocket, retrieving two tokens, the cheap metal slotted between his pointer and middle finger. 

"The bet?" And the way it rolls off his tongue has you short-circuiting. 

You don't break eye contact though, keeping that grip on your rope. You pluck a token from his fingers and the number falls from your lips with an enviable coolness. 

"One hundred." 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

"Your balls were coming out faster."

"Well maybe if you focused on your own balls instead of mine, you'd have won," you snark. 

"Don't have to, you give mine enough attention already."

"Crosshair!" you hiss, a confusing blend of heat and embarrassment settles at the base of your stomach, and you're unsure if you want more. 

He's laughing again, and that bug in your ear buries itself even deeper, and you wish you could snatch it out.

He may have been down one hundred credits, but he'd gladly throw them to the wind if it meant he could keep drawing reactions like these from you. 

But you didn’t need to know that just yet.

He was having too much fun right now.

Your annoyance dissipates as wide eyes lock onto your favorite fighting game: Star Fighters 6. His gaze follows yours, and that smirk plays across his features again. You turn to him, but he’s already staring back at you, and he feels that familiar fullness in his skull; those flowers you’d planted up there all those years ago were beginning to bloom. 

He knows you feel it too, and he’s tempted to hook an arm around your waist and lug you through those doors, but you made a bet.

“Crosshair…” you say tentatively, debating giving in to that heady feeling in your gut.

He hums, your voice like a hook in his ear, and he’s being reeled in. He hears his name slip past your lips again, and he’s about to make a break for the surface until he feels something being shoved into his hands. He looks down, and you’d placed the mantell-mix-carton-turned-ticket-bucket into his hand, moving on to play your video game. Like the sun shifting behind a cloud, your warmth had disappeared, and he’d claw his way into the stratosphere to find it again. 

You slip a coin into the slot and tinny theme music sounds. It’s balmy and familiar: a blast-to-the-past wave of nostalgia that swaddles your ears like a warm hug. You never held onto your credits for long, laying them in the hands of some moody teenager for tokens in a heartbeat. You made it your own little mission: rocketing up leaderboards, dismantling high scores, and leaving some poor kid in tears. Times were a lot simpler then, so you kept the memory tucked close to your heart, eventually giving him access to that little corner too. 

“C’mon, let’s do this one!” You’re beaming, and Crosshair commits it to memory. He almost tells you to stop, wanting to cover your pretty face and lock that smile away for himself. Selfish–he’s selfish. 

He nods and slots himself next to you, his frame brushing against your own. You pay it no mind, your head swimming in the bloody waters of combos and finishers. The character selection screen blinks up on the monitor, and you click-clack away at blue buttons; selecting your favorite character and adjusting her stats like it’s second nature. 

Crosshair hesitates for a bit, the grip on his rope slipping. He’s like a fish out of water when it comes to stuff like this, flip-flopping around and mouth hanging open after you’ve knocked the air out of him. He was privy to what went on inside that pretty little head of yours: you had the advantage. He’d allow it, for now. 

He selects a character and does whatever with the stats before pushing a slender finger down on the start button. You don’t even try to hide the snicker tickling your nose. 

His expression is incredulous, a silent what the hell? that has you nearly keeling over, your knees knocking together. 

“Nothing,” you sing, and the melody has him suspicious. 

He’d picked the worst kriffing character, you thought. 

You mash the start button and your characters blink into existence, standing across from each other in some type of natural arena. Their stances exude battle readiness and you lock in, colorful lights fading into black and gray. 

You grip the joystick and jerk it to the left, mashing down on the buttons simultaneously, hitting Crosshair’s character with a lethal combo that has him floored. You’re merciless–decisive. If he liked to come at you with all teeth and fangs, then you wouldn’t hesitate to bite. Your moves are devastating; each one leaving his ego all bloodied and purple–but he’d patch himself up later. He wasn’t finished with you yet.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

To say you were shocked was an understatement. That tick tick ticking in your head comes to a full stop, a creaking and crackling of nerves that has you sick. You’re short-circuiting, a droid in disrepair, all of your bells and whistles are going off and Crosshair’s reveling in the chaos. The thought is like poison, something you’d use to silence some unruly senator. 

He’d beat you. And he cheated!

“You’re such a-!”

“Winner?” You want to grab that serpentine tone of his by the tail, wrap it around his throat, and pull. 

Your eyes flit to the monitor, its bright chromatic screen flashing winner, winner, winner! in the same shade of red you’re seeing right now. 

“You pushed me over so you could get the power up! I had you!”

