#past assult

[tariah23]

[neine]

Yknow i always thought that polish youtube was (compaeing to english speaking one) kind of calm. UNTIL NOW. WHAT THE FUCK.

[technobladestanblog]

cellbit abused his girlfriend and admitted to it

shit this sucks

i did some internet sleuthing- idk any of the Brazilian streamers, I speak English and Spanish. From what I can tell from the like. minute of investigation. so again I know nothing about these people other than my quick search and that they are 1. in quackity smp (positive) and 2. abused his girlfriend (super neg)

looks like some people believe that he truly has changed (specifically his viewers), had court ordered therapy and that he truly feels terrible about what happened.

also looks like his ex (the women this happened to) doesn't want this to be brought up anymore and wants this to stay in her past

I think I'll wait and see how quackity and qsmp streamers go with this. I assume this was brought up in the screening process. I know that I think people can change- and that starts with their own accountability and trying to make true change. I also know that I have hard stops- if someone was say a racist person, committed assault or rape- I personally would cut them out of my life as much as I can. Even if this guy truly has changed and feels terrible about what happened with his ex, I personally will prob never want to watch qsmp again or stop watching if he tries to interact with a person I'm watching.

Overall, I hope he really has changed and that quackitys screening process shows that he really has, apparently this was 4 years ago, but for me personally this will really taint my own enjoyment in the qsmp

[ja3hwa]

♡ 𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐁𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 | 𝐂.𝐒 ♡

Day Twenty - Priest/Demon Au

【Synopsis】 : There was a demon on the loose. Wreaking havoc in the small village that San was a priest in. And little did Father San know is that the creature was a lot closer than he would think.

『Word count』 :  4.03k

-> Genre: 18+ Supernatural. Angst. Gore. Suggestive.

Pairing: Priest!San x Female!Reader

[Warnings] : Swearing. Blood. Gore. Mentions of assult. Weapons. Demons and angels. Religion. Death. Making out. Sinning. Dirty thoughts. Thick flirtatious tension. Listen, I was deep in my feelings when i wrote this argh.

Note: Thank you to my dearest @skteezcursed for the help in this fic. Our late night brainstorms are always my favourite thing to do, hehe. ♡♡♡

Networks: @wonderlandnet @illusionnet @cromernet @k-vanity

Masterlist | Navigation | Kinktober list | Tip Jar ♡

San paced around his office, feeling himself grow more and more frustrated as the minutes progressed. He had been in this tiny, god-forsaken town for the past three months, searching far and wide, under every rock and pebble, and still, he was not any closer to finding this wandering demon. His agency had put him undercover as the new priest in the local church since sadly the old one had passed away from sudden circumstances, which San later found to be the said demon’s doing. He had hopes to find the creature and kill it before it hurt anyone else, but sadly, the challenge seemed bigger than he anticipated.

Placing his hands on the large spruce table, he takes in all his notes for the millionth time. The demon had a distinctive pattern, killing only men, twenty-five and over, locally born, ranging from all classes and backgrounds. But what did they all have in common? Why did the creature choose these men in particular? What was the trigger? San felt like he was about to rip his hair out if he couldn’t figure it out by the end of the fourth month. He slammed his hand down onto the table in a fit of rage. Feeling the heat shift into his spine at the thought, the demon could be anyone. That he had passed by it without knowing. It could stand right in front of him, and he had already probably missed it.

“Father…” Your sweet velvet tone snapped him from his thoughts. You were tightly holding onto your bible with one hand against your chest, prayer beads lacing through your fingers while your other hand held the large door open. Your expression was filled with innocence and worry. “I heard noises. I… Are you okay?” 

His heart skips at you, the sweet church girl, his face tainting a dusty pink ever so slightly. “Uh.. Yes. I'm just…working.” He rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding eye contact. He wouldn't admit it, but through these past months, he had fallen quite infatuated with you. Your smile began an addiction he sought out every day. 

Every early morning, you came into the church alone to pray before skipping to his office to ask if he needed any help. You were so kind and caring in welcoming him into the community. Making sure he had everything he could ever need shortly after he arrived. You were the only good thing to seemingly come out of this dull, mopey town. 

Looking at you cautiously step into the room, your eyes wandering to the decoration on the shelf that you had no doubt memorised already, an idea came flooding into his head. You were locally born, as far as he was aware. And you know of everyone, so maybe he needed to gather some intel from an inside source and who then, you, the sweet sunshine that cascaded over the grey hills of this village. “Actually… I would like to ask you a question.”

You stopped in your tracks to glance over at the man, showing no sign of any emotion. You were still, pondering even. Your eyes wide and curious but your lips held in a thin firm line. “Ask away, father.”

He almost lost the question from his shuttered tongue as he watched your mouth creep up into a loving smile. But alas, he cleared his throat, quickly looking down to graze over his notes. “I must confess something…”

Your body tingled in inquisitiveness, taking a step closer. “Yes…” you bit your lip slightly, fiddling with the beads in your tight grasp.

“I am not just a priest. I am a hunter of sorts.” He lifted up a piece of paper for you to take in your free hand, letting you look it over. The paper was old, aged marking the edges and face. It was information about demonology. Words that seemed to pop out the most on the page were ‘dangerous’, ‘demon’, ‘sinful’. This thing... This demonic creature was in your home, killing the men of your village. One by one.

“...So it’s true. There is devil work lurking in the town.” You gulped your hands, shaking slightly, handing the piece of parchment back to San. “Is anyone else aware of this?”

“No. You are the first and only person I’ll tell. This town doesn’t need to start going on witch hunts to try and find the creatures themselves.” San pinched his nose, just imagining it gave him a headache. He let out a sigh, picking up a few more sheets to place in front of you, "This is all I know. I was sent here to capture and eradicate the beast that has been luring men into the outwest woods. But for the life of me, I can't find the connection to all of the victims other than them being male."

You looked over all the names, reading each autopsy report carefully. Your mind to a thought, no, it couldn't be.. could it? Looking up at San, you gulped. "Umm, F-father."

"Please just call me San." He grunted, tugging on his white band around his neck, feeling himself grow hot being frustrated and also being near you.

"I think I know the connection..." You picked up another piece of paper scanning while San stared at you intensely, waiting for you to proceed. "The first five victims. They had been accused of misconduct prior to their deaths."

You pointed to one of the names showing San, "For example, John Hart, he was reported for beating his wife." You pointed to another name further down the list, "Edward Smith's wife called assault on his husband, saying he raped his daughter, but there wasn't any evidence."

You turned the paper back to yourself, raking your hand through your hair, "All of these men have either beaten, assaulted, and raped women or have been accused of it."

San slumped down on his seat in defeat. A conflict shadowing in his view. All these men were pigs. That was the connection. "Great, so I have a demon playing god and smiting men for misdeeds...perfect." he placed his palm on his face, groaning in annoyance.

"What are you going to do now, fath—I mean San?" You took a seat on one of the chairs opposite the deck, resting your bible down on your lap as you sat up straight.

San clicked his tongue, glancing at you for a moment. He wasn't going to lie to himself. The way you said his name was music to his ears. A tone he would never get tired of. But he shook his thoughts to look at the papers littering his desk. "We're gonna catch a demon.”

Following the next few days, every evening you and San would meet up to discuss the case while also slowly gathering materials for the trap. You had told San any more information you’ve heard or if you heard of any more allegations about any of the town's men. Luckily no one had spread any new rumours about anyone which was good, leaving you both to focus on the task at hand. Capturing and then eradicating the demon. One particularly cold evening, you and San had spent a little bit too long searching through town books, not taking any notice of the sun lying to rest. It was only when you started to feel the chill on your exposed arms that you gazed out the window, seeing nothing but pitch night.

“When did it become so late?” Your voice barely above a whisper. San, who was only a few feet beside you, looked up from the book in his lap, suddenly feeling the coldness creep down his spine. 

"We should call it a night." San slammed the book a little too harshly, making you jump. He caught your reaction but decided it was best to bite his tongue. Instead, he stood up, holding his hand out for you to take, "I'll walk you out."

You took his hand gently, your soft skin making him gulp. The touch of you was electrifying, like a thousand little fireworks going off at once in his chest. His fingers wrapped tightly around yours, tugging you up off the library floor, but his tug was a little bit forceful, causing you to be pulled flushed against his chest. Your free hand coming up to brace yourself on his chest. "F-father."

"I told you to call me San. Please. I'm just San." He whispered his breath, pooling against your cheek. He watched the blush taint your cute features, your eyes widening as he inched closer. You smelt firewood, vanilla, and a beautiful mixture of floral scents. You were intoxicating.

"San...We are still in the church." You murmured, eyes slowly fluttering as you let him creep closer until his lips were a brush away. Your hand that landed on his chest lowered, feeling his strong muscles underneath his robes.

"I know..." He grunted through his nose. He snaked his hand from your wrist to your upper arm before taking place on the back of your neck while his other found place on your hip. "We aren't doing anything sinful."

"Hmm, but your thoughts would say otherwise." You smiled.

"You have no idea what I'm thinking about." He chuckled, his lips brushing against yours.

"I could take a guess.” You closed your eyes, sealing your lips on his, feeling an overwhelment of sparks crackling down your spine. San grunted through his nose as the kiss became rougher. His fingers tangled into strands of hair on the nape of our neck, while he swallowed every whimper and moan from you. It was like you were a deliciously wicked sweet treat. 

Forbidden fruit he was not allowed to taste.

He couldn’t explain it but it was like you were the only thing that mattered the minute he met you. Like you were the puzzle piece he had been missing “S-san” You tried to pull away from him but his grip was firm on you, “We are going to…” You felt his tongue against your mouth, “Get..c-caught.” You couldn’t help but smile beneath the desperate kiss.

He finally pulled away, groaning in disappointment. “I know…” He sighed letting his grip loosen. Your hands snaked up his body gently before you pulled away entirely.

“Walk me out?” You suggested what he had asked moments prior. San couldn’t help but feel himself grow in his slacks as he gazed upon your swollen lips and dishevelled hair. You were stunning in every possible way. He walked with you to the front of the church, his hand grazing your own every time your arms swung a little too close to one another. San felt like a schoolboy all over again, walking next to the girl he had a crush on.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” San smiled bittersweetly, turning to face you completely. You faced him also, shyly looking up at him with your cheeks tainted red.

"Tomorrow, San." You gave him a soft smile. Your fingers tangle with themselves as you patiently wait for him to say goodbye first. 

"Well, sleep well. I'll see you tomorrow..." The way your name fell from his lips made your heart thump as you nodded, leaning up to kiss his cheek gently. He swore he felt a tingle dance from where you place your lips on his cheek. Walking off into the village towards your home, san never took his eyes off you until you were out of sight. 

"Lord..." He sighed, feeling himself breathing properly for the first time all day. He felt a twinge in his body at the loss of your scent, but alas, he had work to do if he wanted to catch this creature. But a part of him began to second guess himself. Yes, demons are bad, killing anything they want. But this demon. It had a reason. And a stupidly good one for that matter.

It annoyed him at the confliction. All demons are bad. Right? They lust for blood and chaos. Nothing more, nothing less. As he stepped back into the large church entrance, his mind spun from all the thoughts. Something was wrong with this whole thing. Something he had missed, maybe? Pinching his nose, he felt lightheaded. His fingers danced around his nostrils, suddenly gasping. "Blood?"

Looking up to the aisle in the middle of the church, he saw the moon start to pool into the room through the round window by the altar. And then, as he took another step, his mind snapped. His eyes clouded over with black, and he fell towards the floor.

He was out like a light.

When San awoke, he could feel the stiffness in his neck. He must have been out a while. Groaning, he held his head as he slowly sat up. But what caught him off guard was he wasn't sitting where he fell. He had moved? Looking around his fuzzy eyes, he noticed he was right on the altar, leaning against the lectern.

Looking around, he tries to get his bearings. Noticing the moon has reached its peak, shining through the top window, indicating it was almost midnight. He had been passed out for almost two or three hours give or take. But what caught his attention was the overwhelming smell of iron. He touched the top of his lip, feeling the blood from his nose had dried. But this blood smelt fresh like it was right behind him...

In horror, he turned his head to see the gruesome sight that anchored his mind in dread—a lifeless man strung up on the cross behind him, the body pallid and still. A choked gasp escaped him, slamming his hand over his mouth as the image in front of him flooded his conscience. He went to move, but that was when he noticed his legs were bound. He struggled against him, confusion spiralling into terror. What was going on?

Just then, the church doors creaked open, and a familiar figure stepped inside. It was you, but the tender girl he had come to love now had an aura that chilled him to the bone. Her once bright eyes were shadowed, and your skin was tainted in a light shade of pink. "San!!"

You ran over to him. This is when he could finally see you properly in the moonlight. Little horns poked from the top of your head. "San. I thought... You're okay." You sighed, your voice sounding different. It was smoother, seductive almost, lacing with an otherworldly quality.

"What is this? What’s happened?” he stammered, heart pounding painfully in his chest. You were a demon. A lust demon to be exact. He'd never met a succubus in real life before, but he knew what they looked like through details in his demonology. 

"I don't know. I got a letter saying you were hurt and needed my help." Your voice cracked as you reached for his bonds, but when your skin touched them, it stung, burning your skin. They were cursed? "W-who did this?"

"I could ask you that." San's bitterness caught you off guard. 

"W-what do..." You looked down and saw your hands were shaded in pink, and in a flash, you ran for the silverware on the table seeing your distorted reflection. "Y-you can see me..."

"Yes.." San replied coldly and conflicted. How could you, of all people be a creature of the damned. 

"San, listen, please. I'm not the demon you've been trying to catch, I swear." You kneeled back down to him, but he shuffled away, making your heart flinch. "I've watched you since the moment you came into this town. Your love, your promises, and your weakness. You want to save things. Not kill them. You are caring. That is how I fell in love with you.”

"Love? Demons can not do such things." San's voice felt like venom on your skin, making tears pool in your eyes.

"They...I can. I did. You changed that for me." 

“No, I—I thought you were human,” he gasped, memories of laughter and warmth filling his mind, only to be replaced by dread. He missed so many signs. From the smell of you to the way you had with words. You were using him.

"San, I wasn't, I swear to you. I might be a monster, but I've never hurt anyone." You interrupted his thoughts, shuffling closer, your presence both magnetic and terrifying to San. "Please, San, you have to believe me."

San wrestled with his emotions as the reality of your true nature engulfed him. Were the demon he had been searching for, cleverly disguised and lurking in the heart of the town, feeding on the very compassion and affection he thought in no way could lead to sin? Or were you telling the truth? Were you just an innocent creature caught in the crossfire?

Looking at you, he can see the swirls of pink and crimson mixing with your human eye colour. The sweetness he fell for was still there. "I believe you."

You jumped into his arms, tears spilling down your hit cheeks as you nuzzled into the crook of his neck.

As the church pulsed with an otherworldly energy, San realised he had known he made a daring choice—not to fight or falter but to embrace the truth of who he was, who you were. Life wasn't all black and white. There were beautiful shades of grey that he never took the moment to gaze at before. He took a deep breath, taking in your sweet familiar scent before pulling you up by your chin to stare into the eyes of the creature he thought he had fallen in love with.

