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lamentationsofalonelypotato · 26 days ago

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Chapter 13: Taking Out The Trash

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV, Soldier Boy POV

Summary: When you decided to work with Butcher and his merry band of supe hunters to take down Homelander, you neve expected to be saddled with a sullen, grumpy, jerk like Soldier Boy when the job was done. The more you're around him the more you hate him, but you can't help but wonder, is he really as big a jerk as you think? Reader is a supe with plant powers. This takes place in an AU about a month after the end of The Boys Season 3, in which Butcher has let Soldier Boy continue to work with him on his team. (I'm real bad at summaries, please forgive me!)

Tropes: Enemies to Lovers (Not in this chapter), Slow Burn, Age Difference (Reader is in her 20s), Soft Ben/ Soldier Boy, Protective Ben/Soldier Boy

Word Count: 13.1K

Warnings: I'm going to label this 18+ because Soldier Boy (he's a warning and everyone knows it), Swearing, Mentions of Sex, Sexual Innuendo, Blood, GRAPHIC DEPICTION OF DEATH, DEATH, BLOOD, GUTS, Threatening, Denial, Attempted Manipulation, References to attempted SA in the past, Depressing Thoughts, INSANE REVELATIONS, CONFESSIONS, Talks about weed, Super Manipulative Creepy Trash Man, Sexist comments, Homophobic Comments? Ben/Soldier Boy might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

A/N: I'm not going to lie, at the beginning of this chapter it's cute, but the rest of it gets... UNHINGED. I mean its dark because some things are revealed that I don't know why my mind went there immediately but... Also, apparently foreshadowing with dreams is my thing now 🤷🏻‍♀️?

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

"Are you sure that you're okay to start work today?" Jake asked you for the millionth time from across the large cherry wood table that proudly stood in the front window of the shop. "Because there's no shame in staying home and resting for a few more days."

He was holding a large box filled with golden barrel cactus that were about to be placed in the new window display that Jake and you were constructing. His dirty blonde hair was scruffier today, hanging into his face just over the top of his tortoise shell glasses. The red and navy flannel he wore stretched over his arms with the flexing of his muscles beneath as he watched you with interest, worry seeping into the clear blue of his eyes.

The store was as you remembered, almost blindingly green, with trailing vines that kissed your arms when you walked through the front door as if welcoming you home and the healing energy from the plants within fusing your body with newfound strength. You could feel the subtle push of roots in the earth, the unfurling of bright leaves, the swell of fruit on outstretched branches, and the gentle bend of each petal on the vegetation inside the shop speaking to you and reassuring you. It was welcome after being trapped in a freezer for four days.

Jake didn't know about any of that.

Annie had come up with a lie that you'd been in a car accident when Butcher loaned you his car for a job. It hurt you to lie to Jake, especially when he had brought all the plants to your hospital room because he knew it would make you feel better, but you were still trying to keep that part of your life separate from him. Honestly, you worried that if Jake found out how fucked up the other half of your life was he'd fire you, so you didn't bring it hurtling in through the front of his shop like a freight train. And you really loved working here.

It felt natural for you, tending to the plants, helping teach other people how to for anything that grew while gently showing the love of gardening and tending the earth.

Jake had been pondering the idea of having workshops on the weekend at the shop after hours and he'd finally said yes.

Hopefully, I'd be able to use both of my arms by then.

You were beyond discouraged that hadn't been able to do any of your crochet projects and you felt like a disappointment when you couldn't go to your bi-monthly crochet circle/class that you lead at the Assisted Living Facility a few blocks over. The woman on the phone from the facility had sounded so disappointed when you told her that you couldn't come and it only made you feel worse.

But it was nice to be back in the swing of things at the shop and wonderful to be back in a place that you felt at ease, but there was something tugging in your chest. It was an odd feeling, not as if you'd forgotten something, but almost as if you missed something. As if there was something that wasn't here that should be and you couldn’t put your finger on it.

A week had passed since you'd been released from the hospital and you were eager to get out from under Ben's house arrest to start working again even with your arm in a large and almost impossible cast to maneuver. You were calling it “house arrest”, because after your grandmother left, Ben refused to let you leave the apartment, stating that you needed to rest. And when you argued with him that you'd had enough rest, he'd planted himself in front of the door and refused to budge.

You were going stir crazy with nothing to do and you probably could have moved him if you really tried, but you didn't want to fight with Ben. Not when he was the person who'd brought you back from the warehouse and not when he was acting different.

Your lips press into a firm line when you think about the past week that you'd spent at home with him. Ben was going out of his way to do everything for you that he could, but that didn't mean you weren't annoyed. You'd had to practically swat him away with one of the wooden spoons in the kitchen when you were heating up a lasagna your grandmother left after he'd loudly complained that you shouldn't be standing for too long and tried to carry you back to the couch. Ben was acting like you couldn’t take care of yourself and hadn't been taking care of yourself since you moved away from home. It was odd.

And he kept doing little things around the apartment, like picking up his clothes and making sure to remember to put things in the dishwasher. Things that he hadn’t cared about before you got hurt and things that you’d yelled at him to do before everything happened. And he always made sure that the couch was clear incase you wanted to watch a movie or just read for a little while. Two things that you had been doing more often since you got out of the hospital.

But weirder still was that Ben hadn't been on one "date," since you got back. The only time he'd left the apartment was in the morning to get the paper and he always brought you back coffee or the pineapple iced tea you loved.

Yesterday he had finally allowed you to leave the apartment to go to the grocery store, because when you tried to give him a shopping list he'd said "I don’t need a fucking list I’m a man!" but then you’d asked him to repeat everything you'd told him to buy and he couldn’t.

The whole time out of the apartment you’d made plenty of jokes about the healing power of fresh air, while Ben countered by making a joke about the healing power of sex and that he'd be happy to make you feel better.

The trip to the grocery store hadn’t ended in bloodshed, even when you had to keep reminding Ben not to buy the name brand things and he'd ignored you or when Ben complained the whole time about how expensive everything was and how long it was taking you to find everything.

But the weirdest thing that happened was when the two of you were looking a produce there was a woman who kept trying to come on to Ben when you were testing the grapes and he completely ignored her. Surprising you because she looked like his type, and when she'd walked away Ben had dropped to his knees to tie your shoe because he noticed that it was loose.

When you'd teased him about it, he said that he "didn't want you to break your other arm when you tripped and ate shit on the concrete." You'd had no problem flipping him off with your unbroken hand.

But despite your insistences for Ben to try and find cheaper brands none of it mattered, because when you got to the register Ben paid for the groceries even when you’d explicitly discussed splitting the bill. The cashier had noted what a gentleman Ben was and you’d grumbled something impolite under your breath so low that only Ben could hear.

But Ben couldn't help you with everything, well, you didn't trust him to close his eyes when you needed help getting dressed or needed help washing your hair.

For those little things, Annie would come over, but she hadn't been sympathetic to your pleas to make Ben let you out of the apartment. In fact, when you hoped Ben wasn't listening she'd made a comment about exactly what you should be doing with a hot older man while being trapped in an apartment with only one bed. The raspberry vines that cling to the refrigerator had started spitting raspberries at her when she said it. And then Ben had looked over the back of the couch at the two of you and said "that's what I keep telling her."

At least when my grandmother was here she didn’t pry about Ben and me.

Your grandmother had stayed for three days following your return from the hospital, sleeping next to you on your queen sized bed before she went back to Illinois and everyday you were more surprised how much she and Ben knew each other. The easy way they spoke to one another, the jokes, the teasing, and the poker games that always ended in your grandmother winning an almost obscene amount of money from Ben all made your head spin. Especially, because whenever she won Ben would accuse her of "cheating," and she'd only roll her eyes and state that someone as old as Ben should be better at poker. But the way he'd said she was cheating was different, not as if she had cards up her sleeve, but if there was some other reason why she could cheat. It was confusing and a little frustrating, because you were terrible at poker.

You didn't understand how you could be that bad, but then Ben had poked the skin between your eyebrows that scrunched under his scrutiny and stated that you were "too easy to read" while your grandmother laughed at you.

She still wouldn’t answer your questions about how she knew Ben, but to you it appeared to be more than them running into each other a few times, it almost seemed like a friendship. You believed her when she said that they didn’t sleep together, but you didn't understand how they could have been friends. She'd never spoken about that part of her life with you before, just her childhood and when she met your grandfather. Needless to say it was like you were seeing a different person when she was around Ben.

Deep down you wondered if she was a supe, but she'd never said that before and you didn’t know why she would keep something like that from you, not when you were one too.

But when Ben noticed how discouraged you got playing poker, he let you look over his shoulder at his hand and watch him play. He was very much in his element and every few hands he would make a joke about playing strip poker to which your grandmother would reply "If you want to be naked that bad Ben, you might as well just go down to the corner and put it to good use."

When she left you were sad to see her go and even Ben seemed a little more moody than usual, almost as if he missed having her around. You missed her too. While she stayed with you, you hadn't had the nightmare, but the night she left you did. You'd woken up gasping for air, the unnatural flash of whitish blue light that raced towards the windshield from the dream vibrating against your skin. Ben had come in to check on you, without breaking down the door, and he'd sat with you until you calmed down enough to fall asleep.

But it was still unusual that Ben acted like he missed your grandmother. You'd never met any other friends that Ben had besides Legend and you wondered if Ben really was as lonely as you thought he was. In the past you'd ascribed that to the reason why he went out with so many women, but this time it only confused you because Ben hadn't been out with a single person all week. You couldn’t think of a reason why that was or what could have changed for Ben to avoid using Tinder. If anything you'd thought he would be bored sitting around the apartment with you, but he wasn't. He'd sit with you on the couch watching a movie or read the paper when you read your book, not talking about anything in particular.

There was only one subject you wanted to discuss.

The two of you hadn't talked about what almost happened on the couch when you slept together when Darren was visiting or the way Ben gently touched you in the hospital. You'd mentally compartmentalized it to being a fluke and were happy that things were going back to normal or at least normal-ish.

But sometimes your mind would wander to how Ben acted when you were in the hospital, how he'd cupped and held your face, how he'd touched you so reverently, what he'd said about not wanting to leave you with Elijah, and how angry he looked when he found out exactly what Elijah had tried to do.

But whenever you thought about talking to him about that, you’d only shake off the urge and ascribe it to Ben wanting to try and be friends. The exact thing that you'd suggested to him the night of the party.

He's respecting me. If he wants to be friends I can be friends with him. Even if he is acting weird.

In fact, this morning, he'd walked with you to the shop this morning as if it was a normal day.

*2 Hours Ago*

Ben frowns at you. "Maybe you should rest one more day-"

He'd been saying that the entire walk to the shop, but you weren't going to give him the satisfaction of letting him trap you in the apartment for another day.

“Ben it'll be fine. I've rested enough-" You rolled your eyes at him, confused that he was making such a big deal about this. It was both annoying and frustrating you how overprotective he was acting and it was making you mad.

“What about your arm? You can’t lift anything-“ He presses.

“Jake is here for that.” You gestured with your head to where Jake was hovering behind the two of you at the register counting the till while pretending not to listen.

"That makes me feel a hell of a lot better. You think that fucking twink can lift more than me?" Ben scoffs. “Maybe I should stay.”

"Why?"

"So I can lift things!"

“Stop babying me Gramps!"

“I'm not babying you!" He rolls his eyes at the nickname.

“Yes you are! Why are you acting like a helicopter parent? I'm fine. It's been a week and I am completely and utterly-"

Ben's hand comes up and pushes back a strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb lingering for just a second too long against your cheek. The motion makes you freeze, the warmth of his skin like a siren call. "I don't think you need to come back to work so soon." He says quietly, eyes flicking up to where Jake is before he lowers his voice even more. “You were kidnapped and you got hurt. Not to mention that asshole tried to-" Ben's gaze loses any of the softness it held as he remembers what you told him about what Elijah did.

"Ben." You whisper raising your hand to gently touch his wrist. "I promise I'm okay. I'm not doing this to prove anything. I want to be here. I like being here."

"And you don't like being at home with me." Ben whispers it so low that you almost miss it. He withdrawals his hand from your cheek looking angry.

The memory of the day you walked in on Ben talking to Bean hovers over you:

"Why does she hate me so much?"

When you’d heard Ben ask Bean that it hurt you. You didn't want Ben to think that you hated him. He frustrated you and annoyed you, but you didn’t hate him.

Well, he hasn't been annoying me as much lately.

And if anything you were trying not to think about how much you liked being at home with Ben, how much you liked spending time with him. It was easier to try not to focus on that, not when Ben was acting like someone you could love.

Ben doesn't believe in love, not after everything that got fucked up with Countess. I don't think I could ever fall in love with someone like him either. Sure he's attractive, but he's so damn annoying.

"Look at me." You lay your hand on his arm to draw his gaze back to you. Ben almost looks a little embarrassed that you heard him say it and you watch his eyes flick over your head to where Jake is. You pull him through the plants to give the two of you some privacy. "I don't hate you. And I'm not doing this because I don't want to be at home with you." Your cheeks flush with the word 'home.'

Ben kept using it so casually, but to you it always meant something else. Home was the place where you went where no one judged you, where you went to be with the people who loved you unconditionally, and where you felt that you could be yourself with no judgement. Not to mention you believed that eventually your "home" would become a person. Or at least that was what you wanted to happen. Those prospects were looking pretty slim as of late and you were still on the fence about online dating.

Hughie and Annie met the old fashioned way so why should I have to go on an online site only to be rejected based on looks only?

You refocus on the conversation that you're having with Ben.

"I want things to go back to normal, before everything that happened with Darren and Elijah. And this is the only way that I know how." The mention of Elijah's name brings the memory of him on top of you to simmer beneath the surface. You were trying to forget, but every once in a while the memory would come creeping back in bringing the chill of the first frost in its wake to brush against your skin.

Ben's expression softens. "That quack at the hospital said you should rest."

"You mean the man who went to school for over four years to get a degree told me to rest?"

"Then he knows what the fuck he's talking about!"

"Ben-"

"Petals." He sighs the nickname in the soft way that makes a tingle travel down your spine. Ben had been saying it like that more often confusing you further. "You went through a lot and I'm trying to make sure that you’re okay.”

Why does he care about that?

“I am okay.” You whisper. “I’m sick of being on house arrest in the apartment. I can only watch so many of your old films before I go completely insane.”

“They’re not that bad.”

"Debatable."

Ben sighs again, but he seems to realize that you're not going to budge. You were just as stubborn as he was and you knew that he hated that about you. "Fine. I've got to do something today anyway."

"You got a date?"

You meant it as a joke, but for some reason you feel a twinge deep down that you weren't expecting.

"No." For a moment you think Ben almost looks offended by the suggestion. "Butcher's helping me with something."

"With what? You hate Butcher. And why would he want to do you a favor?"

"Because he wants to find the sick son of a bitch as much as I do!" Ben growls, the soft look in Ben's eyes goes dark as you realize who he's talking about.

You hadn't heard from Darren since everything with Elijah. Not that you expected to. Darren's things had vanished from your apartment and he was gone without a trace. Butcher had tried to track the phone Darren had, but it was out of service. You didn’t want to see him and you didn’t want to think about him, not after everything he'd put you through. It was like Darren to suddenly show up with an apology and say everything that you wanted him to. In the past you'd thought it was because he cared about you and didn't want to lose you, but it was becoming more and more apparent that Darren knew exactly what to say to get you to forgive him. He played you so easily that it broke your heart.

It was hard for you to acknowledge that and hard for you to believe that after all these years the relationship you had with your brother had been a lie, a well rehearsed play that Darren performed whenever he was in town.

And this time you weren't going to forgive him. Not when he'd given you to Elijah like a form of payment. Darren was done using you and you were ready to cut him out of your life.

At least, that was what you told yourself anyway. Sometimes when it was dark and you were all alone in your room you thought that maybe you should forgive him because he was your brother and you didn’t want to abandon him. You'd never admit that out loud, and certainly not in front of Ben, but you weren't sure if you were strong enough to turn Darren down if he reappeared.

"Oh." You look down at your shoes for a second while chewing on the inside of your cheek.

There's an awkward silence that passes through the two of you, charged with the same energy that hovered between you when you were back at the hospital. And you can’t help but think that Ben looks disappointed that he has to leave. You again wonder why he was being so overprotective, especially when he said that he didn't care about you.

That was another thing that you were starting to believe was a lie, Ben cared about you even if he didn't want to admit it, because someone who cared wouldn't do everything he had done for you over the past week.

"Petals?"

"Yes Gramps?" You look up at him mentally preparing for him to ask you again if you're okay, but he doesn't.

"Don’t get into any strange cars." Ben's lips tilt up into a smirk.

"Even if they say they have candy?"

Ben only shakes his head, but then he lingers for a second too long, as if he's waiting for something. "And try not to break anything else." He mutters and then he's gone.

Why is he acting so weird?

*Present Time*

"Because Ben said-" Jake says, snapping you out of the memory of Ben saying goodbye.

"When did you guys talk?" You look up at him from the table in shock.

"Well, I tried to come see you three days ago and he didn't let me in. He said you needed rest and that I should come back later." He explains, emptying another box of cacti.

"You came by?" You ask him confused. The cacti are in multicolored pots and you try your best to avoid the spines as you shift them over the table into position.

"Yeah. Ben said he'd tell you that I did."

"Huh."

Ben hadn't told you that Jake came by, hadn't mentioned it once and he'd had plenty of opportunities to tell you. The two of you were practically both living on the couch, because Ben was making you watch all of his old movies. You think that he was trying to impress you with his acting skills, but all it did was make you mock him endlessly for the cheesy lines and the ridiculous helmet they made him wear as a part of his supe suit. You had taken to repeating the lines from the movies at the most inopportune times to tease him and Ben had started teasing you with quotes from the romance novels that you liked.

Your cheeks flushed at the memory.

It had been embarrassing. You were reading on the couch quietly to yourself and were so absorbed in the scene that Ben had snuck up behind you to read over your shoulder. It hadn't helped that you were at a particular steamy part. He'd made a joke of wanting to re-enact whatever you wanted from the chapter and you'd stomped away to take a shower. It was getting harder to deny his requests to sleep with you, especially when Ben was acting different than he usually did and had been acting like a new person since you got back from the hospital.

"He didn't tell you?" Jake looks disappointed.

"Gramps is forgetful sometimes." You frown at the display between the two of you.

Why didn’t he tell me that Jake came by? Jake has been so sweet. He brought me all those plants and he was worried about me. Or at least… You bite the inside of your cheek remembering what Ben said about when Jake came to the hospital:

"He was fawning all over you like a fucking pussy, thought he was going to cry."

You hadn't thought about Jake at all, other than the occasional wave of guilt for leaving him without any help for a whole week. But it was weird that Ben hadn't told you that Jake stopped by, because when Mike brought you a bouquet of yellow roses Ben had let him in and stood with a cup of coffee in the kitchen smirking at you as Mike talked with you for thirty minutes about how nice the weather was outside. It made you want to strangle Ben, but as retaliation when Mike's mother came by later with a basket of wheat grass muffins and something that looked like green sludge you'd invited her in to talk with Ben. She'd sat on the couch in a bright pink mumu, rubbing his upper thigh and talking about her ex-husband while Ben glared at you every chance he got and you sipped a cup of blueberry tea and laughed quietly to yourself.

"Why do you call him that?" Jake asks while putting down a golden barrel and grabbing a fishhook cactus carefully to avoid the spikes.

"Because he acts like a grumpy old man." You snort to yourself thinking of how cute you thought it was when Ben acted all crochety and frustrated by modern day technology.

"He does." Jake laughs. "So…"

"So?"

"Are you guys together?"

"What?" You sputter looking up from the plants to Jake with wide eyes. "Why do you think that?"

"Well he's always around." Jake picks up the empty box and stacks it on top of another one. "And he always acts kind of…" Jake shrugs.

"Kind of what?"

"Jealous. He's always mad at me for some reason."

"That's just how he is. You gotta peel back the layers like an onion when it comes to him." The words are easy, but you can't help but be a little bit surprised. You were defending Ben. You’d never defended him before, made fun of him, apologized for him, but never defended him. "I mean he's-" You prick your thumb on one of the spikes. "Ow."

"Did it get'cha?" Jake snorts.

"Yeah must be losing my touch. Went soft on all my days off."

"You deserved those days off. You needed to rest-"

You roll your eyes. "Please don't say the r word again. Ben's been saying it for the past week."

"I'm serious." Jake picks up another golden barrel and arranges it on a higher platform on the display. "There's something going on between the two of you."

"You mean Ben driving me to the point of insanity?"

"No. I mean the guy is always watching you-"

"He likes to stare at my ass." You roll your eyes at Jake. "What else is new?"

His cheeks flush with your mention of Ben's interest in your body. "I don’t mean like that. He always looks at you when you're working."

Your straighten up from the floor with a fresh box of Christmas Cactus, arranging the long tendrils so that they are hanging down over the edge of the table. "What do you mean?"

"Sometimes I see him walk by later in the day when you're reading at the register."

What? When has Ben been walking by and why? Is he spying on me?

"What? When?"

Jake shrugs. "I don't know just sometimes. He never comes in. One time he walked by with two cups of coffee, but he just kept walking."

Probably for one of his dates.

"Ben isn't interested in me like that. We're just friends and roommates." When you say that your chest gets a little bit tighter. "Ben doesn't have relationships, he has flings. The guy is basically a walking Trojan ad."

Jake runs a hand through his shaggy dirty-blond hair, to push it out of his face and away from his glasses. "I don't know, you didn't see him when you were asleep in the hospital. The guy was practically daring anyone to get close, like he was trying to protect you from something."

His words make you chew the inside of your cheek remembering what your grandmother said about Ben yelling at the doctors and the nurses and make you think about how overprotective Ben seemed to be acting over the past few days.

Ben is just trying to be a better friend. He knows that I went through a lot.

Annie had also been acting overprotective as well. She kept bringing things by the apartment to make your life easier with the cast and she kept bringing by food. She'd also brought by a big bag of thrifted romance books that she had found at your favorite used bookstore Inky's Inspirations and the two of you had spent the better part of a day devouring them. She was making more time for you because you knew that she felt bad about you getting hurt, and Hughie came by too. Ben didn't share the same enthusiasm that Hughie had for conversation, but whenever Ben was mean you would glare at him and Ben would huff out something under his breath and try to contribute more to the conversation.

"That's just how he is. Ben is kinda," You wave a hand. "Protective of his friends."

"I noticed." Jake frowns. "But I guess I'll take your word for it."

An awkward silence follows and the two of you finish the display, but you can't stop thinking about Ben walking past the shop.

How many times did he do that? And why? He always seems to hate walking and makes a big deal about me walking by myself. Why would he want to walk here all the way from Butcher's?

"Why don't you go check out the display of herbs by the register? I'm not sure how to arrange the Rosemary and the Oregano."

"Sure." You shrug heading back through the aisles that spill vines onto the concrete floor, your hand sliding through the leaves as you walk, feeling the plants begin to perk up with your gentle touch. The browning leaves vanished, the drooping stems straightened, and the plants turned up to you as if you were the sun.

Being here again and having a normal day was making you feel better. At home your plants had needed some TLC after you were gone for so many days and as hard as Jake tried to maintain every single plant in the store, you knew that it was too much for him to contain. Things like that were easy for you.

The day passes by slowly. Ben had told you that he'd be there to pick you up at closing and you found yourself checking the clock. You'd never done that before. When you were working in the past you never wished for the day to be over, but for some reason the idea that Ben was going to pick you up made you almost happy.

The shiny metal bell above the door jingled as the last customer of the day entered the shop, but you don't look up from the bouquet of flowers you were arranging for a last minute birthday order that someone called in for tomorrow morning. You didn't often do them, but Jake was busy breaking down the display of flowering plants in the other window and you were more than happy to help out.

Even if it was difficult with one hand.

You could hear whoever it was coming closer to the register, the sound of their shoes clunking against the weathered gray concrete floors with every step.

"Welcome in. Can I help you with something?" You don't look away from the sunflowers in the vase in front of you, using one hand to place some holly ferns to give it a bit more green before you reach for the baby's breath that sits in a bundle on the vintage wooden bar that served as a desk for the register.

"Well I'm not sure. Do you have anything that says 'I'm sorry my friend kidnapped you?'" A familiar voice asks.

Your head jerks upwards at the sound of the voice, but you already know who it is.

Darren stands there in his traditional black army jacket. His blonde buzzed hair is blindingly white in the sunlight that comes through the wide glass windows at the front of the shop, catching the glint of the gunmetal colored hoops in his right eyebrow. His smile is sheepish, apologetic, and if you hadn’t been through what you did, you might have believed that it was genuine.

"Darren?" Your voice is no more than a whisper, surprise leaking into it as you utter your brother's name.

You didn’t actually think that he would come to see you, not when he knew who Ben really was, and not when he knew that you knew he sacrificed you to save his own skin.

"Hey sissy. Did you miss me?"

The nickname strikes a nerve deep down.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Jake glances over from the front window his eyes widening at your sudden outburst. He'd never met your brother before and he knew that something must be wrong if you were angry. Jake knew you well enough to know how composed you were most of the time and knew that for you to be angry something must really be wrong.

"I wanted to see you. Can I give you a hug?" Darren holds out his arms towards you.

"What do you think?"

"But you love hugs." He makes a step towards the end of the register.

"If you take another step I'm going to scream. What are you doing here?" You say again.

"I told you. I wanted to see you. I haven't been able to see you since-"

“Since you handed me over to Elijah to pay off your fucking gambling debt?” The baby's breath in your hand crumbles into a ball, but you barely feel it.

“See." Darren rolls his eyes and holds up a finger. "I knew you’d overreact. You’re way too sensitive.”

“Overreact? OVERREACT? He locked me in a fucking freezer!” You spit. “He tried to-“ A cold feeling rises and prickles against your skin when you remember the weight of Elijah’s body on yours and the way his hand squeezed your throat. The purplish-black marks were still there, but hidden under a burgundy ribbed turtle neck sweater that you'd put on this morning. You figured it would be hard to explain those marks to Jake, especially when Annie had told him you were in a car accident.

“Hey, is everything okay over here?” Jake interrupts. He wipes this dirt covered hands on his jeans as he gets closer to where Darren is leaning against the front of the register.

"Yeah." You clear your throat. "Darren was just leaving."

"No, I'm not." Darren hasn't looked away from you and hasn't acknowledged Jake's presence. "I want to talk to you."

"Too bad. I don’t want to hear anything you have to say." You breathe, but you could feel a twinge in your heart. The love you had for your brother was ebbing just on the edge of the rage and heartbreak that you felt every time you think about what he did to you. It was difficult to treat him this way, not when you'd given in to whatever he wanted for so long. You hated that about yourself, hated the piece of you that wanted to forgive him.

But Darren does not move, in fact you can see the way his eyes flick over you as if he can sense that you're unsure.

"I want to talk this out." He says a little more forcefully.

"If she says that she doesn’t want to talk to you, I’m going to have to ask you to leave." Jake replies continuing to frown at your brother. They were both about the same height, but where Darren was rail-thin, Jake had a little bit more muscle to him. Not as much as Ben, but enough that he was bigger that your brother.

But you knew that it would do little good. Darren was even more stubborn that you were, and you could see the dangerous glint in his eyes that got him into trouble more times than you could count when the two of you were growing up.

“Try it four eyes." Darren's lips pull back in a challenge.

The lights overhead flicker for just a second, almost imperceivable to the eye. Jake crosses his arms over his chest in a way that you think he must believe is intimidating. “I’m going to ask you to leave one more time before I call the police.”

"And I said that I'm not going to fucking leave without talking to my sister."

"Sister?" Jake falters looking at you, his blue eyes wide in surprise behind his glasses.

You stand there for a moment trying to think of a way out of this. There's a little voice buzzing in your ear telling you that something is wrong, but you can't put your finger on it. And an even smaller voice whispering that you should call Ben.

I don't need him to handle this. Darren and I have to talk eventually and might as well do it now.

"Fine, but let's take this outside." You walk around from behind the register. "Jake has to lock up in fifteen minutes."

"Perfect! I just need five." Darren smiles at you the same way that he always has, the smile that you'd laughed with and allowed to reassure you, but this time all it does is make all of this worse.

When the two of you get outside, the sun is just starting to sink behind the buildings, bathing everything in a golden glow. Despite the situation it is a beautiful day. The smell of the bakery next door sent the soothing aroma of cinnamon and brown sugar each time it's door opened, the warmth of the sun was on your back and shoulders, the wind had picked up just enough to rustle your hair where it was pulled back from your face in a ponytail, and you could hear the children playing in the park just around the corner where the trees sent their long shadows over the playground.

Darren shifts from foot to foot and you can see the way he's trying to think of something to say, as if he's pretending that he didn't rehearse this in his head. You wonder if he's always done that, if he'd rehearsed everything he ever said to you because he knew exactly what to say to get you to agree for so long.

"Look Darren, I don't want to talk about this. Nothing that you're going to say is going to make any of this okay. Nothing that happened was okay! You left me there with him, you brought me to him, and then you lied about why I was really there."

"I'm sorry about that." Darren's gaze softens, eyebrows furrowing in mock sincerity. "Believe me, I wouldn't have taken you there if I knew that Elijah was going to do any of those things to you honey."

"Oh that is such-"

"I will admit that I did lie about why you were there. But I knew that you wouldn't come if I told you that it was for weed and Elijah really said he just wanted you to look at the plants for a few minutes. He didn't say anything about a freezer." Darren holds up his hands as if surrendering.

"And there it is! You admit that you lied to me, that you manipulated me to get me to go with you. And then you had the audacity to say that if I was uncomfortable we could go home!" You shout at him, narrowing your eyes. "Well Darren, I gotta tell you I was fucking uncomfortable in that damn freezer and in his damn office, and where were you? Oh right…" You tap your lips with the tip of your finger. "You left me there with that fucking psychopath!"

"I didn't leave you there! I called Richie and when I came back into the office, you were gone. Elijah told me that you left! I went back to your apartment and-" Darren frowns at you. He didn't like that you weren't listening to what he had to say.

"Do you expect me to believe any of that bullshit?" You plant your hands on your hips as you interrupt him, feeling a surge of anger swelling in your chest.

Even though the two of you are technically standing outside of the shop, you can still feel the energy from the plants inside, intertwining with you, strengthening you, and waiting for your command.

Truthfully ever since you'd killed Elijah you hadn't been able to forget it. You'd never used your powers like that before, never knew that you could, and never had fanaticized about that. But now, standing outside of the shop with your brother you could feel the plants calling out to you, asking you to command them, begging you to free them. You could feel them clawing in the dirt, the roots beneath writhing and unsettled, the flowers turning to watch Darren and you. Even the trees down the street that stood as stoic protectors over the children playing beneath their feet began to bend towards the two of you.

Sure in the past you'd been connected to the world around you, but ever since everything that happened with Elijah, your powers felt different, as if there was something else brewing and prickling beneath your skin that begged to be unleashed.

"I'm trying to apologize and you won't even listen to me!" Your brother shouts. Darren was leaning down over you, not as tall as Ben, but tall enough to be bigger than you.

You'd never feared him in the past, but you saw something flicker behind his eyes, something predatory, something that you'd never seen before in all the years that you'd spent with your brother.

"I don't want to hear anything you have to say Darren. I want you to leave-" You reply, hands still planted on your hips.

"No."

"No?"

"No. I can't stop by your damn apartment because you have that asshole hovering around. He would tear me to pieces before I got a chance to talk to you. And I want to explain what happened." Darren snaps back, eyes dark.

"I know what happened! Elijah told me exactly-"

"You're going to believe him over me? I'm your brother! I'm your blood, do you really think that I would have let Elijah do any of those things to you if I knew he would?"

"I don't know anymore."

It broke your heart to admit that aloud, but it was true. You didn't know if Darren cared about you at all and if he loved you the way that you loved him, if he ever had.

"What do you mean you don't know?" He looks hurt, shoulders slumping downward. "Sissy-"

"I-" You falter.

For just a fleeting moment the anger and heartbreak you feel towards your brother recedes just enough for the love you have for him begin to trickle back in. You wanted to believe that he cared about you. Frustrated tears burn in your eyes, because a part of you wants to push him away but there's another part that clings on with bloody fingertips and asks you to listen to him.

Because Darren was your family and all you could think of was if your parents were here what would they do? All those years that you supported your brother you'd thought that you were honoring their memory by refusing to turn your back on him. You wanted to love your brother, wanted to believe that everything he was saying was genuine, and all the years that you gave in to whatever Darren asked you were bearing down on you.

"Come on sissy. I love you. You're the only family that I have left." Darren soothes taking a step closer to you when he senses how hesitant you are to push him away.

"Well-"

"Please listen to-" Darren begins to say, but his entire body is yanked backward by something.

"She doesn't need to hear another fucking word you have to say." Ben snarls, holding Darren tightly by the throat above the sidewalk.

You hadn't seen him walk up. Ben could move silently when he wanted to and right now he looks murderous. There's a fire blazing behind his eyes turning them into heated furnaces of pure emerald, practically glowing in the last slips of the sunlight that peeks behind the buildings and stretches the shadows long over the almost empty street. His mouth is pulled back in a snarl as he stares at your brother, the grip he has on his throat tightening.

The couple across the street gasp when they watch Darren struggle in Ben's unbreakable grip, but Ben doesn't acknowledge them.

"I made you a promise." Ben's voice is a low growl as he holds Darren up so high off the ground that Darren's feet kick helplessly in the air. "You should have stayed gone you insignificant piece of shit."

