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loveandpeaceanddoughnuts · 2 months ago

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Princess Treatment - Shiu Kong

Your partner helps you relax after a long day of work. ♥ Ft. fem!Reader, switch!Shiu, massage, sex in a bubble bath, drinking, dirty talk. // wc: 5.2k // [ao3] [masterlist]

“I’m home, princess,” Shiu called. He shrugged off his jacket and loosened his tie as he let himself in, looking for you. “You still awake?” It was already dark out, work having kept him out late like it often did. He’d missed you, but wasn’t about to wake you up if you’d drifted off without him.

“I’m in here,” you called back distractedly. Papers littered your desk and spilled into your lap, most of them already covered in scrawls of red ink. Your editing work tended to ebb and flow, but you were very much caught up in a flow. Shiu followed the sound of your voice and leaned against the doorframe of your office, smirking a little at your frazzled state.

“Babydoll, you ever heard of work-life balance?” He folded his arms with a pointed glance at his watch.

“Look who’s talking,” you grumbled. “You were supposed to be home hours ago.” His face softened as he crossed the room to you and draped his arms over your shoulders.

“I know, you’re right. Pot, kettle, huh?” He rested his chin on your head and slid his hands down your sides, squeezing softly. “I missed you too.” You rolled your eyes, but let the quip pass.

“Mhm.” You caught his wandering hands in your own and placed a soft kiss on his knuckles. His scent wrapped around you, taking you out of your work-induced haze. Shiu smelled like cheap cologne, expensive cigarettes, the leather of his car. He smelled like home. “I haven’t had time to make anything for dinner,” you murmured, lips still ghosting over his fingers as you apologized.

“Don’t be ridiculous, I know you were working too.” He extricated one hand to pull up a delivery app on his phone. “What can I getcha?” He named a few of your favorite restaurants as he scrolled down the list, nodding like he’d guessed it already when you settled on a curry rice place. “Okay. Your usual, coming up.” He didn’t even need to ask, had memorized your go-to orders a long time ago.

When the order went through, he set his phone down with a dramatic gesture. “No more work, okay? For either of us.” He gently coaxed you out of your desk chair into his arms. “Now. How can I relax my princess?” One hand splayed across the small of your back while the other rubbed soothing circles against your hip. You sighed and slumped into his embrace, more than willing to let him pamper you.

He smirked, loving the effect that a simple touch had on you. “How about a massage?” He leaned in to whisper against your ear. “I know you love my hands on you…”

“That would be amazing.”

“Say no more.” He scooped you easily into his arms and cradled you against his chest as he headed for your shared bedroom. You just had time to question the smirk on his face before he dropped you on to the bed, knocking the air from your lungs. He climbed up after you and settled his elbows on either side of your head, smiling down sweetly enough that you couldn’t stay mad. He nudged you to roll over, then straddled your hips and got to work kneading the knots in your neck.

You hummed appreciatively, already melting as his strength was put to perfect use. He used just enough pressure as his skilled fingers massaged the places where you held all the tension of the long day. His hands were warm and rough, slipped under your collar like a secret. “My poor baby, you’re so stiff,” he chided softly, “need to take better care of yourself.”

Limp and languid under the pleasurable ache of his attention, you couldn’t argue. He slid one hand up to massage the base of your scalp, sending tingles down your spine. His other hand patiently loosened your clenched jaw. “That’s it, love.” He praised you as you relaxed underneath him. Satisfied with your upper body, he shifted lower, the weight of him warm and solid against your thighs as he traced down your spine.

You felt like you were being deliciously uncoiled, your lover’s hands soothing every knot and ache. “Mmm, Shiu, you’re so good at this,” you moaned, muffled into a pillow as he leaned down to kiss your neck.

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” he grinned, at your lower back now. His fingers fanned over your pelvis, only stilling when you let out a hiss of pain and pleasure. “Want me to be more gentle?”

“No, this is perfect.” He nodded and continued more carefully, patient and focused on your body. You were very nearly asleep by the time he was satisfied, woken by a soft squeeze of your cheeks.

“Can’t fall asleep without dinner.” You blinked up at him.

“Is it here yet?” He checked his phone and shook his head, laughing at your tired pout.

“I have an idea of how we can pass the time. You didn’t think I was done treating my girl yet, did you?” He swung himself off the bed and held out a hand. “Why don’t I run you a bath. Plenty of bubbles, maybe a little wine…”

“Will you join me?” The man laughed out loud, his eyes crinkling.

“Princess, if I ever say no to that you can divorce me on the spot.” You couldn’t help joining in with his laughter.

“We’re not even married.”

“Damn, I haven’t asked you yet? Gotta get on that,” he teased as you followed him to the bathroom.

Shiu’s place was luxurious in every way- that is, in his way, understated in places like the high-tech kitchen and ostentatious in a place like this- his dark wooden bathroom with a tub that you could swim laps in. It had ostentatious gold feet, flanked by the fluffiest towels you’d ever felt and a bamboo tray of what you were sure were stupidly fancy soaps and oils. One of the many unexpected perks of getting involved with someone in Shiu’s…particular line of work.