"I was wrong about you. I'm sorry." He declared, a newfound resolve gripping his heart as he smiled at you. But before you could say anything, a new voice. A deeper one echoed in the cold eerie church.

“No, Father. You are wrong. But not for what you think.” The man's voice was a cruel tone, dark and chilling. Both of you snapped your gaze to him, seeing he was not alone. Two other men were trailing close behind him. "And here I thought you wouldn't succumb to her charms..." His face was finally revealed in the light. "My best hunter."

"Winlock?" San's voice was laced with confusion. His mentor? "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, San. For an expert hunter, you never really got the wit down, did you?" The man chuckled, making the other two follow suit like some perfect chimed robots. Winlocks gaze glances at the hanging corpse, still hammered into the cross. He couldn't help but click his tongue.

"You know it almost pained me to kill these men. But desperate times called for desperate measures." The older man cracked his knuckles as he paced slightly. You shuffled closer to San, cuddling desperately next to him. For the first time in all your life, you felt fear.

With all San's strength, he pushed against the ropes, his spirit igniting in defiance. In this moment of battle between light and dark, he defied the very nature of the demon that he loves and found the depths of the confrontation. He felt a flicker of the love he had for you, now intertwined with anger and betrayal from his mentor, another he had loved in a way. Whatever you were, he no longer cared. No, all he wanted was you safe. Little did you know, you could hear San's thoughts loud and clear, pooling into your brain like a tidal.

"We've been looking for her for years. Laying traps, but no matter what we did, she wouldn't take the bait. That was until we found out she wasn't like other demons..." 

Without dropping your eyes from the man, you placed your hand just over the bounds on San. You began to focus on the ropes, whispering an incantation in your head over and over. 

"She's also a witch." Winlock snarked, snapping his fingers. One of the men quickly made his way over to you while the other seemingly grabbed out a book from the satchel that hung over his shoulder.

"S-san. SAN!!" The man grabbed you by the horns, yanking you backwards before dragging you towards Winlock. You cried out, trashing against his hold. San went to stand, but the bounds were still tight, and no matter how many times he tried to grab the rope, it burnt him.

"Don't you fucking touch her!" San barked.

"Awe, San. You really are a stupid little boy." Winlock grabbed the book from his henchman, flicking through the pages with a cynical smile. "Out of everything you could have done. Falling for a beast was not what I thought you'd do."

"She's not a beast!!" San could feel a tear break in his eyes as he watched you weep in pain as the grip on your sensitive horns tightened. Your claws scratch at the man's hands, but he doesn't move as if he wasn't affected by his flesh being ripped by your sharp nails.

"Well, this was all fun and all. But I think we should call it a night. I gotta thank you, though, San. Without you, we would have never caught her." Winlock began reading a page from the book aloud, the enchantment caught your attention, making you do as much as you possibly could to look over at San.

Covered in blood, tears staining his sharp features. Your heart broke as you hiccuped, "I'm sorry, San. I...I love you." It might have been too early to say it, but you didn't know when you'd ever be able to say it again.

"No no no no. Please. I love you." He grabbed his bounds, his hand sizzling against the cursed rope, "Winlock, don't do this. She's not a monster... you can't."

Winlock did stop his incantation as the floor began to shake, and the night started to stir. That's when the man behind Winlock stepped forward with a thick leather band in his hand. The man that held you tilted your head to the side, giving access for the man to click the collar in place. That was when San knew what Winlock was doing to you. He was bounding you.

"I'll find you..." Your name rang in the air as San cried, "I'll find you and break you free."

It was your turn to cry, hearing his thoughts. There was no doubt in his mind, nothing but determination and honesty in his words. "I'll wait for you."

The sound of the book being slammed closed reverberated against the walls. Yours and Sans's eyes snapped back to Winlock seeing him pull out a gun, "You should have said that San." His voice was cold, with his eyes empty.

Silence fell as the fire from the gunshot rang in your ears. Blood spilled out of San’s mouth as he choked it all over the altar. You screamed, a noise so loud it would shatter the hearts in a mile radius. The floor beneath you shook, cracking before opening. The last thing you could see before the floor swallowed you whole was your lover, dying on the doorstep of the religion he so desperately trusted.

San laid on his back, the wound in his chest spluttering the crimson liquid into the carpet. He could see the moon above him. Feeling the light raze on his skin. His eyes closed for a moment, taking in the tingling feeling. There was no more pain. Sadness washed away with every drop of blood that fell onto the stairs, and then he whispered out a stutter before taking his last breath.

"Forgive me, lord... I have sinned.”

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

I Want It All: Part 3

Part 1, Part 2

Astarion x AsexaulBard!Tav Masterlist

Astarion x Reader, Astarion x Tav, Astarion x Asexual!Reader, Astarion x Bard!Reader

Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Soft!Astarion, Allusion to Astarion's Past (Sexual Assult/Dissociation)

Summary: You and Astarion had been playing this little game of yours for a while; he pretends to care, you pretend not to fall for it. It’s easy, even fun at times. The trouble is, what happens the moment you can’t pretend anymore?

A/N: Holy shit! It's done! Thank you so much to everyone who has commented and reblogged and just...everything. I cannot tell you how much it means to be to know this story has resonated with so many people. I don't have any plans to continue this as a larger story (I still haven't played the game); however, if anyone would like to send requests for small one-shots or headcanons involving Astarion and this Asexual!Tav, feel free to send me an ask.

Also, sorry if I didn't tag you. There were a lot of request, so I stuck to those who asked on the previous chapter.

And as always REBLOG AND COMMENT IF YOU LIKE THIS! I NEED VALIDATION TO SURVIVE!!!

Word Count: 5.2K

You didn’t sleep that night, but what else did you expect?

For hours you simply lay in the dark, staring at the window. The patter of rain was the only source of sound besides your own breathing. Even that small comfort didn’t last as the storm passed leaving behind cloud covered silence.

No tears came to you.  What had you to grieve over? Everything you felt had been a product of your imagination. You knew that.

Still, it ached.  There was a throbbing in your throat you couldn’t swallow down and a constant pressure behind your eyes.  You almost wished you would cry, just to get it out of your system. If you could have a nice little breakdown, there was a chance you could get over this. It would be the slap in the face you needed to accept reality. Maybe then you’d stop doing this to yourself.

All the same, it stayed there, pressing heavy on your chest until the sun teased the edges of the clouds beaconing morning.

You groaned, burying your face into the pillow. You couldn’t lie and wallow the rest of the day. You had things to do, places to be, worms to destroy. The sooner you had something else to occupy your thoughts the better.

With an effort you pulled yourself out of bed and slowly made your way to the dining room.

You were a bit surprised to see everybody already up. Wyll, Karlach, Lae’zel, Shadowheart, and Gale were already seated with plates of half eaten food in front of them.  Two seats were still empty, settings ready and untouched. A quick look around confirmed the rest, Astarion had yet to make an appearance.

“Morning everyone,” you said, trying your best to be cheerful as you sat yourself between Gale and Wyll.  

You could feel all their eyes on you, no doubt noticing the dark circles under yours.

“Morning,” Gale greeted. “I trust you slept well.”

He let out a small yelp of pain.

You looked up to catch him glaring at Shadowheart as she shot him a disapproving look.

You frowned. Did she just kick him?

“I mean, ah, did you lie comfortably?” he amended.

“Seriously?” Karlach questioned.

You swore you could feel the heat of Gale’s blush, as he grumbled into his toast. “Damn it, you know what I mean.”

“Do I?” you asked.

“We just hoped you spent the rest of the night…pleasantly,” Wyll tried, and ultimately failed.

Your stomach flipped, as harsh, dreadful realization washed over you.  Yes, of course they would.

“You don’t look well,” Lae’zel noted. “After all his boasting, I had thought Astarion would leave his partners more satisfied.”

You didn’t say anything, deciding to take a bite of egg as an excuse. Now would be a great time for the ground to open and swallow you into the hells. Gods knew it would be an improvement.

“She’s right,” Shadowheart said, sounding a little annoyed to admit it. “You do look tired and not the good kind. Did something happen?”

“Did he hurt you,” Wyll said, his brow furrowing in sudden concern.

“What?! No!” you said quickly. “Nothing happened.”

“How’d you mean nothing happened?” Karlach put in. “We all saw what we saw. How could anyone turn down all of that?”

Fresh embarrassment washed over you, making you wish you could erase the last twenty-four hours and crawl into the nearest, deepest hole. You had spent the whole night worried about what Astarion would make of your vision, you had all but forgotten you had shared that part of yourself with all of your companions. Of course they would have their own interpretations.

“It wasn’t like that.”

A quick look around the table gave away the doubtful thoughts of all.  

You took a deep breath, willing yourself to calm. They weren’t going to believe you if you were emotional about this.

“Look, I appreciate your concern, but I’m fine. As I said, nothing happened. We talked, and it became clear that we just want different things. That’s the beginning and the end of it. Now are we done or are you all going to keep chattering on like a bunch of fishwives?”

The silence at the table was palpable as everyone exchanged looks.

Alright, maybe being calm wasn't a realistic expectation, but you hadn’t lied. Sure, there were some details you neglected to share, but that really was the long and the short of it. He hadn’t done anything wrong and neither had you. It just didn’t work out.

The plain truth of it settled in your heart carving out a hollow space for it to lay in.

Gale was the first to act, clearing his throat. “Fair enough, the matter is closed. Please, accept our apology. With such an intimate group as ours, it’s sometimes easy to forget that one’s personal matters can be well and truly personal.”

He looked at the rest of the group, each nodding in agreement to various degrees of reluctancy.

“Just for the record though, if you need someone to knock some sense into that pretty boy’s head, you just need to ask,” Karlach offered. 

Despite yourself, you had to smile. “I’ll think about it.”

You then turned to Gale, who met you with kind eyes and a comforting smile. You let yourself be warmed by it, even if you still felt a little guilty for snapping. He really did understand. It was easy for heartbreak to recognize heartbreak.

“Thank you,” you murmured. 

To your surprise, his first instinct wasn’t to reach for words, but rather your hand as he gave your fingers a gentle squeeze. 

“Anytime.” 

“Good morning everyone. Gossiping without me?”

You whipped your head around to find Astarion standing near the head of the table, a sardonic smile on his lips and a hard glare in his eyes.  No doubt he had heard everything. 

Everybody shifted in their seats, glancing between you and Astarion. You averted your gaze, focusing hard on the table in front of you. 

Gale’s hand still rested over yours. Whatever comfort it had given you, faded as something akin to panic flooded your veins. In the next second, you rose from your chair, scraping it hard against the floor in your hurry. 

“I’ve still got some packing to do,” you said. “Be back down in a few.” 

Coward’s way out? Yes, but after the night you had, you figured you were entitled to it. 

Keeping your head down, you slipped past Astarion, feeling him watch you as you made your way back up the stairs. 

If you had lingered a moment, you might have caught the flash of hurt in his eyes. You might have noticed how his clothes were more rumpled than usual. You might even have seen his hand twitch with the instinct to reach for yours. But you didn’t see, and anything that might have happened disappeared in a brush of air. 

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

The next several days carried on in much the same way.  Not as torturous as that first morning, but still a drudge of avoidance and awkward silences. 

In your defense, Astarion seemed just as keen to keep his distance. Where he used to be your preverbal shadow, filling the hours of travel with idle teasing and conversation, now he kept to the back, his mouth decidedly shut. 

The others caught on and seemed determined to make up the difference. Karlach, Shadowheart and Wyll especially made a point to walk alongside you, telling stories and jokes in an attempt to make you smile. 

You did your best. They meant well, but in some ways they only served to emphasize the absence of another. 

Gale, on the other hand, had the foresight to try a different approach. He made it clear he didn’t expect you to talk, but always made sure you had the best spot by the fire and a little extra of whatever he made for the camp. You had to wonder if Tara had provided a similar comfort to him after Mystra. It was obvious he had the practice. 

Even Lae’zel offered to help you train it off, something about how your, “objectively weak body had left the rest of you vulnerable to attack”. A part of you felt the insult, but the gesture was appreciated. 

Honestly, all of this care was starting to make you feel guilty. None of them were giving Astarion the same courtesy. He wasn’t being shunted exactly, but the message was loud and clear; they were on your side. 

This was met by him taking a step back from the late night conversations. His interactions with the others were kept short and lacked his usual humorous flare. He took his shifts on watch alone and he spent even more time either roaming the forest or in his tent. 

The only person he consistently spoke to was Gale, which should have raised some alarm bells on their own, but you never caught what they were discussing. All you knew was Astarion never appeared especially pleased while Gale gave a look of someone begging the gods for patience. 

All of this was your fault. You just wanted things to go back to normal. Even if you couldn’t be with Astarion the way you imagined, you still valued his friendship.  If this kept up, there was a chance he might decide to leave all together. An olive branch was needed, something to signal you didn’t hold a grudge or expect anything more. 

The answer came to you one early evening as you took note of his haggard looks and less than graceful steps out of camp.  He hadn’t fed on you in a week and there was only so much deer and boar could do. 

You considered simply offering up your neck, but that felt too forward. Besides, you weren’t sure if you were ready to have him that close. The only other solution you could think of was to bleed yourself somehow. 

This proved more difficult than you first imagined. Astarion seemed to have an instinct for where to bite, balancing enough blood for himself without causing any permanent damage. You couldn’t boast the same. It took more than one cut to fill an empty goblet with what you hoped to be the right amount of blood. You’d ask Shadowheart to heal you properly later. Hopefully she’d accept a poorly executed knife trick as an excuse. 

You wrapped your wrist as best you could and, watching to make sure the others weren’t looking, slipped into Astarion’s tent. 

You were immediately hit with the scent of bergamot, rosemary, and aged brandy. A sense of calm washed over you at the familiar combination, settling comfortably in your lungs as you took in the space.

 A single candle remained lit, allowing just enough light for you to appreciate the rich purple and red fabrics lining the walls as well as the sheer number of pillows littering the floor. How he managed to pack so many was a mystery you doubt you would ever solve. The whole set up was down right ornate, but considering this was Astarion you were talking about, you shouldn’t have been surprised. 

It was only then you realized you’d never been inside before. He’d invited you more than once, but you’d always turned him down preferring to keep your feeding session in the open air. You had known, even then, any closer would give the wrong impression; all for naught it seemed.

You pushed the thought aside, pulling your attention back to the matter at hand. There had to be some place you could put the goblet where he wouldn’t knock it over. Why did he have to keep a side table outside the tent?

A shuffle came from just outside. Focusing your ears, you caught the tread of boots on grass transition to the nearly silent carpet just outside the tent flap. You turned using those handful of extra seconds to school your features into something passively innocent as Astarion ducked inside.

His whole body froze, his arm holding the fabric above his head as his eyes went wide. For a long moment, neither of you said anything. 

You took advantage of his momentary shock to examine his appearance more closely. He looked…well, tired and more than a little confused. No blood marked his shirt or his lips. His pants appeared to have taken a tear or two from a bramble bush. Even his hair looked just a bit disheveled in a way so unlike himself.  

“No luck hunting?” you said, unable to keep the concern out of your voice. 