Darren's eyes flash to yours. "Are you really going to let him treat me this way? I'm your brother!"

Ben's grip tightens on his throat and Darren grabs on to Ben's wrist.

You stand there frozen in horror unable to speak. A part of you is screaming for Ben to let him go and another part of you is begging for Ben to do what you don't think you can. You felt so weak in that moment, unable to turn your back on your brother, on the abuser, the manipulator, and the man who used you for years.

Ben's eyes flick to yours for a moment, something passing through his gaze that you can't understand, but it gives you strength.

"Sissy?" Darren's voice sounds so broken.

"Ben. Put him down." You say.

"What?" Ben snaps, eyes flashing.

"Please. Put him down." You breathe, your eyes catching Ben's for a moment.

Ben's jaw is tight, the muscles in his torso tense, but he does what you say with a grunt. Darren's body falls onto the sidewalk and he gasps for air, touching his throat as he gets to his feet.

Darren smiles at you through the deep breaths. "I knew you wouldn't let him-"

"Leave" You say as calmly as you can, but there's a slight tremor on the edge of your voice.

Ben takes a step closer to you when he hears it, but he doesn't touch you. He's still staring down Darren, eyebrows pulled tight together, and his mouth turned down into a frown with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. You know that he's probably a little pissed at you that you told him to put Darren down, but you also couldn't believe that he listened to you.

"What?" Darren stutters.

"Leave." You repeat. "I never want you to come back here ever."

"But I'm your-"

"If you say that you're her fucking brother one more time, I'm going to rip you in half." Ben's hands clench at his sides and you know that he's holding himself back from grabbing Darren again.

“You’re my family. I love you.” Darren says, the edge of his voice cracking just a little bit, but there's something behind his gaze that makes you pause. You're not sure if it's because he's trying to hide how mad he is at Ben or what, but there is something unsettling about the way he's looking at you.

“I don’t think you do.” It broke you to say it, to admit it out loud. “I’ve let you use me all these years, sacrificing my own happiness, my own success for you, because I loved you, but I don’t think you’ve ever once loved me. All you’ve done is look out for yourself.”

“That’s ridiculous-“

“When’s my birthday Darren?” You ask him, throat tight.

He freezes. “You're kidding right? You really think I don't know when your birthday is?"

"What have I been dreaming of doing since I was ten years old?"

"Sissy-"

"Your birthday is June 12th." You reply without stuttering. "Since you were thirteen years old your dream has been to own a blue 1970 Chevelle with black racing stripes. But you can never seem to scrape together enough money to get one."

Darren visibly pauses with your answer.

"I pay attention to everything you tell me Darren. I remember everything because I love you. And if you loved me, you would know those things about me. You would actually care enough to remember that I hate surprises, that I hate that insipid nickname, and since I was eight years old the only thing that I've been dreaming about is to open up my own farmer's market."

"You're kidding right?" Darren snorts. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

"And that's exactly why I don't believe that you love me. Because if you did you would support me the way that I've supported you for years."

"I-"

"No. I have sacrificed so much for you and you have never once done anything for me! So I'm asking you to leave, because as much as I love you, I can't do this anymore." The tears were blurring your vision, but you were holding it together the best you could. Ben was now standing so close to you that his arm was almost touching yours and you feel his fingertips brush the back of your hand just for a second, as if he wants to hold your hand but he doesn't.

"But-" Darren gapes, mouth wide open.

"She told you to fucking scram Dipshit." Ben snarls his eyes narrowing at your brother.

You could tell that it was taking a lot of effort on Ben's part not to turn Darren into mush and it made you grateful that he was here. Because Ben was letting you handle it, but he was there for you if you needed him to be. It was the first time that you realized how much you needed him with you.

Darren stands there for a minute eyeing Ben and you, emotions running together across his face merging with one another, his eyes darkening. And then he does something you didn't expect.

Darren begins to laugh.

Not just a little giggle or a snort, a deep throated rumble that shakes his body as he doubles over laughing so hard that he begins to wheeze.

"Oh sissy. I've been waiting for this for years. You have no idea." Darren continues to laugh, gasping for air and putting his hands on his thighs to hold himself steady.

What the hell is happening?

"What?" You ask tentatively. Even Ben is looking at him in surprise.

"Man. I've been wondering for years how long it would take you to finally grow a fucking backbone, but wow. I never thought it would be now." He starts to slow clap. "I'm impressed."

"What are you talking about?"

The glint in his eyes was back and Darren was smiling wide, so wide that you could see all his teeth. It reminded you of when Annie and you used to watch Crocodile Hunter on tv when you were kids and would huddle together watching Steve Irwin fearlessly handle them.

Darren's smile turns more into a smirk. "Kinda a good thing too, because I don't need you anymore, not with the way business is going. Honestly, I should thank your boyfriend. He solved a major problem for me."

"What problem?" Ben snarls.

"Elijah." Darren laughs out the name. "When I found out that you were Soldier Boy and saw how friendly you were with my sister at that ridiculous fundraiser. I knew that you'd come save her and kill Elijah. Poisoning his plants and letting it slip at that my sister just happened to be a plant supe at a poker game was the only way that I could get her involved and Elijah jumped at the chance.

He was at the fundraiser? When was he at the fundraiser?

"Why would you do that?" You ask in surprise.

What in the actual fuck is going on? He planned for Elijah to take me? He purposely poisoned the plants?

You were seeing a different side of Darren. Growing up he'd always had a temper, but Darren was never conniving or cunning. He never planned ahead more than an hour. It was always you that had to remind him to do things and you that begged him to at least think ahead for the entire week.

He's not some criminal mastermind. The guy doesn't believe that pickles used to be cucumbers for fucks sake.

"He was bad for business, he was already encroaching on my territory with the weed and then he said he was going to expand into cars and I couldn't have that. So." Your brother shrugs.

"But I don't understand why?"

Ben looks just as confused as you do, but the anger has not vanished from his eyes. You realize that Ben is waiting for you to say the word for him to start in on Darren. And it made you feel grateful again that he was here with you.

"Oh sissy you're still so innocent. I almost feel bad for you, not really. But" Darren flashes another brilliant smile that doesn't seem to fit the conversation the three of you are having. "I guess I should thank you. I would have never been able to build an empire without you."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Ben spits.

He was getting tired of Darren's monologuing and frankly so were you. An odd feeling prickled against your skin, splattering and splashing like oil in a skillet and the plants in the shop behind you pressed themselves against the windows as if trying to warn you. There was something wrong about this whole situation, something that you knew that you were missing, but you couldn’t put your finger on it.

"And to think I was so upset when you survived that night." Darren looks disappointed, but he chuckles. "Of course my aim now is a little bit better than it was then." His eyes pulse a dangerous electric blue and an unnatural hum fills the air. "I've had the practice."

He's a supe? How long has he been a-

The thought stutters to a halt when you realize what he said.

"Your aim? What do you-"

The words are barely out of your mouth, when the cold shock of what he's talking about hits you like you'd been dunked into a bucket of cold water. The memory of the night your parents died comes crashing over you in a wave and you're transported into the backseat of the car. The supple leather beneath your fingertips, the chill of the air conditioning, the melding of your parent's voices to "Nights In White Satin," the patter of rain against the metal roof that streaked across the glass windows, and the sticky remnants of chocolate ice cream on your cheeks. The unnatural flash of white light illuminates the interior of the car, the light that seemed to crackle and pulse across the space in front of the vehicle and seemed to come from in front of the car and not above the way the cops said it had.

The same flash of light that everyone said was lightning, but now you knew better.

You remembered it all, the hum of electricity in the air as the bolt hit the car and your dad jerking the wheel and sending the car over the bridge, and the sound of your mother's scream ringing in your ears just before the jolt of the car hitting the water and everything went black.

"No." You whisper taking a step back from your brother. "It was you?"

Horror and shock clamps down around your throat making it difficult to breathe.

Why would he do something like that? They were our parents. Why would he want to kill the two people who loved him as unconditionally as they loved me?

You didn't have one unhappy memory from the childhood you spent with your parents. The house was always warm, filled with the smell of baked goods, and the love your parents had for one another and for Darren and you. Every day was fused with wonder and excitement, and the weekends were filled with surprise trips to places that you’d never been before. They cared so much for the two of you, sacrificing the big things in their lives so they could be around Darren and you.

Darren wasn't with us in the car, he said he had homework and that he couldn't come with us to my recital.

Darren smiles wider, proud that you figured it out. "I was worried that you saw me standing on the road that night in the rain. That's why I left for a few days after the accident, but when I showed up again and you were so happy to see me, I saw my chance. You didn't know that it was me and there wasn't a need for me to stay gone."

"But why? Why would you do that?"

Darren's expression turns murderous. "Do you have any idea what it was like being second best to you my whole life?" Electricity jumps from his fingertips, flashing a dangerous blue and crackling in the air. "What it was like to be your brother?"

Holy fuck he's the electric supe. And the empire that Elijah was encroaching on was his chop shop.

The thought blazes through you and you remember what Elijah said about "expanding into automotives."

Of course Darren needed us to take Elijah out. Elijah had money and had the means to destroy Darren, but without the competition then…

You blink to bring your thoughts back together, realizing what your brother just said to you. “What are you talking about? You were never second best-"

"Yes I was!" He seethes. "You’ve always been the special one. The supe, the favorite, the golden child. I could never touch you! You're the one that mom and dad were so proud of.”

Darren takes a step forward and Ben mirrors the move, shifting his body in front of you to protect you from Darren, but Darren doesn't take his eyes off you. His face is contorted in hate, anger flaring white hot in his eyes that still glow an unnatural and dangerous bright blue. The air is full of the energy, popping and crackling along Darren's skin with every pulse of electricity.

"Darren-" You begin to say, but he interrupts.

"No." He snarls. "I'm talking now. You can't shut me up. Do you have any idea how long I've waited for this? They put you on a fucking pedestal for years. You were the one with all the toys all the talent. You're the one that they gave the Compound V to. I had to scavenge and scrape together enough money to bribe a friend of mine to swipe some from his mother's hospital."

So that's how he got it.

Anger, rage, heart break, and shock were fighting in your chest for dominance. You could feel the burn of tears in your eyes understanding that the brother you thought that you'd loved for all these years was also the man who murdered your parents in cold blood.

He tried to kill you too.

The thought was everywhere, ricocheting around in your head, the truth that Darren hid for years finally coming out.

"I was made for more. You. You're nothing." Darren spits. "You're a disappointment. Mom and dad gave you the powers and all you do is sit in a fucking plant shop all day long. What about me? I can fucking fly! I can fry someone from thirty fucking feet away! I amounted to something. All you do is make the fucking flowers bloom."

You'd heard the insult before on the lips of the men Elijah employed, the men who underestimated you. You'd heard it before in the tone of voice your brother had when he spoke to you the other night when he came to crash in your apartment and took your bed.

The energy in the air was reaching a dangerous peak and you could still feel it scraping against your skin. The plants in the shop behind you are pressed tight against the window and you have no idea where Jake is, only that you hope he's far away from whatever is about to happen.

Anger pulses hard and fast in your chest, sending a bitter taste into your mouth. "Oh you amounted to something? You didn't amount to anything! You’re still just a sack of shit that’s I’ve been dragging around. And I can't believe that I let you do it to me for years! You don’t care about me you don’t love me-"

"Of course I fucking don’t! I never have!"

"And then you killed the two people who loved you unconditionally-"

"They didn't fucking love me!" Darren snarls. "The only thing they loved was you. A pathetic little bitch who should have just keeled over and died like a good girl."

Ben's hand comes out and grabs Darren by the front of his jacket hauling him up into the air. "Don't you fucking speak to her that way." His voice is no more than a growl, rumbling low in his chest, his own eyes flashing a deep green, darker than you'd ever seen before. His skin has taken on a golden glow, coming through the dark t-shirt and pair of jeans he was wearing and the smell of ozone fills the air around the three of you.

"What are you going to do Benny?" Darren's body is glowing a blue beneath his outfit. "Show me that famous Soldier Boy temper? Fuck, you're just as pathetic as she is, nothing more than a washed up-"

Ben isn't holding on to Darren anymore, Darren's body is flying back into the street with the force of Ben's throw, but it doesn't strike ground, it gets hit mid-air by a passing bright red minivan. Darren's body flips backwards over the top of the car and lands in the street in a broken heap.

You're still frozen on the sidewalk as Ben sails in to beat down Darren's body where it lies, but there's an awful flash of bright blue light and an SUV that was parked on the street goes flying into Ben, propelling both of them into the bakery next door to the plant shop. The loud crashing of glass and brick with the force of the hit rings in your ears.

"Ben!" You shout, but he's no where in sight.

Darren stands from the ground, one of his arms hanging limply at his side and there's a bloody gash on his forehead that drips blood down into his eye, but and when Darren smiles, blood smears the inside of his usually white teeth.

"Goodbye sissy."

You don't have time to react. The bolt of lightning catches you in the center of the chest and throws you backwards into the plant shop. There's a terrible feeling of weightlessness, before your body hits the glass windows and slams into the flowering plant display that Jake had been working on when Darren showed up.

You land on your back hard, head hitting the concrete with a sickening crack that you feel vibrate through your entire body. Pain is everywhere. There's glass imbedded in your back, the cast on your arm is cracked open, your leg is burning and you're afraid to look down to see what you'll find. You can taste blood in your mouth and feel something sticky underneath your head that you're sure is the same.

You stare up at the florescent lights of the shop for a moment, the revelation of everything your brother had done beginning to finally sink in.

He killed our parents, he tried to kill me.

Tears burn and fall down your cheeks with the thought. Emotions swirling in your chest too fast to name.

I spent years taking care of him, letting him berate me, manipulate me, use me for whatever he needed and not once did he love me. I was so stupid. How could I have been so stupid?

The plants were circling around you, calling out to you, brushing against your broken body as you continued to lay there staring up at the ceiling. Black was starting to close in on the edge of your vision, making everything go a little bit fuzzy, but your mind was awake.

He killed our parents, he tried to kill me.

You think again, but you still can't move. You feel the trailing vines of the plants touching your legs, wrapping over them, laying down over your chest, and creeping up towards your broken arm and your face. They were whispering to you, asking your permission, begging you to let them free.

He killed our parents, he tried to kill me, and he tried to kill Ben.

And with that thought, you feel the rage begin to take over, burning hot and beating against your rib cage like a drum.

The plants around you begin to glow a vivid green, binding around your limbs, their strength flooding into your body as you call them forth to help you. The healing energy wrapping you in a cocoon of energy and life, taking away your pain. Pieces of glass fall from your skin, your bones knit back together, your skin closes and the scars left behind disappear as if they never happened.

You rise from the ground, the plants that wrapped around you no more than blackened tendrils of what they used to be, crunching underfoot as you make your way towards the front of the shop. You could feel the energy thrumming through your veins, the wounds you had were gone, the exhaustion and fatigue washed away by the plants that gave what life they had to make you whole.

You'd only ever given life to things that needed you, you'd never once considered that you could take it away.

Darren is still standing in the street, looking proud of himself, but when he sees you reappear in the broken window his smile falters.

"Guess you can take a hit." Darren shrugs. "I'm a little impressed-"

"Our entire lives you’ve never appreciated me. All I did all was listen to you, do everything I could to love and support you. I did whatever you asked without question. I spent so much of my own money, sacrificing little things in my life, doing ridiculous jobs to make a little bit extra, because I thought I was helping you.”

“You did.” Darren sneers. “I never had to work-“

“I’m not finished.” You snap. “I have given so much of myself to you and all it did was enable you. Annie was right and our grandmother was right. You are a leech. All you do is take and take until there's nothing left, and you don't care who you hurt."

"Look who's finally seeing the bigger picture!"

"I am." Your heart was running a mile a minute and you could still feel the remnants of power from the plants thrumming in your veins. "You're a parasite and Ben was right, I was too stupid to see it, too conditioned to believe that you cared about me. But you don't, the only person you care about is yourself." Your voice trembles just a little bit as you say those words, but you knew it was true. "I'm sorry that you spent your entire life believing that our parents didn't love you, I'm sorry that I wasted so much of my own money and time taking care of you, and I'm sorry that after all this time there's still apart of me that wants to forgive you even though you don't deserve it."

"Oh no sissy did I hurt your feelings?" Darren puffs out his bottom lip in an exaggerated pout. "What are you gonna do? Throw a spinach puff at me?" He cackles. "You're so pathetic. You really think that Mr. American Dream and you can beat me? Please." Bluish white arcs of energy illuminate the air around him, catching in the long shadows, emanating out from his body. His skin has gone an even paler shade of white, his veins a dark blue beneath. "In Greek mythology Zeus is the king of the gods. And all the others bow to him." He raises a hand and the electricity dances across his palm. "Have you come to bow?"

“No, because you were wrong about one thing.” You feel your eyes shift to bright green with your words, the plants in the store behind you screaming for blood, writhing together in a tangled mass in the depths of the shop.

"And what’s that sissy?” Darren snorts.

“Ben didn’t kill Elijah. I did.”

The building that housed "Please Don't Die" explodes behind you raining brick, mortar, and rubble on the street around where you stand. The creature that crawls forward on broken limbs and tangled roots from the remnants of the store is the size of a city bus. It looks like a large lizard, the claws easily the size of your forearm, it's head the size of a washing machine, and the body rippling with muscle woven from stems, leaves, and vines to claw it's way from the rubble on four legs.

Darren stares up at it in shock, confused at it's sudden appearance.

It opens it's mouth, revealing a mouth full of broken sticks fashioned into points, and lets loose a roar that shakes the parked cars that line the street. You could feel your body intertwined with it, the creature an extension of yourself, the rage, anger, and frustration you felt pouring through the veins of the behemoth that towered over the empty street.

This has never happened before, but it felt right. As if everything inside of you had been building from this, since the moment you used your power to kill Elijah your powers had felt different, amplified. And now standing in the street with the creature at your command it feels cosmically correct. There's a switch inside that flipped the right way and for the first time in your life, you feel powerful.

Darren tries to blast you backward again, but the lizard is faster than he expected it to be absorbing the bolt of electricity. It plows head first into Darren, knocking him back into the pavement. He lets out a yell of surprise, the sound of his head hitting the pavement echoing down the street.

You could feel your body thrumming with power, electrifying your veins, exploding from every nerve ending, and charging through skin and sinew to recreate you into something that you never knew existed and never knew you could be.

The creature's clawed hand is on Darren's chest, flattening him down into the street, and he struggles beneath it electricity crackling in the air. The lizard stares down at him with unblinking eyes, not reacting to the arcs of bluish-white light that pulse from Darren's hands.

It looks over it's massive shoulder at you, the plants that formed it’s body asking your permission, bending to your will, opening it's mouth to click in a broken language that only you understand. You can hear the little whispers of the leaves against your ears and feel the roots and vines that knotted together to form the behemoth that takes up most of the street.

"Sissy-" Darren begins to say, his eyes wide. You could see him mentally calculating his mistake, his misinterpretation of what you were capable of, and see him trying to switch tactics to save his own skin.

But you don’t want to hear any of it anymore. You didn't want to waste another second of your life listening to anything he said.

"I'm your brother." He wheezes the clawed hand heavy on his chest, pushing him down into the pavement.

"I don’t have a brother." Your voice is cold and emotionless. "All you are is the asshole who killed my parents and used me in every way he could. And you're never going to use ever again. Goodbye Darren."

"Wait-"

The creature's jaws fasten onto Darren's head and his last words are cut off in the rip of teeth and crunch of bone.

You stand there watching the lizard tear at his body, gazing at the bloody mangled mass that was your brother and your creation that crouches above him. Blood drips from it's bloody maw onto the pavement, staining the street red and it looks at you as if waiting for your next command, but you can't move.

"Petals?" You hear Ben say from somewhere to your left, but you don't acknowledge him. "Are you okay?"

The rush you felt from the plants is gone, the green fading from your eyes, and the sound of Darren's final gasp still vibrating against your ears. The energy is slowly ebbing from your body and you're scared by what's left behind, because that meant that everything was about to come crashing back down on you.

The creature turns and moves closer to you, pressing it's giant head against your torso as if trying to comfort you. And you raise a hand to rub the top of it’s head you can't stop staring at the body, not quite comprehending everything that has happened in the past fifteen minutes.

Darren killed my parents, he deserved this, he tried to kill me, he tried to-

There were tears in your eyes, bubbling over, as you exhale a gasp and a bone shaking sob. Everything was crashing down over you quickly and you sink to your knees.

The creature seems to follow you down, growing smaller and smaller until it's no more than the size of your hand, and clings to your jean's pocket.

Darren's body is unrecognizable, lying in pieces, and scattered over the street. People were running and screaming in terror, but you couldn't hear them. You knew that the police would be coming quickly and you didn’t know how the fuck you were going to explain any of this. Not the giant lizard, not the destruction of the building behind you, and especially not explain any of this to Jake who you hoped wasn't hurt or worse.

You feel Ben's hand come down on your shoulder. "Petals look at me, come on."

"He killed them." You murmur, the memories of your parents flashing through your mind, all of them happy and in love. "He killed them because he thought they loved me more. It's all my fault." The memory of the nightmare grates across your skin sending a shudder through your body.

"Petals." Ben turns your face to look at him. His eyes are still filled with the force of his rage, but they are softer now, looking at you with an unreadable emotion that you'd only seen in the hospital when you woke up and Ben sat with you. His hand gently traces the curve of your cheek. "That was not your fault. Everything he did wasn't your fault. He was fucked in the head. He-"

"I can't do this." You swallow, pulling yourself from Ben and standing up on shaky legs.

"What?"

"I've got to get out of here." Your feet stumble slightly on the cracked pavement, and Ben catches your now unbroken arm to stabilize you, but also to stop you from leaving

"Let me make sure that you're okay first-"

"I'm not!" Your voice breaks. "None of what happened is okay. I'm not okay Ben I-" The sobs were coming closer together now, everything coming down hard and making it difficult to breathe. "I can't breathe. I-"

"Hey. Shhh-" Ben tries to step closer to you.

"No Ben." You shake your head, tugging your arm to tell him to let you go, but he doesn't. The tears fall faster, soaking through your bloody shirt.

Emotions were pummeling you, overwhelming you, and were making it difficult to speak and to think. The only thought you had was that you had to get the hell out of here, that you couldn't look at what used to be Darren anymore, and that you couldn't look at what used to be the shop you loved so much.

"Just wait a damn minute-" He says more forcefully, tightening his grip.

"No. Let me go."

"Petals-" He's saying it in the soft concerned way that he did whenever it was the two of you, but you couldn’t listen to it. All you could feel was the jumble of emotions in your head and the events of today beginning to press down over you. Darren's confessions and his death were crushing you into oblivion.

"Let me go Ben." You shout again, through a sob.

"I don't want to. Let me help damnit!"

"No, please." You shout, tears streaking down your face as he finally lets you go. "I need to be alone. I need to-" You gasp. "I need to go home."

The darkness was closing in quickly and you didn't know what to do. The tide was overwhelming, pulling you under with every passing second.

"Then let me take you home."

"No." You shake your head. "I have to go home." You say it again for him to understand what you mean. "I can't be here right now with this. With any of this I-"

"Please-" Ben's voice is thick and it's the first time you've ever heard him sound that way.

"No, I have to go."

And you run, leaving the body of your brother and everything you know behind, while Ben watches you go with a twinge in his own chest that he can't understand.

A/N: Lots happened in this chapter. I know the revelations and the twists were WILD. But it finally happened, Darren got what he deserved. I know we don't see too much of Ben and the reader, but in the next chapter things between them are about to become less blurry. And we get a re-appearance of Granny Di in the next chapter!

As always, thank you so much for reading! Reblogs, Comments, and Likes are not required, but are always appreciated. I love hearing what y'all think! If you'd like to be added to my taglist for this series please let me know! :)

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verbenaa · 5 days ago

Text

to eden | chapter nine

𝓅𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔: Astarion/F! Tav 𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔: E 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉: 11.1k 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: blowjobs 😎; canon-compliant, non-graphic mentions of SA 😔 (Astarion 😭)

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎: “Do you trust me, Astarion?” Rin asks. She’s waited patiently enough for weeks upon weeks upon weeks, she can easily manage another minute for a proper answer from him first.

He shivers just slightly under her touch as her hands still, and Astarion averts his eyes from hers for a moment before huffing a breath and returning her gaze.

“Stop asking me questions you already know the answer to.” The bite in his words is softened by their meaning, his swallow audible as he stares down at her, a veiled vulnerability shining in his eyes as they run over the planes of her face.

𝒶/𝓃: hello!!!!! apologies it took me so long to get this chapter completed. But it is finally done and I very much hope you enjoy it. Here's to chapter 10 taking me half the time to write as this one did. please let me know your thoughts down in the comments and I appreciate you all!!!

read on ao3 | masterlist

“Are you even listening to me?”

Rin blocks out the sound of Astarion, positively incensed about absolutely nothing of consequence, as he follows her around the grounds of the Last Light Inn, complaining rather loudly for her tastes.

She sighs as she trudges down one of the dirt paths leading away from the inn and back towards their camp, the area thankfully empty as he strides just behind her at a clipped pace.

“I stopped listening about five minutes ago, Astarion, when you decided to keep saying the same thing over and over again,” Rin says, annoyance sneaking into her words as she cuts a look back towards the angry vampire somehow managing to stomp elegantly after her.

“I’ll stop saying it over and over again when you realize that I am right.”

Gods, he could be so irritating.

While their encounter with Ketheric Thorm went surprisingly well and no one dared to second guess them in their ruse of pretending to be True Souls, Rin still felt somewhat unmoored by it all. The plot was thickening with a quickness and intensity she didn’t care for; something that was only growing more and more sinister brewing just beneath the surface, and she isn’t looking forward to figuring out whatever that something might be.

There’s a very large part of her the longs to run—to simply disappear into the darkness and never return; to sprint away from all of this madness, the constant battles, the sharp malice of it all.

Her life may not have accumulated to very much back in Baldur’s Gate—little money, the occasional performance at a shitty tavern, the more-than-occasional odd job for the Guild—but at the very least it was predicable in its unpredictability.

Sure, she didn’t always have the money that she quite desperately needed, but she always knew to expect the possibility of not having it. She always knew how to sweet talk her way into getting more time to pay her debts, how to charm the baker into giving her an extra roll or two, or when times were particularly tough, how to steal what she needed to without even getting caught (most of the time).

They were skills she had honed over a lifetime of living on the streets and in the murky shadows of the Lower City, things that she had worked hard to perfect to the best of her ability in order to survive. If there was one thing Rin knew, it was how to work to the system.

Thirty-four years in and she’s yet to meet a magistrate while draped in chains, so she must be doing something right.

But the only thing she can dare to expect these days is the unexpected.

And Rin is not a fan of unexpected things—unless said things happen to be a nice bottle of wine or a fancy necklace; though as far as she can remember, no one has ever gifted her much of anything.

“What exactly did you want me to do, Astarion?”

“We should have stayed longer,” he hisses towards her, eyes narrowed and lip curled menacingly. “There was more information we could have dug out. There were merchants we could have bought more weapons and potions from. There were plenty of things we could have done, and yet you had us running away scared. You even let those goblins fight for their lives instead of just killing them outright. Absolutely ridiculous.”

Clearly, she doesn’t see the issue the same as Astarion, because she couldn’t find a single problem with the plan. It was the sane, normal thing to do after such a covert operation. They were a rag-tag group of adventurers, not spies.

They had maintained their cover, eventually killed the goblins, talked to the decidedly awful Disciple Z’rell, and then got the hells out of there as fast as they could.

The memory of Z’rell searching through her mind draws a minute shiver to her form, the sensation of another tadpole clawing through her brain with a wave of energy and touching on the darker things she keeps hidden in the depths of her thoughts—old memories that were purposely forgotten, hopes that she had long given up on having, disappointments that had been left to languish in the corners like dusty cobwebs—had been very unwelcome, to say the least.

She hadn’t been expecting to have to defend herself against Z’rell’s invasion, and she hated having to use her desire for Astarion as a distraction, even it if had worked.

It had left her feeling as though she had been stripped bare, like some raw part of her had been left exposed to salt.

She didn’t dare to show Z’rell any of the truly illicit memories, for the half-orc certainly didn’t deserve to see Astarion in such a way and Rin was not about to put his body on display for her, even within the relative safety of her own mind or for the sake of the mission.

Thankfully, she had plenty of other memories to use to showcase her more…amorous feelings about him.

The memory of him crowding her up against a cave wall, the feeling of his lips on her neck as he kissed it seconds before biting in, his lips claiming hers for the first time in the forest clearing what feels like forever ago, his fingers removing her armor piece by piece in the Underdark as heat had begun to curl in her belly…she could, theoretically, probably go on for forever.

Rin breathes out a frustrated breath, attempting to steady herself as she turns around to face Astarion with little thought, and he pulls up short to avoid running into her, stopping right before they collide.

“Here’s the thing. You are not in charge because you did not want to be, and so now I am. And as such, I made a decision to leave, and so we did. If you don’t like it, Astarion, then by all means, go march your way back to Moonrise and have a look around, if you’d like.”

Rin is careful to annunciate her every word as her finger pokes in the center of his chest, eyes steely as she glares up at him.

“But,” she continues, “in the event that you decide to not trot off back to that hellish place, can you please tell me how to possibly shut you up now? Because as much as I honor and appreciate your opinion, I am tiring of hearing it.”

Astarion casts a slow look down at the finger resting innocuously against him before dragging his gaze back up to hers, brow raised alongside the casual arrogance painted on his face.

Rin knows she couldn’t look any less threatening—camp clothes slightly wrinkled from where she had pulled them on hurriedly after bathing, her hair still slightly damp, and at least a full head shorter than Astarion.

Anger has never been her strong suit, she’s far better at using the written word as a weapon than she is at yelling, and she realizes she probably has all the intimidation of a hissing cat rather than something terrifyingly ferocious and beautiful.

At the very least, the letter she writes him later tonight will be properly vicious—or at least her version of it. She’s not sure she’s capable of the raw rage of someone like Karlach or the steel-sharpened vitriol of Lae’zel, but she can at least use several choice adjectives to describe him that she has no doubt will irritate him.

“Well, if you don’t want to hear it then you shouldn’t make stupid decisions,” Astarion says through gritted teeth, claret eyes glaring down at her. “and if you want to shut me up, you’re going to have to make me.”

“‘Make you’? How old are you, ten?” She presses her finger into his chest harder as her patience thins, biting down on her lip hard in failed attempt to take a calming breath.

Her heart is still pounding in her chest even after a relatively relaxing bath, and Astarion yelling at her about it does not help one bit. She aches to wipe the smirk off his lips as her eyes dart down to them, the way they curve up into a maddening off-kilter smile one that burns itself into her memory.

The traitorous part of her mind, the one that won’t disappear no matter how hard she tries to banish it and instead only serves to grow stronger as if to spite her, taunts her to kiss him if she really wants to shut him up.

No better way to rid his mouth of that self-righteous smirk than by giving his lips something better to do instead, after all.

She had thought after that night, the one where he had so coldly thrown her out while still in the haze of their shared pleasure, that whatever it was that had been growing between them would be no more. It had seemed, at the time at least, that he wanted nothing more to do with her.

Instead, Astarion had shown up every night since at her tent.

And every single night, he’d ruined her.

It had become their new routine, apparently. Every night they start by the fire as they always do—talking, drinking, divulging secrets in one another; and then afterwards, he follows her back to her tent, sets her alight with his touch, only to leave when he’s done with her.

They make something that Rin thinks must be akin to love; although she’s never really made love with anyone else before, so what does she know?

Perhaps he simply fucks everyone like the way he does her.

The Traitor in her mind is quick to point out the falsehood that statement, reminding her that he didn’t lay with her at first like he does now. At first, there had been no mistaking what they were doing—it was sex, pure and simple, between two people indulging in a mutual curiosity and need.

Looking back, it feels like Astarion had barely even enjoyed their first few liaisons together, his actions mostly halfhearted and his mind barely present.

Now, though, there’s a marked difference in the press of lips, each and every one meaningful and every caress upon her skin intentional during the house they spend lost in one another.

She could no longer call it just sex, at least by her standards.

Rin didn’t know what to think.

And how could she know, when he comes to her and sends her into complete bliss with a touch that only seems to grow more reverent with every passing night, the look in his eyes when they twine together that of a fire only growing as if being fed by more and more fuel.

But no matter how rough or how gentle he handles her—his touch somehow both softer and more intense with each night that passes, no matter how passionate or sweet the presses of his lips are against hers are as they find their completion together—he never stays.

Astarion’s interests, it seemed, were only in her physical attributes.

She shouldn’t be surprised, in the end. She was nothing more than a half-rate bard whose skills amounted to little of importance, so she can’t quite blame him for not being interested in the rest of her.

She was no sagely wizard like Gale nor a noble warlock like Wyll. She patroned no cause like Shadowheart or Lae’zel, no matter how questionable Rin finds their worship and ideals.

She has no greater calling, no reason to be; neither a paragon of good nor an avatar of evil.

She simply exists, day to day, in whatever way she can make it through.

Perhaps if she were someone greater, someone of skill or importance, someone of knowledge; he would want her for more than just nights of shared passion.

The thought rankles something in her, though it shouldn’t. People like her weren’t meant for much more, and she’s never done anything to be worthy of things like tenderness, affection, or love.

If she were, then surely everyone else wouldn’t have left her. She wouldn’t have been abandoned if she’d been worth it.

Rin has nothing more to offer anyone but simply who she is—and who she is has never, ever been enough for anyone to ever take a chance on.