He deposited you on the cool marble countertop as he ran the bath and poured in something that filled the room with a sweet, heady steam. He lit a series of tall taper candles that cast a golden, flickering light on the walls. As the water rose, he returned to you and slid his hands underneath your shirt. You leaned back to let him in and shrugged off the top, obediently lifted your hips as he tugged off your sweats and left them both in a heap on the floor.

No matter the circumstance, Shiu looked at you like you were a goddess. And here, now, shrouded in steam and perched like a sculpture on his counter- his heart skipped a beat and came back racing. He couldn’t help but bend to latch his lips to your neck, sucking softly enough to make you squirm without bruising. As much as he liked to remind you who you belonged to, he rarely left marks on your smooth skin, couldn’t justify marring something so sublime just for his own urges.

He was making his way down to your breasts when you tugged at his hair, pointed back to the nearly-overflowing tub. He scowled and debated letting it run over before untangling from you with a sigh. “Got a little carried away, can you blame me?” His gaze ran hungrily over your form again as you made your way to the tub and eased into the hot water with a moan.

Shiu was right behind you, breathing a little harder at the sound you made. “You can’t make those sounds,” he pleaded as he stripped off his own clothes. You loved watching him undress, the slow reveal of the hard planes of his chest and his corded arms as he unbuttoned. You whistled as his slacks pooled at his ankles, and he blushed and looked away. The man who bullied assassins for a living was flustered by your desire.

You made room for him as he stepped in beside you, echoing your sigh as the warm water soothed his own aching muscles. Though there was plenty of room for the both of you, he pulled you into his lap. Fragrant bubbles reached all the way to your chin.

“Thank you, baby,” you said happily. “This is exactly what I needed.” He wrapped his arms around your waist in reply, letting you feel every ridge of muscle and valley of softness in his body. The vulnerability he offered you was something very few people got to see, and you never took it for granted.

He reached over to turn off the tap then held you tighter as the steaming water lapped against your chest. He pressed his lips to your shoulder and promised against your skin, “I’ll always give you what you need. Always.”

“You never let me doubt it,” you murmured back, letting your head fall against his shoulder. A wave of affection hit Shiu. He loved how much you trusted him, how you never doubted his devotion. That didn’t mean he’d ever stop proving it to you, though. He turned his head to kiss your temple, long fingers tracing lazy patterns against your skin.

You kissed him back on every inch of skin you could reach, his jaw, his cheek, his lips. Shiu tightened his arms around your waist as he returned the kiss fervently. You covered his eager hands with your own, guiding them across your curves with gentle insistence. His breath hitched, his voice a low, soothing murmur as it followed his lips down your neck. “Just relax, princess. Lean back and let me worship you like you deserve.”

You felt him grin against your skin and melted further, flushed and loose-limbed in the warm water. “You treat me too well, Shiu.”

“No such thing when it comes to you,” he muttered back, intent on lavishing every inch of your skin with ardent kisses. He could still feel tension in your shoulders, and wanted to do all he could to ease it. He began to massage you again, harder now, confident that he could balance any temporary discomfort with his mouth. His broad hands slid along your spine, lowered to your thighs.

His body was pressed firmly against yours, his growing arousal evident against your back. But he made no move to escalate things further yet. Shiu was focused solely on soothing you. His hands sprawled over the fat of your thighs, squeezing deliciously. A moan slipped past your lips before you could stop it, and you felt his cock twitch against your ass.

“I love hearing the sounds you make when I treat you right,” he chuckled roughly into your hair. He dragged you back against his lap, fighting the urge to roll his hips up into yours. “You’re so perfect, so beautiful, all mine…”

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” you said dreamily.

Shiu laughed, shook his head in affectionate disbelief. “You didn’t have to do anything.” His lips were at your ear. “You just had to exist,” he kissed the corner of your mouth. “Just as you are. To deserve all my love.”

You shifted to face him, starry-eyed. “I love you so damn much.”

His face crinkled in a genuine smile as he lifted a hand to gently cup your cheek. His thumb traced your contour of your cheekbone reverently. “And I love you just as damn much.” His lips captured yours in a tender kiss, all his emotion poured into the way his mouth fit against yours. He felt you smile against his lips, dizzy with affection or maybe the clouds of steam that haloed you both. He was drunk on the way you reciprocated every gesture, returned his love so wholeheartedly. He kissed you deeper, his tongue sliding into your mouth in a slow, sensual dance. He dragged his hand from your cheek to the back of your neck, needing you closer.

“Shiu…” you murmured, eyes shut and lips parted underneath him.

“Yeah, angel?” His body thrummed with desire, his restraint fraying at the heat of your body against his. “You want something, baby?” He pressed his lips to your pulse point, felt the rapid thrum of your heartbeat against his mouth. “Whatever you want, it’s yours.”