He stared, as if your words were coming from somewhere far away and required extra time to reach his ears.

“I’ve had better,” he finally said. 

You nodded in understanding, shifting awkwardly as your eyes went to the goblet in your hands. 

“Here,” you offered. “No offense, but you look like you could use it.”

He gave a tight smile. “I’d say no offense taken, but this is me we’re talking about.” All the same, he took the cup, sniffing it cautiously. He blinked hard, his brows furrowing as he stuck his nose further into the cup and took a deep whiff. 

“Is this yours?” he asked. 

You shrugged, holding up your bandaged wrist. “Whose else would it be?”

His mouth parted slightly as if to say something before closing it again. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” he said, his tone oddly serious. 

“I know,” you assured. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Once again, he opened his mouth as if to speak, but instead released a breath of a laugh, allowing whatever tension he had formed in those last few seconds to fall from his shoulders. 

“I know I shouldn’t be surprised, but it seems I can’t help it with you.” 

Before you could ask him what exactly he meant, he raised the goblet to his lips and drank. 

The effect was instantaneous. Your blood met his tongue and any control he had slipped away. His pupils dilated to those of a predator as he guzzled the whole thing down in two deep swallows. He let out a gasp of air before returning to the cup, licking the sides so not to waste a drop. A low hum of bliss came from deep in his chest as he savored the rest, allowing his fingers to scrap the bottom before bringing it back to his mouth. 

The sight should have left you horrified, but in truth, it was encouraging. Things would be different, but you could at least provide him this. 

“Do you need more?” you asked. 

This time his laugh was loud and genuine as he wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand before licking the remains; yet another thing you found inexplicably endearing. He really was just a big cat sometimes. 

“Dangerous thing to offer me in this state, darling,” he said. “Luckily for you, I found a nice burrow of rabbits yesterday.” 

Once satisfied there was truly nothing left, he set the goblet down on the ground before turning his attention to your wrist. 

“Let me see,” he said, reaching out a hand. 

“It’s fine,” you promised. “I’ll get Shadowheart to look at it later.” 

“I’ll be the judge of that, give it here.”

Knowing there was no fighting him, you relented, allowing him to unwrap the bandages.  

He visibly winced as he examined the litter of harsh scratches along your skin. “What did you use? A rusty spoon?” 

“I had trouble finding a good vein,” you said, feeling the need to defend yourself. You hadn’t thought it looked that bad. 

“Oh is that all? And here I thought you’d lost an argument with a displacer beast.” 

You pressed your lips into an annoyed line, but Astarion was already digging around his pack, coming back with a salve and potion of healing.  

“Drink this.”

You shook your head, ignoring the pleasant little flutter in your chest at the gesture. “I told you, I’ll just ask Shadowheart.”

“Oh this isn’t just for you,” he said, dryly. “Do you think I want her believing you’d willingly butcher yourself just to give me a proper meal? Neither of us would hear the end of it.” 

A small flush of embarrassment worked up your neck. He was right, of course. The party really hadn’t been subtle in their disapproval. It was the reason you had tried for discretion. 

Without further protest you accepted the potion. 

This seemed to appease him as he quickly got to work on applying the salve. 

He had bought it not long after you had come to your little feeding arrangement. It helped to sooth small cuts and bruises while minimizing the threat of scars. He had initially offered to provide…other services to relieve the pain, but you had declined. This was the compromise. You’d offered to do it yourself, but he insisted, claiming it was the least he could do. In truth, it was all very…transactional. 

This felt different. The hesitation he so often held, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop, was gone. His touch was gentle, his expression focused and his body oddly relaxed. It didn’t feel like an obligation, but an act of kindness, one he was more than willing to give. 

Any nerves that remained slipped away.  You could find a way to live with this. Certainly it was more than others had given you in the past. 

Once he was done, he pulled fresh bandages from his bag and began redressing your wounds with decidedly more precision than you had. 

“I am glad you’re here,” he said, breaking the silence. “I was hoping we could talk.”

A sharp sting of anxiety pressed itself into your skin. 

“Oh?” 

He nodded, tying off the bandage. “I think it’s important.”

You swallowed. The instinct to run pulled at your feet, but you managed to keep it in check. You owed him that much. 

“Well, I’m here so…let’s talk.”

He breathed out an audible sigh of relief, raising his hands up as he took a small step back.

“Just stand there a moment. Don’t move.”

He spun around, rummaging through various bags before letting out a cry of triumph. He stepped back holding what looked to be a violin string glowing with magical golden light. 

Your head tilted to the side as your eyes narrowed. “Is that…?”

“Part of the violin, yes,” he admitted. “Bit of a story. Short version, Gale was able to extract one of the strings. It shouldn’t cause any permanent damage to the instrument, as far as I know.” 

You raised a doubtful eyebrow. “And Gale just let you pluck this from his tent did he?”

Astarion shifted uncomfortably. “Not exactly. I, ah, may have had some trouble understanding how it worked and…inquired as to his assistance.”

“You asked Gale for help?” you asked, astonished.

“Don’t make me relive the experience,” he lamented. “He told me the strings themselves have different magical properties in order to create the effect you demonstrated the other night. Apparently this one alone compels people to tell the truth.” 

He then took the string and carefully wrapped it around his wrist before handing the other half to you. 

Your eyes widened, glancing between him and the offered cord. “What are you doing?”

“Leveling the playing field,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

You shook your head, taking a step back. “You don’t have to do that.”

His lips curved into a self deprecating smile. “I think I do though. I haven’t been honest with you and…while that’s not exactly unique to you, the regret I have is. So you see, it really is a selfish action. If I’m to be free of this, I need to know for certain you understand that what I say next is the truth…all of it.” 

Your mouth opened to protest, but the words caught in your throat. The expression on his face was one you had never seen before. While he did his best to hide under his usual indifferent airs, his eyes gave him away. You’d never seen them so open and unsure. 

Slowly, you took the other end, feeling a familiar tingle spread through your fingers. 

“Alright,” you said, cautiously. “What’s your favorite color?”

Flashes of red shot across your vision, moonlit skies and a pair of eyes you only just caught to be your own before the image settled on something else entirely.

“Pink,” Astarion blurted.

Your eyebrows shot up as the start of a delighted smile spread across your face.

 “And orange,” he amended quickly, “and dark blue and…honestly just the color of the sky at sunrise.” He pouted as if annoyed at the words that escaped his lips, but he shook it off. “Alright, you had your little test run. Give me something harder.” 

You considered a moment. It was very tempting to continue on with some more embarrassing questions, but that wasn’t the purpose of all of this. Best to start at the beginning. 

“What did you think of me when we first met?” you asked.

He grimaced, guilt evident not just through his averted gaze but the tug of the string between you. “You were a target,” he admitted. “At best a convenient meat shield. You were just so…open, ready to trust. Manipulating you would be easy.”

You took a deep breath, ignoring the stab of pain between your ribs. You should have expected as much. He wasn’t exactly subtle. 

“And that’s what you were trying to do the other night, manipulate me?”

“Yes.”

Another stab of guilt, a flash of your own back walking out of a candle lit room as a hand that was not your own reached hopelessly outward. 

Your actual jaw clenched. “I don’t need your pity.”

“It’s not pity.”

“Then what?!” you snapped. “Hells bells Astarion, do you even like me?”

“You drive me to acts of insanity,” he said indignantly, raising up the glowing cord around his wrist as proof. “Do you think I’d willing subject myself to days of Gale’s passive aggressive commentary on my personal life for just anyone? Of course I like you. Gods below!”

You stared, unable to deny the waves of exasperation mixed with the sound of your own laughter as heard through another’s ears. Something warm and unfamiliar bloomed in the chest of the body opposite you making your mind spin, as you tried to re-establish the divide. 

“Why did you ask me to come to you?” you asked. “What were you hoping to gain?”

Astarion took a deep breath. It was only then you noticed how tightly he was holding the chord linking you.

“I was hoping to get back on track,” he said, slowly. “I had a plan when we met. A nice simple plan. Seduce you, bed you, manipulate your emotions so you’d never turn on me. It was easy…instinctive.” 

He met your eyes and for the first time, you felt him fight against the images threatening to breach the gap between you. You caught the barest flashes, memories of half forgotten faces passing by one after another. Shame and vile brushed the edges of your mind, and quickly faded as Astarion regained control. 

“But, you seemed immune to my attempts,” he continued. “I could tell you enjoyed my attentions, but you never asked for more. My simple plan that had worked on countless targets, couldn’t get off the ground. And yet, you still gave me blood, protection…trust. I couldn’t understand it. I found myself wanting to know more, to know you. To anticipate what you would ultimately ask in exchange. And then that night, you showed me exactly what it was you desired.”

Something slipped through. You saw yourself in the center of the tavern with darkness surrounding you. A rise of fear entered your heart as you heard your name called from familiar lips. And then, the world shifted, light came back into the world and it was…beautiful. 

“I thought I finally understood you,” he said. “A poor repressed urchin who had been hurt one too many times. All that was required was a more gentle touch. I could provide that. It wouldn’t be the first time.” 

He paused, his expression softening. “And then you had to do the most inconsiderate thing and surprise me all over again: you asked for my heart, in exchange for yours. I should have been elated. It meant my plan had worked, not the way I intended, but you had fallen for it…for me. The trouble was, I hadn’t accounted for the possibility that I would fall for you.”

You stared, unable to say anything as a well of emotion threatened to burst from you. It was as if someone pulled a bow across your chest, creating a resonating sound that moved in harmony with your very soul. 

It was true, all of it. 

By some miracle, you wrestled back control over your lungs and tongue. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” 

“I didn’t know how,” he admitted. “Even if I had, would you have believed me?”

You averted your gaze. It was answer enough. 

“It’s alright,” he said, offering a wry smile. “Smart really. I wouldn’t have believed me either.” 

You nodded in appreciation, your mind still reeling from everything he had just confessed. 

“What are you thinking?” he asked. 

You frowned, unable to shake a question that had been stirring for some time. 

“Do you even want to have sex with me?”

His eyebrows shot into his hairline, his mouth falling open. “I’m standing here baring my soul to you and that’s what you ask?”

“You asked me what I was thinking,” you defended. “Besides, it’s a relevant question.” 

He looked like he wanted to argue, but let it go just as quickly with a huff. 

“Well?” you prompted. 

He made a series of non-commital noises, his mouth half forming words before being wrenched in another direction. The chord between you glowed brighter, twisting just a little deeper into his skin.

“I…don’t really know,” he said, slightly stilted, as if surprised by his own answer. “To be clear, I do find you physically enticing. In that aspect at least, I’d hardly qualify bedding you a chore, but... I spent two centuries using lust and desire to lure people back to him. In that time I developed the habit of taking myself out of my body, looking at it as if it were happening to somebody else.  Even in those rare times it could be pleasurable, I still walked away feeling nothing but disgust and loathing. I don’t want those feelings associated with you. At the same time, I can’t help thinking that if we were together, it would be different. But, don’t take that to mean I expect it. Like I said, I don’t even know if I want it. Honestly, before you said it, I didn’t know saying no was an option.”

You took all of that in, your heart clenching as the full weight of what Cazador did to him settled on your mind.  Red filed your vision, the sympathetic ache replaced with a rush of fury.  He was a dead man. One way or another, you would see Cazador bloodied by the end of all of this. But as quickly as it had come you let the emotion pass. This wasn’t about him.  You wouldn’t let him intrude any more on this moment. 

“What do you want from me then?” you asked, softly. 

To your relief, something familiar and teasing flashed across his face. 

“I thought I’d made that obvious.”

With his free hand, he cupped your cheek allowing his thumb to lightly caress your skin. His scarlet eyes burned not with lust, but something warmer and just as desperate. 

“You showed me the chorus of your heart. How could anyone look upon that and not desire it? The trouble is, the price you asked. I…I don’t know how to pay it. I don’t know how to be with someone that way, but I’m willing to learn. I want it all. I want you to have it all.” 

The connection between you burned hot in your hand, but you couldn’t let it go. It felt so warm, so real. It filled every empty part of you to the point of bursting and still you wanted more. You were insatiable. 

Astarion looked just as lost as you, his eyes glazed over with too many emotions for you to name. His body began to tremble. It was becoming too much. 

In an instant you pulled his hand away, unwrapping the chord from around his wrist and tossing it aside.

He took a sudden deep breath as if coming up for air after being submerged in deep water. 

“Shit,” he cursed, gulping for air. Closing his eyes, he ran a hand down his face as he tried to calm. 

Your eyes widened as you caught the angry marks left behind on his wrist. 

“Are you alright?”

He blinked hard as if clearing spots from his vision. “I’m fine. Wasn’t expecting that is all.” He turned his focus to you with a bewildered expression. “Does it always feel like that?”

“That’s admittedly a first for me,” you confessed. You reached out your hand, glancing at his injury. “Let me see.”

He followed your gaze frowning, as if surprised to note the welts forming on his wrist. Still he stepped closer allowing you to examine them without protest. 

“Does it hurt?” you asked. 

He shook his head. “Sort of numb, honestly, tingly.”

You nodded, swallowing hard to keep the rise of guilt and fear at bay. It didn’t help. 

“I’m sorry,” you said, quickly. 

He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing. “Don’t think a little thing like this is going to scare me off. I meant what I said. I intend to give you your fill.”

“You don’t have to give it all at once,” you promised. “I can be patient when it counts.” 

A sly smile turned at his lips. “I almost hope you won’t. You’re not the only one who's starving.”

Heat spread up your neck, something Astarion undoubtedly caught as he gave a low laugh. 

“Well, now that we’ve cleared the air, what happens next?” he asked. 

“I’m…not sure,” you admitted. “Nobody else has ever given me the chance to figure that out.” 

He nodded slowly, before taking a small step back. His head tilted as if to examine you from every angle. A question started to form on your tongue just as the start of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He suddenly straightened before placing a hand on his chest and regarded you with a deep bow. 

You grinned, matching him with a curtsy of your own. 

He then offered his hand, which you easily took before he pulled you just a little closer. Your other hand found his shoulder while his pressed lightly on your waist. And then you did what was only natural. You danced. 

It wasn’t anything elaborate. There was no fire or sparks of magic. You simply moved together to a song of your own imagination. It stirred in your chest, the barest pluck of a melody, but it was yours and his; the promise of a symphony to come.

Tag List:

@ambrolyer, @cassiecasluciluce, @tamwritesstuff, @hallowedandhungry, @mangomonk, @amefuyuu, @righteous-scamp, @starved-kitten, @tinystarfishgalaxy, @twinkliker3000, @unrestrictedbyreality, @screechingphantommaker, @becksynthetic, @black-sapphic, @dicenete, @isharaneith, @sarcasticlittlebook, @catsandskyrimcafe, @sora-o-kaku, @catching-fire-in-the-wind, @ka-du-trur, @baldursgateslittlestar, @rakilein

[zvdvdlvr]

— The Line.

— Synopsis. Frank’s A-Okay with being anything you want him to be.

— Warnings. Smut. Oral sex (female recipient). Fuck buddies? Idk.