She’ll just have to make do with what she gets when it comes to Astarion, though he’ll no doubt leave her like all the rest when he’s had his fill of her.

But in the meantime, she’d rather have him in whatever way she can—in whatever way he will let her have him—than not get have him at all.

And so she gives in to that traitorous part of her brain, the one still whispering of all the ways she can distract him, of the limited chances she has to revel in his closeness, and makes her move.

“You know what, fine. You want me to shut you up? I’d love the honor.”

Rin flattens her hand against his chest and pushes before taking a step forward into his space. Astarion glances down at her hand once before gracing her with a very skeptically raised brow.

Slowly, Rin steps forward again and Astarion steps back; one step followed by another and then another as they walk backwards until his back hits the stone of the wall behind them, dirt and chipped rock crumbling onto the ground next to them.

“Many have tried, most have failed.” He’s devastatingly handsome with such a devious smile, and she almost hates the way it makes anticipation startle to life in her chest. Almost.

Rin keeps her hand where it is as a small smirk of her own forms on her lips. “Most have not been me.”

“Do tell, little bard, what is to be your perfect strategy, hm?” He’s teasing and taunting her again as his head leans down towards hers, eyes narrowed in challenge.

She’s not quire sure what sparks the idea in her head; but she blames it on her ever-evolving and only growing adoration of him—slightly painful to admit, despite being very, very true.

Regardless of whatever the reason is, she takes her chance.

No time like the present, they say.

“Maybe I don’t need to shut you up so much as I want to hear you say something else instead,” And for the first time, it’s her own register that drops, words hushed as her cheeks flush despite herself.

Astarion is quick to catch on, a knowing glint sparking to life in his eyes as he gleans something in her own gaze. In an instant, Rin feels an arm come to circle around her waist, dragging her closer to him until they’re flush together.

“And what is it that you have in mind, darling?” Her skin tingles where his hand rests upon her lower back, thumb brushing teasing strokes that send her mind swirling with a rush of delight at his touch.

Rin runs her hand up, drawing it across the expanse of his chest with enough pressure to make sure that he can feel the drag of it until it finds its home around his neck, her fingers curling into the hair at his nape.

She stays silent in the wake of his query, answering with only an innocent quirk of her lips before giving the path they’re standing on a quick, covert glance. She can see or hear no other being near them and, so long as they’re quick about it, she doubts anyone else will be coming this way.

Hopefully.

“I must say, I’m intrigued. Are you thinking what I think you are thinking?”

“I guess it depends on what you think I plan to do.” She flicks her gaze back to his.

“I think that you want to—” Astarion’s voice cuts off and the smirk falls from his lips as Rin slides the hand from around his neck down his front and she lowers with it.

Rin looks up at him from under lowered lashes as her knees hit the dusty earth below her with a soft thump and she runs her hands up and down his thighs in teasing passes, thumbs pressing into the muscles of them intently.

He looks momentarily bewildered at the sight of her before him, expression going slack as his brows knit in surprise. Clearly, of all the things he expected of her, dropping to her knees on a decently well-trodden pathway wasn’t one of them.

For all the times he’s tasted her, Astarion’s yet to give her the same opportunity and she has plans to fix such a terrible discrepancy. He has no idea how long she’s waited to worship him like this—to touch and taste and learn his body as well as he’s studied her own.

She wishes that she had more time to make such an important scholarly pursuit, and the privacy of one of their tents would be vastly preferable, but Rin was nothing if not adaptable.

“Do you trust me, Astarion?” Rin asks. She’s waited patiently enough for weeks upon weeks upon weeks, she can easily manage another minute for a proper answer from him first.

He shivers just slightly under her touch as her hands still, and Astarion averts his eyes from hers for a moment before huffing a breath and returning her gaze.

He’s flustered, and it’s an absolute wonder to see.

Her cheeks flush and her heart swells, despite that fact that she is technically still mad at him. Or at least she’s supposed to be.

She can’t feel her agitation quite as keenly as she could a few minutes ago.

Rin had lowered herself onto her knees for only a few people in her lifetime, the act one she couldn’t say she had the most practice at. Men were always so typical, shoving themselves into her mouth without care until they reached their end; it was no wonder she rarely offered herself up in such a manner.

But, Astarion—Astarion she knows will be different.

“I can’t promise to be the best you’ve ever had, but—”

“Don’t sell yourself so short.” Astarion cuts her off, his hand coming down to trace her jaw lightly as she looks up at him from beneath her lashes.

Rin leans her head slightly into his hand as it runs along the line of her face, turning slightly to press her lips against his fingers. “Is this alright, then? Will you let me suck your cock?”

Astarion’s thumb brushes along the plush of her lower lip, and she takes the opportunity to open her mouth and nip at it playfully.

“Do you think you can take it, darling?” His eyes darken as her lips encircle the tip of his finger and she sucks, Rin relishing the almost imperceptible intake of his breath.

“I guess we’ll just have to see what I can handle.”

“Well. By all means, then. Have at it,” Astarion says, eyebrows raising in smug challenge.

At his permission Rin’s hands jump to life, fingertips tracing up his covered thighs to hook into the waistband of his pants. She keeps her eyes on his as she slowly pulls them down, revealing his hardening length still hidden behind his underwear.

She leans in to press kisses to the defined line of muscles along his hips, nosing his shirt out of the way as she runs her lips over the indentations of each and every one of them as she slowly traces her way down, moving ever closer to where his member twitches with every press of her lips.

“I must say, our pretty little leader on her knees is quite a sight.” The words are meant to be easy, teasing; but the tightness in his voice belies any ease, his hips jumping as she traces her lips over the silhouette of him through his underwear.

Astarion chokes back a moan at the feeling and she smiles up at him, fingers playing at the edge of the final barrier between them before she begins to pull. Her fingers find his length once she’s freed it from his underwear, quick to run them down the velvet softness of his shaft as the deep green of her gaze meets the darkened ruby of his own once more.

“Only for you, Astarion.” Rin cuts off anything further he could have to say by leaning her head forward to press a searing kiss to the side of his erection before tracing her lips over his length.

The first touch of her mouth against his cock has him exhaling sharply, one of the hands at his side coming up reflexively to rest atop top her head, fingers sliding through her curls as his hips jump.

She wastes no time as she licks a line across his slit, the heady saltiness of him hitting her tongue as she brings a hand up to grip him at the base, pumping him gently in her palm.

“Does it feel good like this?” Rin swirls her tongue around the head of him, savoring her first real taste of his essence. “You’ll have to let me know how you like it, Astarion.”

His hand curls in her hair, brushing stray locks back from her face as he watches her mouth move along his length, tongue slicking across a vein before she finally wraps her lips around him.

“I assure you, you’re already doing a very, very good job.” He sags back against the crumbling stone facade of the wall as Rin takes him deeper into the warmth of her mouth, her hand pumping at the base of him as her lips work the rest that she doesn’t yet fit inside.

His praise sends a trail of heat straight to the core of her, pleasure of her own ebbing deep in her stomach as her thighs rub together. She leaves his length for no more than a second, adjusting her position on her knees before pressing more kisses to the side of him. “And this?”

Astarion moans as her lips envelop him once more, sucking at his cock with hollowed cheeks as she takes him in, her hand moving in time with her mouth as she begins to bob her head.

“Decidedly perfect technique,” He’s practically breathless as he speaks, eyes closing as his head falls back against the wall behind him with a dull thud.

His moans echo off the ancient stone as she sucks and licks and kisses his cock, pouring every ounce of her wayward affection for him into this moment.

Astarion, she’s learned, doesn’t give up his iron-clad self control very easily; and Rin’s not going to let herself think about what it means that he trusts her enough to let her take care of him, even if it’s only like this.

It’s intoxicating to have him so utterly undone as she alternates her ministrations, each and every one only serving to push him further and further to the brink as she laves at his length, pleasure flitting openly across his handsome face.

She should tell him to be quieter, but she doesn’t have it in her to halt those beautiful moans and breathy gasps leaving his mouth, not when she revels in the sound of them far too much.

Rin pops off him to take a breath, tongue running around the crown of him before she renews her attentions, swallowing him down deeper and taking as much of him as she can fit into her mouth.

Dots of crystalline tears settle on her lashes as the head of him brushes against the back of her throat, but the ragged moan he releases is more than worth it, another bolt of heat surging down to the place between her legs.

She’s lucky she cares nothing for her reputation, because being found on her knees in front of her most dubious companion with his cock shoved deep down her throat would most certainly ruin it.

“Such pretty noises you make, Astarion,” She hums as she pops off his cock, a string of saliva connecting her lips to his length as she breathes in another lungful of air. “Please don’t stop making them.”

The hands in her hair tighten as her mouth envelops the head of his length again and he whines, Rin once again savoring the tang of him as she sucks before taking him back into her mouth, deep again as he slides against her tongue.

“Fuck, darling—” She breaths through her nose as his thighs quiver, making sure to keep her mouth moving back and forth on his cock. “Don’t stop. Rin, sweetheart, I’m going to—”

Sweetheart. It was a new one from him, one that she finds that she likes.

Quite a lot.

He breaks off as Rin hollows her cheeks once more around him just as his cock hits the back of her throat again, stray tears breaking free to run down her cheeks and she can barely breathe with him like this in her mouth but can’t seem to find it in her to care.

The thrill of finally being able to taste him and to bring him to the edge of pleasure is one she knows she would do anything to feel again, the weight of his cock nothing short of exquisite in her mouth.

She gives him a final suck and Astarion comes down her throat with a wanton moan, hips bucking as his brows crease and he cries out his completion, the sounds of his ecstasy nothing short of beautiful as they ring off the rock and stone and dirt around them.

Rin swallows his come down as his body quivers and his hips rut into her, the hands in her hair tightening into a vice grip as he rides her mouth.

He tastes as perfect as she knew he would as words fall from his lips in a torrent—a chorus of praise, moans, and the occasional elvish word or phrase she doesn’t understand all flowing freely from his lips.

Rin lets him ride out his orgasm however long he pleases, a deep satisfaction coursing through her as she watches the pleasure painted across his features until his hips begin to slow and air he doesn’t need finally begins to return to his lungs.

“Dear Gods—” Astarion groans as his eyes open as the hands in her hair loosen and he stares down at her, one of them migrating down from her curls to her cheeks, softly brushing away the tears that have tracked down the planes of her face.

She pulls off his softening cock slowly, taking in a much needed breath of air.

“Do you still question my decision making skills?” Rin licks off a stray drop of his come from her bottom lip before she smiles.

“Absolutely; and if this is the treatment I’m going to get every time I do, then I think I’ll have to disagree with you more often.” Astarion’s still catching his breath as he replies, but it doesn’t stop a wolfish grin from spreading across his face.

“Don’t get too ahead of yourself, Astarion.” Rin gently tucks him back into his pants, patting his hip with a smirk before she rises back up to her full height, knees aching slightly with the motion. “If I did that every time we had a disagreement, I’m not sure I would have much time to do anything else.”

Astarion has an arm wrapped back around her waist in a mere moment and she’s pulled close again, the one hand still in her hair curving around the back of her head to tilt her face up to his own.

“Then maybe you should try to be less difficult, dearest.” His hand runs down, caressing the curve of her bottom before sweeping back up and around to hover at the front of her pants.

His touch sends a spark of heat down to her neglected arousal, Rin taking a steadying breath as she braces her hands on his chest. “If I were less difficult, you would be bored.”

Astarion chuckles as his fingertips dip below her waistband, more heat curling deep in her core as they quickly slip beneath the band of her underwear, intent to find the wetness that has settled between her thighs.

He wastes no time gliding them through her folds, running them up and down her center as Rin gasps, Astarion’s eyes intent on hers as he slicks his fingers with her arousal before finding her entrance and sinking two of them inside her with ease.

“I see I wasn’t the only one enjoying myself,” Astarion groans at the evidence of her own lust he finds waiting, pushing his fingers deeper.

“Far from it, Astarion.” She moans as her head falls forward onto his shoulder, eyes drifting shut as he curls them once, twice; her limbs tightening as he seats them fully inside her.

It would be so easy to let Astarion bring her to brink and push her over into euphoria, no doubt only a few quirks of his fingers and she’d be gone, clinging to him with every ounce of her strength as he makes her come.

But she doesn’t want it to be about her. Not right now.

Despite the breath that rushes free and the soft whine she lets out as Astarion pumps the fingers he has buried in her, the desire almost painfully hot in her core; Rin reaches one of her hands down to grasp his wrist, pulling his hand away from where she wants him most.

She’ll take care of herself later. She certainly has plenty of material to think about.

Astarion sends her a questioning look as he slips his fingers out of her, Rin’s hand still on his as she guides him out of her leggings. “Is there a problem, sweet? Need something else inside of you instead?”

Rin huffs a soft laugh as she intertwines her fingers with his, squeezing his hand. She fears that her expression is entirely too open as she looks up at him and her lips quirk into a smile, but it’s too late for her to take it back so she commits to it, letting a tiny bit of the feeling that’s been growing inside her show on her features.

“I just—it doesn’t always need to be about me. Take your pleasure and enjoy it. You don’t owe me one back, or anything silly like that.”

Astarion stares at her as his expression clouds with confusion, but the hand in hers doesn’t weaken, his grip still strong and sure.

Rin stands up on her tiptoes, lips seeking his cheek as she bestows a light kiss upon it before whispering, “Thank you, Astarion, for letting me give you something for once. I’ll see you in a little bit.”

She steals her hand back, the slide of his skin against her own slow as she takes a step away from him, sending a little wave his way before she turns and walks back towards camp, leaving Astarion to stare perplexed at her retreating form.

✧· · ─── ·✧· ─── · ·✧

Astarion sits perched on his favorite rock in camp, handsome and brooding, no doubt the perfect portrait of a mercurial and mysterious vampire to anyone with eyes who chose to look his way.

Or he would be, if anybody in this damn camp would pay any attention to him.

He rolls his eyes with a scoff as he directs his gaze towards the small group of idiots that are now his companions; a preposterous notion that he even considers them to be such.

They make their merry by the fire, passing around a bottle of what is clearly a very strong whiskey if the faces they pull after taking swigs of it are anything to go by.

He can imagine the smell of it, smokey and stout, and is very glad to have a goblet of wine beside him instead.

Whiskey was all fine and good and certainly had its uses, but it lacked the elegance of a fine wine; no whiskey ever as smooth on its own as a delectable vintage feels gliding over his tongue and down.

It’s a chilling thought that he’s been in such close contact with these fools for months now, Astarion learning all their little intricacies whether he wants to or not.

Yet, he doesn’t find himself hating the growing familiarity quite as much as he did at the beginning.

He knew his siblings, of course. But that bond was different, one forged by mutual fear and shared pain. He didn’t know what kinds of books they liked to read or what their favorite sweets had been. Instead, he knew how each of their screams sounded and how their bodies had looked torn apart under Cazador and Godey’s punishments, flesh rent from bone.

No, he firmly knew more about this merry little band of imbeciles he had been thrown together with than the six souls he had known for years and years and years, with one individual in particular standing out above the rest.

Astarion, it seems, now knew more about Rin than he had ever cared to know about another person in over 200 years. Useless, meaningless information she’s offered up about herself seemingly at random and without purpose or prize.

She was a complete and utter fool.

And yet, he drank up each and every tiny piece about herself that she gave him as though it were her blood, flowing free and pomegranate-sweet from her neck.

Astarion knew her favorite flowers—a hard choice, according to her, but she tends to favor the perfect, happy purple of the crocus a little more than the rest.

He had rolled his eyes at this, swiftly informing her that flowers were essentially no more than useless, pretty things with little substance; and had earned himself a very sound swat upon his arm.

He knew her favorite foods—any sort of sweet berry at midsummer, along with a nice loaf of bread and perhaps some butter or cheese.

Her taste in food was pitifully simple, though Astarion supposes a life on the Lower City streets didn’t usually imbue people with a terribly complicated palate for the finer delicacies life had to offer.

He knew that Rin did not know her father—only that he had been an elf come to the city on some sort of business from a far away place and Rin her human mother’s only token of remembrance from an affair she only wanted to forget about, and one she eventually did forget about when she left Rin to fend for herself.

She knew nothing of the Elvish ways and customs, nothing of the language that should sit so naturally on her tongue.

The knowledge that he could say anything he wanted to her in their language and she would be hopeless to ever understand him is one that tempts him in a variety of ways that he doesn’t indulge, lest his mind find its way heading into dangerous territory.

He knew that she’d had no sweeping romances with tender touches and soft sighs—only quick nighttime flings helped along by pints of cheap ale from equally cheap taverns and that while they had perhaps filled a need, they tended to leave her feeling more empty and decidedly less than, in the end.

Astarion all too well understood that particular feeling. He hated that she had ever felt the same.

He readily ignores the inkling in the back of his mind warning him that he, perhaps, is no better than the others when he leaves her every night staring up at him, poorly concealed disappointment etched across her pretty face.

Uselessly, he also knew her favorite color—the deep, turquoise blue-green of the Chionthar on a clear day at noontime, naturally, when the sun sparkled off the undulating current of the water.

It could never be anything quite so easy as simply ‘the color blue’ with her.

Astarion himself had long forgotten the color of the river, having only seen it as the darkened muddy blue-black of the midnight hours for centuries now.

Rin had been utterly shocked when she asked him for his own and he had told her he didn’t have one.

“You don’t have a favorite color? Astarion,” She had said aghast, drawing out the syllables of his name as her bright eyes had widened in surprise.

He had no use for frivolous things like favorite colors.

What colors, exactly, was he to have had the time to enjoy?

Certainly not the darkly stained, ornately paneled woods of the chamber he used to entertain his victims; or the gaudy, overly saturated reds and too brightly shined golds in that room meant to invoke opulence and luxury, yet another layer designed to further lure them into the fantasy he provided.

Nor the watery yellow glow of torchlight against the dull, muddied brown of wet cobblestones as he led whoever had been chosen that night back to the Szarr Palace, charming and seductive as he promised them his body and their control over it.

There was nothing beautiful about the metallic shine of a silver cage in the kennel, dotted with the rusty brown of dried blood, though whether it was his own or belonged to one of his siblings he never really knew.

How was there to be any joy found in color beyond the allure of the deepest burgundy wine as it filled up his cup to help dull his mind as he lowered himself to do the things his mark that evening wanted of him, mind drifting to focus on anything else as he did whatever he needed to do in order to survive.

Astarion grimaces, throwing back another swallow of his wine as the thoughts leave him tinged with the sickly yellow-green of disgust and the feeling of shame: a blistering, burning, glowing red.

At first, right after the Nautiloid had crashed and he had escaped the closeness of that dreadful pod, his chest having constricted at the tightness of it around him—it was just another cage in the end, wasn’t it? Just another leash for him to be collared to—the riot of colors in the bright light of the sun had hurt his newly sensitive eyes as he had hid in the shadow of the wreckage.

It was only once he had realized he wouldn’t be burned to a crisp in the sunshine, a wonder in its own right, that he began to take notice of them all. There were far too many colors and all of them were so…so saturated; all the different shades and intensities unbearably overwhelming.

From the small green leaves of the scrubby trees, to the brown grains of sand, to the grotesque purple of the Nautiloid and the soon-to-be rotting corpses of mindflayers—terribly, horribly overwhelming.

She was overwhelming to look at when he first saw her, too. Shining eyes of emerald green, warm skin thoroughly kissed by the sun, dark blonde curls gleaming in the unbearable brightness of the light. That awful outfit she wore that marked her as none other but a bard, albeit one with terrible sartorial sense.

Rin was the first person he had set eyes on in the sunshine in over 200 years and he had hated the very sight of her.

She had been a clash of colors, all dreadfully uncomplimentary to him, that he shied away from the sight of. Colors like that were never quite so bold in the darkness that he was so used to, their vivacity dulled by dancing firelight and the shadows of night.

She was too brilliant to bear the sight of, utterly casual and downright flippant, too unbothered by it all to be trusted—though, he knows better now; and looking back he can see that her confidence was all nothing more than a well-executed performance on her part.

He still doesn’t feel bad about holding that knife to her neck as he had dragged her down into the coarse sand with him, the scent of her scarlet blood still rich despite it drying against her cheek, dots of it mixing in with the freckles that were scattered across her cheeks like the tiniest of constellations.

Perhaps that was his first mistake in all of this, allowing himself to get so near someone so dazzling and warm. It was like playing with fire—dance too close to the flame and you were bound to be burned.

And going up into flames was something Astarion could not afford.

But now, slowly, the color has begun to come back to him little by little and he could start to appreciate again it for the first time in centuries.

The precise cornflower blue of the sky on a cloudless day or the deep violet of it at twilight as the stars wink to life.

The way sunlight dappled onto the ground through a forested canopy to illuminate the all the tiny flowers that grow up from the ground in a rainbow of colors—purples, pinks, yellows, blues.

The myriad of all the different greens that he could now truly behold: the dark, bountiful leaves of a fern, a fragile spring green stem of a flower, the lush and verdant shade of her eyes.

Astarion still didn’t have a favorite color. Not really.

But he was coming around to the idea of having one.

A laugh carries across camp, melodic and light and lovely, dragging him from the depths of his musings over to where Rin sits by the fire, their companions all floating around her like moths to a flame.

He absolutely hates the way they all look at her.

He can see it on their faces, a blatant adoration that she somehow seems to completely disregard for reasons he can’t fathom, instead intent to spend her time with him of all people.

But he cannot blame them, after all, because he’s no better. Just as desperate for her attention and her closeness, it seems, if the way his feet kept finding their way to her tent night after night was anything to go by.

Astarion wonders sometimes if they can see the very same hopeless look on his own face as he gazes upon her, despite how well he tries to hide it.

Rin leans against Halsin as she laughs, cheeks flushing at whatever it is the oversized elf says to her. Her curls are unbound, falling freely around her tonight in a wave of shining gold to her waist and he wishes he could bury his fingers in the strands to feel the softness of them for himself.

The druid does nothing to dissuade Rin from the circle of his arms as he claps a hand on her shoulder before sliding it down to the small of her back, smiling at her a touch too friendly for Astarion’s liking and a stab of something hits him straight in the chest.

Jealousy.

He has no claim to her, of course. He’s not made one and has no plans to. But the sudden thought of her underneath Halsin—or any of them, really—has his jaw clenching tight.

The other elf is attractive and strong, no doubt a good lover; and the thought of the warmth he could so easily provide her that Astarion cannot churns his long-empty stomach.

He can see it all too easily, imagining Rin so very pretty with cheeks flushed pink and body inviting as Halsin leans over and takes her sweetness for his own.

He can see Rin on her knees, looking up at the druid with the same look of affection in her eyes that she had given him earlier that day as she had tasted him.

Or perhaps the worst thoughts of them all—Rin telling Halsin all the inane things she would normally bother him with; Rin playing tiny bits of melodies and sweet little songs on her lyre for Halsin while he whittles by the light of the fire; Rin writing the druid letters that she would then hide poorly in his tent, ensuring they can always be found and read and replied to—

He was spiraling, and he needed to stop.

Astarion shakes the thoughts away with a frown, bringing his goblet back to his lips for another sip. He doesn’t know why she favors him so, why she allows him into her orbit when there’s a group full of others who would so readily take his place, all of whom would no doubt treat her better than he has.

He wouldn’t blame her, if she sought after any of the others.

Certainly not after that night, the one where he had made her undress before him for his entertainment and then kicked her out of his tent when she was still wrapped up in the afterglow of what was a very intimate evening.

Perhaps too intimate.

His chest gnaws at itself at the thought of the way he had handled it all.

Astarion had lost count of how many times he had undressed in front of others, so many of their faces blessedly long blurred by time.

He had unbuttoned and unlaced countless of his shirts, pants, doublets—a liar’s allure painted upon his features as he gave whoever it was a show, forever the night’s entertainment for his quarry.

Yet, he had made her do the same.

He had enjoyed it, too. He had enjoyed watching her undress solely for him, piece by piece, her gaze piercing his own as she reveled in his attention on her.

She hadn’t said no or objected to it. But he could see the challenge in her eyes just as easily as she could see right through him and his attempt to gain back his precious lead in their little game, the perceptive little thing.

A strange feeling—remorse—settles itself in his chest as he watches her from across camp.

The remorse only grows the longer Astarion fixates on it, leading to more and more questions that he doesn’t have the answers to, the weight of them near unbearable upon his scarred shoulders.

The crushing reality was that his plan was crumbling bit by bit, like a tiny pebble crushed under foot; and the worst part about it was that he was finding it harder and harder to care.

Rin has made it abundantly clear that she is on his side.

He’d seduced her, had won her sword (mediocre skill notwithstanding), and had long secured her dedication to his cause.

By all accounts, his plan is practically complete where she’s concerned.

All they needed to do now was get back to Baldur’s Gate and—well, he wasn’t quite sure what would come after they get back into the city, Astarion was still a little fuzzy on the details of it all, but she’d help him figure it out when the time came, of course.

Rin was aways helpful when it really mattered.

So why is it that he can’t stop with the first part? Even if he were to decide to stop sleeping with her, he wasn’t particularly concerned that she would suddenly turn on him.

He has no reason to find his way into her bed now; no reason other than his own selfish, deep-seated desire for her company and attention and affection.

Rin catches his eye in a poorly timed glance of his own, and smiles so full of a sickening fondness—nose crinkled and flushed cheeks—at him.

Faster than he can follow she’s out of Halsin’s embrace, gracing the druid with a playful smile and a pat on the shoulder before she saunters over to where he sits perched on his rock, limbs unnaturally loose as she pads closer—drunk indeed.

Astarion doesn’t miss the way the light from the fire limns her figure from behind, setting her aglow in a halo of golden-red as she finds her way over to him, something in his chest warming as she nears.

She sways slightly when she stops before him and he can smell the rich tang of the whiskey on her as she sends him a mischievous look that has his lips already quirking up at the corners.

“You,” she pokes him in the chest to add an emphasis that he did not need. “Should come join us”

“And you,” he refrains from poking her back in response, though the thought amuses him. “Are drunk.”

Rin takes a step closer, wrapping her arms around his neck and leaning forward, slotting herself between his legs and blithely ignoring the glances the motion garners from their companions.

Astarion’s eyes widen at the blatant display of affection, taken aback by the ease of it as the scent of her surrounds him—honey and flowers and all around loveliness.

On anyone else he would hate the perfume she wears, but on her it smells nothing short of wonderful; tempting him to bury his face into her neck and breathe her in.

Her hands play with the hair on his neck, as they always seem to, delicate fingertips running through the waves and he resists the urge to lean into her soothing touch.

He can feel multiple sets of eyes upon the two of them, voices lowered into whispers as the group no doubt gossips. The nature of his relationship with Rin is far from a secret, he’s drawn too many beautiful sounds from her lips for anyone to be unaware of their trysts.

Astarion secretly revels in the idea that they are quite possibly jealous of what Rin gives to him; something that none of them have ever received from her.

So let them see, then.

Let them see that it is him who she seeks out, his arms the ones she wants to find herself in, his lips the ones she wishes to kiss.

Astarion’s arms find their way to her waist with an uncomfortable ease, hands settling along the indent of it as his thumbs run up and down her covered skin without thought, dragging her closer between his legs until their faces are mere inches from one another’s, only the rock beneath him stopping her chest from pressing fully against his own.

“I’m not drunk enough, I fear.” Rin cocks her head to the side with a smile, as she whispers covertly to him. “Maybe, if you come share a drink with me, we can fix that.”

Astarion allows himself the temptation to brush an errant curl away from her face, the lock just as soft as he knew it’d be, before matching her tone. “Don’t be such a lush, dear.”

“Oh, come on, Astarion. I know that you enjoy a good drink as much as I do. And I promise, the whiskey is good.”

He swears that he can hear her breath hitch as his fingers accidentally brush against her cheek, her eyes widening ever so slightly in surprise as he tucks the curl behind her ear.

“Oh, I’ve got no doubt of that, my dear,” He chuckles, a corner of his mouth turning up without his permission. “If it weren’t, you wouldn’t be quite so tipsy in front of me.”

“Don’t say it like it’s a bad thing,” Rin tuts, pouting.

The way her bottom lip pushes out and her eyes widen under lowered brows is, dare he say, cute; and he can’t help the inward sigh that he’s now been relegated to thinking of a beautiful woman something as absurd as cute.

It��s a blow to his seductive charm, surely, to use such a word to describe her; but all of the other adjectives he’s thought of in the past seem to had fled his mind under her spell when she looks at him like that.

What in the absolute hells has she done to him?

“Pouting? Really, darling?” Astarion drawls, the hand he had used to tuck her hair back now brushing openly down her cheek in a touch that has her face heating to a most becoming shade of pink.

Rin instinctively leans into his hand and he resists the urge to cup her cheek, suddenly possessed by the want to draw her face closer to his.

“You don’t have to come drink with me at all, of course.” Her voice takes on that same tone it had taken on earlier, intention dripping from her words like the thickest of honey as her she bites her lip, drawing his attention to her mouth. “We can always go find something else to do instead. Just the two of us.”

The pink of her tongue peeks out to wet her bottom lip, soothing the place where she bit down upon it, and if Astarion hadn’t been paying attention already, he certainly would be now.

“Oh? Just the two of us?” He teases her, his other hand moving to curl around her lower back to pull her even closer, Rin curving herself into him, and Gods if the feeling of her against him didn’t feel like heaven. “What do you have in mind? A game of cards? Or, perhaps we should practice our calligraphy together, hm?”

Rin leans in to let her lips brush against the tip of his ear, Astarion barely holding back the shiver that threatens to break free as her hands comb through his hair and she speaks low, “I can make you feel good again, Astarion. If you want me to.”

Her words bleed with affection and genuine sweetness, and Astarion finds it very difficult to say no to her when she asks like that.

His mind flashes back to earlier, the image of Rin on her knees as she had waited for his answer, hands poised at his waistband streaking through his mind along with others as his stomach tightens.

Her perfect lips wrapped around his cock, the feeling of coming down her throat, drops of diamond-like tears tracing down flushed cheeks, his hands buried in her hair.

How she had told him to take his pleasure and not worry about hers. A very sweet sentiment that he deeply appreciated for reasons he very much didn’t want to think about at the moment.

‘Thank you, Astarion, for letting me give you something for once,’Rin had said.

As if she didn’t already give him plenty.

He’s thoroughly enjoyed being at her mercy, her touch always soft and gentle while she asks for permission. It had been so many years since he had indulged in wanting to be touched like that, and having affection heaped upon him by someone so eager to please him has quickly become nothing short of addicting.

“Oh? And do tell, how you plan on doing that?” Astarion lets his fingers drift slowly up her spine, enjoying the way her body presses harder into his and her breath catches, the sound lovely.

“Follow me and I’ll show you,” Rin whispers as she steps out of the circle of his arms, swaying slightly as she does, and Astarion’s brows knit together in consternation.

She grabs his hand, and Astarion swears the feeling of hers wrapped around his could scald him, every nerve in his body set alight by that innocent touch.

He allows himself to be lead to her tent, content to follow after her with hands still connected; but there seemed to be a single glaring issue standing in Astarion’s way that he was apparently now unable to ignore.

She was quite drunk tonight.

Too drunk, according to a newer, still unfamiliar voice in his head.

It’s a step too far for him now, or at least it is where she’s concerned; a step that, granted, months ago he wouldn’t have batted an eyelash at taking.

All the better if they were too drunk, it only made his job easier in the end.

But Rin’s not like that, she’s not a mark and she deserves so much better than being taken advantage of in such a state, even if for his plan or his own personal desires of her.

She would be so easy to please like this, with the alcohol addling her mind.

And oh, how he could please her.

He could so easily touch and kiss and fuck any thoughts she may have about Halsin or any of the rest of them right out of her mind, ensuring that his name is the only one that falls from her lips.

She steps through the flap of her tent, her hand still holding his, and once he’s inside she’s turning again, wrapping her arms around his neck as she balances up on tiptoes, staring earnestly into his eyes.

“I’ll do whatever you want, Astarion. Just tell me, I want to know more about what you like.” She sways again, and his arm wraps around her waist to steady her as their bodies press together.

“Let’s get you lying down, sweetheart.”

He hadn’t meant to say such a word earlier, but it had slipped out of his mouth as he had hit the burning, white hot peak of his pleasure at her worship.

Astarion finds, though, that he likes the way it flows off his tongue when directed at her.

It fits her well enough, in his opinion.

He lets Rin drag him to the ground until her back is against her bedroll and he hovers over her, staring down into hazy green eyes as her curls spread around her. She’s a vision like this, and he memorizes the sight of her without thinking to, his eyes moving to capture every inch of her before his mind even realizes what he’s doing and can tell himself to stop.

“And now, Astarion?”

She waits on a bated breath, waiting, as his eyes finding their way again to her lips.

Kiss her. That voice in the back of his mind is nothing but a traitor as it whispers to him, knowing full well he can’t give in to such dizzying impulses like that on a whim.

He knows better than to allow himself to kiss her. Because once starts he won’t be able to stop.

It would be so easy to fall into her, to kiss her into utter oblivion and lose himself in the body she so readily offers. To forget all about his pathetic life if only for the little bit of time they steal away to spend together in temporary bliss.

But it always comes back after.

The memories, the reality of who is he and what he’s done, the feeling of his skin crawling in the aftermath of so many hands that have touched him without permission.

Her touch is different, but when he’s been touched thousands of times by thousands of people, it all seems to blend together in the end no matter what he wants—even if hers is the only one he wants to think about and remember the feeling of, thoughts of her consuming him even with just a gentle brush of her arm against his.