“You would have lost anyways, your health bar was too low,” he shrugs, loose and nonchalant like throwing credits at a dancer. He’s staring at you, feasting on your reaction, and he’s far from satisfied. He’d pulled you over to his side, your feet skidding in the mud, but you had no intention of falling over.

You didn’t want to admit that he’d picked up on the mechanics rather quickly; what took weeks of memorizing a myriad of move sets and tactics for you only took a few rounds for him. You let the salt in your head settle in on the fact that he was a super soldier, learning and adapting quickly was in his genetic code.

It didn’t make it sting any less, though. 

“I want a kriffing rematch!”

“Fine.”

You kick his ass this time.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Tickets spill from the bucket, the papery material stringing down the container like vines on a tree. They sit up high and bouncy, and you try to gauge where you’re even walking by peeping through the holes. 

“You're sure you can carry all that?” He asks for the fourth time, and you have half a mind to chuck it at his handsome face.

“I told you, I got it-”

You collide with something firm and unmoving, and the bucket slips from your palms. 

“...sorry,” you’re muttering into his back. 

He turns and peers down at you with a pointed look. You don’t even need to meet his eyes to know that it’s there; you’ve seen it plenty. Whether you spilled something, tripped, or stumbled over your words, he’d either laugh or give you that look, a pointy silver brow and the pretty little corners of his mouth downturned ever so slightly. He’s steadfast; severe and unyielding, as Tech had once put it. He was stubborn, sure, but you’d grabbed him by the horns and steered him into your orbit. He was always there for you, like air to your lungs, he’d given you life. It didn’t matter how much shit you spilled or how many times you fell, he’d be there waiting, a rag in one hand and the other reaching out to you. 

He’s taken the ticket bucket from you now, and you pretend you’re not grateful. 

You shift in your shoes, that familiar ache bleeding into the soles of your feet. You’d both made a day of it, bouncing from game to game like that pinball machine Crosshair whooped you on. You both came to a draw, but the game was far from over. You’d pick it back up another day, you thought.

He feeds the tickets into the counter and that familiar crunch crunch crunching has your ears tingling. You peer over at him, your eyes rolling over the steep slopes and angles of his face, and you think maybe if you were some mathematician, he’d be a perfect object of study. He’s like your favorite meal, you think, you know what he looks like, feels like, tastes like, but you’d never grow tired of him. Never him.

“Take a holo, it’ll last longer,” he drawls, not even having to face you and your shamelessness. 

You’re snickering, and he strolls up, handing you a coupon for 2,500 tickets. 

“That’s all?” your voice is incredulous, dripping with suspicion. Surely you’d have more than that, considering how you both had nearly gutted the place. 

“Mhm.”

You blow, laughing to yourself. You weren’t one for the prizes: a cornucopia of cheap plasticky gizmos and doodads that crumbled like Tatooine sand as soon as you forked over your fortune. You figured a special someone would appreciate the gesture, though.

“Maybe we can get Omega something?” 

“We’d have to get Wrecker something too, you know how he is,” he says, and it’s that faux annoyance in his tone that has you chuckling.

“I know just the thing!”

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“Why’d you get two?” you prod at him, and he bats you away with a hip. Wordlessly, he extends an arm, holding out one of the cartons of mantell mix up to your face. Your eyes narrow, and you see a serpent tempting the unassuming, its tail wrapped around something forbidden and primed to strike. 

“You’re screwing with me, aren’t you?” The question is cautious, wrapped in suspicion with a pretty little bow of skepticism on top. You weren’t exactly too keen on having an instant replay of today’s earlier events–served with a side of embarrassment and a bruised ego. 

He shakes his head and a small smile splits his face; it should be something sacred, a rare jewel coveted by some royalty on a faraway planet, but instead, it has you narrowing your eyes even further. 

You reach a tentative hand out, and ease the box from his hands, ready for him to attack at any moment.

He doesn’t, but instead waves a white flag of truce, and you delightedly munch away. 

You both make your way towards the ship, the Mantellian sun making its final descent into the horizon, and Crosshair stops for a moment to watch you glow in its light. 

You’re perfect, he thinks, and he feels his heart melt into putty. It was as if the galaxy had compressed itself into your form, lighting a path his gaze could always follow. He chuckles to himself, remembering when he’d first met you, all starry-eyed and pure mischief. He’d readily admit that he found you rather annoying and cumbersome at first; like a raging Wookiee in a cantina, you’d made a mess of his carefully crafted space–a mess he slowly grew fond of. Like ringed ripples in a pond, you created movement within the stillness of his heart, and one day he’d pluck one of those rings from the surface and place it on your finger.

“You coming?”

Lost in the weeds, your voice pulls him back out again.

“Mhm.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

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