Your relationship with Frank was- quite frankly- a situation. He’d call you if he needed sex or someone to dick around with at the bar, to go beat up some scumbags that didn’t deserve the breath in their lungs or have a conversation.

Frank tried to keep his feelings out of the mix, choosing to straddle the line between fuck buddies and something more.

Liquor blurred the line.

Cum drenched Frank’s face as you ground down on his awaiting mouth. Your clit brushed deliciously over Frank’s broken nose, making a broken moan slip through your lips. Sharp pain flared from Frank’s scalp as you tugged his head, pussy overstimulated from the constant assult from Frank’s magical fucking tongue.

“Shit, Frankie,” you warbled, leaning your forhead on the cool wall in front of you, letting Frank guide your hips. “Might make me pass out.”

Frank grumbled something that sounded a lot like ‘won’t keep me from this cunt’. His wide hands gripped the flesh of your ass with a bruising force. “One more, y/n. Gimme another one, girl,” he rasped, lapping at your folds as if he hadn’t been eating you out like a man starved for the past half hour.

As much as you wanted to whine, tears streamed down your face as you let Frank lead you to yet another orgasm. The coil built and twisted in your gut, molten list solidifying as Frank made it his personal goal to make you cum. Again.

“Oh fuck, Frank, fuck. I’m cumming, don’t stop,” you repeated breathlessly. That egged Frank on, pulling you even further into him, clit harshly grinding on Frank’s misshapen nose. “Fuck, right there, Frankie!”

Frank hummed and let your hips buck on his face, letting you ride out your orgasm. “Atta girl,” he murmured. “Knew you had another for me.”

As Frank collected your melted limbs and layed you next to him, he watched your nipples disappear and reappear through the thin material of Frank’s shirt as your chest heaved. “You alrigh’?”

“Mm,” you replied, a shaky hand raising to pat down the sweat-soaked baby hair.

Your eyes fluttered shut. Frank took the opportunity to shift his cum-soaked boxers. You looked amazing post orgasm, face slack and cheeks flushed. Even the cheap neon light from a bar down the street made you look like Frank could part your thighs once more. “Still got my shit here?” Frank asked, thumb brushing a lone tear from your cheek.

“You know it,” you replied. Frank felt your hooded eyes follow his movement. He slipped out of your bed and ambled over to the dresser to grab a pair of sweats in his size. After slipping out of his boxers and brushing his teeth and cleaning up, he pulled on the oversized pants and brought a washcloth with warm water to clean you up since Frank knew you didn’t want to get up.

After removing the towel and discarding the washcloth, Frank crawled over you and kissed you. His tongue tasted like you. Your opened your mouth to him, letting your tongue dance with his. Whiskey tainted your breath, mixing with the taste of your cum- something disgusting and gross that Frank wanted to taste forever.

He was playing a dangerous game and he knew it: letting you have your way with him and acting like a couple for a night before going back to acquaintances as if nothing had happened. Frank’s hand tangled in your hair as you wrapped a leg around his waist. A groan- yours?- filled the air as Frank pressed his hips into your core. “Goddamnit, girl. Y’gotta tell me what you want,” Frank muttered between kisses, letting you run a hand down his scarred chest.

“You, Frank. Always you.”

[niphix]

𓆩⟡ cuddle companion. ⟡𓆪

﹒⪩ megumi fushigiro.

≪ ◦ ❖ ◦ ≫ - now playing “Tinnitus (Wanna be a rock)” // TOMORROW X TOGETHER

warning! all lowercase.

man,

…

you think as a deep sigh escapes your mouth.

what’s wrong with you today?

even you yourself can’t exactly place your finger on it. perhaps it’s because you lost your necklace on the baseball field earlier. or maybe it's because you lost all your sparring matches to megumi.

nonetheless, you embrace the dejection with a gloomy frown and stare up at the white ceiling. you’re laying on megumi’s bed sprawled out like a starfish after you claimed for the third time this week that his mattress is by far squishier than yours; to which he usually protests to with the same “they're identical.” paired up with a glare and followed by a sigh and a pinch of his nose bridge.

your peripheral vision blurs out of focus, becoming as hazy as your distant train of thoughts. as megumi walks past his room with the door slightly opened, he can’t help but steal a glance, noticing your pitiful state. typically, the young boy wouldn't pay much mind, leaving you to do whatever you stated that you wished to do in his bed. this time however, he can’t shake off the unease that engulfs his senses and tugs at his poor heart, demanding that he takes action most immediately. he freezes right in front of his room, though out of your sight as he buries his face in his hands, conflicted as to what he should do.

apparently, you’re his responsibility now. it’s his job to cheer you up. his job to make a warm and heartfelt grin play at your lips instead of the current dispiriting and melancholy pout. and all this according to who? to him, of course.

but it’s always easier to convince himself that it’s his duty as a friend and that it’s common sense, instead of actually dealing with the weird flowering feelings that give him odd sensations and make him all,, giddy on the inside.

he groans quietly to himself before leaning up against the exterior wall of his room where you’re located. he slides down to sit and averts his gaze to his hands that he clasps together in a certain way, the figure resembling that of a dog. he lets his head fall back against the wallpaper, interrogating himself inwardly as to why he’s doing this; why he’s letting himself do this. moments later, he dismisses all the rational thoughts and huffs a few words under his breath, summoning his demon dogs against his better judgement.

he had often times seen you coo at the critters, though in ridiculous situations - usually being minacious missions. nontheless, Megumi would subconsciously store the mental notes in the back of his mind. he’d tell himself to let you pamper them sometime in a safe environment, every time you gushed about adoring them. so here he was, petting both of the contrasting-colored dogs on their fluffy heads before sending them your way with a soft smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

you lie quietly, sinking in the bedsheets as if drowning in your own pool of misery. that is until you feel a pair of soft paws pressing on your arm, followed by excited panting from both of the divine dogs. you’re pulled back to reality as you whip your head to the side, seeing the darker canine with both of its forepaws hoisted up on the edge of the bed while its snout is reaching out to you, desperately trying to lick your face as a show of affection.

caught up with spoiling one dog with caresses, you don’t notice the snow-white hound jumping onto the bed until its all in your face, disturbing your personal space in the best way possible. you can’t help but break out in laughter, forgetting your earlier despondency because two particular snouts are shoved in your face, assulting your skin and any sense of privacy you thought you had.

after a few moments with the quiet atmosphere interrupted by your loud giggles and occasional snickers, you quiet down a bit, unable to wipe the wide smile off of your face. your arms are hooked around both of the furry creatures, their bodies curled up against you. the darker of the two rests its head on your chest, its pointy ears laid back as you stroke the black fur lovingly. the white canine is snuggled up against your side in a comfortable ball as your hand rests on its back, occasionally playing with its relaxed tail. blanketed with warmth and comforting company, you find yourself content enough to drift off, giving in to your heavy eyelids as they fall over your eyes.

your breathing gradually slows down and and as soon as your soft exhales reach megumi, who’s still sitting on the other side of the wall, his ears perk up. seeing it as a cue to enter his room, he gets up and discreetly steals a few photos to keep to himself and take with him to his grave.

“cute..” he murmurs under his breath.

≪ ◦ ❖ ◦ ≫

[blackypanther9]

Father!Alastor x Son!Reader MASTERLIST

Summary: M/n and Alastor were two lonely people. M/n was abandoned by his parents, as he was six years of age, and Alastor lost his Mother to death a while ago. They found each other by pure chance. How will their adventures go ?

A/N: These are only Oneshots !! Usually I add Warnings in the Chapters, but I am adding them here, so you know this might be there. Don't worry nothing bad will happen to M/n and Alastor for the first few Oneshots. There is a lot of Fluff and comfort. Art belongs to their rightful owner (It might change) Reblogs are allowed too ! (Fem!Daughter!Reader is also in this Masterlist !!)

WARNING!: Mentions of sexual assult, bullying, abuse, cursing, murder, cannibalism, blood x gore, protective!Alastor AND MORE ! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED !!!

Chapters (Father!Alastor x Son!Reader):

1 How they met

2 I’ll protect you

3 I keep my words

4 How M/n met Mimzy

5 Alastor teaches M/n how to hunt

6 Patient Alastor

7 Over my dead body !

8 M/n learning Voodoo Magic

9 Kitchen War (WIP)

10 Old fart (WIP)

11 Start of Cannibalism

12 Rescue (WIP)

13 The dark past will always hunt you

14 They know

15 Two times seperated and one time united

Side Chapters (What ifs):

Discovery (WIP) (Father!Alastor x Son!Reader)

Extras/Headcanons (for Father!Alastor x Daughter!Reader):

1 Boys ask you out – Teen!Daughter!Reader x Father!Alastor

2 Boys ask you out – Demon!Daughter!Reader x Father!Alastor

3 Gossip between Father and Daughter – Father!Alastor x Daughter!Reader

4 Very first Period – Teen!Daughter!Reader x Father!Alastor

5 If you had a girlfriend and came out to Alastor – Father!Alastor x Teen!Daughter!Reader

6 If you had a Boyfriend and Alastor meets him – Father!Alastor x Teen!Daughter!Reader

7 Only once, never again – Father!Alastor x Teen!Daughter!Reader

8 Alastor's Daughter is a Boss Bitch - Father!Alastor x Daughter!Reader

Main Masterlist

[oh-no-its-bird]

Someone ( @ohai-there ) asked me if I had any thoughts ab mdtb weeks "cultural differences" prompt, so, like, take just the copy pasted reply I gave them (+ some extra) :

I was up all night drawing birthday art and am this 👌 close to blacking out for x amount of hours so this risks being nonsensical fair warning

Uhhh culture shock my beloved, let's seee

Easy answer is the senju are very touchy feely, easily and willingly sleeps around (they face a lot less risk of bloodline theft due to rarity of the mokuton so there isn't as much ingrained cultural fear of being assulted/facing the baby shaped consequences of sleeping around willy nilly)

They can take multiple spouses and it's actually rare for the head of house to have only one wife (Hashirama is an exception bc Mito is a Princess(tm) and so to take another wife would risk offending her own clan culture, he is fine with this and they possibly often take others to bed with them just for funzies (potential hashimitoizu noises(?)))

Uhh anyways so that, they're super liberal with touch, etc. Etc.

Also they don't really do crazy deep romance and are super used to casual no strings attached flings, you have to make yourself VERY clear in what you're doing if you want to actually start a fr relationship bc otherwise many "courtship" behaviors are just like. Casual, culturally acceptable flirting and invitations to bang (the senju have a 101 different ways to proposition eachother in flower language alone.)

Meanwhile the Uchiha are on the total opposite side of the spectrum— they're like super conservative (In contrast to the Senju not having an ingrained fear of bloodline hunters, their very valuable and very vulnerable kekkei genkkei makes them prime victims, which has lead them having generations of trauma fueled insane abstinence lessons)

+ They're a noble clan and regularly interact with the Daimyo's court, so there's even more etiquette culture ingrained into them so they can send anyone into court if needed (While the Senju, who are NOT a noble clan, only ever send their main house, and so only they have to even worry about court etiquette)

They do not believe in divorce, they do not believe in political marriages (tho they do happen very very rarely, it's seen as very sad and tragic when it does) they... sometimes believe in multiple spouses, in specific situations (they can't regularly interact w the daimyo's court and not have to face it as a concept, after all)

So like. Super up tight, hella rules about how to show affection and proper ways to conduct yourselves, months long courting rituals before u even get to kissing, to sleep together before marriage is SINFUL

But they're ALSO super fucking romantic and absolutely insane about having soulmates and one true loves and are just super intense ab all that romance stuff where the senju are super relaxed in it

I think u see where this is going

Anyways uhhh

They make a village and there's tons of culture shock

Then Tobirama, being Tobirama (standoffish and cold, not especially interested in the usual wild Senju sex parties or whatever tf kind of events they're hosting in the gardens) is like, among the most "normal" to the Uchiha (from a cultural standpoint)

And bc of that, Madara maybe interacts w him more like "well he's kind of awful but at least he's not a sex FREAK like the rest of these Senju WHORES"

Umm Madara tries to court Tobirama but Tobirama sees it as him only trying to bang (?)

Which he possibly doesn't even want to do

Tobirama is like "Ah man, if only he were interested in actual courtship, but he has only given me the Senju flowers of "I wish to ravish you in the fields" and not the senju flowers of "I am potentially interest in maybe going on a date" (a proposition that a)he received not too infrequently, and so was not odd, and b) he politely rejected by accepting the flowers then showing Madara that he had planted it in red soil)

Meanwhile, Madara is like. "Wow this courtship is going so great he's accepting all my Uchiha flowers of pure devotion and innocent love in bloom"

Just in general, their clans having different flower meanings could be funny actually. The Uchiha regularly interact with court so I think they'd have to have, like, "normal" flower meanings (or else theres be some implications there of how theye gotten so far while using incorrect flower meanings in genuinely important events) so that means its the Senju who have odd meanings for flowers-- which also works, bc, like, mokuton

however many years ago, a previous descendant with mokuton told his clansmen the ""real"" meaning of these flowers,,, u wouldnt get it,,,

Another fun route could be, like, the Uchiha method of declaring ones intentions to court someone also happens to be the Senju's method of declaring a feud.

Madara tries to flirt with Tobirama only for Tobirama to understand this as Madara telling him to his face that the peace may be ongoing but he'll always hate his bitch ass !!!

[ameliaenya707]

Keigo Takami

Yandere alphabet

Affection - how do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

Keigo shows his love through physical touch. Gently petting his darlings hair, kisses, and cuddles are all part of that. It gets pretty intense. Like he's smothering you. Just let him know and he might give you a bit of space to breath. He's still nice and considerate.

Blood - how messy are they willing to get for their darling?

Very messy. He already has blood on his hands so what's a little more gonna hurt? If he sees someone treat his darling bad, they're going missing. Afterall the commison can just cover it up for him.

Cruelty - how would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

He might be a little mean sometimes but not 'cruel'.

Darling - aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darlings will?

Rape. As much as he hates the screaming, and the tears he is dead set on getting you nice and fucked dumb, and he will achieve that no matter how many times you scream no.

On a lighter note he'd also be a little controlling of your outfits or hair, just for the sake of it. He likes to play dress up with you.

Exposed - how much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

It takes him awhile but just around the same time the stolkholm starts setting in. He'll tell you his real name and his past late at night. It's not an attempt to get pity, he just thinks you deserve to know.

Fight - how would they feel if their darling fought back?

He thinks it's kinda cute. Cute that you think you could ever possibly over power a pro hero like him. No matter how much you tussle and kick you'll never win against him. Sorry sweetie.

Game - is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

He knows he wouldn't let you escape but he thinks he's a very funny guy and let's you get pretty far but not far enough before snatching you back up. He's holding you on one of those retractable dog leashes. Giving you a mile and when your half done with the mile dragging you kicking and screaming right back to the start.

Hell - what would be their darlings worst experience with them?

The first week. This is when he's "training" you. Assult after assult. Then him consoling you and smothering you with love after, fixing that broken numb state consuming you.

Or the cage...

Ideals - what kind of future do they have in mind for them and their darling?

White house with a wrap around porch. Little chicks running around and his darling greeting him with a welcome home kiss. Little hands reaching for him in the nursery as his darling hums his little ones to sleep.