“And now, darling, you sleep.”

He doubts she’ll remember much come morning, the whiskey burning through her veins hotter than a flask of alchemist’s fire; but Astarion finds that he wants to be remembered, if only by her, just this once.

Wants her to remember their time together the way he always will. If they survive this, even when he has his freedom and is long gone to wherever it is he wants to go—he will always remember.

He ignores the stutter of loneliness that pangs in his chest as he imagines ever so briefly what his freedom will look like when he’s on his own with no one else around.

It would certainly be quiet. Perhaps even peaceful.

He would be able to spend his time however he wished it in the solitude, not a soul around to bother him with foolish chatter unless he went in search of such a thing.

Strange how the thought of it doesn’t hold the same appeal that it once did.

A hand running along his cheek draws him out of his thoughts, dragging him back to the present as Rin looks up at him, eyes soft and yet somehow still managing to pierce straight through his un-beating heart as she studies his features.

“I meant it, you know—what I said to you that night. You don’t have to fuck me, Astarion. You can come sleep with me and we can just lay together. Or even just talk. I know my conversation doesn’t mean much, but—” She cups his cheek in her palm, the tenderness of it threatening to burn him to cinders. “It doesn’t have to be just about sex between us. We’re friends too, aren’t we? Friends can simply enjoy each other’s company and presence and take care of each other, can’t they?”

She’s babbling, words falling out of her mouth freed by the whiskey; but the innate truth he hears in them threaten the remaining bits of resolve that he has left.

Astarion’s not quite sure who she’s trying to convince—herself or him—but his determination wanes regardless, like a thread pulled too tight and on the verge of snapping.

But it wasn’t just about the sex, and if it’s not just about his plan, then what was it about?

He’s fairly certain friends don’t typically know each other’s bodies as intimately as they do, or know how beautiful they look as they fall apart, or find themselves craving nothing more than to simply exist with the other near.

Friends probably also don’t think about each other in the depths of the night when they’re cold and alone and hurting, the thought of the other a shining light in the eternal darkness of their existence.

Astarion, though, has never had any friends that he can remember.

With more gentleness than he would prefer, Astarion removes her hand from his cheek and rights himself to a kneel, his knees finding their home on either side of her hips.

He holds her hand within his own, turning his attention where he cradles it in his palm. Her hand is smaller than his, several calluses along the places where she holds her rapier and her quill, fingers still decorated with the ink she must have used earlier to write him a very scathing letter.

He had briefly considered tearing the letter to bits, the words contained on the piece of paper properly irritating and, in Astarion’s opinion, practically libel, but he couldn’t do it; instead relegating it to the pile where he keeps all the other useless slips of parchment from her in a neat stack hidden out of plain sight in his tent.

Her letters were, after all, the first tangible thing anyone had given him since he was bestowed with his sanguine hunger, his dark curse.

And whether he wants to admit it or not, he’s so far been unable to find a valid reason to rid himself of them, useless though they may be.

Before he can catch himself, he’s leaning his head down to the hand he holds within his own, and with a damning softness he brushes a kiss onto each of her ink-stained fingertips where they had touched his face, lips light against them before placing a final, reverent kiss in the center of her palm.

She’s looks as though she’s not even breathing when Astarion raises his head to stare down at her, her hand still clasped in his own.

He can hear the beat of her heart, drumming loudly against her ribcage with a rhythm he’s become so very familiar with, and he can smell the ambrosia of her blood as it soars through her veins.

Even in the darkness he can see the pink of her cheeks and the freckles that dust over the tops of them and he’s half-tempted to count them, wishing to brush his fingers over each and every one of them, if only to feel his skin against the sunny warmth of her own.

But it’s too much, and he’s spiraling downdowndown again into the depths of somewhere he’s not yet ready to be, and so he needs to leave. Needs to leave for the same reason he has to leave her every night, despite the weakness that has him indulging in anything and everything else she’ll afford him.

He has no other choice, for when she speaks such innocent words to him, offering him the simple solace of rest so full of a tender, blossoming affection, he’s filled with a want so heavy it threatens to drag him under.

Because if Astarion allows himself to give in—to know what it would be like to be warm, comfortable, safe—he knows he would never be able to go without it again.

Warmth, kisses, attention, kindness—all heaped upon him without wanting anything in return. No money, no favors, no motive other than her pure wish to spend time with him.

It’s a good thing his heart no longer beats, for if it did, Astarion has no doubt that she would be able to hear the rampant sound of it in his chest just as he can hear her own.

He rests her hand back down, letting it settle across her stomach as he swallows down the torrent of things that threaten to break free from him, Rin looking at him with a confused sort of wonder, as though he were a puzzle she was trying desperately to fit the pieces of together in her mind.

“Good night.” He stands to leave, movements as quiet as the night around them thanks to the unnatural grace he possess, before turning toward the tent flap. “Sleep well, my darling.”

He’ll allow himself that much, at least; for what was the harm in letting himself indulge in getting to call her his own just this once, if only to see what it feels like?

“You too, Astarion.” He turns his head briefly at her whispered words and meets her eyes, something molten and unguarded smoldering in her gaze as she watches him leave.

He can’t bear the sight of it a moment more, another utterance from her all it would take for him to succumb to his most secret desires—things he can barely stand to admit to himself—and so he turns his head forward and walks back out into the darkness, letting the honest and true longing that has been slowly burning him from the inside out finally consume him.

#feelings: they've both got a lot of em #and what are they going to do about it? they don't know!!!!#astarion x tav #astarion x f!tav #astarion x female tav #astarion smut #astarion fanfiction #astarion fic #astarion bg3 #astarion #astarion fandom #verbenaa writes things!

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tocomplainfriend · 10 months ago

Text

Episode 4

TW: Rape, Sexual Assault and Abuse, Physical abuse.

So uh, I really did just guess "there is no way it's that bad, right?"...

OK, SO LET'S TALK. So again if you haven't seen the episode big Trigger Warning for its content! It's real heavy, explicit and on your face. I'm a Sexual abuse victim talking about this, just so you know.

I think the bigger problem I have with the episode, it's the context surrounding it and what happens later on, specially. Many people can have different views on the poison scene itself, for their own. But that scene, even if you as a victim relate, can only really work in a vacuum. Why? Let's see... hum.... The jokes of male SA in Helluva Boss? How it's written as funny to Moxxie to get assaulted? By the Succubus, Blitz, Chaz? Not seeing any problem in Stolitz, and victim blaming Blitz.

Suddenly Viv wants to be like: "Male sexual assault and abuse it's so not talked about, I'm going to write about it". As if she didn't write all those HB jokes. All those jokes are only men getting assaulted too, by other men or woman. The SA and r-pe it's funny when it's done to men, why did this even happen?

Even if the entire episode 4 was good, why did the same person write all this jokes? Is the sexual harassment Angel does to husk, even going to be addressed later or...? The biggest problem, it's the bad execution. Something happens a lot with HB and HH, it's that scenes and concepts work In isolation, that way you imagine in infinite possibilities of the "what if this". But they give you is in it'self not that good. The series does expect you to be a fan, and have to watch the pilot. Because it doesn't really bother to introduce the characters or anything. So the emotional bits don't hit that hard if you didn't already care about the characters since or before the pilot.

Since the first episodes, Valentino has being changing between fucking idiot and horrifying monster. In episode 2 he is treated as a stupid dumbass. I feel like all the episodes until 4 were too much, on the comedy shit- to immediately jump into explicit abuse and SA is a lot. In the end of the episode they also shift back the tone, weirdly.

So we jump into Val and Angel's work, showing how shitty val is. Charlie jumps into interrupting the hole thing. AND VAL ASSAULTS HER TOO??? I didn't expect that. He grabs her kisses and lick up her arm, and gets too close to her in other scenes. Then Charlie accidentally ruins the set, and Val ends up physically abusing Angel. Living him with a black eye, and it's shown Angel did a deal with him. Leaving him fully trapped with him (not a legal contract, but a devil/sinner bound magic thing). Then it's poison music number.

Many people feel like it's too graphic. Other people will say it's okey, because it shows the problem straight on, and it's supposed to make you uncomfortable.

Explicit doesn't = good.

You can talk a lot of what does this level of graphic/explicit add to the conversation.

My main problem with it being so explicit comes from who is directing that hole part of the episode. I talked about it in the post above. The person in question:

(BLURRED CUT PICTURE)

Does this scene above seem familiar to you? This person put together with how the poison part of the episode is played out AND all the disgusting "SA is funny" jokes HB make this a fucking problem.

AND THEN THE FUCKING ENDING IS CRAZY BAD LIKE HELLO???? At the end, Angel is at a bar, and his drink gets spiked. Husk gets him out and fights against the guys that spiked the drink. Then they kindly have an argument... To get through the whole heavy ass episode- to then Husk hit with a song calling Angel a baby IS FUCKING CRAZY. I see what the point was supposed to be, but the execution absolutely kills it. The song tries to compare Husk and Angel, to say shit sucks but hey it's okay we are in this together, BUT HOLY SHIT. Why, comparing Angel Dust being sexually abused under a demonic contract (HE IS STILL UNDER)- to Husk having to work for Alastor. Yes, Husk fucked up his life in hell do to gambling- that's not comparable to Angel being in an abusive relationship where he gets taken advantaged of. Calling Angel dust a baby loser, "everyone got it difficult get over your self"- it's fucking crazy. The fact that the episode ends on everyone happy and laugh it off it awful! WHAT HAPPEN???????? Like Angel is still under Val's contract- his going to have to go back to work, or to any other place where his drink could be spiked. We are still in the same problem. I don't- I don't understand. The song wasn't even a "I'll help you", it felt more like "Hey shit sucks, get over it". How did you write that? I don't think the series has the time or good enough space to treat the subjects- and they are dealing in the worst way.

EDIT:

I cannot believe this woman made a cum joke, about the song that it's about being trapped with your abuser- that comes with really graphic scenes of assault and r-pe. Like the whole song it's about that???? It's not a "Hot sexy" song, it's literally all sexual assault and workplace abuse.

This scene is from a non canon comic from the same artist above, got immediately referenced in the scene after poison. That's crazy. Also, The artist is... uh......... Did you know that in episode 4. It got showed that Angel's real name is Anthony? They changed their name to Tony, make themselves look like Angel? Now does sex work like Angel. They choreographed the pole dancing in Addict?

AND Viv just reduced Angel's Sexual Harassment of Husk as:

Angel trows himself to Husk, grabs him, touches him, makes unwanted sexual comments. You, have never left the weird shipping of queer of mean that revolts around sexual harassment. It's like old ass garbage Wattpad yaoi, not acknowledging those problems. Why is there more attention to that than Charlie and Vaggie, who lacks so much personality and everything. WLW with no condiments and artificial as fuck MLM with microplastics.

#vivziepop critique #vivziepop critical #helluva boss critique #helluva boss criticism #helluva boss critical #hazbin hotel critical #hazbin hotel criticism #hazbin hotel critique #tw rape #tw sa #tw abuse

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heretyc · 1 year ago

Text

Horror [Trager, Eddie Gluskin, Val]

Horror: A collection of small fics, consisting of Outlast's most iconic antagonists [in my opinion].

The poll I started isn't over, but "canonically" is winning and I love it. Dark shit here we come lol. I will be writing for my beloved Terror-iffic Trio [aka my favourite antagonists from each game]. A party with these 3 would be lit.

Drabble ideas here.

Content Warnings: Uhhh...Outlast Antagonists lol. That is your warning.

Trager: Gore, awful jokes, his bare ass.

Eddie: Gore, murder, injury, mentions of his...lovely little display, sexual assault [minor, just a slight touch, no penetration]. [Please lord don't let him teach an art class.]

Val: Sexual assault [slight penetration w/ fingers], gore, murder, mud, Val's bare ass, mud breasts and mudgina.

I mean it, this is pretty heavy shit. It isn't too graphic, but if SA triggers you...either look away or read with caution. Trager's section is safe. Unless you're afraid of his ass...cause me too, man.

MINORS GTFO. Miners can stay as long as they're not minor miners.

Read with caution, I condone none of this. Fics underneath the cut.

You/MC take the place of the protagonist. So...you are Miles/Waylon/Blake. Yayyyyy....? Or nay? Depends on how you feel. MC is gender neutral, but is referred to with fem pronouns in Eddie's section for obvious reasons. You do not talk in Trager or Eddie's sections as Miles and Waylon were "mute". You speak in Val's section, though. You are described as having breasts in Val's section as both sexes/all genders have breasts. Tiddies for everybody!!

Enjoy.

Drabble idea: "See, this place isn't haunted!"

Sometimes, a saving grace can be your one way ticket to hell. And this had been an excellent example of that. The angelic voice over the dumbwaiter was a dream come true; after running and hiding for so long, it was like you were granted a break.

Only for your face to fall as the scarred face of a man greeted you. The air around him reeked of danger.

This was not the haven you were lead to believe was waiting for you.

"You made the right choice here, buddy," he declared before punching you in the jaw, a pained yell leaving your throat, and he was quick to take advantage of your shocked state to haul you into a wheelchair.

He must have done this a dozen times, as he was quick to lock your wrists into the cuffs attached to the chair. They were tight, and he merely chuckled at seeing your attempts of getting out of them.

He looked fucked up.

He stood in front of you, hands behind his back, and his eyes were scanning you like a wolf scans its prey before it mauls it to bits, "You're not a variant...huh. Well, buddy...you can call me...Trager. Everyone else does, anyway."

As Trager made noises looking you up and down, you looked at his face. Coated by some half-assed attempt at a mask and some strange glasses upon his face, you come to the conclusion that he was some doctor here.

He clicks his tongue and smacks you on the back, "You've got a lot of things to learn here, buddy. I am honoured to be your teacher."

Teach you about what, exactly? You didn't want to know. But he started to push you forward, and you only questioned where your hell would be.

This place was already hell, but...at the hands of some crazed madman, it was different.

Trager hummed to himself, making jokes here and there, and he once grumbled when you didn't laugh at a stupid impression, before he finally made it to an elevator. It was...somewhat cleaner up here, for some reason.

However...

You could feel a breeze upon your skin, and upon hearing the howl of wind and torrential rain, you saw an exit. Pitch black and windy, yet so much more welcoming than in here. You questioned if there would be a tornado warning or something by how violent the wind seemed to be.

The rain out there was intense, torrential, heavy and oh so divine, and Trager only chuckled.

"You want to take a quick walk, bud?" He leaned down next to you, eyes looking into yours like he was an old friend, despite also looking feral. "Run free, like Forrest Gump? Unfortunately, we're running out of time." He clicked his tongue once more, pulling you into the elevator.

This was a cruel joke. Even the Elvis impression - awful impression, mind you - wasn't as bad as this.

Standing beside you, Trager pressed a simple button on the control pad before clasping his hands together behind his back. After a moment of movement, he looked back toward you, his voice a tone that suggested jest, "Did you know they call elevators a "shaft" in other places of the world?" He chuckled, shaking his head slightly.

Looking at him, you realized his skin looked...awful. Like he was a draugr from that video game you used to play.

His scalp was scarred, and after spending an hour in this place, you realize you're lucky your scalp was untouched.

Wires upon wires were wrapped along his arm, and upon closer inspection, you were horrified to notice that they weren't wires, they were tubes.

Of his own blood.

How did he not feel that?

A man like him probably enjoys that, to be honest.

His nails were quite long as well, albeit you couldn't blame him...hygiene in a place like this was laughable. He probably had to exert his inner wildcat to defend himself in this shit hole.

You nearly sobbed when the elevator came to its destination, and he took hold of the handles once more.

It smelled of death and lost hope up here.

Choruses of screams reached your ears and you flinched. He seemed to notice, as he violently shushed the poor bastards trying to break free of their confines, "Sh. Shshshsh...you weren't putting your tongue to good use anyway!"

Tongue...??

The man shrieking had a bloodied mouth, and he soon quieted after choking on, what you assume to be, his own blood. Trager only sighed, muttering to himself, "Really, I just needed something to lick my stamps."

This...was a cruel joke. Taking someone's tongue for stamps?? You were deep in thought, only for Trager to notice and grin evilly, "You should see what I do with the balls."

...Dear god.

"Yeah, this weird...cannibalistic guy downstairs begs for them...the guy knows what he wants, I gotta give him that. He reminds me of somebody...eh, buddy?"

He poked you in the shoulder as he pushed, and it appears he was referring to you.

"I saw your camcorder. You're some sort of journalist, here to...what, expose one of the biggest experiments in history?" He laughed at the notion, shaking his head. "I admire the bravery, really. Braving through disturbed masses...I have to admit, I'm impressed."

You only gulped.

"People love to say this place is...haunted." Trager noted, pushing you into a bathroom of some sort. Bloodied, smelled of decay and looked like a paradise for bugs and bacteria.

What had scared you the most was the array of torture devices he had laid out on a tray. This man was deranged, one way or another.

He continued his one-sided conversation, focusing on the aforementioned tray as he walked over to it, "I mean, who wouldn't? People love to paint asylums as haunted. They hear a ghastly noise or a terrified scream and immediately tell the papers that a house of human suffering is haunted."

Trager's hand hovered over each instrument of torture, trying to pick which one, but he hadn't stopped talking.

"And I am more than sure that's your entire...reason for coming here. Trying to prove it was haunted. But guess what, buddy?"

He finally picked up a blade, long and serrated, and he pressed it against a finger of yours, the edges sharp against your thin flesh. He leaned in close, his dry lips forming into a smile, "This place isn't haunted."

He moved away, the blade removed from your finger, and you breathed a sigh of relief as he placed it back down onto the tray.

"No, no. It's worse."

He finally picks up a gigantic pair of scissors, much like something you'd see picking away at a shrub, and he was more than eager to shut them and open them, metallic hisses invading your senses, much like the feeling of doom.

You will die here.

"This place is an example of human cruelty, my friend," he announced, voice loud and cheerful as if he wasn't about to maim you, and he placed the blades around some of your fingers. He cared not for your horrified shrieks and begs, he only leaned in once more and whispered,

"And you will be nothing but an example of what happened here."

Slice.

...

"Oh, come on, buddy...it's not like you needed your middle finger anyway. Now open up...I have some stamps to lick."

Drabble idea: "Oh my god, are you okay?!"

"Darling, please! You act as if I've done something rancid! What have I done to you to make you so afraid of me?!"

The bloodied behemoth on your tail was quick and hurried as he chased after you, his feet slamming against the rotting floorboards. You almost couldn't hear the music that played alongside the horrific display he handmade. The smell was awful, but the sight of it was enough to make you vomit.

You would not be the victim to the Groom. Not now. Not ever.

You would not have your pelvis slit, or your chest stuffed like you were a sex doll [ironically, that's all you would be to him], and you would not let him confess his undying love for you. It was fake and corrupt like this entire asylum.

Despite the smell of mildew and death, adrenaline filled your blood and you could tolerate the disgusting scents as you breathed in, your legs not yet faltering.

You've heard what he's done. The man who so giddily chased you rambled about it as you snuck around, and you were not pleased.

This was the only way out. Sometimes you have to take risks...right?

This wasn't worth it, though.

And sometimes, luck runs out. Like right now, as you are stuck in a dead end.

There was only an elevator. And it was not on your current floor.

Shit.

You could jump and risk a broken leg...or...

The emergency ladder. Broken and rusted, but it's tetanus over death.

You could explain all of this to the news with lockjaw.

"Wait, what are you doing?! Don't, don't-!"

You had leaped, gripping onto the ladder as your bottom half slammed against it. With a hiss you tried to pull yourself up, only for the ladder to break underneath you.

The top had snapped, and you tried to grab onto what remained on the wall, only to fall, your heart stopping.

Of all things to die from, it was a rusted ladder.

Oh well.

As your body slammed onto the top of the elevator, a sharp pang began to blossom from your ankle, and you look to see shards of glass sticking out of your flesh. Now coated in blood, you cried out and ripped the shards out, piece by piece. Blood pooled around your foot as you cradled it.

"Oh my god, are you okay?!"

The behemoth above looked down at you with a horrified expression, his hands out and wanting to hold you.

"I hate to see you suffering without me! Why would you do something like that to yourself?!"

His voice was full of panic and concern, and for a moment it seemed wholesome, until the panicked silence became one of anger. There was...tension.

"You would...rather die...than be with me...?"

His tone had shifted so quickly. He was unpredictable, and that's what had made him so...scary. In general, he had looked like he crawled from a 1940s horror series. Sweeney Todd had come to mind, actually...

"You're just another whore, aren't you?" He growled out, only to sigh, like this was a normal occurrence. "It's quite alright, darling. A good man can turn a whore into a house wife...and I have faith in us. Let me just..."

The elevator roared to life, and you panicked even more, now. Your poor heart would likely kill you before he had the chance to. But as you rose, he merely hummed to himself, waiting for the elevator to rise to his floor.

You had no chance at moving or escaping, as when you reached the proper floor, he was quick to grab you before you became sandwiched between the top of the elevator and the ceiling.

He dwarfed you. Instantly. He carried you bridal style, an eerie smile on his face, "Come, now. I must make sure you look perfect for our wedding."

You had no chance, now.

He clicked his tongue, footsteps hard against the rotting boards, and his voice was quieter as he spoke, "And I need to wrap up your foot...you are a silly one, darling."

It didn't feel silly. It felt like your ankle and foot were on fire, stinging like mad.

You had accepted your death already, but if there was also one thing you could accept, it's that he wasn't actually half bad.

Minus the...anger fits and the "whore" bit, he would have been wonderful. Looking up at him, you see a man soiled by corruption.

His eyes would have been a beautiful, shiny blue if not for the pools of hemorrhage. They had looked...empty. Dead. But whenever he looked at you, they shone like his soul had been revived.

Is this what he had wanted? Love?

Everyone in this hell hole had been deprived of it.

It was sad. Really fucking sad.

But you had read about what Eddie had done, and seen it too. And he was past the point of no return. He had done too much to be redeemed.

Dread made itself a home in your stomach as you were laid upon something cold and wet, and you were strapped in. Arms and legs spread, and your clothes were ripped off.

You were now nude, and being touched by the Groom himself.

His hands were gentle as he caressed a calf, "You have such soft skin...you will look absolutely beautiful," he cooed, hand gliding itself upwards toward your knee, then your thigh, and then...

You only flinched when you felt his hand begin to caress your genitals, as gentle as could be, as if he wasn't violating you. T'was the touch of a lover.

But he was no lover, no.

His fingertips merely grazed along your private flesh, rubbing it as if he had wanted to stimulate you, and you wanted to scream.

Eddie sighed dreamily, like he was a married man and his life would be filled with nothing but happiness, and he, luckily, let his hand glide up to your navel. "You look divine already, but when I'm finished with you? Oh, darling..."

He removed his hand, thankfully, but he was quick to turn on the saw, and all you could feel was cold air from its rapid movements and doom.

He gripped the sides of the table you were on, and he was smiling like this wasn't totally fucked up, "I know this will be hard..."

You felt the table move, slowly but surely, and you began to wriggle, but he continued, "You will have to deal with this...and then the conception, which I promise, will be wonderful," he winked as the saw came closer, "Then the pregnancy...and oh, I can just imagine the birthing. You will look so beautiful, darling...like a goddess. Mothers are goddesses in their own right."

And all you could feel was the sting of the saw, and your soul fading from your body.

...

"You're just like the rest. Filthy whore."

You're lucky you weren't alive to see your mangled body, tossed with the rest.

Ready to rot.

Drabble idea: "I want to go home..."

Val, in a sense, had been an angel to you.

They did not have a halo, made of purity and gold, or have pristine, white wings to wrap you and hold you close, no. They did not bear robes of white or play a golden harp or sing a divine chorus.

But they had wanted you all to themselves. And they would not let Knoth's guard dog, or his sickly bastards he called "friends", ruin you before they had a chance to.

Because unlike Knoth, or Marta, or Laird or Nick or whoever the fuck, Val would put you back together.

They are a loving mother, dedicated to spreading love.

It had been painted in blood on your way to the mines, 'LOVE SET US FREE'. Bottles encasing candles, bodies strewn up like Christmas decorations...

What were they trying to do, exactly? Make their cause look homey? Elegant? Acceptable?

You had felt oddly welcomed. Every single enemy in your way was slain, journals and notes left in your path to urge you to come to them.

"Come to me," the red ink beckoned you on the dirtied paper, "and I will show you my love."

They had been so kind as to leave batteries and bandages. Before you had taken the small, makeshift raft, a final note had been placed in one of the small shacks, the bed made and smelling of firewood,

"I am waiting for you."

You did not want this. But you needed to find a way out.

The mines were not welcoming. You were not alone. And you had been chased into the underground, where you are now; held down by Heretics as they muttered, "mother, burn..."

Like the fallen angel ready to relieve the sinners of their pain, their martyrdom, Val had approached, coated in mud and looking like the demon of the mountains.

In their hand was a torch, raging with fire, and it made their white eyes so much more intense.

They had hummed eagerly, the hum evolving into a laugh as the torch was placed down and the Heretics were shooed away. You were too afraid to move or notice their cold, dirtied hands leaving your flesh.

Their eyes were wide, pupils tiny, and they smiled as they strutted to you, "We are creatures of appetite..."

They moaned, feeling up their body and their fake breasts, like they were a porn star and giving you a show.

"I want to feel your hunger," their voice became quiet, something only you could hear, and they leaned close, your eyes staring frantically into theirs, searching for any fragment of humanity.

There was none. And you felt saddened, knowing that the Val in those journals was not this Val.

This was something different.

"I want to know your desires...and show you what true pleasure feels like," they rasped, pushing you down and straddling your hips, grinding against your clothed stomach. Your fear had aroused them.

"I want to go home..." you whispered, tears rushing from your eyes, and they only laughed, leaning close to your face and whispering, "This is your home, my love," a muddy hand came up to caress your cheek and wipe the tears away, "and I...will be doting."

You had no chance to respond or even acknowledge the powder blown into your senses, or the tongue forcing your mouth open, and immediately, they sought dominance over your own muscle, wrestling with it. It had ventured to each nook and cranny of your mouth, like they wanted to taste everything about you, and they eventually pulled away with a moan, saliva connecting you two.

They licked their lips, humming in delight as their hands rushed to push up your shirt and reveal your chest. "Your body...is delightful," they breathed out, squeezing your breasts and rubbing your nipples with precision.

That powder did something to you. You had hated the feeling of their hands, but now you were overheating; desperate and quiet moans leaving your throat and making the cultist above you grin.

"I don't..." You couldn't even finish your sentence, as they pinched a nipple and made you shriek. It made them chuckle, and their hands moved south, ripping your zipper and breaking it. They got off for a second to completely rip your pants and undergarments off, and their naked thighs wrapped around your bare hips.

"Did you enjoy my gifts?" They questioned, hands now massaging your thighs, "You needed those batteries so badly...to document the lies of Sullivan, didn't you?" They purred, their hands tight and knowing just where to touch to get you to cry out in pleasure.

"That's why you came here. Fell from the sky, wrapped in flame..." they bit their lip, feeling aroused at the notion, "To record his bullshit."

You had even forgot about your camera, and you questioned where it was, until Val snorted, "It's gone, my love," their hands moved upwards to your genitals, "taken away...by my children. You won't need it anymore."

There was no pain when you felt their finger enter you. It was more pleasurable than anything you had ever felt, and it made you moan the loudest, and Val had revelled in this.

With precision their fingers located your pleasure spot, and sped up.

Your pleasure was their pleasure.

"God doesn't love you...not like I do."

And in time...you would know it to be true.

#outlast #outlast 2 #outlast 2 val #eddie gluskin #outlast eddie gluskin #outlast fanfiction #eddie gluskin x reader #outlast x reader #richard trager #trager #val #outlast val #val x reader #this was a doozy lmfao #enjoy!!!#richard trager x reader #trager x reader

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malarkgirlypop · 3 months ago

Text

MEDIC! Part 38 (Donald Malarkey x Fem!OC)

Hey guys big tigger warning on this chapter! Please be very aware, I do not want anyone to feel triggered or uncomfortable by my writing. I write a lot of things from my own experience, and it does sound weird to say but writing this chapter helped me express a lot of feelings I didn't know I had. If you do not want to read this chapter I totally understand, I have tried to make the graphic scene less so. I hope anyone who has ever experienced SA or worse has been able to heal. Love you all truly, if you want to talk about anything my messages are always open, I am so happy to chat!!

TW- R*pe, SA, Violence, talks of assault, (please let me know if I missed any).

Based on the HBO show and the actors who portray the characters, not hate to anyone involved.

Tag list: @imusicaddict, @b00ks1ut , @mstiemountainhop, @awaterfalls, @lovememadly92 @lucyfromtheoldhouse @blueberry-ovaries anyone else please let me know.

The man had dragged me into the jeep, the cold barrel of the gun pressed into my side. The replacements didn’t get to me in time, I watched them stand over Grant’s body as the soldier pulled away from the scene. Tears streamed down my face as I tried to muffle my sobs, the man kept the gun pressed into my side.

I glanced over to him, the purple smudges under his eyes from when Don had struck him in the face. He drove erratically swerving from side to side on the road. I gripped the side of the car, nervous that I was going to fly out the side. I thought about hurling myself from the vehicle, but the thought of being crushed under the wheels and then losing the ability to get away made bile rise in my throat.

“What do you want?” I yelled over the whip of the wind.

The man looked towards me, the glare in his eyes made my chest clench, he looked as if he wanted to kill me. He raised his gun, I bit my lip regretting my words, squeezing my eyelids shut, I didn’t want him to be the last face I saw. The butt of the gun smashed down into my cheek, I yelped out in pain reaching up to cradle my now throbbing face. I flinched away from the man trying to crawl into the farthest reaches of the car. But it was no use, I was trapped.

With every passing second we were getting further away from the base, if we kept going any longer I wouldn’t be able to find my way back.

“I killed him.” The man uttered, I cautiously set my eyes back on the driver. “Your fucking boyfriend, I killed him. He got what he deserved y’know, no one fucking hits me and gets away with it.”

My eyes widened, he thought Grant was Don. I didn’t point out the fact that he had actually gotten the wrong man. I didn’t need to give him incentive to go back to base and hurt anymore people.

I sat as still as humanly possible, hoping that my silence would make me invisible. My hyperventilating made me feel faint. I dragged in deep breaths trying to stop the shake in my hands, but it was no use. The adrenaline that surged through my veins had me set on edge like a live wire.

The jeep slowed, my eyes frantically searched the surrounding area. I didn’t know where I was anymore. My brain had blacked out the drive we had taken, time had lost all meaning. I didn’t know how long I had been in the car, or if we had turned along the way.

But there didn’t seem to be anything of note for him to be stopping. So why were we?

Unfortunately my question had been answered all too quickly. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the man surging towards me, my arms came up to protect my face, but his hungry hands latched onto me.

“No, please.” I uttered terrified. But it was no use the man tugged me down, until I was laying flat against the car seat.

He hovered above me a sickening slimy grin shone in the dark. He eyed me like a wolf eyed its prey, I was a piece of meat and he hadn’t eaten in weeks.

“You’re so pretty.” He muttered into my ear. By this point I was gasping for air, nothing was making its way into my lungs. My eyes burned, the places his filthy hands touched felt like acid on my skin.

I swallowed, his gun was on the dash. I could reach out and grab it. But what if I wasn’t quick enough, or he won it off me before I could even shoot. I didn’t know where I was, if he shot me and left me out here I was surely going to die. But I didn’t want to be unconscious, not around him, I wanted to know my fate, even if it was dreadful. I couldn’t have the unknown, I didn’t want to wonder what he had done to my dead body.

His hand clamped around my chin forcing me to look him in the eye. I felt vomit rising in my mouth. His greasy hair hung down limp and lifeless as his bloodshot eyes roamed my body. I squirmed under him as he straddled my waist.

There was no way of getting out of this. If I wanted to live I would have to endure what was going to come.

His fingers dug into the open wound on my cheek, a cry of pain crawled from my throat.

“I said, you look so pretty.” The drunk man’s lips brushed my skin with every word.

Tears streamed down the sides of my face and into my ears muffling my surroundings. I choked back sobs. My body was pinned under his, my arms by my sides. I was stuck, his body weight didn’t even give me wiggle room.

He flashed me a wicked smile as he pulled back, his eyes were pitch black, the sound of his lips curling up around his teeth had me shaking.

“Thank you.” I uttered, my voice breaking.

I love you Don, please forgive me.

“Relax Emily. We’re just going to have some fun.” The man’s voice was hoarse and croaky, his breath smelt of stale liquor.

My name in his mouth made me want to scream, but we were so far away from anyone no one would hear my pleas for help.

His hands found the tops of my thighs dragging me down further so I lay more flat in the passenger seat. My heart hammered into my chest, so hard that it physically hurt.

The sound of his zip sliding down the track filled the silence of the night. It wasn’t long till his hands found mine, I felt his fingers brush down my crotch. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself to wake up from this nightmare. I had fallen asleep on Don’s chest, I would wake up back in the room, the sound of the men’s voices would fill my senses along with the warm fire.

But reality hit me like a tonne of bricks as the man yanked my pants down exposing me to the cold night.

I know what I must do.

The man’s hot breath fanned across my face, making my eyes water more than they already were.

He pulled down my pants, to just above my knees. I forced myself to relax, I knew it would be more painful if I resisted.

I heard him grunt, the sound of my clothes ripping deafened my surroundings. I looked up to the night sky, just past his head. Thousands of tiny flickering lights filled the black void. This wasn’t my body anymore, the stars were my home. I felt myself floating up towards the sky, high above the scatter of thin clouds and into the atmosphere.

He forced himself into me, dragging me back down to earth. I plummeted back into my body, jolting in pain and gasping for air that never gave me the satisfaction of filling my lungs.

I focussed back on the sky, trying to not hear his moans and grunts.

The dark void of the night pulled me up again. So high I could see all of Austria. The lake shone in the pale moonlight, the thick forest was like a black hole pulling all of the light into its vacuum. The mountains stood like tall giants against the night, looking like they were watching over the small town, its yellow flickering lights glowed warm.

My body was a tiny spec down below, in a vacant street hidden in the trees. That body wasn’t mine, that wasn’t me down there being violated, I was up here in the heavens so far away from earth it was nothing but a crumb.

But I could still hear her, even from so far away. I could hear her stifling sobs and her ragged breath that misted in the cold night air. I could see the shimmer of tears sliding down her cheeks and into her hair that haloed around her head. I could see her blood stained hands curled into fists as she lay perfectly still.

The man hovered above her, the muscles of his back tensing, then shaking with release. I could see him pull back, leaving the young girl bare and lifeless as she stared up at me. Her cold eyes held no life, they glazed over not present with reality.

Suddenly I crashed back down to earth, back into the body that wasn’t mine. I gasped for air, the sensation of my skin prickled and tingeld, I wanted it off, I wanted out again. To not be here staring up at the bright moon that tauntingly hung in the night sky.

But my suffering wasn’t over, the man’s hands latched around my neck. I wasn’t even present enough to jump at his touch, my eyes bulged as he squeezed, cutting off my oxygen supply. I could feel the blood vessels bursting in my sclera, my temples throbbed from the pressure. I clawed at his hands as my vision started to blur. No, no, no! I needed to be conscious. I bucked against him trying to throw his weight, but the crushing sensation of my windpipe never ceased. His grip was strong.

So I gave up, my body grew slack and heavy. I let my eyes flutter shut and my head loll back.

I fought the urge to gulp in air as his hands released from my throat. I didn’t dare breathe until I knew I was safe.

The man’s weight fell from my body, my eyes clamped shut. I used my other senses to try and figure out what he was doing. I dragged in short shallow breaths as I heard his side door open and the jostle of the jeep as he got out of the car. Gravel crunched under his feet, I could hear him walk away and then closer again.

I stalled my breathing when the door behind me opened. I let my body tumble out of the car as he cursed wildly under his breath. His hands grasped under my armpits as he dragged me off the road. I could feel the texture of the ground change from small sharp rocks to soft grass.

He grunted as he tossed me, my body rolling down into the ditch on the side of the road. I kept my body as floppy as possible so that he wouldn't suspect I was still alive.

I lay face up, my arms thrown to the sides of my body as my legs had tangled with each other. I heard him walk back to the car but not get in. I begged silently for him to leave, but his footsteps arrived back to the edge of the bank again.

Time stood still as I heard the mechanical cock of the gun.

Five shots rang out in the silence.

I was surprised I was able to choke back the scream of pain, I clamped my lips shut and prayed. Prayed that he hadn’t seen the jerk of my body as one of the bullets drove into my shoulder.

I played dead, lying as still as possible, not knowing if he had left or not due to the ringing in my ears. I counted to 100 ten times before I cracked open my eyes. The jeep wasn’t on the side of the road anymore.

Whimpering in pain I dragged myself up the bank, staying low to the floor. Tire marks imprinted on the gravel road he had left. I finally let myself break down, sobbing hysterically until my voice grew hoarse and the pounding behind my eyes became unbearable.

Clutching my shoulder I rose to my feet, I fixed my pants and shirt. I gave a humourless laugh, unsure at why I was trying to make myself look presentable after all I had been through.

Hobbling down the road where we had come, I hoped I wouldn’t bleed out before I found someone.

Malarkey POV:

After losing miserably at poker, I had made my way back to the barracks. I didn’t check on Em, knowing she would be tucked up in bed fast asleep by now.

I had just drifted off to sleep when a pounding on my door caused me to sit bolt right up in bed. I lazily wandered to the door cursing under my breath at whoever it was making such a racket in the middle of the night.

Swinging open the door I found Bull, and the rest of Easy company half awake and half dressed flowing through the corridor with urgency.

“What’s going on?” I asked, peering out from my door.

“When need to go, grab your things.” Bull ushered me out of the room before I could ask anymore questions. “Replacement shot Grant in the head, Speirs has given orders to track him down.”

I looked at Bull horror on my face, he gave a grim nod confirming my question. This was real and not a sick joke.

Tab led the men down the hall giving orders to the men.

“Hey Lieb, he wants a noncom guarding each roadblock and at least two men watching every road out of town.” Tab strode down the hall.

Bull and I fell into stride behind him.

“Bull, Malark, you each take a squad and one of these witnesses on a house-to-house search.” Tab explained as we followed.

“Can we shoot this bastard on sight?” I asked. I was ready to beat the shit out of this no good son of a bitch. How dare he shoot Grant in the head. I was ready for a fight.

“Try and take him alive.” Tab said.

“Where’s Grant now?” Bull asked from behind me.

“They took him to a Kraut hospital to see if they could drum up any good doctors.” Tab replied to Bull.

We each took off to do our respective tasks. I wanted to be the one who found that fucker.

Maybe say my hand slipped and accidentally shot him in the leg.

But with all the men we had out searching my group didn’t find him first, just my luck.

They dragged him back to base, gathering in the main lounge. The same lounge we were all in hours before playing poker and laughing. Now the room made my head spin. By the time my men and I arrived the replacement was barely recognisable.

Tied to a chair in the middle of the room surrounded by angry men, the soldier took a beating. I watched the man’s head snap back as blood poured from his mouth. Easy men were pissed to say the least, they took charge of the beatings. Their fists collided with the man’s face, each with gruesome crunches, as they beat the ever loving shit out of the fucker.

I stood and watched, there was no need for me to step in, so I watched from the back of the ground with a sick satisfaction as each punch landed.

The man’s head hung low, too weak to hold it up on his own accord. He spat on the ground, clearing his mouth of the blood. The man only groaned in pain, he didn’t utter a word otherwise.

The men cheered with each hit.

The doors swung open, a stoic Captain Speirs stood in the doorway. Taking in the scene before him. I could see under his calm facade the man was raging like the rest of us. The room fell silent as his footfalls hit the soft rug.

“This him?” He asked, strolling in.

“That’s him.” Bull confirmed. The soldiers surrounding the man stepped back, letting Speirs have room to stand in front of him.

The man coughed and gagged on his own blood. The room collectively held their breath, unsure of what Speirs was going to do.

“Replacement. ‘I’ company.” Bull informed the Captain.

“Where’s the weapon?” Speirs asked calmly.

“What weapon?” The man replied in a snide tone. I scoffed, how could this person have so little respect.

Speirs didn’t hesitate, bringing down the butt of his gun and smashing it into the jaw of the man. The replacement's head whipped to the side as blood sprayed from his mouth.

“When you talk to an officer you say ‘sir’.” Speirs growled in a menacing tone.

The man chuckled, hanging his head. “Maybe I left it with that whore, Sir.”

Silence filled the room for a beat, I could feel the tension becoming thicker. I glanced at Martin who shrugged, sharing the same questioning look as me.

“What whore?” Speirs spat, picking up the man’s head by his hair, getting into his face. The man only flashed a bloodied grin at him.

“You know, that girl. The pretty medic. What was her name, ah, that’s right Lane. Emily Lane.” The replacement grinned sadistically.

The room swirled as the air left my lungs. I felt as if I had been slapped in the face.

That couldn’t be right. Emily was in bed, she was sleeping. Grant had walked her back to- hadn’t he? Or was she with him when it happened. Disbelief clouded my vision, I felt like I could barf. He was wrong, she was safe in bed.

My heart was pounding in my ears, surely he had to be mistaken. But he said her name, he knew who she was.

Martin’s hand clamped on my shoulder as he leaned into my vision. I shook with rage and fear. There was no way this was true. Martin’s gaze fixed with mine, he was mouthing something, or he was saying it, I couldn’t understand it either way. My white knuckles clamped at my sides. I waited for someone to speak.

“What did you do to Emily?” Speirs snarled, the room was so silent you could hear a pin drop.

“She just lay there and took it, like a good little slut.”

Another blow came from Speirs as he struck him again across the face this time with his fist. I hadn’t realised but I had surged forward, both Bull and Martin held me still.

“Wait boy, we don’t know it’s true yet.” Bull whispered beside me.

“What did you do to her?” Ron snapped in the man’s face. As he laughed.

“I had my way with her and then disposed of the evidence.”

What did he mean by disposing of the evidence? My skin felt like it was on fire, the only thing I could really hear was my erratic heart rate pounding in my ears. I only saw red. Rage shook my body.

“I’ll fucking kill you!” I roared, surging forward to get to the man. I was held back though, Johnny had a firm grip around me. I looked around the room, the men all looked horrified and disgusted. Their stares could kill. It was silent, as the man coughed up blood. I hoped he would choke on it. I was still trying to fight Martin’s grip. Why was no one doing anything!

“Get the replacements in here now!” Speirs demanded. Someone left the room and arrived back with two skinny looking men.

“Who was with you in the car?” Speirs boomed. The two boys shied away from the furious Captain.

“Answer me!”

“It was us, Sergeant Grant and-” The replacement stalled looking around the room.

“Who else, private?” Ron seethed with rage, “Who else?” Speirs' voice echoed around the room.

“The female medic, she said her name was Em.”

So it was true.

*****************************

Chapter 39

#band of brothers #hbo war #donald malarkey #easy company #band of brothers fanfic #ronald speirs #TW #Emily lane #Emarkey #if anyone wants to chat after this #please reach out to me #love you all #I hope you are all staying safe and are well

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physalian · 1 month ago

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Can we maybe stop gratuitously filming SA in works that aren't trying to romanticize it?

*trigger warning for depiction of SA and abuse in media

Something I’d like to see done away with not because I’m a prude but because it’s gratuitous as hell is SA in visual media put on the screen. On the one hand, being able to show that this happens and inviting an unaware audience to see how horrific it can be is good for exposure.

In the last episode of season one of Outlander, for example, male love interest gets pretty graphically abused by the male villain in a series of flashbacks. It’s not romanticized, there’s not a shred of seductiveness or sexiness going on. It’s torture. Viewer discretion is advised.

But on the other hand, particularly later in the same show (and many “Adult” shows) it’s filmed for the sake of being filmed, because it’s ~titillating~ and there’s a non-insignificant part of the audience who tune in just to see characters abused, that’s why “torture p*rn” is a thing.

But it’s still gratuitous as hell, depending on how its framed, who the camera is following, what shots they linger on, how it’s lit and scored and edited so that, regardless of what the audience walks away thinking, it's clear that the director and the writers are romanticizing what’s going on.

In books, too, writers: You can absolutely write whatever X-rated stuff you want. This isn’t pro-censorship or purity police. I’m asking you to ask yourself why you’re explicitly writing an SA scene in a story that doesn’t need it (not attacking "dark fics" okay?).

Is it so the audience can experience the horror of the character, or so the audience can get off on the character’s horror?

There’s mentioned SA in Eternal Night. It’s part of a character’s backstory. But the other party will never show up in the books, not even in flashbacks. The abuser doesn’t deserve even that much. I can get the vibe of “this thing is horrific” across without detailing a play-by-play, and you can, too. To write my character into a flashback of that moment is to invite audiences to be entertained by his suffering. I’ll write my characters suffering plenty for entertainment, I’ll hint at plenty more because my characters can really take a beating, but making it explicit is a step too far for me.

Do I care if somebody writes an E-rated fic depicting it someday? No, do what you want, but I as the author, won’t set that precedent.

There’s something powerful in a hard-cut to the aftermath, in letting the audience’s imagination fill in the missing scene with the worst thing they can think of. In the narrator being so traumatized that they can’t even describe it to the audience after the fact. In the narrator only giving you hints based off how they clean themselves up after, or don’t, how they sit there trying to process what just happened or the little details they fixate on because to think about what really happened in its entirety is too much.

Point being: You can include some fucked up themes without putting characters through a gauntlet of inviting audiences to look at them when they’re most vulnerable, as a voyeur into what might be the darkest moments of their lives. I know they’re not real people, obviously, but you can give your characters respect of “looking away”.

And for works that know what they’re doing and embrace this stuff with open arms—I’m not talking to you. If this is your point, this is what you set out to write—I’m not talking to you.

I have many, many issues with the gratuitous assault in GOT, but for the Sansa/Ramsay scene (you know the one) they actually had some restraint for once and didn’t point the camera at Sansa. The camera was watching Theon being forced to be the voyeur, while all you had was the sounds and your imagination. To film Sansa is to be complicit, however unintentionally, in saying “it’s okay to watch and enjoy this”.

So. Yeah.

#tw assault #on writing #writing with discretion #male gaze #game of thrones

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sidthedollface2 · 7 months ago

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A Crown fit for a God (Part 5)

Part 4

Pairing: Azriel x Fem Reader

Ch Summary: Elain tries to hold on to whatever relationship she and Azriel have left. Will he submit to her desires? Or seek you out instead?

You accidentally discover what the inside of a cell looks like.

word count: 4.3k

Ch warnings: SA (groping, not graphic and no p in v), thoughts of murder, drugging, cheating (don't worry), slight pregnancy talk.

Series warnings: 18+ MDNI, SMUT, mentions of SA, angst, hurt/comfort, war, murder including injuries, fighting, no use of y/n, nicknames, magic, greek mythology, pining, jealousy, soft Az with a little temper, azriel with other women (sorry), reader with another man (get it friend ; )

A/n: I had something totally different planned but decided to take this little detour. Lol. I believe after this chapter we will see more of Azriel and reader interactions. I think. Idk. maybe. I'm a daydreamer not a writer so if you see any mistakes that's how I dreamt it. Lol

The following day Lucien had gotten into a fight with Eris, what was at first a screaming match turned physical, as fists flew left and right. Both males stubborn in their decision, Lucien adamant that he already had planned to run away with you to the Spring Court and Eris tried to explain that a life on the run was no life at all. He promised Lucien you’d be well taken care of and that you’d be a wonderful High Lady when the time came. “No! I’d rather die than watch her marry you.” Lucien roared, angering his brother even more. “We will leave in two days' time and you will not seek us out.” Two days. Eris had two days to figure out how to make you stay.

If Eris was to be the next High Lord he’d have to do dishonorable things to get what he wanted. This was the first of many. “Gods forgive me for what I'm about to do,” he whispered to himself as he mixed the sex pollen into the cake batter. He placed the round tins in the oven, just like his mother had shown him many times before. Once the cake was frosted and decorated he hand delivered it to an old friend he hadn’t seen in a long while.

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

Once again Azriel watched as you walked away, a lone shadow ordered to follow and keep you safe trailing behind you. Shame filled his guilty heart. He had never acted this way before, not with Mor or Elain or any other female he had in his bed. It was foolish to judge you when he’s had more than enough partners in the 500 plus years he’s been alive.

Was he going to apologize by fetching you contraceptive tea from The Night Court, so you could sleep with someone else, while he pinned after you?

Yes. Yes he was, and he certainly wasn't thrilled about it.

The following morning you stumbled upon a small box on the front steps of your cottage; adorned in navy wrapping paper and secured with a golden bow. A small note was attached along with a violet flower, its stem carrying bulb-like flower buds waiting to bloom and berries as black as the midnight sky. You recognized the plant as Nightshade.

My Queen of Death,

I hope you’ll find it in your heart to forgive my ignorance. I'm ashamed that I've allowed my jealousy to transpire into hurtful words. Words that no female should ever hear and I truly apologize for judging your actions when my own are not very admirable. I realize that actions speak louder than words and I aim to show you just how sorry I am.

Yours, Azriel

A small smile pulled at your lips as you unraveled the bow and looked inside the box. Three jars of finely crushed herbs, each labeled individually accompanied by a beautifully crafted infuser were neatly placed within the box. Along with healing salves for your wounds, and seeds to grow your own Nightshade.

“What is that Fawn?” you didn’t hear as Eris winnowed to the cottage, his glare immediately finding the gift box in your hands. You had two options: lie and say it's just tea from a merchant or tell the truth and enrage the future heir. You were no coward, “It’s contraceptive tea from The Night Court,” you declared with not a hint of hesitation. Eris clenched his hands in a fist, taming the lingering flame that threatened to burst free in his rage. His nostrils flared in distaste for your actions. You knew the plan was to pretend to marry Eris and produce an heir, granting his fathers wishes. Somewhere along the way those pretend lies blurred into truth, at least for Eris.

“Who did you get the tea from?” he asked, deeply inhaling the air around him, scenting for another male. Thank the Gods you had glamoured your scent, “My friend gifted it to me.”

“You don’t have friends, I need a name now!” He seethed, clenching his jaw in anger.

You scowled at him, turning your back to him with the gift in your hands, heading back into the cottage. When he suddenly reached over, snatching the note from your hand.

“Hey!”

“My Queen?” He questions, reading over the note in a mocking tone and a furrowed brow, “your Azriel?” Eris smugly chuckles, "My Gods he really does know how to work the females doesn’t he? He doesn’t want to be your friend Fawn, he just wants to fuck you. I bet that's the reason he got jealous wasn't it?” He states, crumbling the note in his fist and setting it on fire with his magic. When he opens his fist again a small amount of ash floats to the ground.

Eris had done what he always does. Place doubt in your mind that no one would ever want you more than a fuck buddy and no one has ever been friends with a Death God. The others were locked away in the prison, the weavers cottage, and the lake. Soon enough the other High Lords would come to know of you and your powers and lock you away like the rest.

“You're right, but I still want the tea.”

Eris stalks closer, taking the gift from your hands, “I’ll get you some new tea. This one probably has sex pollen in it. You can never trust the males of The Night Court. I’ve already told you, they share their females. And you're too precious to share.”

Eris throws the box over this shoulder, setting it aflame before it even hits the ground.

He wraps his arm around your shoulder, walking you inside the cottage, “Mother requests you at the Forest House. She wants you to wear a dress to Helion's celebration.”

~~~~

Azriel thought about your last words to him and it hurt him to admit you were right. No one had ever loved him. At least not as deeply as your love for Lucien. He wondered what your love would feel like. Would it be as fierce as you were, with power surging through your veins? Were you a hopeless romantic where you’d hold his hand and kiss him in the middle of the street on the rainiest day of the year? With how he was acting, that idea seemed so far off. So far each encounter with you was met with his illyrian ways of being a territorial, possessive, jealous male. He was man enough to admit he was jealous, Lucien had a piece of your heart, if not now then before. He had no right to be jealous, he was sleeping with Elain afterall. A situation he needed to end once and for all.

His curiosity was heavy enough to seek out the male and question the depths of the relationship. Not long after he landed back in Velaris, he found himself knocking on Lucien's apartment door, hoping to catch up.

Lucien opened the door and he immediately regretted it. He wasn’t exactly fond of the illyrian who had been sleeping with his mate. Knowing very well Azriel’s appetite for beautiful females. He’d figure once he grew bored of Elain he’d find another female to bed and another and another, leaving those poor females a shell of their former selves. Lucien had no patience for small talk and he wasn't exactly interested in what the shadowsinger had to say, “whatever it is, I don’t care.” Lucien moved to close the door in Azriel’s face, unamused with the sudden visit.

“Wait!” Azriel pleaded, hand splayed over the door that was about to close on him. “I’m not here to talk about Elain, I’m ending it with her today. I’m here to talk about Khaos.” Lucien sighed, letting the shadowsinger enter his apartment. “Is she safe?” Lucien's worried eyes scanned Azriel for any hint of deception. “Yeah, she's safe, I just wanted to know how she was with you and now Eris. More importantly, what happened between you two? ”

Azriel walked over to Lucien's couch, Mid bend to make himself comfortable, “don’t sit. I don’t plan to entertain you,” Lucien spat, crossing his arms over his chest. Azriel let the weight of his body plop down on the couch, arms stretched wide across the back cushion. His unwavering stare indicating he would get the answers to his questions. Lucien gritted his teeth in annoyance, “ I’m not telling you shit. What happened between us, remains between us.”

Azriel nodded, understanding his hesitancy to give any details regarding a former lover, “It’s just that I’d like to get to know her bett-”

“Haven’t you had your fill?" Lucien interrupted with a scowl, “must you take every female that I love?” He scoffed. “You don’t even deserve to breathe the same air as her.”

There it was, his opening. Exactly what he was hoping for. Azriel didn’t hesitate in prodding further.

“If you loved her, why did you leave?”

Lucien shook his head, running his hand through his long locks, “No, not past tense. I still do. I’ll always…” Lucien swallowed, he couldn’t finish that sentence, it hurt too much. Azriel narrowed his eyes, Gods, he still loved you he thought to himself. He knew his next words would reopen a healed wound, but he needed more. “You love her so much you let Eris fuck her too.” Azriel internally flinched at how tasteless the statement was.

Lucien winced at the Shadowsingers clear attempt to rile him up, those crude words grating against his heart, “Get out!”

Azriel smirked and threw his mud covered boots on top of the coffee table, rattling the few cups that lingered. Crossing his legs at the ankle, “the faster you tell me what I want to know, the faster I'll leave.”

Lucien rubbed the space between his brows and let out an annoyed groan. His gaze fixed on a burgundy cloak that was thrown over an armchair. A cloak that once belonged to you, after all these years he still held onto it. Lucien's eyes glazed over in sadness as he recalled the reason he left, “after my father wished for Eris to court her, I tried to take her away to The Spring Court so we could be together. I went to our friend Jesminda's house to say my goodbyes. She invited me in for cake and tea, one thing led to another and I made the biggest mistake of my life. I couldn't tell her, so I left for Spring alone. ”

“You cheated on her?” Azriel asked.

Lucien nodded, clearing his throat from the knot of emotion that threatened to break free.

“You’re a fucking coward,” Azriel glared as he stalked towards the door, “she thinks the world of you and you couldn’t even tell her of your betrayal.”

He opened the door to the apartment, leaving Lucien to sulk in misery,

“You said I don't deserve her, but it’s you who doesn't deserve a place in her heart. I’ll make sure she knows of your cowardice and infidelity.”

Azriel slammed the door behind him and as he walked away he heard the cries of a wounded fox, shattered to pieces by a guilty conscience.

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

You stood in front of a full length mirror, its reflection one you didn't recognize. Your eyes lacked the stars that once circled your pupils, your once moon like orb was no longer crisp and bright. No longer did you look like a God that brought blood and gore to those who deserved a painful death. How did the Goddess of Life succumb to a female with nowhere to go but beside her betrothed. To obey his every wish with a smile on your face. Only speak when spoken to and never voice the thoughts that lingered beyond those of dresses and motherhood.

Was your life to be on your back while Eris spilled his seed inside you, producing heir after heir until your very womb decayed. “Aos? Which color would you like the dress?” you shook your head, riding yourself from your detached thoughts. You met the eyes of Auren through the mirror, a seamstress tasked with measuring you for Helion’s Celebration. “Blue would look lovely, Thank you Auren.”

“The Prince is wearing a deep cadmium red, it be wise to match with the future heir.” Auren explained as she struggled to wrap the measuring tape around your waist, placing her finger against your body, noting the inch at which her finger fit snugly against your skin. “Make it a royal blue Auren, it reminds me of home.”

Her heavy breathing took you out of your thoughts and your eyes widened at her swollen belly, the reason for her struggle to reach around you. “Oh Auren, I didn’t realize. It’s not polite to comment-”

“It’s alright really, just got harder to bend and move,” she laughed, rubbing her round stomach soothingly. You beamed as she cradled the life that was growing inside her. A warmth so familiar bloomed inside you. You knew all too well the reason pregnancy was difficult in the fae lands, ever since you fell from the sky procreation had severely diminished. Not forgotten or misplaced just pointless in a cruel world. You couldn't say you had nothing to do with it, you had everything to do with creation. So it was quite a shock to see Auren pregnant, “a miracle really. Congratulations Auren, you make a wonderful mother.”

“It’s always been a dream of mine. Thank the Gods for this fertility tea.” She took a sip from her cup and as she set it down you glanced inside, “whole nuts?” you questioned with a raised eyebrow. “Mhmm, it tastes gritty when they’re crushed down to a powder.” She grimaced as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

“Gritty?”

Weekly dinners with the Vanserras, you were served tea.

It couldn’t be.

It was.

You paled.

~~~~~~~

At dinner everyone moved around you carrying their conversations like you weren’t slowly dying inside. Like you were invisible. You sat unmoving, hands clasped within your lap as you burned a hole into the mug that accompanied your dessert. How long had you been drinking that tea? How long were you going to pretend to be Eris' lover? How long were you going to put on this mask of compliance and docility, when in reality you could rip the flesh from their bones with a blink of an eye. Slaughter each and every member of the Vanserras without a single ounce of remorse.

The more you dwelled on it the more plausible it seemed. Yes, you’d remove them all at once with the snap of your finger. Each death exactly the same as the next, painful in the way they’ve caused pain to others. No, tortuous. Starting with the slow removal of each fingernail, pulled directly from the nailbed followed by severing each finger until nothing remained of their hands but a bloody useless paw. You wouldn't stop there. Next you’d remove their feet below the ankles, better yet, below the knee, so that to move they'd need to drag their meat sack of bones across all the painful textures of the land. Each and every pull against the earth would reopen thin healed skin, leaving trails of crimson blood mixed with pus and torn flesh.

The cries of a once feared family would bring their citizens out only to shriek, and gasp in horror at the sight of the disfigured thing. As a mercy you’d allow them to keep their eyes and ears so they’d hear each vulgar degradation aimed at how mutilated and disgusting they looked, visualize the moment they made someone so ill all that could be done was vomit the contents of their stomach. No one would pin it on Eris if he was among the deformed. Though you weren’t so cruel, they did help you somewhat. Provide you with shelter, food, all the means that you’ve needed to survive thus far. Asphyxiation would be painless, you smirked.

Eris placed a panicked hand to the base of his throat, glancing around the table at his family; he noticed their glossy widened eyes. Their mouths hung open in a silent scream, opening and closing like a fish out of water, gasping for a breath of air. Utensils clattered to the ground as Lord Beron attempted to stand only to stumble clenching the table cloth for fear of falling. Eris’ amber gaze landed on your morbid stare. Eyes cloudy and pale with the promise of death in their unfocused glare.

The room spun round and round although he remained seated, knuckles white from gripping the wooden table. He felt himself slowly losing consciousness, the lack of oxygen to his brain pulling him under, a swipe across his nose made him nearly pass out as he felt blood drip down, coating his lips. Eris chanced one last look into the soul of beautiful death and found your lifeless eyes already claiming his beating heart.

With a last ditch effort to reclaim his soul he struggled through the pounding inside his head. Placing a trembling hand against your thigh, conjuring the remaining power he had into a lick of flame. Burning against your thigh brought your thoughts back to dinner. Those heterochromia eyes morphed into the vibrant colors of the galaxy with a single blink. The sharp inhale of air surrounded the table as your mind released them from the claws of death's grip. “Must be the tea,” you challenged, voice dripping with insolence as your cold eyes met those of Lord Beron. “We’ve been poisoned!” Eris's younger brother Janus reported, pouring out his cup of tea showcasing the darkened goop that splattered to the ground. Eris’ gaze traveled from the cup to you and back again. A look of shock and hurt in the way he studied your indifference. Once everyone cleared the dinner table, Lord Beron ordered the guards to sweep the halls for a breach and check the tea imports for tampering.

~~~~~

You made your way to your bed chambers when a rough hand tightly gripped your arm; shoving you against the stone walls with enough force to knock the sense out of you. Lord Beron lowered his mouth to your ear so no one else could hear his vile words. “If I have to chain your legs apart and force him on you, so be it! But you will let Eris fuck a babe into your pathetic cunt!” He snarled, voice dripping with the rot that plagued his evil soul. You stared at the grip he had on your arm, a bruise in the shape of fingertips already forming around your bicep.

“Threaten me all you want-"

The back of Lord Berons palm landed across your cheek with an audible slap, whipping your face so hard you stumbled to the floor. Your fingertips sparked with electric current, adrenaline running through you, tempting you to act, to destroy everyone that got in your way. And Lord Beron would be the first to witness your fury. Defiantly, you stood to meet his stare, chin held high with pride, “I bow to no High Lord.”

Lord Beron didn’t bother to strike you as he signaled for a guard to escort you below. Where they kept their murderers, thieves, and those that needed a reminder of who their High Lord was. Lord Beron didn’t know how powerful you were since you kept most of your magic to yourself and those close to you, so it came as a shock when a stainless steel collar dipped in faebane was locked around your neck, made to look like a simple necklace with the only key belonging to High Lord Beron.

You were dragged down the cold halls farther than you knew existed, down a spiral of stone steps, passed the cells that housed the criminals of Autumn and last through a hidden wall disguised as an unassuming bookcase. Your heart rate spiked as you realized this area was one you had never seen before and it worried you that maybe that was the point. You tried to summon your magic despite the collar releasing its poison onto your skin, but with nowhere to release the rage, the opposite happened. Your power turned to its host and acted like a sedative, pulling you into a sleep-like state.

In your near-unconsciousness you didn’t feel the rough hands of a guard help himself to the curves of your body, groping your breasts and grabbing your ass before he kneeled at your feet, shackling your legs apart just as Lord Beron promised. The guards were instructed to not penetrate you but that didn’t stop them from standing around your cell to gawk and fist their needy cocks to the sight of your spread pussy.

~~~~~~~~~

Azriel breathed a sigh of relief as he entered his room. A welcoming comfort no one could grant him, except perhaps you.

He neared his four poster bed, large enough for his wings and a lover or two. Just as he was about to throw himself onto its pillowy top a sweet scent engulfed him. Too sweet for his liking and definitely not your scent. As he looked to the illuminated light escaping the bottom of the bathing room; Elain emerged from a cloud of steam, casting her in a hazy glow. Azriels eyes trailed the length of her nude body, drops of water tracking down her thin legs.

Azriel couldn't deny what a beautiful female she was, both inside and out. He was lucky to have been with her no matter how short their fling was about to be. What Elain assumed was lust in Azriels eyes was actually reflection. Seeing her bare before him reminded him of what she offered time and time again. Her physical body. He knew that's not all she had to offer, deep down she had goals to be met and hobbies that he didn't understand, but physical intimacy is what she offered to him.

Azriel couldn't believe he had gotten to the point where sex was no longer enough. He wanted more. He wanted it all. He wanted that body, mind and spirit love. A soul connection so deep not even death would be able to pry his heart away. He felt it in his bones that that connection was not with Elain, so he’d decided now was as good a time as any, to let her go.

Without another glance Azriel walked to his closet, which held an assortment of her clothes. He pulled out her favorite pink robe, and draped it over her shoulders. Elain took the hint and tied the robe around her body at the waist, covering her completely. The act alone brought her to tears as his rejection flooded her with shame and embarrassment.

“Who is she?” Elain muttered, crossing her arms over her stomach in an attempt to hold herself together. Azriel shook his head, a soft sigh leaving his lips.

“Did you sleep with her?”

“No. I wouldn't do that to her - to you,” he shook his head, “I wouldn't do that to you.”

“Do you want to sleep with her?” Elain asked with a wobble in her throat, not sure if she could handle his answer.

Azriel turned his back on Elain and placed his hands on his hips. A heavy sigh escaped his lips as he hung his head. Yes, he did want to bed you, but more than anything he wanted to hear the sound of your soft breathing as you slept nestled against his chest. He wanted to trace the beauty marks along your back and see how many constellations adorned your soft skin.

“Azriel!”

“Yes! Is that what you wanted to hear? He snapped.

“NO! I want to hear that you love me, not that you want to fuck someone else!” Elain sobbed, her tears freely flowing down her cheeks. “It’s her isn't it? The one you’ve been looking for all these years? The female you said I shouldn't worry about?” Elain continued to wipe away her tears.

“I never meant to hurt you, and for that I’m sorry. If there's a chance that she’s who's destined for me then I have to explore that. You know how much I want what my brothers have, that special someone made for me!” Azriel sat on the edge of the bed, running his hands through his wavy hair.

“I thought I was made for you Az?”

A scoff leaves Azriels lips, “you were made for Lucien, he's your mate Elain, not me.”

Elains stunned silent. The truth of his words piercing her fragile heart, “but I chose you.”

“And I’m choosing her.”

“Azriel, she's a Death God,” she pleads, kneeling in front of him with her hands on his knees, “she’s threatened Velaris and Rhys hates her. You met her one time as a child. You don’t know her!” she yelled, hurt laced in her words as she tried to make sense of his actions.

“I want to get to know her!” Azriel yelled back, standing abruptly from his position on the bed, making Elain stumble slightly, catching herself with her palms on the floor.

“I’m sorry, this thing between us. It was never –”

Azriels shadows interrupt him as they swarm the room, darting erratically from side to side in alarm. Goosebumps form along his arms as they whisper in his ear, ‘In trouble, hurry.’ Azriel didn't need to ask who was in trouble. Somehow he could feel your despair in the pit of his stomach. You needed him and he would go to you. However far you were, he would walk miles to reach you, fly through the toughest storms to be by your side. Risk his own life if it meant you’d survive to see another day. Without another word he raced out of the house, leaving a broken hearted Elain to pick up the pieces of her fractured heart. He couldn’t be there for her any longer, not when his heart was calling out for you.

A/n: I’ve had a crazy week with my daughter being sick and planning her birthday party. I expect the next ch to take me some time. As always thank you so much for reading and for your sweet comments.