Jealousy - do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

He does but he tends to push it down. Causing him to lash out later over something small.

Kisses - how do they act around or with their darling?

Very sweet. Constantly alll over them, kissing them, holding them, talking to them.

Love letters - how would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

He probably saved his darling at one point. Then he got obsessed. Finding excuse after excuse to run into them and strike up conversation.

Mask - are their true colors drasticly different from the way they act around everyone else?

Yes. Having to look all nice and golden for the public, obviously is just a persona. Hawks and Keigo are very different people. Keigo is just as charming and sweet but also a bit quiet and reserved. Also the bird traits he's had to push down resurface when he's with you.

Naughty - how would they punish their darling?

A good spanking is always a classic but he's not a huge fan of that.

The biggest and worst punishment is the cage. Locked up. No food. In fact he actually sits infront of your cage, eats his meal and then walks away. Oh and no access to a rest room. This only lasts 3 days though but it's so bad you'll never misbehave again.

After the cage it's all back to cuddles and praise.

Oppression - what rights would they take away from their darling?

You have a lot of "privlages". At first you can't go outside but if you behave well enough he will take you out. That's a privilege. Kitchen access. If you want to bake or cook you have to prove to him you'll be good and not misuse the knives or fire. Privilege.

Patience - how patient are they with their darling?

He's really patient. The only time he'd REALLY have his patience tested is if you try to run away multiple times. One time is fine. Everyone makes mistakes. But if you're persistent in trying to escape he will run out of grace very fast.

Quit- If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they be able to move on?

They could never leave or escape. But if they die. He's killing himself too. What's left for him now that you're gone?

Regret - would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they let their darling go?

He feels so guilty. But he wouldn't let you go. Ever. But while you're laying in the dark bedroom with him, he'll hold your hand and kiss your knuckles. Apologizing for all he's done and praising you for being so strong.

Stigma - what brought out this side of them?

His childhood and how he was raised. He never really had anything for himself. No control. You're the only thing no one can take from him. The only thing in his life he can control.

Tears - how do they feel about seeing their darling crying, screaming, and/or isolating themselves?

He HATES it. It crushes him to his core. Rips him apart. He's immediately cooing and sushing you. Trying to hold and console you.

Unique - would they do anything different than the classic yandere?

Maybe. He wouldn't be trying to be different. He'd just be doing his own thing.

Vice - any weaknesses to exploit?

He doesn't have weaknesses you can exploit. BUT if you want to upset him, bring up his childhood, call him a monster, say that he's dirty.

Wits end - would they ever hurt their darling?

Yes. He might snap and black out. But when he sees all the blood and tears he's straight back to being sweet. Pampering you and washing the blood off your batterd body.

Xoanon - how much would they worship their darling?

His darling is his muse. You are everything to him. He is worshipping you to the max. Sometimes even calling you a goddess or his goddess.

Yearn - how long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

A month max. He can't wait any longer than that to take you away.

Zenith - would they ever break their darling?

No. He's very cautious and knows what he's doing. He doesn't want a mind broken slave. He wants a lover.

[ragequeen94]

My opinion on something that has nothing to do with me and is none of my or anyone else's business.

Jutty didn't intentionally do anything wrong from his own statement and the girl who posted.

But her experience is real.

Both can be right.

What's shitty is the way yall are acting and basically treating this incident with the same aggression and rage as if he had internally hurt her, rather than a interpretive mistake.

His statement wasn't ideal, he didn't apologize but also this isn't for us to police. It was an accident. And I'm someone who had bleed for SA victims to have a voice... and this isn't is. I fucking am one.

Even Calling what happened SA implies intent. That what he did he did maliciously. A child was at an all ages show, but was in an adult situation that most people would be able to navigate. None of this is her fault, and I'm sorry that she was upset by what happened, I'm sorry for the reaction of the community, and I'm sorry that its happening at all.

None of us know Jutty so I won't say he wouldn't. But what happened was so minimal in action.

When we lable him touching inappropriately during a photo op situation (something that had happened to many celebrities in the past which is why we have the stupid hand hover thing now) as Sexual Assult and demand his head with vengeance to the level it is at right now....

It invalidates intentional sexual assault... for a lack of a better description... because suddenly no one is rational thinking. Only rage and emotion. We are too quick to attack because why wouldn't we be... and it's valid and it's incredible we are so quick to believe people. But in the other hand... it is so easy to not want to accidentally appear as someone who disregards SA and victim statements that we treat every situation the same... we got here so quickly culturally... I wish there was support like this when I was younger... but on the other hand... socially we have been handed a loaded gun. And we need to not be so quick to pull the trigger when we aren't in danger. We lack the vocabulary to articulate the fact that sometimes... no one is right. And no one is wrong.

Believe those who speak out.

Always keep a critical mind.

[jadewolf22]

Whatever You Need

Fem!Reader x Sub!Larissa 

Warnings: Strap on sex, fingering, eating out, panick attack, mentions of sexual assult, fluff, ect…

Summary: You and Larissa finally decide to take the next step in your relationship but when something goes wrong you learn something about her past that leaves you speechless.

You and Larissa had been dating for a couple of months and you both decided that you were ready to take the next step. You were excited, to say the least, and wanted this experience to be memorable for Larissa. You surprised her with a picnic dinner on the edge of the lake and a bottle of her favourite red wine. The evening was spent in a happy bliss, the two of you wrapped up in each other, oblivious to the world around you. When night fell you wrapped Larissa in your arms, teleporting the two of you to your house just outside of Jericho. Setting the picnic basket down on the kitchen table you took Larissa’s hand, pulling her up to your bedroom with a school girl giggle.  

Closing your bedroom door, you turned, pressing your lips to Larissa’s in a passionate kiss, your hands beginning to roam over her beautiful body. You pushed her, gently, down onto your bed, crawling on top of her. You moved your kisses to her neck and shoulders, your hands slowly working to remove her clothing, her hands moving up your body, slipping your dress over your head.  

Hooking your finger under the band of her silk underwear you looked up at her, your eyes asked for consent, which she gave in the form of a nod. Smirking, you planted a kiss to her stomach, slipping off her underwear and bringing your face down to her core, latching your lips to her clit and beginning to suck on the bundle of nerves, drawing a gasping moan from Larissa, her legs tightening around your head. You smirked, teasing the bud with your teeth as you slipped a finger into her dripping cunt, pumping it and out of her. Your reward was a string of heavenly moans that rivalled pornstars leaping off Larissa’s tongue as you continued, slipping in a second finger.  

“Oh–! Oh, GOD, Y/n!” Larissa cried, gripping the sheets tightly, “Y/n, please! Please, can I cum?!” 

“Go ahead, Darling,” you whispered, increasing your pace as you felt her walls clench around your fingers.  

With a broken scream, Larissa came; her cum milking your fingers and her thighs. You hummed in delight, moving quickly to lap the cum from her pussy and thighs, helping her down from her high before bringing your fingers up for her to suck on. She moaned at the taste of her on you, swirling her tongue around your fingers until they were clean.  

Pulling your fingers from her mouth, you planted a kiss to her neck, grabbing a thick black strap from under your bed, attaching it to you with skilled fingers. Larissa’s eyes widened slightly at the sight of the massive faux dick, and you couldn’t help but smile. 

“Don’t worry,” you whispered, lining the cock up with her entrance, “I’ll go slow . . .” 

Slowly, you began sliding into her, pausing every couple seconds to allow her to adjust to the size. You notice her breathing becoming more rapid, and her body beginning to tremble but you thought nothing of it, assuming it was her body’s way of adjusting to the faux cock. Soon, the cock was buried up to the base in Larissa’s pussy and so, slowly, you began to move inside her, thrusting back and forth into her tight hole.  

Grabbing at the sheets and arching her back up off the bed, Larissa began crying, “Stop! Oh god, please stop! I can’t–! I can’t–!” 

Immediately you stopped, gently pulling out of her and removing the strap, tossing it onto the floor as you rolled off of Larissa, crawling up next to her and gathering the sobbing, gasping blonde in your arms.  

“I– I’m sorry–” Larissa choked, burying her face in the crook of your neck. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” you assured, rubbing Larissa’s back, “It’s okay, if you’re not ready . . . Just breathe; okay? Just breathe for me. You’re okay . . .” 

The two of you sat there like that for quite some time, you working to help Larissa slow her breathing and heart rate, rubbing small circles over her back and toying with her hair.  

“ . . . I’m sorry . . .” Larissa whispered again, “I just–” 

“You do not have to explain anything.” you said in a gentle, but firm tone. It broke your heart that Larissa felt as if she had to apologise, “And you do not need to apologise. I’ll wait as long as you need me to. I will never force you into this.” The confused look in Larissa’s eye nearly broke you, but it also gave you the answer to the question you were hesitant to ask, “Someone’s already forced you; haven’t they?” 

Larissa nodded as more tears began to slip down her face, broken sobs escaping her lips. You pulled Larissa into your lap, cradling her like a small child, pressing kisses to the top of her head while wiping the tears from her eyes.  

“My last relationship–” Larissa started, her words broken by gentle sobs, “My last relationship was with an owner of a bar in a neighbouring town–” “Larissa,” you said gently, looking into her pools of sapphire, “you don’t have to tell me anything–” 

“Yes, I do.” Larissa insisted, “I need you– I want you to know what happened . . .” 

“ . . . okay . . .” you whispered, nodding. 

“He was charming and funny at first,” Larissa started, “A new bouquet of flowers every visit, coffee dates, and late nights spent talking at the bar while he worked . . . I thought he was perfect– Then one night we were at the bar . . . He asked me to go upstairs with him and help him carry some things. As soon as we were in the storage room, he locked the door and came at me . . . I tried to fight him but he was stronger than I was . . . He assaulted me and then left . . . I never saw him again after that . . .”  

Fresh tears were running down Larissa’s cheeks, her body shaking as the memories resurfaced. She hugged herself tightly, her eyes tightly shut. Her breath was laboured and shaky, beads of sweat forming on her forehead.  

“Larissa,” you said, shaking her shoulders to try and snap her out of whatever she was seeing, “Larissa! Come on, look at me!” Larissa’s eyes snapped open and she looked at you, those pools of sapphire darkened with a shadow of fear. You pulled her to you once more, begging her to breathe with you as you hugged her close, the feeling of your arms around her calming Larissa slightly.  

“I’ve got you,” you assured, “I am nothing like him . . . I will wait as long as you need to . . . Whatever you need, I’ll give you . . .” 

“Thank you . . .” Larissa whispered shakily, pressing her body as close to you as possible. 

“You’re welcome, darling.” you whispered back, sliding down on the bed and rolling onto your side with Larissa still in your arms, watching as sleep took over her exhausted form.  

[sheepwhosleeps]

The eclipse sa scene makes me so angry, and not because it happened but because of the potential it had to connect past story lines. Casca's past from Griffith saving her from the noble (and Casca's overall character in general since I fear that her character went so unexplored during/after it) Guts and his past and how that wasn't even mentioned and Griffith and his past sexual relationships. We could've had a Casca that was out for revenge, a Casca who's character was explored and how she deals with those feelings. We could've had a Guts dealing with his past instead of shoving it off to the side and acting like it never happened (and in a perfect world there would be greater consequences for the assult he did to Casca in later chapters). We could've had a deeper connection of Griffith and his struggle with sex as being a power thing (such as Gennon, the princess, and Casca from the wagon scene). ALL THIS POTENTIAL just for it to come off as some weird hentai and for it to be just about Guts when it could've been a great exploration for all three characters. Also that scene of Guts' dark thoughts wanting to sa Casca to get closer to Griffith is conviently never talked about when I see people hating on Griffith's character and acting like Guts was the perfect man for Casca. It makes me laugh. I hate when people take the asshole out of Guts' character, what makes him interesting IS those dark thoughts of how he's still not over Griffith despite what happened to a woman he supposedly cares about. Honestly I hope Casca kills them both atp or she becomes an apostle. Or she does SOMETHING to make her an actual character again.

[griffin-girl-r]

Blackhill requests you say? Dw I got you covered!

Natasha and Maria are both happily married with an 8 year old daughter (r) when r’s dad enters the picture (r was conceived in the red room so he’s a bad guy who Nat had a one night stand with at some point idk)

She's mine

Created: 11.11.2023

Finished: 16.11.2023

Edited: 17.11.2023

Age: 8

Word count: 2,935

Warnings: Homophobia , Mentions of sexual assult , Abandonment , Misogyny

Anymore let me know

Request: Yes (Tumblr user) (@ravensinthedaylight)

Pairings: BlackHill, Natasha Romanoff x Lev Ilyin (Original!Evil!Character) (Past mention)

—

Natasha and Maria were quietly sitting on the couch in their living room, snuggled closer to each other as their 8-year-old daughter, Y/N, was sandwiched in between the two women.

'Lilo and Stitch', Y/N's favorite movie was playing on the TV and their little girl was absolutely fascinated about everything that was happening in it as if she wasn't seeing this movie for the millionth time.

Natasha had to buy 40 new DVDs with the movie, in the last 7 years since its release, because Y/N watched them so often that they quickly got scratched and, therefore, almost useless.

Natasha could only blame her wife for introducing their daughter to this movie.

Now, truth be told, Maria wasn't actually the other biological parent of Y/N.

Years ago, when Natasha was still a young mere prisoner of her own life, she was forced by the organization that had taken care of her training to have intimate relationships with a man she didn't even know.

More of like, being offered against her own will by the Red Room to one of their men but that is all in the past.

She was ready to keep living with everything that happened to her as long as the only good thing that came out of everything, her daughter, was by her side.

A knock at the front door interrupted Y/N's innocent giggles and the little family looked confused towards the door.

Who could be at the door at this late hour?

"I'm coming!" Maria shouted, carefully moving Y/N's sleepy body, who was using Maria as a pillow, away

"I'll get it." Natasha quickly placed her hand on Maria's arm, stopping her

Maria looked at Natasha for a second and the agent wanted to protest but the reassuring smile the redhead was wearing was too tempting.

"As you wish, my love." Maria smiled back

"I'll be quick." Natasha quickly peaked her wife's lips, then stood up, making her way towards the front door

—

Natasha opened the front door, unaware of the darkness that was lurking just on the other side of it.

A sickening smirk formed on the face of the man who was standing just in front of the red-headed woman.

"Hello, Natalia." He said "Long time no see. Did you miss me?"

Natasha froze in place for a moment as she took in the sight of the man she never thought she would see again.

Memories of a long-forgotten time had resurfaced in her mind.

She shook her head "No..." Natasha whispered "What are you doing here?"

"Well, you know..." The man began "I came to take back what's mine."

Natasha looked at the man, her eyes widening in shock.

"You are not going to take my daughter away from me!" She protectively declared

"Our daughter, my darling." The man corrected her "Oh, and what makes you think that I'm here just for our daughter?" He chuckled "I am here for you as well, Natalia. You are mine just as much as our daughter is." He stated as a matter of factly "How is she, by the way?"

The man took a step forward, walking uninvited inside Natasha's home, and looked around.

"I bet she grew up a lot in the time I haven't seen her." He added when Natasha hesitated to answer his question

"Leave her alone, Lev." Natasha raised her voice "She's innocent. She doesn't have anything to do with all this madness. I thought you were busy planning the world's dominance. How come you have come for us after all this time? How come that HYDRA let you leave their safe prison."

"How?" Lev chuckled "I was never a prisoner at HYDRA, to begin with, unlike you. I am one of their highest-ranked agents. Why do you think they offered you to me out of all people?" He explained "Now I am here to claim what's mine. And this time, neither you nor our little girl will run away. I will find you anywhere."

Anger raised inside of Natasha just as much as fear built inside her.

She couldn't believe her eyes. She couldn't believe that after all this time, the man who hurt her and took advantage of her body was here to claim something he never took part in.

More specifically, in the raising of Y/N, which he had no right over.

"Just leave us alone." Natasha shouted

"You wish!" Lev laughed sadistically

From inside the living room, Maria's ears picked up on the raising tone of her wife's voice, and her instincts kicked in, telling her to go and check what was happening.

"Stay here, baby." Maria kissed your head "Mom is gonna go and quickly check if Mama is okay out there and see who is at the door."

"Okay, Mom." You replied distracted as your attention was fully focused on the movie

Maria stood up and with one last ruffle of your hair, she made her way towards the front door.

"Honey?" Maria called Natasha confused, as she took in the sight of the unknown man sitting in front of her wife "Are you okay? Who's is he?" She pointed to the man "Were you expecting someone?"

"So this is that so-called wife of yours I've heard about." The man smiled "Well it's nice to meet my replacement but we have to leave, Natalia."

Maria looked confused between Natasha and the man for a second.

"What do you mean you have to leave?" Maria asked "Babe?" She turned her head towards Natasha, waiting for her answer

Natasha looked up from the floor, directly into Maria's eyes and the brunette could see the tears that were present in her wife's eyes, causing Maria's instincts to heighten immediately as a surge of protectiveness overflowed her senses.

When Natasha begged Maria to help her just with one look, Maria pushed Natasha behind her with a swift move.

"I don't know who you are." Maria said, her muscles tensing "But I'll have to ask you to leave. Nicely." Se ordered the man through gritted teeth

"You have no right to tell me to leave." The man laughed "I am here to claim what's mine and you, weak woman, will never be able to make me leave."

Just then, Maria's brain clicked on what was happening and she understood who the man that was standing in front of her was.

"You monster." Maria whispered angrily "I know exactly who you are."

"Well..." The man raised his arms, proud of who he was "It took you some time to figure that out." He sang "I expected you to be smarter than this."

"This is the last time I am asking you nicely to leave this house. That unless you want to have some serious problems." Maria said once again

"Oh, come on." The man chuckled sarcastically "You don't expect me to be afraid of a woman and especially of you, don't you?"

"Well, I wouldn't say the same thing if I were you." Maria tilted her head "I am ready to do anything to protect my family."

"Your family?!" The man shouted "They're mine! I am going to take my belongings and leave."

"They are staying here." Maria protested "You don't even know how my daughter is named, let alone have any right over her. I raised her ever since she was a five-month-old baby. I was the one who changed her diapers, checked for any monsters under her bed, and loved her, not you." She hissed "And the same goes for my wife. She's mine for a reason."

From the corner of her eye, Maria saw some movement right behind her, and she saw the man's smirk growing wider.

"Aha, my sweet girl!" The man cheerfully exclaimed "I finally came home. Are you excited to see me?"

Y/N silently peeked at the man from behind her moms.

"Mama?" You called shyly "Who's that?" You pointed towards the man

"No one, baby." Natasha quickly tried to make you leave "Just go back to the movie, okay? Me and Mom will be there very soon."

"Mom?" Lev raised his eyebrow "There is no such thing as another mom. I am your other parent, sweetheart." The man tried to tempt you in a sweet tone "I came here so you could have a normal family. I am your Dad." He declared

"Dad?" You asked confused, looking up towards Natasha "I have no dad. I have Mama and Mom. I already have two parents."

"Well, your parents must be a mom and a dad, not two moms." Lev tried to turn you against your mothers

"But, I love my moms." You innocently declared "They love me and we're always having fun. And Mom always carries me on her shoulders and buys me ice cream, while Mama reads me bedtime stories and gives me the best hugs in the world."

But just before you got to finish your sentence, the man snatched you away by your arm and forcefully held you in place.

You let out a terrified scream as tears quickly made their way down your cheeks.

"Mama!" You screamed out in fear, begging Natasha to help you

"Leave her alone!" Natasha screamed as she tried to grab you back from the men, but she didn't manage to "My baby!"

"Leave my child alone!" Maria threatened "That's my daughter you're holding there. You just don't get it."

"These two girls are mine! And she's coming with me." He pointed towards you

"She's mine!" Maria shouted as she grabbed your other arm quickly and pulled you towards her with all her force, causing the man to loosen his grip on you "They are both mine!" Maria declared as she quickly shoved you behind her to shield you from anything, just as she has done with Natasha "I don't know what's the reason behind your actions and what your evil plan is, but you must leave right now!"

Lev, in a fraction of a second, lifted his arm and punched Maria in the face.

Natasha let out a horrified gasp, her hands instinctively flying to her mouth to cover it in order to muffle any sound.

"Mom!" You screamed, afraid that your mom was badly hurt

"It's okay, kid. Mom is okay." Maria reassured you as she looked towards the man "So, you want to fight?" She nodded, taking a deep breath "Alright then, that's what you'll get."

And just like that, Maria delivered a punch back towards the man and a fight started.

Natasha wanted to help her wife, but she also knew that you needed protection and reassurance as she took two steps backward, shielding you with her body.

Kicks and punches were thrown around from both sides and just as the fight was getting more violent, a blowing sound was heard and the door of their house was slammed open.

"S.H.I.E.L.D., get down!" A deep voice shouted as agents armed with weapons burst inside their home

—

"This won't end like this!" Lev shouted as he tried to fight his restraints, just as S.H.I.E.L.D.'s agents escorted him away

"We'll see about that, Lev Ilyin!" Maria shouted behind him before she quickly turned her attention back to her wife and daughter "You're okay." She said in a rushed but reassuring voice "Everything is okay now, my sweethearts." The brunette woman pulled you and your mama in her arms "No one's ever gonna be able to take you away from me, I'm here and I will always protect you, you both are mine and no one else's."

Your small whimpers broke both Maria and Natasha's hearts.

Natasha held you tightly in her arms "It's okay, baby, it's okay. You're okay." Natasha kissed the top of your head and you hid your face in her stomach

Your cries slowly turned into quiet sniffs as you basked in the protection you felt from both your mothers as Maria protectively held you and Natasha closer to her.

"You're both okay." Maria whispered "We're all okay."

Natasha raised her head and looked at her wife's face, a gasp escaping the redhead's lips.

"Masha, you're hurt!" Natasha worriedly looked at Maria's bruised face and raised her hand to touch her wife's cheek

Maria tenderly grabbed Natasha's hand, stopping her from touching her cheek.

"It's okay, my love." Maria reassured "It's nothing. I just need a little bit of care from you and our little princess and I'll be all healed in no time."

"I'm sorry." Natasha whispered on the verge of crying "I never expected to see him again."

"None of that!" Maria sternly declared "You have no fault in this. Okay?"

"But Maria..." Natasha began before sighing when she saw the look on Maria's face and the spy changed the subject "How did the agents show up just on time?"

"Well, I kind of activated the alarm I have on my bracelet and they were alerted when I realized who Lev was." Maria shrugged her shoulders as if it wasn't such a big deal

"You sneaky agent." Natasha chuckled, a gleam of proudness shining in her eyes

"Well, what can I say?" Maria tried to sniffle her laughter "I am prepared for any situation."

But just as they hugged again, the sweet moment of the small family of three was interrupted by Nick Fury, who walked inside the room holding a file in his hand.

"Agent Hill. Agent Romanoff." He nodded, greeting the women "I want to thank you for catching one of the most wanted criminals on S.H.I.E.L.D.'s list.

"Well, you know..." Maria turned annoyed towards Fury, angry that he disturbed their moment "He kind of messed up with my family. I had to do something about it."

"As a thanks, I have a very special mission for you both." Fury stated "I need your help and you have just proven to me that you're both fit for this mission."

Natasha sighed, rolling her eyes "I knew there was something about you showing up here, Nick, not just because of Lev Ilyin."

"You know me, Agent Romanoff." He stated unimpressed, extending his hand towards them, offering them the file "Ilyin is just another trophy to our collection."

The couple grabbed the file from his hand and Natasha opened it, looking at the name of their next target that was written on the first page with big, bold letters.

"Tony Stark?" Maria asked confused "Isn't he that annoying, reckless man who thinks he's smart just because he has money and who wears sunglasses at parties that take place at night?"

"You couldn't have described Stark better, Agent Hill." Fury nodded "That's why I need Agent Romanoff to infiltrate inside his company. You have all the information there. You're getting a new alias and your mission is to protect him as danger is too close to him right now. We need to take action or the next events will have a turn for the worst if we don't intervene in this." He explained before adding "For the whole globe, not just for Stark."

"Consider it done." Natasha nodded, accepting the mission

"I promise you both, you won't regret helping with this mission." Fury looked in between the two women

"We hope we won't, Sir." Maria squinted her eyes

And just like that, Fury turned around and left without adding any other word.

Maria peeked at the page where all the details about Natasha's new identity were and quickly scanned the page with her eyes, reading the important details.

"Well, I see he didn't think too much about a new name." Maria said teasingly "Come on! Natalie Rushman? He could do better than that. And you were supposed to be a model?" She chuckled "No way!"

"Oh, shut up." Natasha playfully smacked Maria's arm "Let's just leave the mission for another time, okay? I have enough time later to study this role."

"All right, Miss Rushman." Maria laughed, wrapping her arms around Natasha's shoulders while taking a gentle hold of Y/N's small hand "I think we had a movie to watch."

"Stitch!" You cheered excitedly

"Yeah, baby, Stitch!" Natasha lovingly smiled down at you as you all made your way back to the living room

—

That night, Maria lay awake in the bed she and her wife shared.

Natasha and their daughter were sound asleep as today's events drained them out of energy.

The brunette agent turned on her side with a sigh and scanned the faces of her two loves in the darkness.

"No one will ever be able to take you away from me." Maria whispered "I promise you both that we will forever be a family regardless of our past or of what other people might think about us."

Maria slowly leaned closer and kissed your cheek.

"You're so loved, Y/N." The brunette whispered in your ear "And so are you, Tasha." She also pressed a gentle kiss against Natasha's cheek "You're my blessings and I'm the luckiest woman in the world to have you both."

What happened today, helped not only Natasha and Maria, but also you, to realize how lucky you were to have each other and on how much love your small family was actually built on.

Maria vowed to fight until her last breath, just so she could keep you and Natasha safe, as her love for her girls knew no bounds.

And just as Stitch has said.

'Ohana means family. Family means no one gets left behind or forgotten.'

And a true family is built on love, not blood.

—

Permanent taglist: @lizlil , @mmmmokdok , @natsxwife , @lovelyy-moonlight , @observeowl , @froufrousnowman , @youralphawolf72 , @halstead-severide-fan , @daggersquadphantom , @circe143 , @ravensinthedaylight , @darkstar225 , @dannipotatoo , @justarandomreaderxoxo , @theunchosenonee , @cherlenovix

[arlana-likes-to-write]

Hey first of all, thank you for your writing! I enjoy reading your work a lot. I wanted to request an addition to the older sister! Reader AU where the avengers manage to catch a person who used to be a high ranking officer in the red room and has a lot of intel. They specifically requests to see reader. And reader goes in and the person is smug and taunts r about everything she did under dreykov and what dreykov did to r. (Hints to a lot of sexual assult trauma, if you dont mind) and r has gotten used to the taunts, having bward plenty during her red room days. Carol though who was outside in the interrogation room with r’s sisters is livid. She is very protective of r and so she comes inside the room angry. But as the person keeps taunting and saying demeaning stuff about r u still remain unaffected but carol cannot take it. I mean thats the idea I had, you could do whatever u want with it! Thanks again. And sorry for the longg request

Mine to Protect

Family is More Than Blood Masterlist

There things in this story that be triggering of people, please advise the warnings!

Warnings: heavy description of past sexual experiences (usage of handcuffs, voyeurisms, power dynamic, ) implied sexual assault (uses it to taunt the Reader and Carol), original male character uses pet names from the reader, gross dirty talk, past trauma mentioned, self harm, death of an original character, mention of killing, Carol is hella pissed this this and protective.

Relationships: Carol x Reader, Yelena x Natasha x Reader (Platonic), Avengers x reader (platonic)

Word Count: 3.0k

All of your life, you’ve known pain. The pain was physical suffering\ or discomfort. It caused great trouble, and it could be mental or physical. Pain in the Red Room was negative. It was mystery hands that held you down and took whatever they wanted from you. Hours spent at training, at the ballet bar, or forced to kill your fellow Widows because of an order given. You hated pain and all the negative thoughts that came with it.

However, your life changed. It wasn’t contained by the Red Room. You had room to grow, dream, and create the person Dreykov tried to destroy. Now, pain wasn’t always negative. There was pain that morphed into pleasure when Carol bit down on your neck and soothed it with her tongue; a warmth would fill your belly. Sometimes, you went a little too hard as you trained against Steve and felt each punch from the super soldier, but your laughter bounced off the walls. Other times, you brunt your hand when cooking with Wanda or lose an arm wrestling match with Maria. All that pain was good, a reminder that you were free.

You sat outside. The brisk New York fall air filled your lungs. There was an ache in your fingers as you played the guitar. It would take time for callouses to form on your fingers. You heard the door open and close, but it didn’t stop you from humming to the song you were playing. It was Steve, Tony, and Maria. Oh boy. Stopping, you put the guitar beside you and gave the trio your attention. “Why do I smell trouble?” You asked.

“It’s not me,” Tony said, sniffing under his arm. “I showered.” You rolled your eyes at the billionaire.

“Does the name Andrei Lebedev?” You kept your face neutral, but your stomach dropped. That name would forever be in your nightmares.

“Yes, he was part of Dreykov’s second ring. He disappeared when the Red Room fell. He’s been on Melina’s list, but we haven’t been able to locate and deal with him,” you explained.

“Deal with him?” Steve questioned. “So would kill him if you found him?” You huffed in frustration.

“Don’t act all high and mighty, Rogers. These men have power even with the Red Room gone; they are better off dead.” With a vacant spot, there was a fight to be at the top. You and some of the other freed Widows were working on eliminating them before they could gain momentum. You looked at Maria. “What’s going on?” She handed you a file.

“Lebedev was found in New Asgard,” you opened it and saw a mug shot. The man was 6 feet, 5 inches tall. He had striking blue eyes. Unlike the last time you saw him, his dark brown was longer instead of neatly combed. However, a faint beard outlining his jaw gave you the idea that he was going somewhere safe to shave. “He was looking for asylum, but Val thought he was acting odd and brought him in for questioning.”

“Once they learned who he was, Fury had him transferred to us for questioning,” Tony added. You handed back the file.