Taglist: @blackgirlmagicforever @going-through-shit @dr4g0ngirl @mybestfriendmademe @isa1b2h3 @julesofvolterra @scooobies @thisblogisaboutabook @lilah-asteria @glitterypirateduck @acourtofbatboydreams @5onedirection5

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x fem!reader #azriel x y/n #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel fanfic #azriel angst #azriel #acotar #acotar x reader #acotar fanfic #acotar fanfiction #acotar imagine

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dreamerinthemoonlight · 11 months ago

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Tears on Yujing Terrace

Summary: You watch Liyue Harbor from Yujing terrace after a nightmare. Zhongli comes to comfort you.

CW: hurt/comfort, references to SA, nothing graphic but people sensitive to that may want to skip this one, pet names (loveling, little gem, my gem)

Word Count: 764

Pairings: Zhongli x gn!reader

Requests and Asks are OPEN

You are cold, despite it being the middle of summer and far south of Snezhnaya. The lanterns that line the street shine in soft yellows, oranges, and reds, but as is often the case on nights like tonight, the warm glow does nothing to chase away the shadows of your recent dreams.

Even this late at night, Liyue Harbor teems with life. And yet, you find that no crowd can break through the loneliness that cloaks you like a second skin.

And so you don't bother to try.

You make your way to Yujing terrace, returning a guard’s greeting with a tense smile when you pass through its gate. The Millelith assigned to the terrace have long since memorized your name and face, and have often served to ward off any unwanted company.

You cross Yujing Terrace, taking your usual place at the far edge.

From this vantage point, you can see half the city, the people there seeming so small, so far away.

You stand in silence, listening to the wind coming off the ocean while you chase your thoughts in endless circles.

Eventually you hear a familiar pair of footsteps approach you.

“Y/n?”

You turn to find a pair of molten gold eyes, glowing with gentle intensity. “Zhongli? Why are you here?”

“Why would I not be here? I woke up and you were not there. Why did you not wake me, loveling? Do you not wish for my company tonight?”

You shrug, wrapping an arm around yourself. “It’s not that. Tonight has been a bad night. I didn’t want to bother you.”

Zhongli sighs, coming to stand next to you. “My gem, helping you through a bad night is never a bother. Will you allow me to stay?”

Your thoughts turn to the nightmare that drove you out of your shared home and the cold that has surrounded you since you left deepens. “Please. I really don’t want to be alone.”

Zhongli steps closer and you lean into him, letting his embrace warm you.

“I’m sorry,” you mutter.

“Whatever for?”

“Not waking you. I know it worries you when I do this.”

Zhongli runs his fingers through your hair. “I know the kind of torments your subconscious mind conjures. I would not leave anyone to suffer them, least of all you. I will listen if you want to tell me about it.”

You stiffen in Zhongli’s arms.

“If not, that is fine as well,” he assures you. “I promised you that first night that I would not force you to talk about your nightmares, but I will always listen when you do.”

“I just… it was one of the really bad ones. It wasn't the kind that scares me, but the kind that haunts me for hours after I wake up. Even if I push it away and think about my work for today, as soon as my mind drifts I remember. I don’t want to remember.”

As you speak, tears spill down your face, soaking Zhongli’s nightshirt.

The adeptus sighs, pulling you closer. “If I could banish these nightmares, I would. I do not like seeing you suffer.”

“I think… I should probably tell you about it.”

“It may help, love.”

You tell Zhongli of your dream slowly, halting over your words. When you’re done you’re nearly sobbing. “I don’t know what was worse, seeing the girls and the anger I felt, or being left behind. Alone. Unable to act against that bastard, but also vulnerable. Now that I think about it, I was left alone and had that guy wanted to do to me what he did to the girls…”

Zhongli rests his cheek on your head. “Next time, my love, please wake me. I cannot keep the nightmares away, but I can comfort you after.”

“You do keep them away, some,” you admit. “Usually when I’m as stressed as I’ve been, they’re nearly nightly.”

“And yet you still have ones like this one.”

You shrug. “Sometimes they can’t be helped. I’ve seen what you look like after yours.”

“Mine don’t happen nearly as often, my love.”

“They still happen.”

You fall silent, listening to the steady thump-thump of Zhongli’s heart, letting it ground you.

After several long minutes you pull away and lace your finger together. “Can we go home now?”

“Of course, little gem. Let us go home. Do you want to go back to bed, or would you rather I make tea first?”

“Tea first, please.”

“Consider it done.”

The two of you leave Yujing Terrace, unaware of the smiles the Millelith send your way.

#I wanted to write Zhongli having a nightmare #And I probably will eventually #But it turns out it's Zhongli's turn to be the comfort character #Zhongli x reader #Zhongli x gn!reader #tw: sa mention #genshin impact #genshin impact fic #genshin writing #genshin #genshin hurt/comfort #hurt/comfort

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yukidragon · 1 year ago

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Sunny Day Jack - Love and Sex Headcanons

You read the title, you know what the topic is about; I’m going to be rambling off my personal headcanons for the romantic and sexual preferences of the main cast of Something’s Wrong with Sunny Day Jack. This is as it applies to my fanfics Sunshine in Hell and Sunshine in Another World, so I’ll be including my version of the MC, Alice King.

Content warnings: This fandom/game/content is for Adults Only. There is talk of sex in this post. A lot of it. I will be going into graphic detail at times, as well as touch on some serious issues on occasion, such as SA, trauma, negative body image, toxic relationships, religious guilt, homophobia, bigotry, past child abuse, sex work, and such.

While I intend to keep things mostly spicy and sweet, sometimes darker topics affect a person’s view about sex and preferences, since sex can be complicated that way. This is especially the case if a character deals with some traumatic experience that relates to their sex life/sexuality. I will try to trod lightly on the heavier topics when I can.

I must emphasize that, while I draw information from the game’s canon as shown in both versions of the demo, Sleepy Time Jack, as well as official information/art and development images/posts, ultimately these are my personal headcanons. They might not completely line up with what’s going to be canon in the final game. These are just what’s currently canon for the Sunshine in Hell continuity and what feels right to me personally when it comes to the characters.

I say currently canon since stuff changes as I develop things and play with the characters more. They’ve definitely evolved since I first played the demo. Heck, they’ve even evolved since I started working on this post due to how long it’s taken me to get this finally finished.

Since this post will be using official/development art to help illustrate my points at times, I want to give my friend Sauce full credit for their awesome art and for creating this game with all its wonderful characters and ideas in the first place.

Please consider supporting them and the rest of the SnaccPop Studios team by signing up for the official patreon. Also, consider buying a full size print of this steamy cropped piece of art with a special toy included. It would help out a lot of lovely hard working people and give you access to the many cool posts on there, as well as juicy lore tidbits. A fair number of these posts influenced my headcanons, which you’ll only be able to see if you join up. Remember, don't share anything privately posted on patreon!

While I’m at it, here’s links to the official twitter, tumblr, itch, steam, and kickstarter pages for Sunny Day Jack, which are also places where I got information and inspiration for these smutty headcanons.

@channydraws @earthgirlaesthetic @sai-of-the-7-stars @cheriihoney @illary-kore @okamiliqueur

Okay, with disclaimers, promotions, and tags out of the way, let’s get down to the spice.

…

This post won’t encompass every single thing that the characters find arousing/attractive, since there’s no way that I can think of everything for one post, but I’ll write as many kinks, desires, and preferences that come to mind.

First, let’s have some general headcanons that apply to all the main characters. None of them have a preference when it comes to gender. It doesn’t matter what’s in someone’s pants or how they identify. What matters to them is what’s in their partner’s heart and usually that’s the most attractive quality a person can have.

Consent is king! All the characters want consent from their partner/love interest, particularly enthusiastic consent. While some might be pushier than others when it comes to wanting sex/romance, at the end of the day, “no” means “NO.” Everyone’s consent matters.

Now onto the specific characters, starting with the star of the show…

Jack(tor)

Jack has two sides to him - that of the character known as Sunny Day Jack that he’s trying to embody, and that of the actor who used to be known as Joseph Cullman. While he polished the rough edges off of the persona that he presents to the world, at the end of the day, he can’t change his likes and dislikes so easily. A lot of his desires as Jack have been influenced by the desires he had as Joseph… as long as they don’t cause him to break character. There’s a level of what’s “expected” and “acceptable” for him to like as the kid friendly Sunny Day Jack, and what this naughty, naughty yandere really desires deep down inside. We can see evidence of this in his BDSM test results.

Overall, Jack is quite dominant when it comes to his sexual desires. Specifically, he’s a service top, focusing on controlling the scene with his partner’s pleasure in mind. He wants to make his partner feel his love in every sense of the word.

Jack is pansexual/panromantic. He doesn’t discriminate, and can find any sort of body type or personality attractive, but that doesn’t mean that he’s indiscriminately able to fall in love or lust with just anyone. His desire to be loved has led him to make poor choices in his past and has led to him growing attached to people who took advantage of how desperate he was to be loved.

Romantic attraction and sexual attraction are linked when it comes to Jack. He’s not going to desire someone sexually unless he’s experiencing romantic feelings towards them, so usually the two things come together at the same time.

Once Jack falls in love with someone, he is very, very loyal. It will take a lot to get him to let go of these feelings. He’s also very much the jealous type, wanting to monopolize the person he’s in love with, which results in him being fairly clingy. Though, he is willing to compromise on just how clingy he is for the sake of his partner’s wants and needs, provided that he’s not at risk of losing them. At the end of the day, he loves sincerely and wants the person he loves to be happy.

While Jack has claimed in an audio drama Q&A posted on patreon that he theoretically might be open to entering a polyamorous relationship, ultimately, what he really wants is a closed monogamous relationship. He might have lots of love in his heart to give to as many people as will accept it and him, but at the end of the day, he can’t stand the idea of losing someone who actually loves him, particularly the person he loves the most. As I’ve mentioned in past headcanon posts about Jack getting into a poly relationship, (which you can read here and here) I don’t think it would be a healthy balanced relationship between all parties if he were to go into a poly relationship, and as such I think he’s better suited to a single partner.

That isn’t to say that I don’t think Jack would refuse to have sex with someone besides his partner… provided that his partner is the one who wants him to do so. He might not want it himself, but he is willing to consent to it provided his partner is there to watch him do it. He’s willing to consent to quite a lot of things for the sake of love, even if he dislikes them or it makes him uncomfortable. After all, if he’s willing to kill for the sake of his love, there’s a lot of other unsavory things that he’ll be willing to do.

As shown in this early development art by Sauce, Jack isn’t exactly happy to encourage his rival to hurt themselves, as we see from his forced smile, but he’ll do what he must for the sake of keeping his sunshine. Even though this is technically not-canon, it has helped shape my idea of how going down this path causes damage to his psyche and isn’t something he would want if he could avoid it.

In a lot of ways, Jack is a sexual chameleon, eager to please his partner. While he is keen to try different things and experiment in the bedroom, he won’t push any kink that his partner doesn’t want or reacts badly to. Sure, he’ll attempt to convince them to give something a try when it comes to a kink that excites him if they express reluctance, and he’ll want to know what’s wrong so he can fix it or otherwise accommodate them if possible, but at the end of the day, he won’t ever force anything onto his partner. Their pleasure is his pleasure.

Jack is addicted to his partner’s love, attention, desire, pleasure, and validation above all else. This is why he thrives on hearing his partner praise him and tell him just how much they love him. Words of affirmation is his primary love language, as we’ve seen with how ready he is to shower his sunshine with words of love, and how much it meant to him that his sunshine verbally confirms that they love him.

Jack also gets excited by the idea of others seeing him being loved so much by his partner, which is where his exhibitionist kink comes in. He’s the one who is special to his sunshine, not anyone else. They can only watch with envious eyes while he shows them exactly what they’re missing out on. It’s quite a turn on to show the world just how much he’s loved, that he’s the only one special enough to be loved by his sunshine like this. Only he deserves his partner’s love, and only he can make his sunshine feel this good and loved. He would have sex in public before an audience with his sunshine if his partner consented to it, provided that it’s made clear to everyone involved that he’s the only one his partner truly loves and needs more than anyone else.

Another factor that plays into his exhibitionism is his desire not to be forgotten. His past as Joseph is full of moments where that left him feeling discarded and unlovable. The more people who focus on him, the less likely he is to be forgotten.

Cuckolding is definitely something Jack hates, at least if he’s the one being forced to watch his partner have sex with someone else. Even if other people are involved during sex, he needs to be his partner’s primary focus. If he’s the most important person to his partner, then he can at least tolerate others’ involvement. He doesn’t want to have sex with someone that he’s not in love with (or at least not strongly emotionally connected to romantically), but if it made his partner happy, he would do it for their sake… though he would need them to shower him with love and encouragement the entire time.

However, if Jack is the one cuckolding someone else, like, say, Ian… now that’s a different story. Tied to the degrader kink, Jack wants to show that he’s more worthy than others of his sunshine’s love. If his rivals are writhing in envy and can see they don’t deserve Alice like he does, well that’s pretty darn exciting. It’s why he’ll be a poor winner and make sure that all his rivals are very much aware who Alice chose instead of them.

Yes, this means that, just like Jack is going to make sure that Shaun overhears him making love to Alice (as I’ve mentioned in previous posts), he’s going to make sure Ian knows that her pretty moans are only for Jack, now and forever. While the incident with Shaun is Jack marking his territory to prevent a possible rival from getting any ideas, with Ian it’s far more personal. Jack wants to make sure Ian feels worthless and inferior to him in every way. I haven’t decided exactly how he’ll go about this, but hopefully he won’t take it too far, hahaha.

Anyway, ultimately, when it comes to involving other people besides his partner, Jack would rather have an audience rather than additional participants: they can look, listen, and envy, but they can’t touch.

At the end of the day though, his partner has a lot of sway in this matter if others are involved in their sex life… for better or for worse.

While love and sex are closely tied in Jack’s mind, he can still perform sexually without romantic attachment, though he would prefer not to. Back before he was an actor, when he was homeless after running away from home, he had to do things that he wasn’t proud of just to survive, which included performing sex acts on a transactional basis. He was used, and he knew full well that he was being used, but he did what he could to survive life on the streets.

This is part of why Jack prefers to be the one dominating. He wants control over his sexuality in a way that he couldn’t have when sex work sometimes was the only thing that kept him from starving to death. Sex workers don’t tend to be treated well by their clients, especially if they’re a homeless drifter without any support network.

Jack did attempt to find love in the past, but oftentimes he was just exploited for his body, which led to toxic relationships similar to the Tragedy of [Redacted] theory in one of my first headcanon posts. His desperate desire to be loved was unfortunately taken advantage of, which led to unpleasant experiences. Sometimes he fell for someone’s charms and actually believed that they actually cared for him, only for that person to just want a quick fuck and not a real relationship, which stomped all over his heart and made him wonder what more he could have done to “deserve” to be loved…

Once Jack became an actor, he went from being ignored to getting too much attention… and all of it shallow, just focused on his body and fame. The interview with Dan was a sore spot for him because he was used in many ways, by people who only saw him as a sex object to use then discard and not as a human who desperately wished to be loved.

This is why Jack’s feelings for Alice are so strong. Due to their connection, he can literally feel that she cares about him in a way that he never could with anyone else. With how much he’s always craved such a connection with someone, their bond has given him reassurance that he never got to experience while alive. He can feel when he pleases her and when he makes her flustered. He can tell when she’s upset and has an easier time spotting when he’s making a mistake with her. There’s security in knowing her feelings for him, and that those feelings are sincere.

The connection also allows Jack to feel what Alice is experiencing physically to some extent, which includes sexual pleasure. For a service top like him who gets off on his partner’s pleasure, it’s addicting to be able to literally feel the pleasure that he’s giving her. He knows when he’s doing well, and he can learn quickly how best to pleasure her. He wants more and more of all of these wonderful feelings this connection with Alice gives to him, so he’ll do whatever it takes to please her so that he can feel more of her love.

While Jack has a huge exhibitionist kink, and the idea of an audience watching him make love to Alice excites him, at the same time he wants to lock her up away from the rest of the world so that they can’t take her away from him. He needs her. He loves her. His very existence depends on her. What she gives him is far too precious to risk losing for any brief moment of pleasure.

As we’ve seen in this development art… Jack would prefer it if it was just him and his sunshine… forever. Between his past and being trapped in the tape, there’s a desperation to him now to not lose Alice and everything she’s given him… and woe be it to anyone who tries to take his sunshine away.

After being trapped in the tape and suffering a hellish fate for 40 years without rest, Jack has become touch starved and clingy. He was love/touch starved even before his death, but the tape made it so much worse. He would be very happy if Alice wanted to hold onto him 24/7. He views having a piece of his soul inside of Alice as similar to getting a hug from her all the time, and vice-versa with the piece of her that she gave to him. Although that piece of her soul is the most precious thing he possesses, he can’t help but be greedy and want more and more of her. He’ll take as much as she’ll give him.

As one might expect, Jack isn’t keen on being separated from Alice for too long. In the past, he could handle giving his partner space for several days if they needed it, but going a full day without his sunshine is unbearable in the present. It was especially rough in the beginning when their relationship was still new, and their connection was fragile.

It just gets so cold without his sunshine…

The sensory deprivation Jack experienced in the tape affects him as well. He’s more sensitive to stimuli than he was before. This makes him so much more aware of the world, especially what he can and can’t interact with. This is especially the case when it comes to his sunshine.

Really, a sunshine that keeps Jack at a distance would just make his neediness worse, as he literally can’t interact with anything else. Sure he can see his surroundings and respond to them, but he needs to be closer to his sunshine to interact with them, including his sunshine. If all he can touch is his sunshine for a long time, it just makes his neediness to be close to them all the worse.

Fortunately, Alice pretty much accepted Jack of being capable of touching and interacting with things right away, so it’s not as bad for him as it could have been... but let’s face it, Jack’s need for sensory stimulation is going to be pretty bad regardless.

Jack is hyper aware of everything about his sunshine - the feeling of her skin, how warm each part of her body is, how soft... All the little folds and curves. He memorizes the sensation of her fingers wrapped around his and just how small she is when he holds her in his arms, completely surrounding her.

Jack is so aware of her scent too, so very, very aware. Most of the time Alice smells of vanilla cupcakes and sugar cookies due to her shampoo and deodorant, but sometimes she puts on perfume or switches things up. He notices it right away when it changes, but most of all he notices how her distinct scent without any perfumes affects it. He’s smelled her products directly - out of curiosity he swears - but it’s not the same. It’s nice... but it’s not her.

Smelling Alice’s pillows and clothes... now there’s where he gets his hit when he can’t be close enough to breathe her in. At the start, she gave him one of her pillows that smelled just like her. She never really gets it back, and when Jack gets sneakier with slipping away to take care of himself, he brings the pillow with him. He buries his face in it as he jerks himself off to thoughts of her, imagining that he’s buried his face in her chest or between her thighs.

When Jack discovers that Alice has a pillow that she props between her legs to sleep more comfortably, he can’t help but imagine her humping that pillow imagining it’s him. She doesn’t, of course, but the fantasy gets to him, and he can’t help but be the one to enact it, imagining that he’s thrusting into where this lucky pillow usually rests. He made sure to clean it up thoroughly afterwards so she doesn’t notice, but seeing her sleep with it after that drives him crazy.

Jack knows using her pillows and clothes like that is wrong, but it’s fine, right? He’s being patient, waiting for the day that Alice is ready to do these things with him. He knows it’ll happen. He can feel how much she cares about him. With every day they get closer... and she’s slowly starting to see just how perfect they are for each other too. One day, he won’t need to settle for a pillow. One day, he’ll be thrusting his cock into all of her holes, listening to her pretty moans that are only for him.

And, well, he’s right, basically. Jack is a very, very happy man when that happens, and he makes sure Alice doesn’t regret choosing him. He’s going to make sure that she enjoys every second of their lovemaking.

Until then, Jack has his fantasies of what it’ll be like. He fantasizes about Alice on a daily basis, often lewd fantasies but sometimes wholesome and sweet like imagining them getting married. He’ll try his best to only imagine what he’s seen of of her so far without assuming what he’ll find underneath her clothes. It doesn’t matter what equipment she has after all, she’s beautiful and perfect to him just as she is. He laser focuses on every new inch of skin he sees, searing it into his mind forever and adding it to his fantasies.

Sometimes it feels to Jack as if Alice is teasing him as well. He would be convinced that she is if he couldn’t pick up on her thoughts. She’s genuinely oblivious how sexy she looks wearing only a too thin t-shirt with no bra, especially when she stretches. She doesn’t notice how her clothes ride up when she stretches or how he drinks her in when she does. He can’t help but notice just how flexible she is and imagine how he might be able to make her body bend around his in various delicious angles. Until that day though, he won’t let anything slip by his notice.

This leads into Jack’s voyeurism kink. This is pretty closely tied to the exhibitionist kink. He loves to show off his sexy body and see the desire in his partner’s eyes. He wants them to know what he has to offer, how good he can make his partner feel, and how good they make him feel. He also enjoys seeing his partner show off their body to him and watching them get off… provided that it’s not with someone else. Watching someone else make his partner moan isn’t his idea of a fun time. Sure his partner is sexy, but… it leaves him feeling insecure. What if they like the other person better? He can’t risk it. They should only be moaning because of him.

So when it comes to voyeurism, Jack would rather watch his partner get themselves off for his pleasure, preferably moaning his name or even begging him to take them. He would even enjoy watching his partner play with themselves in a deliberate effort to tease and entice him. Brat taming is something he enjoys, and making sure his partner knows who’s really in control of their pleasure as he teases them even more than they teased him is quite enticing to him.

Teasing is something that’s all in good fun, as far as Jack is concerned… as long as it remains playful of course. The degrader kink in his case isn’t done with insults like calling his partner a slut or other such degrading insults, unless they explicitly wanted him to do that of course. Rather, it’s the excitement of making his partner feel flustered and overwhelmed, even embarrassed, that’s turning him on. He knows what they’re weak against and uses it against them to leave them a blushing mess, overwhelmed by how he knows them inside and out. No one else could ever be as close to them or know them as well as he can.

An example would be Jack praising Alice for being so wet when he fingers her while she’s standing in the camera’s blind spot at Popov’s, even though she’s worried about being caught doing something so lewd at work. With how flustered she gets in general, and especially when risking getting caught by others, it can be counted as degrading to be praised for doing such a lewd act in a semi-public place. However, he is not making her feel like she’s wrong for being aroused by something she finds embarrassing.

Jack never intends to make his partner feel bad in any way. He only wants to make them feel good. Coaxing them into doing things that get them aroused and overwhelmed in a good way is exciting for him. That’s why he’s also a big fan of overstimulation and orgasm denial. He loves making his partner orgasm repeatedly and watching them come undone. If he can leave his partner a babbling mess, begging him for more or that it’s too much, while clearly enjoying every second of what he’s doing to them, he feels so needed and wanted.

Being teased can be fun as well, though Jack prefers to be teased playfully by a partner who acts a bit bratty, pushing him to work for the prize of satisfying them both. His partner proposing a challenge for him to overcome is thrilling when he can shatter their expectations and leave them totally at his mercy.

Another way Jack enjoys being teased by his partner is if they try to “escape” him, acting as prey to allow him to indulge in his predator kink and chase them down. The idea of hunting his partner, searching for them wherever they run or hide, snatching them up, and getting a good taste of his prey as his prize is delightful. Adding in a bit of bondage as well by tying up his cute little prey adds an extra thrill. Then he can tease them with praise, touch, and affection until he tames them, leaving them begging him for more.

Sure, Jack technically has a cheat mode when it comes to finding Alice due to their connection, since he can sense her wherever she is through it, but that doesn’t mean hide and seek can’t still be fun. He can just pretend that he can’t sense where she’s hiding, really heightening up the tension as he pretends to overlook her hiding spot, coming so close, putting her on edge of being found, only to pass her by. It would be a game in and of itself to tease her with the threat of almost catching her until finally he’s ready to pounce and claim his cute little prey.

Jack isn’t exactly opposed to reversing the game, with him acting as the prey, but he would quickly turn it back around on his partner. With how little control he had in his life while alive, a part of him rebels against being controlled by anyone… though his sunshine is a bit of a unique case.

Alice didn’t have to save him from hell. That was her choice. Jack might have been willing to give her anything if she saved him, but she didn’t actually want anything from him except to save him. It’s for that reason that he’ll do anything for her. He might not want to give up control, but if it was for her sake, he would let her take total control of him as long as she loves him, needs him, and never forgets him.

Really, Jack would find it cute to imagine Alice trying to hunt him down or act dominant with him in the bedroom, especially since he knows that he would soon turn the tables on her and turn her into his adorable prey. It would be more like brat taming for him in that case, teasing and tempting her until she was too flustered to continue trying to keep control, submitting to him and his love~

However, Jack only enjoys predplay if it remains play. It stops being fun if his partner is genuinely scared or in distress from the behavior. It’s the same with any kink really. A good dominant pays attention to the submissive’s comfort and needs, and he’ll be sure to satisfy all of his sunshine’s needs.

Although Jack has been shown in the test to prefer being a sadist, he’s not actually a fan of making his partner feel pain. Back when he was still alive, he could be more comfortable with various forms of mild sadism, such as spanking or hair pulling, but in the present, the idea of hurting his sunshine even in such minor ways is unthinkable. He would only be able to handle dealing out pain to his sunshine if that’s what they sincerely found pleasurable, since he would want to fulfill their needs. Of course, he would be checking in on how they’re doing a bit excessively to make sure that he never gets too tough.

Rather, the form of sadism that Jack enjoys is leaving marks on his partner’s body, particularly kiss and bite marks. It’s physical proof of his love on their skin that shows the world just how much he loves them. It’s not to the point of spilling blood or leaving a permanent scar, just leaving behind evidence of their lovemaking. It’s proof that they’re his. He’s the one who made those marks, and anyone who sees them will know his partner chose him and not them. He won’t bite unless his partner enjoys it of course. If they do, he’s going to get a taste of them and make sure it leaves a mark behind.

I mean look at this screencap. Jack really wants to be nibbling on his sunshine instead of his lip.

This is especially true in the present. Although Jack can’t stand the idea of hurting his sunshine, seeing Alice covered in hickies and bite marks makes him feel more real. He’s left irrefutable evidence of his existence on her skin, and he makes sure to adorn her in as many as she’ll allow, especially in places that she can’t easily cover up. It gives him a thrill to think that anyone who sees her would see those marks and realize that she doesn’t need them. She chose him. She’s his just as much as he’s hers. The world might not be able to see him (yet), but he’s proving that he’s real by showing the world that he’s claimed his sunshine.

Another way that Jack wants to mark his claim on his sunshine is with his cum love. Seeing his partner as a sweaty, overstimulated mess, adorned in a pearl necklace he made for them with a dripping cream pie between their legs just does it for him. He would love to make a mess of his sunshine and admire his handiwork afterwards.

This leads to Jack having a breeding kink. When he was alive, it was more mild than it is in the present. Although being a parent was a bit intimidating for him back then due to his toxic upbringing, he always hoped that he would find a loving partner and be a father someday. Granted, a breeding kink doesn’t necessarily have to lead to procreation, but simply the act of seeding his partner can be just as fun~

With the world being unable to see/hear/touch him, Jack feels more of an urge to leave his mark. Since Alice is the only one that he can interact with, that makes him want to leave his mark on her body in any way that she’ll allow. Getting her pregnant is the ultimate proof that he’s real, and even before she is ready to have kids with him, he’s fantasized about it countless times. In the past, he was thinking of siring or adopting one kid, maybe two, but in the present he wants more kids than that - as many as his sunshine will agree to. The thought of her pregnant, watching her tummy grow larger with his child drives him crazy in the best ways.

Jack is open to experimentation and trying new things, particularly at the request of his partner. He’ll do his best to accommodate his partner’s needs, whatever they might be, even if they’re not to his tastes… provided it doesn’t put them or their relationship at risk. More extreme kinks… he’ll be willing to give them a shot, but if they’re too dangerous or damaging, he’ll try to pump the brakes or at least talk about why his partner is interested in it so that they can reach a compromise that’s healthier for both of them.

As shown in the demo, Jack is very vocal in bed. He showers his partner with praise. He can talk dirty as well, though he could only swear while he was still alive. In the present, his dirty talk is mostly innuendo, as he can’t bring himself to swear anymore. Sunny Day Jack would never swear after all, it would be utterly unthinkable for a kids TV show character. If his partner wants him to degrade them by using specific insults and terms, he’ll indulge them as best as he’s able, but he’ll make sure to dish out extra praise and affection during aftercare so that he can remind them just how much they mean to him. He thinks the world of his sunshine, and he wouldn’t want to risk them actually believing that he really does think such horrible things about them.

Jack is the king of aftercare. If his partner needs anything, he’ll get it even if he’s tired. Need water or a snack? He’s on it. Need cuddles? Oh you bet he’s all over that. Need help getting cleaned up? Don’t worry, he’ll carry his partner to the bath and change the messy bedding for them. Sore? He’ll be sure to gently massage those tense muscles into submission.

Jack’s mouth isn’t just good with words. He has quite the talent for oral play. He loves using his mouth all over his partner’s body, particularly where they’re most sensitive, or where they need extra love. His favorite place to kiss, besides their lips, is their throat, as he can feel his partner’s moans vibrate against his lips, giving him that little bit of extra feedback that he’s doing a good job.

However, the sexiest part of the body for Jack is his partner’s stomach, though he loves every inch of his sunshine. A soft round tummy just does it for the guy, though all stomach shapes are lovely. He just loves having a partner who is soft and perfect for cuddling. He enjoys having a softer partner who he can protect, especially if they’re smaller than him. Caging his soft partner underneath him makes him feel secure, and he’ll keep them trapped in his arms all night long if they let him.

Jack’s favorite positions are ones where he’s facing his partner. He wants to see the expressions they make and kiss them as they make love. He favors the mating press in particular, as it allows him to penetrate his partner as deeply as possible and hit just the right spots to make them scream his name and see stars. He wants to be totally surrounded by his sunshine’s warmth and feel their love all around him.

Jack has a very high libido, so he wants to have sex as often as possible. He would want to do it every day, even multiple times a day if possible, masturbating and fantasizing about his sunshine if not. His stamina was just a bit higher than average when he was alive, but now that he’s a supernatural entity with powers, he can keep going with a very short refractory period. If his sunshine lets him, he could make love to them for hours. Of course, he’ll be considerate about the difference in their sex drives and energy levels.

Being an actor, Jack is excellent at roleplay. In fact, he might be able to get into the part too well at times. In the past, it was easier for him to get carried away with a role (which plays a part in why he’s Jack now instead of Joseph), but in the present, if he goes too far with it, that could lead to him mentally crashing back down when he realizes that he’s acting out of character for Sunny Day Jack. If he can justify Sunny Day Jack playing such a role, he doesn’t have to suffer such dissonance, so any roleplay in the present will have a bit of a primary colored tint to it.

Of course, the more relaxed Jack gets in his relationship with his sunshine, the easier it’ll be for him to slip out of character and be more himself. If these “out of character” moments never result in anything bad and his sunshine enjoys who he is when he’s at his most open and vulnerable… then maybe he’ll be able to be more comfortable acting more like himself instead of the character he wishes he was…

This is the goal for Sunshine in Hell. Although Jack is going to try his best to stay in character as Sunny Day Jack at the start, as he spends time with Alice and the two of them grow closer, he’s able to make himself more vulnerable to her, less guarded. He’s able to experiment more, indulge in the desires he has that Sunny Day Jack would never even think about. Eventually, he’ll be able to be someone who isn’t the character that he portrays, but someone comfortable in his own skin, with someone who loves him as the flawed man that he is and not as the perfect idol that he wishes he was.

I think we’ll wrap things up for Jack on that heartwarming note… especially since his entry has ballooned into 12 14 pages at this point, hahaha. I might have more thoughts in the future, but let’s show the other characters some love too, shall we?

Speaking of love, let’s talk about Jack’s sunshine, specifically my version of the MC for this erotic yandere romance game.

Alice

As I’ve mentioned before in other headcanon rambles, Alice is on the aro/ace spectrum. While she does experience horny thoughts/urges, she doesn’t actually desire someone romantically or sexually unless she’s known them for a while and has developed a bond with them. She can objectively see that someone is attractive and admire them, even feel flustered by the attention that they give to her, but these are platonic feelings. It’s only after she’s been friends with someone and opens up to them that she might develop romantic feelings for them. Even then that’s not always a guarantee. Sexual attraction then follows only after she’s made a deep romantic connection with that person, and only with that person. This would make her orientation demi-romantic, demi-sexual.

Because it takes such deep trust and closeness for Alice to fall in love with someone, when she falls in love, she falls hard… for better and for worse.

Alice is strictly monogamous. She can’t bear the idea of sharing her partner with another person, and she’ll do all she can to serve their needs to the best of her ability. She’s also fairly clingy with her partner, as her love language is primarily physical touch. She loves holding onto her partner as much as possible, playing with their hands or hair, caressing their face, nuzzling into their touch, and in general just cuddling up to them as much as they’ll allow. She can also get silly with her affection, licking or nibbling on her partner playfully if they allow her, and writing words or symbols on their skin with her finger.

Of course, Alice is careful to be gentle when nipping her partner since she has slightly larger fangs than the average person. If she bit down hard, she could draw blood with those fangs… if her partner is into that and convinces her that they really want her to do some damage of course.

Alice is only comfortable with physical touch with someone if she trusts them and has a positive connection with them. If she doesn’t have some level of trust, being touched puts her on edge, even if it’s something as casual as a pat on the back.