“What does this have to do with me?” You had a feeling you knew where this was going.

“He won’t talk to anyone, not me, Maria, or Natasha,” Steve said. “He’s asking for you.” Fuck. Of course, he fucking was. God dammit. Why was Wanda away on a mission?

“What do we want from him?” You asked. Killing him would be the easiest solution.

“Fury wants whatever information we can get from him before sending him to the RAFT,” Maria explained. “Will you talk to him?” You sighed, stood up, and grabbed the guitar.

“Let’s get this over with.”

*

Sometimes you used pain to punish yourself. Your time at the tower was perfect. Self-inflected pain was the best tool you used to remind yourself of the past. Of the blood you shed and the countless lives ended by your hand.

On the other hand, pain helped ground you. A pinch of the skin on your thigh, biting down on your lip, or fingernails digging into your palm. Anything to help you stay present, preventing your mind from slipping away.

You stared at the door that separated you from him, nails digging into your palm. Your sisters and Carol will be watching. There was no fighting them on that. Sighing, you opened the door. “My malen’kiy pauk (little spider),” it had been a long time since you’ve heard someone call you that name. You closed the door. Immediately, pulling the chair away from the table to sit down. “I’ve missed you so much,” he continued. “But our last meeting was a little different,” he moved his handcuffed hands onto the table. The clash of metal echoed in the quiet room. “If I remember correctly, you were the one handcuffed. No matter to me,” he leaned forward. “I do love a change in a power dynamic.”

You crossed your arms against your chest, placed your right leg over your left, and leaned back into the chair. You remembered that day. Andrei Lebedev was part of Dreykov’s second circle or the vtoroy. These men were trusted as handlers and could leave the Red Room on missions or requests from Dreykov or his inner circle. But they were still seen as less than. They aimed to become part of the pervyy, the men closest to Dreykov. Although Dreykov was the face of the Red Room, it was impossible to run it without help. These men had the same amount of power as him; their word was God because you knew Dreykov knew about the order. A majority of the members of the party were killed in the Red Room explosion. The men you were after were part of the vtoroy. If the Red Room remained, Andrei would be part of the pervyy. He was a cable solider, a little hot-headed, but Dreykov would have crushed that spirit into submission. As a mission success, the pervyy granted Andrei’s request: a night with you. It wasn’t the only time you laid underneath this main.

“Being an Avenger looks good on you, kotenok (kitten). It fills you out nicely,” he groaned, licking his lips. “I bet you taste just as sweet. Do you want to be a good girl again? Just for me.” Still, you remained unfazed, face neutral. Men like this loved to talk, to inflate their ego with their sexual conquests. With time, he would reveal everything.

“I think about our time together a lot,” he smiled. “Your moans were music to my ears. They helped me through many lonely nights.” Lonely nights? The phrase stuck out to you for some reason. How many nights was he truly alone? He was freshly shaved and showered; you figured Val wouldn’t give him time alone to do all these things before locking him up. The man disappeared without a trace once the Red Room fell. Not even Melina, with her contacts, could find him. Andrei was bright but needed to be more smart to avoid capture. Who was helping him?

“Come on, baby,” he whined, mimicking a child throwing a tantrum. “Let me hear that voice again. You were very talkative when we last saw each other. I miss it,” his fingers tapped against the table. “Tell me, pretty, can anyone make you cum like I can?”

No one could see how your nails dug into your bicep, nails so sharp you knew it would pierce your skin. Pain. It grounded you, saved you from slipping into memories of that night, and kept your face stoic when all you wanted to do was scream.

*

As Carol recognized the true strength of her powers, she practiced keeping her emotions in check. Anger was powerful. Her rage could bring down skyscrapers, collapse entire planets, and turn the milky way into chaos if she wasn’t careful. Through her space travels, she witnessed horrible injustices that boiled her blood, ground her teeth, and left her fuming. Still, she kept her anger in check. However, she was struggling. The way this pig spoke to you was disgusting and vile, and you were just taking it. The only time Carol saw you move was when you first entered the room. She wasn’t sure if you were still breathing.

Unlike you, Natasha couldn’t stop pacing. She would get to one side of the viewing room, turn around, and repeat the process. Not even Maria could get her to stop; Carol believed it had to do with Natasha still being upset with her girlfriend. The youngest of the trio was quiet, playing with the ring all three of you shared. A quiet Yelena was never good, in Carol’s opinion. She saw the blonde tense up every time the man said something about her sister. Andrei laughed. “Why don’t you undo these cuffs? We can put on a show one more time before the cart me away. If I remember correctly, zaychonok (bunny), you loved having an audience,” he groaned, eyes rolling in the back of his head. “My little slut. It got you so wet.”

“I’m gonna kill him,” Carol mumbled. All she saw was red. Unlike before, no one was there to protect you; no one was there to tell him to stop. But she was here now. You were hers to protect. She felt her powers itching at the palm of her hands, begging to let loose. It was getting harder to control it, this anger growing inside her. She knew he was still taunting you; maybe she heard Natasha or Maria’s voice, but it was becoming white noise. All of it was pointless besides one singular thought. “I’m gonna fucking kill him.” To her surprise, no one stopped her when she left the room.

*

The door busting open startled you. The hinges barely had enough strength to keep it upright as your girlfriend entered the interrogation room, eyes glowing. Andrei was pulled to his feet and pinned to the wall by her forearm. You saw her entire body shaky. “Oh, is this the pet’s new master,” he teased. There was a shake in his voice as Carol was cutting off air into his lungs. “Tell me, do you pass her around like her old master, or do you keep her to yourself?”

“If you say one more word,” she hissed. “I will crush your windpipe.” You stood up, barely making a sound, but Andrei saw you.

“Oh, this is your lover, isn’t it?” He laughed, gasping slightly. “I’m jealous,” he taunted. “She is a gem—a queen among women. Tell me,” he whispered. “Can you make her scream like I can?”

“I won’t hesitate to paint this wall red with your blood,” you wanted her to do it so this nightmare could end. But it wasn’t the mission. “You can’t hurt her,” Carol continued, putting more pressure on his neck. The man gasped. “She is mine to protect, and I will kill all of you if I have to to keep her safe.” The man smiled, and for the first time entering this room, a chill went down your spine.

“Oh, you think with her living with Earth’s mightiest heroes, she’ll be safe; you are wrong.” Got him. It only took Carol intervening, but he was ready to talk. Gently, you placed a hand on Carol’s shoulder. Her eyes flickered to you.

“It’s okay,” you forced a smile. “Let him go.” You saw the internal debate happen in her eyes. Soon, she released him and threw him back into the chair.

“Power dynamic,” he said, rubbing his throat. A bruise was already forming. “I guess I was wrong about you two.” You sighed and sat down, this time closer to the table. Carol closed the door but stayed in the room, standing in the corner. Your arms were still crossed, and your nails again found the indent in your arm. “You got yourself an impressive guard dog over there. She needs a lesson in obedience.”

“I don’t own her, and she doesn’t own me,” you said. “Who helped you avoid detection after all this time?” He gasped.

“I’m offended you don’t think I could do it alone.”

“You aren’t smart enough, Lebedev,” you deadpanned. “So give me names, or my guard dog will attack.” His eyes glanced at Carol in the corner, and you saw him gulp in fear. Instead of talking, he leaned forward, faces inches apart, and you could feel his breath on your skin. A sharp pinch of your skin kept you present.

“Answer me this, kotenok (kitten). Do you feel safe here?”

“Is that a threat?” You countered.

“Merely a question,” he said. “Do you feel safe here with your sisters close by, Captain America as an ally, and Tony Stark’s super fancy AI keeping watch?” He slammed his hands down, but the sound didn’t scare you. Your nails dug deeper. “Do you feel safe?” He asked again. “Because Oriel Sergeev wasn’t the only person upset when the Red Room fell from the sky.” Oriel Sergeev? He was the man who created that ‘fun’ room.

“Who is helping you?” You asked again. He shrugged his shoulders and leaned back in the chair.

“I don’t kiss and tell; you should know that. The Red Room provided stability, a balance, and you and those cunts you call sisters broke it,” your jaw clenched. He huffed out a laugh at your reaction. “It’s only a matter of time before bad girls like you get punished.”

*

You watched Maria and a few other agents lead Andrei to transport. A body collided with you that almost sent you falling to the ground, but Carol’s arm kept you upright. It was Yelena. Her jasmine scent perfume invaded your senses, grounding you further. “Ugh,” you groaned. “I hated that. I hated the way he talked to you.” You chuckled, kissing the top of her head.

“You aren’t the only one,” Natasha said, and you looked past Yelena as the redhead joined the small group. “Carol beat me to it. I was about to go in there and kick his ass.” You heard Carol laugh behind you, kissing the side of your head. “Are you okay?”

“I’m,” you stopped before you lied to them. “No, but I will be,” you sighed, ending the hug with Yelena. “I think I need a shower, then I’ll start feeling better.”

“Do you want me to join you?” Carol asked. You shook your head.

“I just need a moment by myself,” you smiled. “I’ll be okay, I promise.” As you turned to walk back to your room, Yelena grabbed your hand. Spinning you back around and flipping your arm to show everyone the cut on your arm.

“Your bleeding,” she said, and you pulled your arm back.

“It’s nothing, and it will heal by the time I get in the shower,” you saw the unasked questions from all three of them. “I needed to ground myself when I was in there with him. That’s all. I promise I’m okay, and I’ll come to you guys if I need anything.”

*

A towel was tightly secured around your body as you stepped out of the bathroom. You hated the way his words crawled underneath your skin. No matter how frequently you scrubbed your skin raw, you felt his hands on you. There was a part of you that wanted to track down his escort van and kill him, to watch his blood stain the pavement. Or maybe have Melina take care of it. But you knew if one of the Widows took the job, it would get traced back to you. Still wet from the shower, you sat on your bed and picked up your phone. The number you dialed wasn’t saved in your phone. It was a number you had memorized as Widows kept giving it to you. She answered on the second ring. “My favorite Black Widow,” she said. “What do I owe the pleasure? Have you considered my offer?” You sighed.

“No, Valentina, I’m still not joining your team. I need a favor.” You were speaking as you could hear cars driving by.

“I’m not a charity, darling. Favors will cost you/” You nodded.

“I know, and I’m willing to pay for it,” you stood up and walked into your closet. “I need to put on a hit. His name is Andrei Lebedev. He is currently in SHIELD custody and on his way to the RAFT. I need it done without using any of the Widows you have employed, and not a single agent hurt.” Valentina laughed.

“You are making a lot of demands for someone not in charge,” you dropped the towel and changed into a pair of sweatpants and a tank top.

“I always repay my debts, you know this?” This wasn’t the first time you’ve asked a favor from her. Her contacts ran deeper than Melina’s, and in this world, information was valuable. But you knew she would do it and come back to you when she needed something. The Widows that worked for her always told you what they did. You had enough dirt to bury the director, but it would hurt your fellow Widows.

“This will cost you, but I’ll get it done.”

“Thank you.”

“Aw, don’t go getting soft on me,” you rolled your eyes. “My offer is always on the table for you. That will never expire,” you huffed.

“Bye, Valentina.” You hung up the phone before she could respond. You refused to join her every time she asked, even when she proclaimed how much money you could make with your skill set. You feared it would be impossible to say no to her one day.

Two days passed when Maria announced that Andrei Lebedev was killed; no agents were hurt in the ambush. The agent’s eyes never left yours when she told everyone the news. Maybe it was bad you didn’t care if she believed you or not when you claimed you had no part in his death—effortlessly passing blame to whoever helped him. His death was one you never lost sleep over. Like you told Steve, these men were better off dead.

[melit0n]

Half-Starved

- Synopsis: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley was born hungry. Born with a relentless nagging feeling curled up right between his oesophagus and the squirming muscle of his stomach. From the very moment Simon opened his eyes, he was hungry for something he could never have; affection. But then there's you. The night owl so willing to offer the one thing he can't have.

And he finds that he'd bleed out if you told him you liked the colour red.

- Oneshot

- Obsessive! Ghost/Reader

- Word Count: 3.7k

- Warnings: Descriptions of gore, canabalism as a metaphor for love, mentions of past domestic abuse, implied past sexual assult, implied stalking

- Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52474849

Simon ���Ghost’ Riley was born hungry. 

Born with a relentless nagging feeling curled up right between his oesophagus and the squirming muscle of his stomach. From the very moment Simon opened his eyes, he was hungry for something he would never have. Left to starve in the gloom of the locked cupboard he was shoved into for not shutting up. He spent fifteen-odd years greedy for any drop of affection he could get. Anything he could grasp and hold onto, no matter how many bruises it would leave him with. No matter how long he would have to spend chained up like a bad dog in the corner of his room licking his wounds telling himself that it was worth it. That the blood was worth it. The pain was worth it. 

Anything to be acknowledged. 

Now, once again finding comfort in the gloom of his home, he is still hungry. Even more so. 

To him, touch is a fragile subject. A broken subject he hates talking about because of him.

Gunfire and stab wounds are nothing in the face of a father’s punch. Intimate, innocent digits can still feel like creeping, coercive hands.

Yet, a fasting man’s stomach still growls. 

Fragile subject or not, he still craved it. Maybe too much. He wanted, wants, to be held tight enough so he doesn’t break. Wants to be vulnerable. But he’s still afraid he’ll end up being a scared kid looking into the slit eyes of a snake again.

He blames his younger self for the predicament he’s found himself in. Wants sit down with the kid and shake him by the shoulders and ask why. Why he put himself through that for that long. 

Even so, he can’t blame him. 

He knows how hungry he is now; feels the scraping like dull claws against the soft spot between his liver and his spleen. He can only imagine what it was like for him as a child. 

He’s blocked most of those memories out now, though.

He sits through the tugging, the pulling, through each dull meeting. Each dark night spent alone in his bunk. Each evening he spends licking wounds that just won't close. 

Unfortunately, this issue, this dilemma, is a hard one to fix. A hard want to satiate. His callsign is well earned, afterall. Sometimes even he blurs the lines of the dead man walking and the human being hidden behind layers of constantly taught muscle and scarred skin. Makes it a bit hard to gain attention other than fear and unease, let alone affection.

But then there’s you. 

The first word that would come to his mind is kind. 

Out of the blue, draped in moonlight and glimmering stars, you appear, seemingly out of nowhere. But, you’re here. And there. And everywhere, really. 

He sees you in the local corner shop, holding tightly onto the sleeve of whoever you’ve brought along. 

He doesn’t see their face. Too obscured by the dim lighting

He sees you on the train, and occasionally on the bus: brushing your hand, intently, against that of your work friend’s. You both take the same one into the city, bright and early hoping to miss the morning crowd but never succeeding. 

He doesn’t see their face, either. 

Bit by bit, he begins to notice things. Notice habits that shouldn’t be his to examine. 

You use physical affection as not only a way to show affection itself, platonic or romantic–he isn’t particularly good at guessing unless it’s glaringly obvious–but as a form of comfort and encouragement as well. 

In less than a month into his leave, you’ve managed to become a staple in his civilian life. 

He sees you in the morning, always at the train station with breakfast and lunch in hand, looking quizzically around to see if you’ve missed your train like a doubtful deer. 

He knows you know you haven’t. You’re like him; you’ve got an obsession with time. 

While his is instilled by the harsh words of the military, yours is brought about by a tight work schedule. And maybe something else. He wonders what that something else is as you both board the already stuffed train, both standing in the same carriage full of warm, already tired bodies. 

He sees you in the afternoon as well, sitting outside on a park bench with a friend and eating lunch. While you talk, you have a habit of taking tiny crumbs off of your sandwich, flicking them off to the ratty pigeons that flock around your feet like moths to a flame. 

You always have the same lunch; the same sandwich bread from the same corner shop with the same filing. You have a thing with regularity, routine, as well, it seems. 

Just like him. 

Of course, he sees you in the evenings too. You both take the same train home, and almost always end up so close yet so far from each other on the carriage. Your work friend gets off at the stop two before yours and Simon’s; always leaving you with a pat on the shoulder and a closed eye smile, which you almost always return. 

You have a habit of jumping, ever so slightly, when you get off the train. Simon finds it quite cute. It’s almost as if you’re actually afraid of the gap.

Of the fall. 

Either way, you part ways without knowing you’re parting from him, leaving you missing from him, and head back to your home. Ghost has an impulse to follow you, spurred on by a mix of curiosity at where you live and wanting to make sure you’re safe.

From what, Simon doesn’t truly know. 

He almost does. Stands awkwardly in front of the station watching your figure turn into a small dot, but Simon urges himself to head home. To sleep. 

You linger in his thoughts each time he walks back. 

At first, he’s oddly amazed, a bit in awe, if he were honest, that you can give so much affection so easily, touch so easily, and receive it tenfold from the people around you. 

Then, there’s annoyance, titering on the fine, chipped-away line of anger. Like a mantra, he asks why it’s fair someone can give, give and keep on giving, let alone receive something back, and he can’t? How can you hold someone so closely and not be afraid of a knife in your back? 

Maybe that’s Ghost talking, he thinks. 

Eventually, he falls off the flimsy line of annoyance and anger and into the muddied trench that is jealousy. Jealous not only of you, how you can give and receive so easily, but of the people in your life who get to experience the affection that you give to any warm body that passes by you. Said people who don’t understand how precious and rare that experience is to others. 

To him. 

He wants to taste it. Badly. 

Then, it morphs. Twists and turns like a dying thing, all red with chunks of fur sticking at odd angles, into attraction. Turning from a want to be held, a quiet plea to the God they taught him about in primary school for you to keep him together for just a little bit longer, to a need. A need to kiss until both your lips are bloody and raw, bitten and chewed like a pomegranate, seeping your liquid life for him to drink as an elixir. 

He’s seen the way you kiss, and God above he needs it. Needs you. He doesn’t care if it’s the fleeting, platonic kisses you gift to your friends on the cheek (he wants you to take a chunk out of his cheek. Wants you to chew on the fat like the gum you always have in your mouth), or if it’s the rough ones you give to the people you bring home. The ones that have them chasing your lips for more, which you always allow because you never stop giving. 

Simon wants it. Ghost needs it. 

Consequently, the dull scratching of the claws in between his liver and his spleen grows sharper. After years of the scratching, the pulling, the tugging, he’d thought his hunger pang’s talons had grown weary, thought he’d grown accustomed, but he feels them. Feels the sharp pang like a pistol’s bullet and it bloody hurts. Has him hunched over on his bed trying to claw out his stomach because, for the first time in years, it's hurting him. 

And, for the first time in years, Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley decides to listen.  

As more time passes, more time spent getting soaked outside your house in the rain waiting for you to come home because you’re oddly late for all the time he’s known you, it changes again. Writhes around in his stomach and the fat in his veins, to something much worse. Much more harmful, at least, to you. In all the pain of his hunger, he contemplates taking chunks out of you. Maybe that will satiate the creature that squirms in his bloody viscera, laying claim to all of his innards in an attempt to get him to feed for once in his life. 

He wants, needs, hungers to feel the comforting weight of your blood in the bottom of his stomach. 

Zoning out during meetings easily turns to daydreaming of taking one of his hunting knives to your flesh. Cut strips of skin, like you’re his sacrificial lamb to slaughter and devour, and finally put those butchering skills he gained to work somewhere other than on the field. 

He promises he’ll be delicate. Promises he’ll be kind. Promises Simon, and not Ghost.

Promises Simon, who’s more corpse than he likes to think.

He can’t help but imagine how you’d cry when he’d do so. Fat tears dribbling down your soft cheeks and getting caught in the corners of your lips.

He hates hearing people cry. 

In his dreams and his waking hours, he’s endlessly followed, stalked, haunted by the echoing sobs of someone lost to him in some distant sun-stunned, sand-smothered land.

But you?

He doesn’t mind one bit.

It’s another piece of you for him to consume, another piece of you that you can offer to him–gift to him–to bring you two together. 

He knows, God knows he knows, how much it takes to be vulnerable. He doesn’t think he’d be able to describe what he’d do to taste your tears. To savour your salty sadness upon his tongue and be able to offer comfort. To lick your face dry and hold you in his arms; warm body against warm body just like he’s daydreamed about.

The more time that passes, the further he falls. 

On slightly rarer occasions, ones where he’s alone in the leaden quiet of his room for longer than a human, a soldier, should be, he thinks about feeding your own lovingly cooked gore to you. Get’s him more riled up than he’d like to admit.

At first, it’s a blurry image. Murky and obscured by a civilian subconscious that tries to remind him of who he is. But, slowly, it dissipates. Becomes as clear as a mirror reflection: a candle-lit dinner, like the one’s his mum had in the pictures that used to hang on the wall. Warm lighting. He’s tried his hardest to cover up the smell of his cigarettes for you, a scent that clings to his walls like mould. Hopes that the smell of whatever he’s cooked for you overwhelms it. 

Soup sounds good, doesn’t it, ey? 

It’s a macabre yet intimate fairytale that finds its way into his thoughts when all else is quiet. Leaves him tossing and turning in his bed because the scraping just won't stop. He swears he's bleeding out from the inside, and he’ll break his own kneecaps from how long he’s been on the floor at your feet begging you to make it stop. To stop the scratching, the itching, the nagging feeling. For you to clean and stitch up his wounds, new and old. 

Quickly, he finds he’s utterly enamoured with the thought. Obsessed with it the way Price does with his plans. Fixated on the idea of being that close to another human being. To be able to physically intertwine each other’s cells through mutual consumption. To be sewn into the quantum patterns of your being. For you to feed him a proper meal like his parents never could.

He remembers being taught in his History class–the one with the old hag of a teacher who, with her droning words alone, convinced him not to take it for GCSEs–that in some old, archaic civilisations, people used to eat each other as well. Cooked an arm or a hand for their lover as a promise. A promise that in life, and eventually in death, the two of them would share an utterly unique bond. Eternally linked to each other's souls. 

If he were honest, he didn’t listen for shit in those lessons. Only really paid attention when they had a sub, and even then half the class was too rambunctious for anything to really get taught. The only reason he remembers was because his mates joked about Victorians eating long-dead mummies like it was a five-star meal for weeks after that lesson. The joke got old quickly, but it stuck with him.

Even so, Ghost decides he could die happy on the field–layered in mud and blood that wasn’t his–knowing that a part of you was anatomically intertwined with him. That, even when he was dead and gone, probably much earlier than he should be, you two would still be connected. He would have a piece of you, and you him.

And you, him. It’s another idea that stays with him, plagues his mind and every meal he eats: mutual consumption.

He decides he doesn’t mind extra scars, extra wounds, because he knows you’ll lick them clean for him. Knows you wash them, stitch them up and check on them so they heal properly. 

In the end, that is the intimacy he dreams of. The affection he wants from someone. Wants from you. 

His body is yours, as yours is his. So let him be yours. Give him that chance. Let him feed. Let him fulfil you. 

The idea leaves him with a small smirk on his face, one he doesn’t do well to hide. One that has Soap nudging him in the ribs for with a prodding grin of his own. 

So, he makes a decision. For once, Simon and Ghost agree on something and work together as one, instead of turning the other off for the greater good. 

The decision? To feed. 

To finally know what it is like to be full instead of half-starved. 

The scraping, the nagging, only grows stronger. 

He makes it a point to bump into you as much as he can before his next mission. 

Anywhere is a dinner table to him. On the crowded train, brushing his rough hand against yours to ease the hunger for even a second. In the artificial lighting of the run-down corner shop, grabbing that bag of snacks that are just out of reach for you. ‘Accidently’ bumping shoulders with you on the pavement. That one allows him to talk to you, too. 

If only for a moment. 

All he wants is anything. Anything will do. But it only temporarily satiates the pang, doesn’t satisfy it. He just gets hungrier and hungrier and hungrier. 

He knows you’ve begun to notice him. You’re getting hungry too. He just hopes it’s in the same way he hungers for you. 

He hopes you’re hungry for him, and him alone.

At first, you attempt to offer him platonic comfort, which, God above, tastes so sweet. You offer soft touches on his shoulder. You gift fingers intertwining with his own as you cross the street to his home because he’s gone off on another bender trying to stop turning over in his bed and seeing the inside of a coffin that he has to dig his way out of again. 

‘N you’re just some poor night owl who’s trying to be kind. 

It becomes a routine. Both for you and him. You know he’ll come out of the pub at quarter to one and you know he’s expecting you. You’ll walk the same walk to his home, fumbling with his keys as he looks at you with the softest eyes you’ve ever seen on a man, hands intertwined. You’ll still carry him home and close the door softly with your foot as you lay him on his couch and get him a glass of water and whatever painkiller he has lying around. You’ll still stay as he chats, drunkenly, to you. You’ll take care of him and he’ll be whole, for just a moment. 

At least until the morning comes, anyways. 

He begins to hate the sunrise. Hate the light and the work and the people which drag you away from him. 

He hungers for your touch the same way water hungers for the cavities of people’s lungs. Hungers for your skin like he hungers for the nicotine in his cigarettes. Hungers and begs and pleads until you both fall like Icarus; wax melting and dripping off your backs as you try and crawl your way back to the sun, back to the light, while he drags you down into the depths of the deep blue. Keeps you tight in his embrace so you can’t disappear into the blue again. Disappear like the moon and the stars that hide their fires and fade away when the sun comes up.

It's almost poetic.

In the midst of your drowning, the front door opening startles you out of your stupor. 

You do that a lot, Simon notes. You’ll black out and stare at a wall blankly for hours, either in dead silence or to some piece of music too quiet for him to know the name of. He doesn’t question it. Verbally, at least. 

From how easily you dissociate, he’d say it’s something you picked up a long time ago. He’ll find out when, eventually.

He knows the face of it, afterall. The blank eyes that see nothing and everything. He isn’t wrong to wonder what you’re thinking about, or what memory plays on loop that keeps you a temporarily vacant statue. 

Sometimes, something small in him wonders if he's the cause of it. 

Then he remembers he’s human. He’s human and it’s normal to seek affection, and he carries on eating. 

Carefully, you get up from the couch, approaching him as he walks over to the kitchen counter. The blue plastic bag he has rustles loudly in the spotless kitchen. 

“What’s that?” You ask, gently, placing a hand on his shoulder to get a better look. 

Please give me more. 

He lets out a knowing grunt and pulls out two round, red fruits. At first, you mistake them for apples, but the star-shaped top throws you off. 

“Pomegranates?”

He nods, looking into your eyes for some sort of approval. 

Gingerly, you take one of the pomegranates out of his hand, his fingers twitching as the pads of your digits brush against his. 

I’ll take anything you give. 

Your eyes dart back and forth between him and the fruit as you do so, careful to earn his compliance as you inspect the fruit. 

Just please give me more. 

They’re a deep red, almost crimson, and the shine reflects your face on its vermilion skin. 

“Chopping board,” He pauses. “Please?”

Nodding absent-mindedly, you place the fruit back into his cupped hands. 

You open the drawer behind the both of you and pull out an old chopping board, red soaked and stained into the wood that Ghost just can’t seem to get out. You place it on the counter next to the pomegranates, along with a clean bowl he didn’t even hear you grab, and then find your way to the knife block. Hearing the subtle shink of a blade against wood, Ghost turns and scrutinises you as you try to remember which knife is the fruit knife. 

Choosing the shortest one, you hold it by the handle, facing downwards just like Simon taught you, and place it on top of the chopping board with stitched-up hands and missing fingers from all the times he’s begged for more. From all the times you’ve said you have nothing more to give, but he knows you always have more. Knows you’ll always keep giving.

I’ll take even the spare and broken bits. The parts you don’t even want.

You watch, intently, as he delicately cuts the top of the pomegranate off, slicing through the thick skin. 

Just look at me. 

Gently, he peels the layers of the pomegranate back, kissing each one with the tips of his fingers, letting it stain them something beautifully violent. 

Touch me. 

He reveals the soft viscera inside, glancing back over to you again and again. Looking for something in your eyes. 

Let me be full.

Then, he cuts it into quarters–continuously surprising you how gentle he is with it–but not down to the skin. Leaving it in a filleted star-like shape, he turns it upside down on the bowl, and, using his hand, slowly shakes the seeds off of the fruit into the bowl. 

Once he’s finished, sure he’s got all of the seeds off, he moves onto the next. Repeats the same process. Maybe he repeats the same thoughts, too. 

After he’s done, he sets the empty corpses aside. The red spills out onto the counter. You’re worried it’ll drip down onto the tile. 

He’s staring. Not at you, but at the bowl of red. It’s almost eerie, how still, how quiet he can become. 

The silence is deafening. You want to fill it.

Suddenly, he takes a bloody scoop of the red viscera with his hands. 

Be full. 

Lets the pinkish liquid dribble down his hand. 

Let me fill you, and in turn, you me. 

Then his forearm. 

Feed on me until there is nothing left.

Then down onto the immaculately clean counter.

Let us decompose, intertwined. 

The kitchen smells like bleach. It makes the back of your throat itch. 

He offers his hands out towards you, like an olive branch, like some lurid type of eucharist, and, like the obedient dog you are, you feast. 

Please. Please. Please, please, please, please-

“I love you.” He mumbles, fondly watching the muscle of your tongue dart out to catch the pinkish juice dribbling from your frothing maw. 

-just say you love me, too. 

You’re eating, and you begin to repeat it, but Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley has taught you well not to speak with your mouth full. 

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

I've spent the past week hearing 'Abbey' by Mitski at every turn, so it's safe to say that was the main force driving me to write this lmao. I'm pretty sure that if I heard that song or saw something about bloody pomegranates one more time I would've started chewing the flesh off of my own bones. 

Cannibalism as a metaphor for love is an incredibly profound, and, in some ways, poetic literature device for the sheer destruction a toxic relationship can cause, so, I wanted to try my hand at it! And also to stop myself from clawing my face off from hearing anything about this cannibalism metaphor from literally everywhere on the internet.

Do tell if this feels too out of character for Ghost. I originally planned this for König, but I ended up changing it. Overall, thank you for sitting down and reading my work! It means a lot <3

I'll leave it up to you if the metaphor is really a metaphor in the end.