The part of her partner’s body that Alice finds most attractive is their chest. Big, small, flat, soft… they’re all beautiful, and she loves to bury her face into her partner’s chest and listen to their heartbeat as often as she can, feeling them breathe as she holds them close. She also enjoys hands, snuggling into them, touching them, lacing their fingers together. It makes her feel so wanted to feel her partner’s hands reaching out to hold her.

Although Alice tends to favor being more submissive in the bedroom, she’s a service bottom, wanting to make sure her partner feels good. She’s not content to be a pillow princess, just lying there and letting things happen to her. She wants to do whatever she can to make her partner feel satisfied and happy… even if that means doing things that she isn’t exactly comfortable with.

Alice struggles to reject anything that her partner suggests, even if it makes her uncomfortable. She wants so badly to be a good partner who is worthy of the person she loves, since she has self-confidence issues. A lifetime of fat shaming from many sources, including society at large, has made her hate how her body looks, and she feels ugly. This is something she struggles with and though she has been called beautiful, she can’t bring herself to really believe it when the majority of people have called her ugly. It didn’t help that she was treated as a weirdo by her peers and isolated or ignored. This has led to Alice feeling a need to “make up” for how “unattractive” she is with acts of service for her partner in the bedroom.

This has led to unfortunate incidents in her sex life. Alice pushed herself to have sex before she was ready, with a partner who didn’t know what he was doing. It was clumsy, even painful, and though she tried not to think about it, she was reminded of the SA she experienced as a teenager. This was not anyone’s fault, but ignoring the warning signs of a trauma trigger can be pretty devastating.

Needless to say, Alice and Ian’s first time was… rough, and full of apologies from both of them, along with a lot of guilt. I touched on how difficult their sex life was in previous posts before, such as this one. Sadly, their sex life played a part in why their relationship turned sour.

Sex with Ian was mostly Alice servicing him with handjobs and blowjobs, with penetrative sex coming infrequently. Unfortunately, Alice didn’t really enjoy the penetrative sex, as Ian tended to go too rough with her, and they both had the misconception that pain was always involved at the start of penetration for the person being penetrated (if not for the whole experience.) Sadly, by this point in their relationship, Alice was having a hard time voicing any complaints that might make Ian feel bad or like he was wrong in some way. She mistakenly believed that she was the problem for not really enjoying or getting off on the experience. After all, there was pleasure along with the pain, and penetrative sex was what all sex led up to, right? Was it even sex without it?

Penetrative sex is so glorified in media, that Alice believes sex is incomplete without it, as if she’s denying that full connection of love with her partner if she doesn’t do it. It might be painful, but she wants that deep connection with the person she loves. Plus, Ian would always be so eager and excited for it. She found him just so cute, and it made her feel good that he desired her so much that he couldn’t hold back. It might have been painful, but it was worth it to be the only person in the world who could drive him so crazy with desire. It was so nice of him to think of her when he wanted to try out a new technique that he was sure would make her feel good, since, ho boy, did the lady in the porn ecchi enjoy it!

Unfortunately, Alice learned over time being with Ian that getting sex techniques from porn really isn’t a good point of reference. That’s why she eventually started reading articles giving advice on sex-friendly websites to get a better sense about real sex, rather than the fictionalized version depicted in porn.

But, hey, at least Ian was happy. Alice took joy in his happiness and satisfaction, and enjoyed the cuddling they did in the afterglow the most. Cuddling, kisses, listening to his satisfied sighs, and hearing how much he loved her were what she enjoyed the most about their lovemaking.

Of course, Alice found that same satisfaction with just cuddling and a nice make out session without sex involved.

Sadly, like a lot of people with little experience, Alice is under the mistaken assumption that penetration hurts at first, but soon goes away. This is an exceedingly common trope in hentai/ecchi where the bottom, regardless of gender, always feels pain at the start of being penetrated but then pleasure makes the pain disappear at some point. It’s treated as expected in this form of media, something unavoidable that must be tolerated for the sake of enjoying sex. Heck, for some people, pain during penetration is a feature of sex, not a bug.

This is why when Alice and Jack eventually have penetrative sex, the fact that it doesn’t hurt even a little bit catches her off-guard. Not that she’ll complain, obviously. This results in making her more enthusiastic about that form of sex than she ever thought that she could be.

Alice does not enjoy pain, at all. It’s not sexy to her to be spanked, choked, insulted, or to be otherwise made uncomfortable and used. She’ll try out something that she might dislike for the sake of her partner’s kinks, and she’ll tolerate things that are painful if her partner feels good, but that doesn’t mean she’ll necessarily get much enjoyment out of the experience.

Inflicting pain or insults on her partner is something that Alice doesn’t care for either. She’s too empathetic, and the idea of doing harm to her partner, whether verbal or physical, even if they take pleasure in it, makes her feel exceedingly anxious. She prefers being gentle, sweet-talking her partner and cuddling with them.

The most Alice would want to do is playful teasing and leaving kiss marks along with gentle love bites. She could be convinced to bite harder, scratch, or spank if her partner was really into that, but she’s far too much of a marshmallow to handle any sort of hard sadism or masochism. Soft, cuddly, vanilla lovemaking full of sweet words and praise is what makes her feel happiest.

Praise is Alice’s biggest weakness. Whether it’s platonic, romantic, or sexual, she gets easily overwhelmed when she’s praised. She loves it, but struggles to accept it due to her low self-esteem. It makes her happy to know she’s doing a good job, and it encourages her to do more when it comes to pleasuring her partner.

Getting positive attention, compliments, gifts, and in general being treated special is something Alice struggles with, even with her partner. It takes her a while to really believe it. Ian actually did a world of good for her self-confidence… before he completely destroyed it when he cheated on her, making it worse than it ever was. Jack has his work cut out for him.

Alice masturbates often, but as a stress relief more than anything else. It’s less about being horny or desiring someone else and more about self-care. An orgasm can be very relaxing after a stressful day. She bought toys to help her do this more efficiently, only rarely taking time out to enjoy masturbation as anything more than a quick stress release. Of course, she finds it more fun to play with toys when she’s sharing them with her partner.

After making the connection to Jack, Alice finds her libido increasing because she is picking up on his horny feelings. It leads to many confusing moments where she wonders why she’s feeling horny out of nowhere far more often than she normally did before, and she does make the connection between those feelings and Jack… but attributes it to him just being that attractive in every sense of the word, which only further confuses her feelings towards him in the beginning.

Once Alice and Jack start having sex, her libido increases substantially due to this connection and how much she enjoys the experience. He’s so attentive to her needs and is so eager to praise her when he pleases her or she pleases him that it’s hard not to get addicted to their lovemaking sessions. While she and Ian would have sex once or twice a week on average, usually to satisfy his desires and not hers, she winds up enthusiastically wanting to have sex with Jack almost daily once they finally reach that point in their relationship.

Being restrained is a complicated kink for Alice. She’s never considered herself one for bondage, and, if anything, she doesn’t think that she’ll like it. Her SA trauma has to do with being restrained against her will, so if she feels trapped during sex, it can cause her to panic. Ian has accidentally triggered this trauma in the past.

Being held down or confined by her partner isn’t so much the issue in and of itself. Alice enjoys the security of being completely engulfed in her partner’s arms, safe and secure. There are times when she would seek it out, loving the feeling of her partner lying on top of her like a weighted blanket. It’s when they won’t let her go even when she indicates she wants them to that the discomfort immediately sets in. Although she tries to power through the feeling and remind herself that she trusts her partner and that they won’t hurt her like the people who committed SA against her, and they care about her… trauma is not always that easy to reason through.

This can be a bit of an issue when you have a partner who has a tendency to lose control of his urges and refuses to let you go or come up for air until he’s satisfied.

Needless to say, this led to moments full of guilt and apologies from both sides between Ian and Alice. This, as you might expect, was one of the big contributors to why they didn’t have sex all that often.

Restraining her partner… now that’s something Alice would be surprised to find that she enjoys. Having her partner tied up and helpless as she lovingly pays attention to their body, maybe even blindfolded so they don’t know where she’s going to touch or kiss next would be exciting.

I think I just had an idea for another short fic to write sometime. Better make a note of this for later.

Ahem, moving on… Alice isn’t one for exhibitionism. She’s a very private person overall, and with her self-esteem issues, she would rather have anything more physical than a kiss or hug be kept private. She doesn’t want to have to think or worry about other people when intimate with her partner, preferring to just focus on her beloved and the intimate moment that they’re sharing. Since she can only get sexual with someone she trusts deeply, she doesn’t want to involve other people, even as an audience.

Sadly, Jack isn’t going to be able to indulge in his exhibitionism kink to the fullest with Alice because of this. Though having sex in risky places where they could get caught is a fair compromise that she winds up enjoying way more than she ever thought she would. She wouldn’t enjoy getting caught though, and it would take a lot of coaxing to get her to try again if that happened, but fortunately Jack is a very sneaky ghost(?) who knows a few tricks to make sure that no one will interrupt when he’s showing love to his sunshine.

Alice’s favorite position is missionary. She loves being held by her partner and looking into their eyes, seeing the love they have for her and how good they’re feeling. She loves the feeling of their body on top of hers like a warm weighted blanket. She loves watching them bite their lip and strain themselves to hold on, or roll their eyes up towards the ceiling from pleasure. Watching her partner’s face and knowing that she’s the one making them feel good makes her feel good in turn. She loves it when they look at her with love and desire, like she’s the only person in the world they could ever feel this way towards.

Face to face positions in general are the ones Alice prefers, though she gets anxious about any position that puts her on top. She’s chubby, and she worries about her weight being too much for her partner. For example, if they tell her to sit on their face and that they want to be crushed by her thighs, she’ll be very skeptical that it’ll end well. It’s something that would take a lot of gentle coaxing to get her to try it, and reassurance that they enjoyed doing it afterwards.

Although Alice’s worries limits her in the amount of positions she’s interested in trying, she’s actually capable of doing a lot of them. Despite being chubby, she’s very flexible, able to do vertical splits and put her ankle around her head, to name a few. This makes yoga the ideal way for her to keep in shape. She isn’t confident enough to work out at a gym, but she doesn’t mind stretching with friends or a partner. She takes pride in her flexibility and her excellent sense of balance, not yet thinking about how this ability could be used to great effect in the bedroom.

Needless to say, those attracted to Alice can be treated to quite a show when watching her do yoga. Jack especially is eager to encourage her to exercise often and is only too happy to help her get into the harder poses. He looks up just how to do them so he knows where he can put his hands just right to help her. Before they’re lovers, it’s always so tempting for him to just “slip” and touch her someplace a bit naughtier... but he respects her consent and boundaries. He won’t touch her someplace unless she wants him to, no matter how badly he wants to put his hands and mouth on every inch of her body.

Naturally, once they become lovers, yoga sessions get a bit spicy. Alice has to wonder if Jack is really eager for her to work out to help her stay fit or if he just wants to experiment with positions. Still, it’s a very pleasurable incentive that encourages her to work out more often. It also encourages her to intentionally tease him with her stretches once she grows more confident in their physical intimacy, going into a playful back and forth that she knows is going to end up with him eventually snapping from the tension, stripping of her workout clothes and taking her against the yoga mat.

Teasing her partner and encouraging them to lose control is something Alice can appreciate. It was a bit risky when it came to Ian since when he lost control it could be painful or even suffocating, so she always had to be cautious about how far to push and be prepared for fallout. With Jack though, he’s always so mindful of her comfort no matter how wild she drives him. That allows her to just cut loose and tease him to her heart’s content, knowing that he’ll never hurt her and it’s only going to feel good.

Driving her lover into losing control over their desire makes Alice feel sexy, beautiful. She wants the person she loves and desires to need her so badly that they can’t think of anyone else. She wants to be irreplaceable. She thought that she found that with Ian, so it was worth the pain, but his cheating proved that she was mistaken. Fortunately, Jack will be all too happy to make sure she knows how special she is and how there’s no one else in the world he could ever want, need, or love more than her.

In general, Alice is very vanilla when it comes to her kinks. She favors the emotional connection between her and her partner, the love and trust they share. That’s why she can only have sex with someone if she feels like she can fully trust that person. After Ian cheated, she couldn’t have sex with him again even when he wanted it, which strained their attempts to repair their relationship and helped her realize that things had gotten too toxic between them to try and go back to the way they were.

Overall, Alice is a very uncertain lover when it comes to her own pleasure or anything that might bring discomfort to her partner. She has an easier time focusing on their pleasure and getting enjoyment out of making them feel good. It’s easy for her to forget about herself in favor of her partner’s pleasure even if she’s uncomfortable, which is why she responds better to a partner who makes sure to stay mindful of her needs during the activities rather than get distracted by their own pleasure.

Speaking of a partner who gets carried away by his own pleasure…

Ian

Ian is someone who was very sheltered by his very strict religious upbringing. In his house, sexual desires were seen as shameful. Even masturbating was treated as a sin. Though he tried not to give in to his urges, he succumbed to his desires more often than not, and it made him feel weird. He loved the pleasure he felt from masturbating and the relief it gave him, but he “knew” that he was being “sinful” by doing so, which would leave him filled with shame and guilt afterwards. This would lead to a lot of repression when it comes to his sexuality. It didn’t help that his peers treated him like a weirdo and made fun of his looks/behavior/tastes, isolating him further.

Because of his upbringing, Ian always had a clear picture of what he was supposed to do to have a successful future. He needed to find one person, get married, have kids, and have a lucrative career. His mother pushed him towards a straight relationship in particular - at least when she wasn’t crushing his spirit that finding a partner was impossible for him at all - but he couldn’t help but find guys and non-binary people attractive as well. He has a lot of crushes, both fictional and not, and he has a secret stash of various media full of many waifus, husbandos, and spousus.

Alice was one such person that Ian crushed on, but with her it was far more serious than anyone else. His feelings for his first and only childhood friend were deeper than surface level. They knew each other better than anyone. She was always there for him, supporting him, and making him feel like he wasn’t such a weirdo after all. Her being a girl had nothing to do with how hard he fell for her, though it did make him feel a little less anxious about his mom finding out about their relationship than he would have if his partner wasn’t a girl.

Ian is someone in heavy denial about his desires due to his upbringing. It’s “sinful” to lust after other people, particularly outside of a straight context according to his mother and the scriptures. It’s “sinful” to have lustful thoughts outside of marriage. Heck, even in the confines of marriage, sex is meant only for the sake of procreation. It made him feel weird about desiring people, so he convinced himself that he simply… didn’t. He went into deep denial, telling himself that people were weird, and since he didn’t know them these feelings weren’t something to think about at all. It was easier that way.

Ian knew Alice though, so she became the exception to this taboo he had been taught all his life when she became his partner. For him, it was okay to lust after his partner… at least as much as it could be with anyone. Though his mother insisted lust, even towards his partner, was only selfishly satisfying his manhood in a sinful way, society often said otherwise. Media and their peers made it seem so normal to have sexual urges and want to explore them. Even Alice insisted his feelings were normal and nothing to be ashamed about. He learned more and more about what was normal once he was out from under his mother’s influence and interacted with other people.

While Ian did learn to accept and even embrace the fact that he’s pansexual/panromantic, it’s not so easy to shake the shame related to his sexuality or sex in general thanks to his mother’s toxic influence.

At his house with his mother, even the internet was restricted. Ian didn’t get access to porn until he moved out to college, and even then, that made him feel awkward. He didn’t know how to handle these weird feelings towards strangers, since he was taught that they were sinful and risked damning him to hell. Lusting after fictional characters seemed okay though. That was just a fantasy, playing pretend. Even his mother had romance books that got pretty smutty, though she wailed into him the one time she caught him going through her stash.

This was what led to Ian having a lot of fictional crushes, anime figures, and, of course, ecchi. While the local library didn’t have straight up porn or hentai, it did have more risque manga stories in the form of ecchi, which is why he insists so hard that it’s not porn. The library would never have anything like porn, so it’s not sinful! This means it’s okay that he has a collection of it. He’s not a sinful pervert!

Ecchi has a tendency to really push the boundaries of what can be constituted as porn though, and Ian absorbed all of the sex in those pages like a sponge. The people in the book always looked to be having fun. Sex was something wild and passionate. The people lost control of their desires and enjoyed themselves in a way that he was always denied. Sex was this all-encompassing force of nature in so many stories, not just in ecchi. He was fascinated by it even as he was afraid of those feelings.

Because of this repression, Ian saw himself in these characters who lost themselves in moments of passion as they claimed their lover. This raw animalistic lust was exciting and really resonated with him. Once he started pleasuring himself and forgot about the guilt of his desires, he would lose control in a similar way. He would keep going until he was satisfied, completely losing himself in the experience… only to be hit with guilt once he came down from the high.

With Alice, Ian had an outlet for his sexual desires. She helped him see that these desires weren’t sinful, and she was eager to help him feel good. She made him feel wanted, beautiful, and sexy. With her help, like many things in his life, he gained more confidence in his sexual urges. He explored his sexuality more, both in fiction and with her, though he was far more hesitant and awkward with the latter.

What didn’t help was the mistakes Ian would make… but, in a way, he was used to making mistakes. He was always making mistakes, always blamed by his mother for just about every reason under the sun even if he didn’t actually do anything. All perceived problems were his fault and so he must apologize. Constantly.

Alice supported Ian when he felt sinful, filthy, and sad. She forgave him for his mistakes and even told him he didn’t have to apologize so much. She loved him and he loved her in return for how strong and supportive she was to him.

Ian would try to make amends for his mistakes with apologies, cuddling, and especially with gifts. His primary love language is gift giving, and thanks to the trust fund his absent dad left him, he could give gifts to those he cared about often. He gives friends and especially his partner presents. He even gives his mother presents to let her know that he still loves her despite everything and that he just wants them to actually have a good relationship… however futile that gesture might be.

Although Ian struggles to be vocal about what he wants when it comes to sex and romance, he can be pretty romantic at times… even if he’s got dirty thoughts in mind to go along with it. He knows how romantic a candle lit bedroom with a bed covered in rose petals while sexy jazz plays in the background really sets the mood. Too bad it didn’t actually work out the first time he tried it.

Sadly, Ian was hoping that if he set the mood just right, he and Alice could finally go all the way and lose their virginity to each other. Too bad the mood died a painful death when Shaun walked in instead, and it was a while before Ian got the guts to try that again… at least while Alice was still rooming with Shaun. Initiating sex with her was much easier after they moved into their own place.

I’ve gone over the reasons why I think Ian cheated in previous posts, here, here, here, and here in detail, so I won’t rehash it too deeply this post.

To sum it up - Ian was on his own for the first time in his life when he moved to the performing arts school, without anyone to support him, particularly his partner. He had grown conventionally attractive as he aged, and he was surrounded by peers who shared his interests, which gave him a taste of popularity for the first time. He was given all sorts of new and exciting experiences, meeting all sorts of people who he found attractive. He grew closer to new people, and without his partner around he grew lonely… which led him to giving in to his desires in the worst way possible.

The experience was exciting. The forbidden nature of it actually made the act more enticing due to how repressed Ian was because of his background. It was all “sinful” after all…

Like a lot of people who grew up heavily repressed by religion, Ian finds arousal in things deemed forbidden and sinful. Despite being bullied as a kid, being degraded sexually is something that turns him on. Though he protests about being teased, he enjoys it, even to the point that being called a beast or a sinful slut makes him feel aroused, though he finds such feelings confusing. He likes being commanded and punished by his partner, completely at their mercy and begging them for more.

While this would suggest Ian is a submissive, he’s actually a switch vers. It doesn’t matter who’s doing the penetrating as long as it feels good. Taking control of his partner and rutting into their holes like an animal feels just as good as being taken. He just needs to learn how to better control his urges so he can pay attention to his partner’s needs and comfort to improve taking the dominant role.

Ian is the type of person who gets lost in the pleasure of sex. Once he gets to a certain point, he starts losing his inhibitions, getting more vocal and needy. He’ll praise his partner and beg for more even when he’s the one dominating, growing increasingly needier as the pleasure grows more intense.

The part of the body Ian finds most attractive is the ass. More than once he’s had thoughts of slapping or squeezing his partner’s ass, but was too shy to give into the urge except when actively engaging in sex. Because of this, his favorite position is doggy style, as we can see in this very NSFW picture by Sauce. He loves the way his partner’s ass bounces with each thrust, and he’ll add to the jiggle with the occasional slap once he loses himself in the moment. As he grows more confident in his desires and represses himself less, he’ll consciously want to explore the kink of spanking.

Bondage, both giving and receiving, is something that Ian would want to try, along with some other kinks, but he doesn’t have the courage to initiate it at this time. In general, he struggles to initiate anything related to sex, as that ties into the guilt and shame that was hammered into his upbringing. However, it’s fairly easy for him to get aroused, which would serve as an unintentional way to initiate sex more often than not.

Being an actor, Ian would thrive with roleplay in the bedroom. It would help him pretend to be someone else, someone more confident and lustful. It could help him lose himself in the moment rather than get caught up in his own doubts and insecurities.

Ian struggles with accepting his own sexual desires, which makes it harder for him to communicate with his partner about his needs. This leads to him taking cues from ecchi on what to do, not checking in with his partner like he should, and getting lost in the moment, letting the urges take him where he wants to go. Once he accepts himself as a sexual being and that it’s healthy to feel these desires, his communication difficulties with his partner should improve.

Having a partner who takes the lead is probably ideal for Ian. Being told what to do is something he’s used to, and he feels more confident with guidance. He worries about making mistakes, but if he’s guided through the scene by his partner, he has less reason to worry. In a way, being so good at taking direction is why he makes an excellent actor.

Speaking of direction, how about we switch over to the next love interest on the list?

Shaun

Shaun has a bit of a wild side when it comes to sex. He loves kitten play, both being the kitten and being the master of a sweet sexy kitten. He’ll put his partner in cat ears, a tail with a butt plug, and a collar with a leash if they let him, and he��ll be open to doing the same in return.

Biting and scratching is another one of his kinks, with some minor sadism and masochism. Spanking, bondage, blindfolds… Shaun is eager to explore unconventional means of having sex.

Shaun’s favorite part of the body is thighs. He’ll happily die suffocated by his partner’s thighs. Lying down with his head in his partner’s lap will make him purr. He’ll wear their thighs as earmuffs and bend them back as he pleases, paying extra attention kissing, licking, biting, and raking his fingernails across them.

Then, of course, there’s thigh-high fishnet stockings. Wear a pair of these, especially when accented with a garter belt, and Shaun turns into a puddle of horny goo, especially if they’re worn by his partner/crush, as shown in this steamy picture by Sauce.

To be fair, this is a very spicy sight. Shaun is a man of taste.

Overall, Shaun is a dominant vers, but he’s willing to submit and be a good kitty… eventually. Cats do what they want after all, and it’s going to take a little more than some ear scritches to get this cat daddy to submit to his partner, which is part of the fun.

Speaking of which, Shaun has a daddy kink. If his partner can be a good little kitten and let daddy pet and play with them as he pleases, he’ll be a very happy cat daddy.

While Shaun leans towards monogamy, he’s actually open to joining a poly relationship if the right people came along. He actually considered what it might be like to enter a relationship with both Alice and Ian, but he found that his vibes just didn’t mesh with Ian at all, and not just because Ian’s taste in anime is trash. He just never felt attracted to Ian like he did with Alice, and they never really connected like he did with her.

Shaun got a crush on Alice while they were taking the same class in college. He met her well before he ever knew Ian. They sat next to each other in class and wound up chatting often. They had stuff in common like horror movies, enjoying goth aesthetic, and being silly goobers who joke around with their friends. They’re also the mom/dad friend types taking care of their friend group. She was just so kind and sweet that he couldn’t help but fall hard for her.

It’s a shame that when Shaun finally gathered up the courage to ask Alice out, she casually mentioned that she was meeting with her boyfriend, breaking the poor guy’s heart.

Poor Shaun. Alice had no idea that he was asking her out on a lunch date instead of just going to grab a bite as friends. She missed all the signals he sent her way.

After that, Shaun tried hard not to think about his crush on Alice. He tried to just be there for her as a friend and move on from his romantic feelings, if only for the sake of their friendship. It was just hard when they had so much in common and had such good chemistry… and he couldn’t help but notice some troubling red flags in her relationship with Ian.

It never really seemed to be the right time for Shaun to try to get together with Alice. First it was because she was already in a relationship. Then she had been cheated on and needed a friend rather than someone who would take advantage of her in her most vulnerable moment. She was still in love with Ian even after the breakup, and wasn’t receptive to anyone else romantically for a long time.

Throughout knowing Alice, Shaun has dated other people. He’s had other crushes and tried to get into relationships, some more serious than others, but none have really worked out so far. He has yet to find someone who clicks with him the way that she does. Hopefully one day that might change. He had hoped that when he went off to another college that the distance would allow him to let go of his romantic feelings.

Sadly, a part of Shaun still couldn’t shake the small hope that maybe someday the stars would align and things could work out between them. Coming back to see Alice again just made all the feelings he thought he got over come rushing back… only for his heart to be crushed again when he finds out that once again she has a boyfriend who isn’t him…

Poor Shaun has it rough. I feel so bad for him. This is why I struggle with writing love triangles, hahaha. Still, I’m going with the headcanon that he does find love with someone eventually, someone who he is glad finally came into his life who he just can’t live without. I don’t have a specific character in mind for that role just yet, but I do have a few possibilities that I’m playing around with…

With that said, let’s move on to the fourth and final love interest.

Nick

I’m still indecisive on Nick’s view on love at this point, beyond his crush on the cute cashier at the circus-themed frozen yogurt shop. I’m tempted to have him be a stalker yandere like I talked about in an earlier theory about all the love interests being yandere, but also I’m tempted to go with the angle of him being a sex worker who just wants someone to love him for himself and not simply see him for what he does online.

I’ll probably get a better idea of which direction I want to go with Nick eventually. After all, the audio drama for him on patreon did influence some of my headcanons for him.

Maybe I’ll go with a combination of the two extremes. It would be hilarious that a yandere stalker dom finds himself tongue-tied in front of his crush despite working as an online influencer, rather than it just being a shy mask to get the object of his affection to lower their guard. Hmm…

Regardless of which direction I choose, Nick flirting with Alice at her job didn’t earn him any favors when it came to winning her heart. If anything it made her more on guard around him and lessened his chances of getting closer with her. It’s nothing personal against him, but being hit on while she’s at work makes her feel like she’s trapped, since she can’t leave, and she has no choice but to be polite to customers no matter what happens.

While I don’t have too many love-based headcanons really solidified in my head yet when it comes to Nick, I do see his primary love language as quality time. He’ll make time for those who he cares for, no matter how packed his schedule is, and he appreciates the same from them in return.

Since we’re shy on the romantic headcanons for Nick, let’s just go right to the spice. As we see in his profile, he’s an influencer by day and a dom by night. The audio drama shows him with a very dominating and flirty personality, at least when it comes to his audience. He runs an online streaming show where he talks sweet and dirty to his viewers live on camera. He also takes requests, which vary on the donation tiers. Those requests usually involve dirty talk, exposing himself, using toys on his body, and such. He has quite a lot of subscribers on lonelyfans, and most popular are his private one-on-one shows with a special lucky viewer on rare occasions.

Nick is big into exhibitionism. He shows off his body without shame and enjoys the attention he gets from his audience. He absolutely loves to talk dirty and see how it affects people. He’s good at painting a picture in his audience’s heads with a lewd description, and he gets off on the idea that he’s driving so many of his viewers crazy with lust.

While Nick does want someone to love him as a person, he also wants to be an object of desire for many people. He enjoys his job as a sex worker and the attention he gets online as a sexy dom with his lonelyfans account. Even if he was in a relationship, he would still do his lewd performances before the camera… and maybe he’ll have a special guest star or two on his show if he’s lucky. He would love to convince his romantic partner to join him on camera and dominate them before his large audience, maybe even take the viewers’ requests to decide what he’ll do to his partner next.

Although Nick is looking to join a relationship with just one person, he’s not against the idea of entering a poly relationship, or even participating in an orgy. After all, the more the merrier, right?

Just like on his live shows, Nick is a dominant in bed. He might be shy in casual settings, but he takes control of the scene when with a partner. He’s the one setting the pace, wanting to make his partner beg him and say what exactly they want. He experiments with the kinkier side of BDSM too, such as bondage, candles, and all sorts of toys that can leave a mark on skin and make his partner scream for him.

Nick is very experienced as a dom. He knows how to practice proper BDSM safety and take care of his partner(s) afterward. He can be soft during aftercare, and he knows the benefits of cuddle time. After all, he has a couple fur babies to take care of, and Pico and Cheese make excellent cuddle companions.

I think I’ll finish up Nick’s headcanons with this final spicy tidbit. As we’ve seen in teaser art, Nick has tongue and nipple piercings. I also headcanon that he has a jacob’s ladder piercing. I won’t describe what that is here, but if you know, you know.

I’ve heard that there are people who enjoy the feeling of piercings on sensitive areas, and Nick is one of them.

Conclusion

That’s about all that I can think of at the moment when it comes to my general love/sex headcanons for the main cast. I hope you all enjoyed my thoughts about what turn these five on and what they look for when it comes to relationships.

Though I suspect that when the full release of the game comes out, we’re going to discover that the male leads are probably going to be a lot kinkier than a vanilla aro/ace like me can headcanon up. Just a hunch. ;)

If you are hungry for more smut involving these characters, then you might be interested in checking out Sunshine in Hell or Sunshine in Another World. Those stories are rated as explicit for a reason, and there’s only going to have more scenes of smut to come. I’ve got plenty of rough drafts in the writing tag that I need to finish polishing and post on AO3 after all.

If you like my stories and ideas, please let me know what you think! I absolutely adore all kinds of feedback. It really helps fuel my creativity. Thank you for reading and I hope that you enjoyed reading this huge collection of sugar and spice!

EDIT: Holy crap the timing. I finished this list at the same time as a new incredibly spicy audio drama for Jack dropped on patreon. Join the $5 tier if you want to give it a listen. It’s so, so good and well worth it.

It did disprove that Jack is incapable or cursing or that he would call his sunshine a slut unprompted... but I’m going to stick with that headcanon for the Sunshine in Hell telling of the story anyway. Though eventually he will be able to get pretty spicy with his language the more he loosens up.

The drama also reminded me of a couple things that I left out. I’ve added a few more headcanons to Jack and Alice’s entries since the initial post, and it’s possible I might go back and add even more if more ideas hit me, hahaha. Sorry for any inconvenience.

#Sunny Day Jack #Something's Wrong With Sunny Day Jack #SunnyDayJack #sdj #swwsdj #Headcanon Ramblings #Sauce-y Art

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soft-persephone · 8 months ago

Text

Strange Kind of Feeling: (The Spell You Put me Under)

Grey McConnell x Black!Fem!Reader

I write with black women in mind, but all women are still welcome!

M // MDNI // WC: 5k // WA: mention of SA in conversation, but nothing graphic and no details. Biting during sex. Teasing. Dirty talk. Nipple play?// AN: I know nothing about Portland. Please don’t come for me // masterlist // summery:

Your friend tricks you into going to this bar for a mess you have nothing to do with, but a certain bartender has your attention, and you can’t find it in you to stop staring at him.

“Why do we need to be here?” You raised an eyebrow.

The Bad Alibi didn’t look like every other bar in Portland. It was rustic, full of metal, it was clean, but there could still be a thin layer of soot. Who knows?

Maybe it was just the vibe that made it feel that way, or there really was a thin layer of the stuff everywhere.

There were still homemade IPAs and all of those goodies in abundance, but you could tell whisky reigns supreme in this place.

One look at the bartender alone affirmed that belief.

A well taken care of and equally well worn red flannel was rolled up at the sleeves, he was thick and stocky, but it was accompanied by a sensible height, a lovely head of hair you wanted to run your fingers through, and a beard you were dying to touch.

He looked up with a quick smile and a wave before his face fell into a more neutral expression. You just as quickly averted your gaze back to your friend.

Fuck.

You hoped he wouldn’t notice you staring.

“I met this girl, and she was talking about you, so now we need to be here and talk to her.”

You did not like the forced casual straightforward tone or the vagueness in everything Luna was saying to you. Nothing about Luna was straightforward and to the point.. or weirdly and dangerously vague.

“A girl you just met was talking about me?” You looked down at her, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes.” Your friend averted her gaze before looking back up at you apologetically.

“And you think that’s just some type of coincidence?”

Luna fiddled with her fingers.

“Would you have come here if I told you?”

“From the way you are asking me that, no.”

“It’s about Dillon.” She said flatly, furring her brow in an effort to stand up to your bereavement at her.

“Dillon?!” You laughed dryly at that.

“Dillon Tryson,” a voice interrupted, making a beeline into your eye of vision and slamming a folder on a table in front of you, “you know him?”

“Unfortunately,” you sighed, taking a seat, “however I don’t see what this has to do with me.”

Two long excruciating hours later, and you both finally reached a conclusion she was happy with.

Dillon was an old client of yours at a PR firm. You were representing him until he committed the ultimate fuck up of character and career assassination of sexually assaulting someone.

Per protocol, you did one final statement and you guys fucking dropped him. A PR firm is only as good as its results, and this guy was a fucking failure.

She was looking for him.

You give her what you could, but for some reason she thinks you're lying, and you are running out of ways to prove how you, obviously, are not lying to her.

“He was a client of yours? How are you not protecting him through this? Your firm is clearly in on what he did with this poor young girl. There is no way you guys can just wash your hands of this!”

You were trying to take this moment seriously. You really were, but your eyes kept meeting the bartenders. You wanted to observe him in his natural habitat, and he was trying to figure out the commotion going on at your table.

You found your eyes at his arms again which soon led you to the new discovery of his hands. God, his hands., massive things they were. Your eyes trailed the path of veins on his arms to his hands. You admired the dexterous arches of his fingers as he maneuvered glasses of drinks and bottles of beers. How he’d towel freshly washed ones before putting them away.

Thoughts of how they would feel soon plagued your mind. Were they soft? Were they rough? Would he caress your skin gently or knead your flesh roughly in an effort to amass your inevitable destruction, pushing you to a point of no return until you beg him to stop. Breaking your skin and pulling at flesh, molding himself to you with such harsh thrust you feel the shadow of his body in you for the rest of the week. Until that deep seated ache becomes a memory.

Would he tease you with those hands or would he worship you?

You needed to stop thinking about him before you were too far gone, but you couldn’t fight the new desire to study his face just as intently. You Just need to watch him a little bit longer. Then you would stop, and move on with your life. You slowly eyed up his torso, savoring the last glance before you pinched yourself back into reality, back into the conversation you were having.

When you reached his face, you were met with a heady gaze.

You sucked in a sharp breath.

Dark pools of brown were staring into you. You couldn’t prove it, but you could feel his eyes boring into you, exposing you for what you are, what you were doing. His jaw pulled taught as he silently studied you from afar. He didn’t smirk, he didn't gloat laugh. . . He just stared into you.

A hand snapped its fingers into your face.

“Hey! Are you listening?” Dex seethed at her. “Do you not take this seriously?”

“I do, I do!” You raised your hands in defense before licking your lips and ripping your eyes away from his heated stare to face the woman in front of you.

She narrowed her eyes at you, turning around in her seat to see what could possibly be holding your attention.

She berated you with more questions even opting to go back to the beginning, asking you questions she already knew the answer to.

You cant take her questions, you cant take the gaze of this man you had never met before, the atmosphere of the room itself was starting to close in on you.

“Calm the fuck down!” you hissed. “ You wanted to scream, but the result of having even more eyes on you was a nightmare. You just needed the yelling to stop before it got worse. “Here is the key to my office and the password to my computer as well as my work phone, “you threw it on the table along with the napkin you just wrote on. “Have a blast.”

“Well.” Dex stood up, pursing her lips. Her expression unreadable to you. Her regards of ambivalent contemptment for you was now replaced with judging disdain. “You're staying here until I can prove your involvement –

“ – or lack of involvement.” you interrupted.

‘We’ll see about that.” She scoffed before turning to your friend Luna, “You're coming with me.”

Before walking out the door, your friend slyly turned around without the other women noticing and gave you a smile of complete glee.’

You mouthed an, ‘you owe me’ and she gave you a thumbs up.

You stood awkwardly for a moment. The bar was less than quiet, people were petering out one by one, save for a few lonely souls left at the main bar, quiet and long gone.

Avoiding his eyeline, you made your way over and took a seat at one of the barstools.

“What do you like?” his voice flooded your senses. It was low and gravely, but with a hint of teasing that didn’t match the heaviness of his gaze. As much as the butterflies in your stomach were fluttering in a storm of fury within you. The titlewave of his presence was worth focussing on instead, your nerves be damned. You bit your lip and braved to make eye contact with him once more.

“Aside from the staring?” half of his mouth turned up into a smile before falling back into its neutral more intense state.

“Whisky.” You lkcked your lips before settling into your seat and finding a comfortable position to place your hands.

He grabbed two glasses before reaching high above several shelves to a tiny dark cabinet before pulling out a very complicated wooden box to reveal a small fat but decadent glass bottle, barely dented.

“Whisky.” He deftly poured a generous amount into each glasses.

You licked your lips nervously before nodding to him in thanks. He stared into your eyes and smiled, but you felt no mirth from his gaze, “my treat.” He leaned closer to you, the natural musk of his skin smelt as earthy as the whisky you were nursing in your hand.

You brought the glass to your nose and took in a deep breath of it, your eyes not breaking contact with his over the brim, licking your lips you took a sip.

It was smooth, the smoothest you’ve had in a while. The subtle notes of dark brown sugar didn’t help either. As slightly sweet as it tasted, it was even stronger, going straight to your head.

“Girl knows her whisky.”

You couldn’t help how quickly your eyes met his. How the slightest movement from him in this moment affected your posture, how your face changed and your eyebrows rose at his words, but you could hate yourself for it. No matter the fact that it was a human act out of your control, you could still regret it.

You finished off your glass, letting it thud against the counter as you bared your teeth at the strength of it. You felt headier than you should. You weren’t that drunk off of one drink, but from that serving alone you knew it could get you into trouble.

Were you looking for trouble?

He made a similar face. Letting out a strong low huff of appreciation before filling up both your glasses again. You opened your mouth to protest, but he leveled you with another look.

You licked your lips. “Please, I don’t think I—“

“Drink.” He said it low and gravely. The sound of his voice dancing against your ears filled your belly with a warmth stronger than the whisky ever could.

“I—“

He leaned over the counter, his face closer to yours, and oh what a mistake it was, what a mistake it all was. Your eyes glanced over every bump and curve of your face. The alchohol coursing through you was too strong to let you feel embarrassed about it.

“If your going to keep staring at me, then you drink when I say drink.” He graveled lowly in your face. His voice sounded even warmer than before. His breath tickled your nose and fanned across your face. You could smell the drink on his breath. You could smell it on him, and they both went so well together.

You should stop. You really should, but the temptation of his presence, being this close to him, was much more promising. It was worth risking.

“Drink.” He pulled away from you, and you bit your toughe at the loss of his presence before taking your glass and sipping on its contents once more.

“What do you want?” He said after a sip, darting his tongue across his lips before shifting his stance and tilting his head to the side.

You didn’t answer, weakly holding onto your glass.

“What do you want?” His voice sounded lighter, the words flowing out of him like a chuckle, but his eyes weren’t laughing.

“I,” you stopped yourself this time. You were both adults. There’s was no point of beating around the bush. He wouldn’t have kept you here for no reason.

“I want another shot of whisky.”

He nodded.

Taking the bottle once more he poured you a generous serving. You brought the glass to your lips. Instead of sipping its precious contents, your took the biggest gulp of it you could. Some of it sloshed on the side of the glass, your tongue darted out to catch it.

Upon doing so, this time you caught him staring at you. Somehow his gaze felt even heavier on you, his irises looking even darker than before.

You took your last drink, not breaking eye contact with him. He walked out the little opening on the side before stepping into your space. The little area between bar stools leaving him no other option other to crowd your space and you to let him.

Slowly, he brought his hand to your cheek, letting his thumb wipe at the corner of your mouth before slipping it into his mouth.

With a soft pop, he grabbed your glas from you and placed it on the counter.

“If we’re going to do this, your going to follow my rules.”

You nodded. Your chest was heaving and he barely touched you. You felt so overwhelmed you didn’t trust yourself to speak.

“You started this,” he slid his hand on the nape of your neck and roughly pulled you into him, “so you’re going to finish it,” he ended his sentence by bringing his mouth to yours. As if he was trying to take back every drop of whisky he gave you. His mouth was hot and heavy like his eyes. He mouthed at yours, he sucked on you, devoured you whole. His hands keeping you in place as he swiped his tongue roughly against yours.

He didn’t let you go until your lungs were screaming for air, but at that point you didn’t need air. You needed more of him.

Your chest rose and fell. Your mouth agape and panting. You felt almost dizzy as if cast under a spell.

“Yes,” you breathed out, fisting your hands into the fabric of his shirt, “please,” you panted, “please let me.”

He lived above his bar.

You figured it out as he dragged you up the stairs with his mouth on yours. His grip strong and tight as if you’d suddenly disappear on him, so you kissed him back with just as much desperation, licking into his mouth as he had done yours. The whisky tasting so much better on him. You longed to taste more to lick and suck every last drop of it out of his mouth..

You bit his lip as he sat on the edge of his bed, taking you down with him.

You started kissing away from his mouth, nipping at his cheeks in between, but you wanted his jaw. You wanted to start there and trail them down his neck, to get his shirt off and go even further. Mouthing at any and every part of his chest you could get to.

As if sensing what you wanted, he stopped you with a hard grip of his massive hand on your jaw.

“Now just what,” he huffed into your face, “do you think you’re doing?”

“Kisses.” Was all you could manage to pant out.

“Like I said earlier.” He squeezed his grip on your jaw a little tighter, making your cheeks puff up and your glasses slip a little too high onto your forehead. He gently took them off with his other hand before tossing them on his nightstand, “this all goes down how I want it to.”

He rubbed at your cheek gently with his thumb.

“That doe eyed look isn’t going to get you whatever you want, so you can put those puppy dog eyes away.”

A sound you’ve never made before fell out of your lips. It was high pitched like a wine, but even needier.

You squeezed your thighs around him, grinding slowly, chasing the feeling of his body.

He squeezed harder at your cheeks, bringing water to the edges of your eyes.

“What did I say?” He slowly peeled your skirt off your body after he rid you of your skirt, his hands roamed over your thighs, feeling and savoring every inch of your soft supple skin. They were calloused but not too harsh, smooth, and strong. They were large and hot on your body.

You leaned into his touch.

The thought of him slipping his fingers into you had you biting your lip. You wanted it. You wanted him oh so badly. So badly.

“I said it was going to be my way or not at all,” he let go of your face and slowly trailed his hand down your neck to your breast. He slowly thumbed at your nipple before pushing harshly, making you hiss, “and you said yes.”

He brought his other hand to your other breast, matching his movements for each one as he circled roughly at your nipples, each swipe of his thumbs caused you to cry out or wince at every turn and swirl of them on your skin. The flat of his palms were pushing and pulling at the swell of your breasts.

Every second felt like a lifetime, and with each small death and revival you grew wetter and wetter.

“You make such pretty noises.” He leaned in closer, kissing on your neck. “Wonder what you sound like when I do this.”

He wrapped his mouth around one of your nipples, sucking hard.

Balling your fists into his shirt, you keened.

The combination of hot wet mouth seeing into your skin as he sucked at your breast and the scratchiness of his beard was sending you over the edge.

You couldn’t cum yet, you just couldn’t. Not like this.

Moving, you tried to pull away, but when he switched his mouth to your other one, making sure to bite the nipple first before soothing the sting of with a swipe of his tongue.

You came with a small cry, wining and writhing in his lap.

He whispered words of encouragement in your ear, gently rubbing your back.

“Fuck.”

He looked at you with such reverence. The dark irises of his eyes almost sparkling at you in the dark, catching you off guard.

“You're perfect.”

You snapped your head to the wide, refusing to look at him.

“Pretty,” he grabbed your chin, making you look. “Beautiful even.,”

He slid you off his lap, placing you on the bed.

“Take your shirt off.”

As you clumsily fingered your buttons undone, you watched him slide his shirt over his head. His low simmering gaze shifted into one of half incredulous as he watched your jaw slack once his undershirt was off and he was unbuckling his belt.

You didn’t have time to process seeing all of him as he shoved his pants and underwear in one motion, he was already siding himself over you, pushing you slowly onto your back.

“Thought I told you to take this off.” He smirked before finishing the last buttons and throwing your shirt somewhere far and forgotten.

“Tried t—“ he plunged two fingers into your pussy, cutting you off.

“Toosoon.” Your chest tightened causing your voice to rise unexpectedly shrill.

He added another finger, making you flutter around the three of them curling in and out of you.

“This what you wanted when you kept staring at me down there?” He leveled at you, quickening the pace of his fingers. Your whines and pants, the wet squelching sounds of his fingers moving in and out of you filling the room.

“Yes.” You replied sharply with a moan.

“Aren’t you just a dirty little thing.” he abruptly pulled his fingers out of you and smacked your ass hard.

You yelped and he slapped your ass again before digging his fingers into the meat of it, pushing you down roughly into bed.

You couldn’t keep up. From the handful of moments he was sweet, the small moments where he was cruel and hurting you, and the moments he liked to mock you and praise you. Which one was he? Which one was really him?

But you couldn’t find the time to care about it now. You would take every morsel of praise, each sliver of praise, the sparingly few moments of gentleness, and the sprinkles of pain and cruelty. You would take it all. Any and every little thing he gave you.

His body smothering yours into the bed, you took each and every hard thrust of his hips into yours. His nails digging into the flesh of your skin and every hard slapping sound of his hips meeting yours caused you to gush around his cock every little bit more.

You fisted the sheets and clenched your teeth together to keep them from clattering together at one particularly hard thrust.

“Please,” you moaned. “ more. Harder.”

He bit the side of your neck hard, his tongue chasing the new indentions of his teeth on your skin before doing the impossible and obliging your request. Taking a fist of your hair, he pulled, thrusting down in unison.

The pleasure and pain tickled down your spine. It felt so good. You wanted his mouth on you once more. To bite you one more time. But as his cock slipply slid out of you, he cursed, tightening his grip on your hair even more.

“You're so wet.”

Your low howl of pain morphed into a moan as he pushed into you once more, letting go of your hair, he laid down on top of you, wrapping his hands around your front.

He moaned lowly in your ear, matching the responding harmony of the one spilling from your lips.

He set a new fast and languid pace that made your toes curl. He took this opportunity to twist and tease at one of your nipples.

“You're so pretty like this.” He kissed and sucked along your jaw, your neck, your collar, “making a mess just for me. Letting me use you however I want.” His words, the scratch of his beard as he focused on mouthing at your skin, if you didn’t wake up with a rash from the friction, you’d be surprised.

You managed to snake your hand behind you into his hair, pulling him closer to you.

“Bite me again,” you rasped, “hard.”

And he did, way harder than before.

You squeezed around him tight, and you both moaned as you came. His thirsts became shaky, his grip on your sides even harder, before he pulled out.

“Turn over.” He growled through his teeth.

With shaky legs and your head in a daze you managed to fall over into your back. Your hands splayed beside your head as you looked up at him with parted lips, your chest frantically heaving up and down as you made eye contact with him.

The site of your swollen nipples, the way your plush lips parted at him without a throught on your mind as your lust blown eyes took him in, desperately trying not to miss the way he fucked his own hand as he looked into you, as you looked into his eyes once more as you’ve done all night, he came, thick wet hot spurts of him spilled all over your chest. Littered with marks of his teeth.

—

You squint your eyes even further shut as the late morning rays of sunshine perturbed you from sleep.

You rolled over in bed, reaching to find a certain someone only to feel nothing.

You bolted upright in an instant.

Your body protested the moment as well as your head as it grew even fuzzier at the movement. You groaned.

You were hungover and your body aches everywhere, some places more than others. For good reason too.

“Slow down,” a voice from the other side of the room called, “don’t move so fast. You're going to hurt yourself.”

Large warm hand pushed a mug in yours.

“Good morning by the way.” He kissed you on the forehead before bounding off back into the kitchen.

Without thinking you slowly raise the mugs to your lips.

Everything was fuzzy. Why was everything fuzzy? Were you that hungover? What….

“Glasses!” You gurgled out in a mumble.

“Oh!” He plated whatever he was cooking on the stove before placing two on the table, already set with forks and knives.

He padded over once more. Grabbing your glasses from the nightstand on the other side of the bed. He wore a casual pair of pajama pants and a wife beater that complimented his wide shoulders.

You thanked him softly and reached for them, but he pulled them closer to him.

“Uhh uh.” He smiled down at you, making you sigh in defeat.

With a silent laugh he placed them on your face for you before kissing you in the forehead again.

“I can offer you breakfast if you like.”

“I’d like that.” You hummed, smiling softly.

He beamed, taking your mug from your hands to place it by your plate.

He was sweet.

Your skin held no sticky or uncomfortable residue and you were wearing a worn green t shirt .. or was it blue. It was so faded it was hard to tell. Maybe it used to be gray.

You stood on shaky legs and he rushed over to keep you stable. You jabbed him lightly in the chest.

“I got it.” You huffed.

He raised his hands in mock defeat before crossing his arms.

“If you say so..”

You laughed before putting your hand under your shirt, raising it a little as you softly touched one of your nipples. Still swollen and it hurt like hell as you moved. Even the smallest bit of friction from the t shirt was too much.

He swallowed, looking at you with intent before quizzically raising a brow.

“You, alright?” He gruffly asks before gesturing at your chest with a hand.

“I think I’ll live.” You huffed out a laugh as you both made your way to the table, but it was more at his supposed bashfulness. He caused this with his own mouth, but seemed too shy to talk about it.

“Let’s eat!”

Whenever a man brags about his cooking you take it with a grain of salt. However, his eggs were no joke.

“These are so good!”

“Right?” His chest puffed a little as you devoured your food.

Placing your fork down, you winced again.

“Are you sure we don’t need to—“

“No!”

A few beats of silence passed and he scratched the back of his neck.

“No,” you said softer again, “just give me a few painkillers and it’ll pass.”

He stood there. His face scrunched and unsure.

“I’ll be fine,” you stood up and placed your hands on his shoulders, “I promise.”

“Okay.” He tentatively looks at you once more time before heading to his bathroom.

You were about to sigh when you heard the door rattle before opening.

What the..

“What are you doing here?”

Dex.. the lady from last night who wouldn’t stop berating you. Was now berating you in—

“Grey what the fuck!”

“Dex?” He frowned, “uhh, what’s going on ? Why are you up so early?”

Oh that’s right. That’s what was missing. You were so desperate you both overlooked the obvious.

“Your name's Grey?” You asked.

You felt pretty dumb after the fact, but it was automatic earnestness that overridden your brain and made you ask.

“Grey McConnell.” He smiled at you, making his way over to your side as you both faced off against Dex.

The action had you forming one of your own. You fought the giggle bubbling inside you and told him your name.

He said it aloud, feeling how it sounded in his mouth, wishing he could have known it last night, and you slightly froze at the sound.

“I like that.”

Your face grew unbearably hot and you looked away, refusing to look at him saying your name, like that.

“Un-fucking-believable.” Dex hissed once more.

“Meet me downstairs!” She glared at you, “we didn’t finish our conversation about Dillon Tryson!”

She looked Grey up and down .“You two.” She pointedly looked at him before storming he way down the stairs out of his apartment.

You stilled stunned for a moment, blinking.

“She’s not that bad.”

“You’re friends?” You asked incredulously. Thinking about it, it probably wasn’t the nicest thing to say given the situation, but he didn’t seem to take it personal.

“Yeah, yeah.” He slowly moved you towards his bed, “let’s find you a pair of pants that fit.”

“I think I can fit into some of your pajama pants or sweats if you have any.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

As you both slowly made your way down the stairs he placed his hand on the small of your back, you hummed in surprise as your back arched into the touch. He breathed sharply through his nose which made you realize what you were doing.

“Fuck if you do that one more time I might have to drag you back upstairs and fuck you until you can’t walk.”

Your aching pussy throbbed at his words as you had to swallow your moan as Dex came into view at the bottom of the stairs.

“Sorry.” You managed to squeak out. Not entirely sure why you were saying sorry.

“I didn’t find anything comiramising, but I can’t shake the feeling that you're a liar! You're involved in this in some way!” Dex accused.

“You know you're not keeping that shirt or that pants right?” Grey questioned you as if Dex hadn’t said anything.

You purse your lips and force yourself not to look at the death glare she was sending your way.

“I’m sorry?”

“You're not walking out of here with this on.” He added before pinching at the fabric of your shirt with a smile, flapping it back and forth which made it rub against your painfully swollen nipples.

You couldn’t hide the wince of pain.

Mortified, your head snapped toward Dex, but she was looking up at the ceiling, rolling her eyes.

You grabbed Grey’s arms, but he didn’t let go, moving the shirt again, so you resulted in standing closer to him, but he only pulled you closer into him, your chest rubbing into his.

You were about to cry out but he shoved your face into him, muffling the sound of it as Dex snapped her head toward you both.

“Will you two knock it off! There is a woman's life at stake who deserves justice! This isn’t some fucking game!”

You looked up at Grey with a frown, and he only looked down at you with a casual smile. Like he was doing nothing wrong.

He might be sweet, he may be good at taking care of you, but he was a fucking menace.

He was going to be the death of you.

AN: thank you for reading!!

Let me know if you want to be tagged in the next one!!

#Jake Johnson #Stumptown abc #Stumptown #Stumptown fanfiction #Grey McConnell x reader #Grey McConnell x black reader #Jake Johnson x black reader #x black reader #black writer #black fanfiction writer #black fanfiction #Jake Johnson x reader

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hesbuckcompton-baby · 2 months ago

Text

Damage Gets Done - SAS: Rogue Heroes x OC - Chapter 11

Summary: When a figure from her past is badly wounded, Diana must put herself in danger to save him

Relationships: L Detachment x Platonic!OC, Reg Seekings x OC

Warnings: Blood, gore, graphic violence, death

Word Count: 2.8k

Tags: @20th-centu-fairy-girl @6thofapril1917 @dcyllom @footprintsinthesxnd @regseekings

A/N: me? posting diana again? more likely than you'd think

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Andrew let out another groan as the car sped over a pothole, clutching at the bloody hole in his abdomen as his expression contorted in agony. Diana's gaze darted wildly like cornered prey, from the wound to the world passing by outside to a panicked Johnny in the driver's seat, trying to focus as Reg barked at him to keep driving. Her hands were entirely red, not a glimpse of flesh still visible, leaving bloody streaks in Schulz's blonde hair as her fingertips combed through it in a vain effort to soothe him.

"What the fuck are we doing here?!" She yelled, unable to fight the hint of terror that laced her voice.

"We're gonna drive to the next town and look for a doctor," Reg declared, struggling to decipher the crumpled old map he'd found in the glove box.

"Flimsy fucking plan - what if we don't find one? We just waste time until he dies?!"

"If we keep going for much longer he's dead anyway!" He barked, turning in his seat to glare back at her. For the briefest of moments, she saw that rage everyone always talked about - that violence that gave Reg Seekings his reputation, the aggression he'd never once thrown her way. She'd watched him gun down countless men - hell, she'd helped him do it. But he'd never snapped at her before. In its own way, it was somehow worse.

She shrank back into her seat like a scolded child, and for a moment he was stuck still, teeth bared in a snarl. Something flickered in Reg's eyes, as if he'd suddenly realised who he was talking to, and his expression fell. "Diana, I-"

"Save it. Find a fucking doctor."

Reg turned reluctantly, brow furrowed as he stared back down at the map, occasionally muttering directions to Johnny. Sat across from her, Andrew's legs crumpled uncomfortably across his lap, Kershaw stared, his gaze burning a hole into the side of Diana's head. She glared back for a second before her attention was ripped away by another agonised groan. Tilting her head up towards the roof of the car, she fought to blink away hot tears before they could spill. Even now, there was a part of her that was desperate not to cry in front of these men.

The breaks screeched as they sped into the next town, rolling to a sudden halt, and for a moment she could breathe again. Sliding Andrew off of her as gently as she could, Diana scrambled out of the car, wasting no time worrying about her bloodied appearance as she began to move. "Johny, keep the car running. Dave... just keep him alive as long as you can," she uttered. Reg was already climbing out as they headed further into the town, the stink of metal stinging her nostrils.

"We'll split up," He nodded firmly. "Find someone fast, bring them back here."

"If you need to leave without me, just do it. Don't wait."

She could tell he wanted to object, but she didn't intend to give him the chance. Veering down the first side street she passed, Diana picked up the pace, breaking into a steady jog, the sweat on her palms turning dried blood back to liquid again.

It was quiet here - too quiet. If she hadn't been so distracted it would've raised alarm, but all she could think was how greatly the sparsity lowered her chances of finding someone - anyone - who could help. She emerged onto another main road, the street sloping upwards slightly towards a huge house. In Cairo, it would've blended in seamlessly, but here it stuck out like a sore thumb, rising above every other building that surrounded it.

It reminded her of the military hospital back home.

If she'd been thinking straight, she would've steered clear of the place.

But Diana's mind had never been hazier. She sped up once more, beginning to run as she scaled the slope, never pausing to catch her breath as she reached the building.

Her fist came down against the door in rapid succession, the quick thud thud thud echoing out through the inside. But there was no time to wait, and when no immediate response came, she moved further around the place, searching desperately for any other possible means of entrance.

Halfway along the side wall was an opening - a long, narrow walkway extending straight from the alley to the central courtyard, and from here, she could see the palm trees inside, the fountain bubbling away. Diana tugged at the wrought iron gate, the hinges shrieking as it came open without resistance. She was staring a beast in the mouth. It was stupid. In the coming days, she would curse herself for this stupidity - curse her wretched mind for not warning her before it was too late.

But Diana could not have known what was to come. She slipped inside without a second thought, footsteps echoing against the tiled ground as she emerged into the courtyard.

Whitewashed walls rose high on all sides, the sun reflecting blindingly bright. A washing line extended across the yard suspended from opposite balconies up on the second floor, khaki shirts wafting gently in the breeze. Soldiers' uniforms. She grinned.

"Hello?! Anyone?!" Diana yelled, nothing but silence echoing back towards her. "Hello?!"

A door opened across the yard. She couldn't stop from smiling, a breath of relief escaping her. But then the figure stepped into the light. He was huge - bigger than any of the men in L Detachment, easily comparable to the brutes her father used to bring in for practice. Except there was no one to pay this man - no one to chastise him for hurting her. And above the breast pocket of his shirt, she spied the all-too-familiar eagle emblem that decorated the uniforms of the German army.

Sparing a second glance up at the washing line, she found every one of the shirts was the same. How had she been so blind?

Diana's hand reached for her belt, the blood draining from her face as she came up empty.

Where the fuck was her gun.

"Well," The soldier spoke, a relaxed edge to his voice that only succeeded in scaring her further. "Looks like we've gotten into some trouble, eh?"

She was still covered in blood, shirt still sticking to her skin in the places where it had become too thoroughly saturated to dry, even out in the desert air. She looked like hell. She looked like she'd just murdered several men with her bare hands. But if the English on her tongue hadn't been enough to betray her, the fear in her eyes certainly was.

There was no time to think. As soon as the pieces had fallen together, Diana turned on her heel, making a dash back the way she had come.

A hand seized her hair, a yelp escaping her as she was yanked backwards. She'd never expected a man of his size to be so fast. It became suddenly apparent that she was hopelessly, embarrassingly outmatched.

No one had prepared her for this.

How couldn't they have? How could her father have been so goddamn fucking stupid?

He'd trained her to fight in the comfort of her own home. Taught her using hired men, men who would only get paid at the end of the day if they drilled her in precisely the right way. All her life, without even realising it, there had been a subtle confidence in the back of Diana's mind, secure in the knowledge that - whilst these men might bruise her, scold her, humiliate her - they could never truly damage her.

That confidence was gone.

She lost her footing as he dragged her, just long enough to tumble onto her back, hitting the stone tiles with a pained groan and momentarily knocking the wind from her lungs. Gasping for a breath, Diana rolled onto her knees, narrowly dodging the first blow as a hard kick brushed past her. She lunged head first, seizing him around the middle without just enough momentum to send them both tumbling into the fountain pool, her eyes screwed tightly shut as she was momentarily submerged, scrambling to distance herself as quickly as possible.

But the fall scarcely seemed to slow the soldier down, and as Diana clambered out of the water, a sudden strike to the face caught her off-guard, eyes filling with tears the moment his fist collided with her nose. She stumbled back, but the blow had left her shell-shocked, unable to force her body to move in time before a second punch came. Then a third - knocking her this way and that until her head was spinning, her vision blurred.

How could he? How could her father have wasted her life with training so useless? How could he have deemed her ready, and sent her out into the world, only for her to crumble so fast?

He had her by the hair again. By now, she was too dazed to follow his movements, and barely had time to swallow a gulp of air before her head was forced under the water again, his fist holding her down as his other hand pinned one of her arms against her back.

Diana was panicking now, the water filling her nostrils and stinging her throat as she kicked out blindly with her legs. He pushed his body forward, knees pinning her against the side of the pool. She couldn't move.

I'm going to die here. And for what?

She opened her eyes, water pricking at her corneas, her body screaming at her to close them again. But she refused. The water was clean, clear enough to see through to the bottom, to the pipe running into the base of the fountain, pumping it with water to keep it going.

Diana blinked, squeezing her eyes shut for a second before taking another look. Yes, there it was. Every now and then, a cluster of air bubbles would rise from one of the joints, rising to burst on the surface. There was a gap - somewhere down there, the pipe had come loose.

She could feel that she was running out of time. But he had only enough hands to hold down one of hers. She reached out, desperately grasping for the pipe, pulling as hard as she could. The soldier noticed, distracted as he let go of her first hand to bend down and reach for the other.

Feeling her other hand suddenly come free, Diana groped blindly behind her until she felt skin, digging her nails in as hard as they would gold go, gouging into the flesh of his face.

He let out a cry of pain, stumbling as he raised both hands to cover his injury. She may have only had a second of freedom, but it was enough. Frantically raising her head above the surface, Diana took a hard gulp of air, so swift that it seared her throat, giving the pipe one last, fierce tug with both hands. She felt the metal give way, and suddenly the fountain's peaceful bubbling stopped, a jet of water spraying out at an awkward angle as droplets evaporated into mist in the African heat.

Before the soldier had a chance to seize her again, she had taken a swing. The pipe was heavier than she'd thought, hitting the side of his head with a loud, hollow pang. He was on the ground, still conscious, but barely. Adrenaline was pumping through her veins harder than it ever had before, blood thumping in her ears, blocking out anything but the sound of her own rapid heartbeat. She couldn't think.

And when the man moved, she hit him again.

Something in his skull cracked. He wouldn't move again.

But in the moment, this didn't seem to matter. Diana brought the pipe down against his head once, twice more, until he was just as covered in blood as she was, a ragged cry tearing itself from her chest.

"Fuck!" She sobbed, collapsing backwards onto the ground. Anyone could've found her here. Hell, Andrew could already be dead by now. But she couldn't force herself to move.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The room was spinning - the fountain, now broken beyond repair, spilling out a pool of water that edged slowly closer and closer. There was blood on her hand - on her chest, on her face, the taste of it reaching her tongue. One of her eyes was swelling shut, but even as her vision blurred, she could not tear it from the body at her feet - sprawled across the tiles, lying on his face as she sat silently beside him, leaning back on her elbows, the metal pipe in her hand leaving her palm cold and numb.

Footsteps echoed off the walls, approaching from the corridor behind her, speeding up from a stroll to a run, getting louder and louder with each passing second. But the sound scarcely reached her, the thrumming of her heartbeat the only thing that felt real. Solid. The only thing she could truly focus on.

The footsteps reached her, and she grew aware of a figure standing beside her, pausing a moment to take in the chaos.

"... Fuckin' hell."

She felt a gentle hand take her wrist, softly prying the pipe from her grip, letting it roll away across the tiles with a metallic clatter. The figure reached around beneath her arms, hands meeting across her chest as she was unceremoniously pulled up to stand, her feet feeling awkward and weak beneath her. Diana opened her mouth, heaving a few breaths before she could speak, a droplet of blood rolling out over her lip.

"... Reg?" She whispered.

"Shhh. It's okay. You're okay. I got you."

I got you.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Diana could feel sweat beading against her skin as she slowly regained consciousness, peeling open one eye, the other too swollen to go all the way. The tent walls rippled in the soft desert breeze, sand blowing in under the doorway. She took a deep breath, fighting against the headache that drummed behind her eyes as she pushed herself up on her elbows to half-sit, throat like sandpaper when she swallowed.

The tent flap was pulled back, and David Stirling crept quietly inside, brow furrowed, canister clutched tightly. His gaze flickered over her, doing a double take as he realised she was awake. "Jesus Christ," He sighed, lowering himself into the chair beside her cot. "Don't do that again."

"...How long have I been out?" She croaked. He held out the canister, and she snatched it from his hand, upturning the water to let it flow down her throat, an instant balm to her pain.

"You've been in and out for two days, but I doubt you'd remember anything. The 'in's never lasted long."

Diana nodded, another jolt of pain hitting her head as she moved it, dabbing a droplet of water from her chin.

"Do you know where we are?" David asked.

She coughed weakly. "Unfortunately."

A smile curled his lip. "She's back."

Easing herself down, she let her head sink back into the pillow.

"... Andrew?"

"Alive. Miraculously. As are you, somehow - you managed to wander into a German barracks, you bloody idiot."

"God," Diana groaned, lifting a hand to cover her face in embarrassment, flinching slightly as it skimmed across the bruised skin. "Please don't tell the others, I'll never hear the end of it."

"Oh, they already know," He nodded, interrupting before she could groan again. "They're rather impressed you made it out at all, actually."

"Bet they are," She sighed.

Letting out a grunt, David pushed himself back up to stand, heading towards the entrance. "I'll let the others know you're awake. You should get up - it'll do you good to go for a wander. I dragged Gamal up here and he figures your brain's probably still intact," They both chuckled somewhat bitterly at this, and he paused just as he was about to leave. "Oh, and - you might want to avoid looking in a mirror for the next few days. Sight for sore eyes."

"Oh, fuck off," Diana scoffed, tossing the now-empty canister after him as he went.

Alone once more, she sat up on the bed, pulling her knees up to her chest as she took a deep breath.

Something was different now.

Something had shifted.

Deep down, she wasn't sure she could pinpoint precisely what it was - what was gone, what had arrived that wasn't there before.

But a part of Diana Fayed had drowned in that fountain.

That much was certain.

#fic | damage gets done #sas rogue heroes #sas rogue heroes fic #sas rogue heroes oc #sas: rogue heroes #reg seekings #dave kershaw #johnny cooper #david stirling #oc: diana #sas: rh

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