You moan at the soft intensity of his words. “I want you to feel loved, Shiu. Want you to know how bad I need you, want you to feel as safe as you make me feel…”

He pressed his forehead to yours with a ragged sigh. “You have no idea how much I want you. How badly I need you. You- you make me feel things I didn’t even know were possible before I met you.” He pulled back to look into your eyes. “You make me feel loved, desired, safe…all at once. You make me feel invincible. Whole.”

You pressed him back against the wall of the tub, both hands on his cheeks as you kissed him fiercely. You swirled your tongue into his mouth and he met you eagerly, trembled in your grasp. His hands danced over your skin, more possessive than he had allowed himself to be all night.

“God, you drive me insane,” he mumbled into your mouth, voice hoarse with desire. You could feel the insistent press of his stiff cock against your stomach now, impossible to ignore as you straddled his thick thighs. He rocked his hips against you once, twice, aching for friction in the wet slick of the bathwater. “Want to make you feel good, feel everything I feel for you…”

“You make me feel incredible. Always do. Always know just what I need.”

He grinned at that, peppered kisses down your shoulder. “And I always will. I’m gonna spend the rest of my life making you feel like this. Like you’re the most precious, desired woman in the world.” Shiu was desperate for more of your taste, your touch, all of you. “Just tell me what you need, what you want,” he begged.

You smiled back breathlessly, happy and wildly turned on in the way he always managed to make you. But you wanted to work him up even more. You leaned in close, whispered into his ear. “I want…” you traced his inner thigh with your fingertips, sending sparks down his spine, “a drink.”

He groaned as you sat back with a smirk, his heart racing. “Some wine, huh?” His voice was strained, but he tried to keep it smooth. “That can be arranged.” His pupils were blown wide with want as his eyes raked your figure hungrily.

You nod, giddy as you tease him. “You did promise me wine and a bath, lover.”

He laughed softly, a mix of amusement and desire. “That I did, sweet thing.” His grip tightened on your hips. “And I always keep my promises to you. Though I wouldn’t mind watching you get the drinks yourself…you’re quite the sight right now.” He let his gaze linger pointedly at the swell of your breasts just above the waterline. “Been missing my favorite view.”

“Oh yeah?” You leaned forward as if to kiss him again, but ducked to lick a long stripe up his neck before quickly getting out of the bath. He gasped, the unexpected sensation sending a jolt of pleasure straight down his spine. He watched as you stood up, drinking in your body with unabashed lust.

“You’re a tease, you know that? But I love it. I love how confident and sexy you are, princess. And I can’t wait to get my hands on you…among other things.” You giggled and slowly twirled for him. His heart raced as you showed off for him.

You reached for a towel and wrapped it low on your waist. “Try not to miss me too much while I get our drinks, okay?”

“Hurry back, baby, or I’ll have to come and find you,” he warned, voice thick with desire.

You blew him a kiss and swayed your hips as you walked out of the bathroom. You made your way to the kitchen and poured a glass of wine for yourself, then mixed an Old Fashioned for Shiu. His eyes lit up as you came back, barely able to look away from your tits to see the drinks in your hand.

“Aww, look at you, all domestic,” he teased with a smirk. Shiu emerged from the water like a Greek God, dark hair plastered to his forehead in curls, rivulets of water running down the lean muscles of his chest, his stomach, his thighs… your mouth went dry, and you took a long sip of the rich wine. He knew he looked good, winked at you as he stepped out and slung a towel around his waist. “Gimme that Old Fashioned, baby.”

“Is that what they’re calling it now?” You teased, and he rolled his eyes as you handed it over.

“Thank you, angel.” He closed his eyes as he tasted the cocktail, relishing the familiar burn of the whiskey. He wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you closer. “Cheers.”

You clinked your glass against his and echoed the toast. He savored another sip before setting the drink down on the edge of the tub. He gently brushed a strand of hair away from your face, his gaze soft and affectionate. As sweet as it was, you were impatient, pulled him closer until you were crowded back against the marble counter and flush against the heat of him.

He dipped his head to your neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive flesh as you trembled beneath him. One warm hand slid under the edge of your towel, his touch burning a path along your thigh. You clung to him, tilted your head to give him better access, fought to get the words out between gasps. “The bath is gonna go cold…”

Shiu sighed and paused his assault on your neck, breath hot and ragged. “You’re right, but I’ll be damned if I don’t want to let you go right now.”

“Who said you had to let go?”

“You’re a damn temptress, you know that?” He picked you up in a swift, fluid motion, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. With a few long strides he carried you back to the tub and lowered you both into the water with a splash. You laughed as you fell, clinging to his neck. The sound of it only filled him with more want, more desire- he pulled you against him with a swirl of still-steaming water, the bubbles long since dissolved into sweet foam. His hands roamed over your wet skin, claiming every inch for his own.

“Mmm, you taste like whiskey,” you said against his lips. “Have some wine.” You slipped your tongue into his mouth, the taste of both drinks mingling as you devoured him. The room seemed to shrink as Shiu shuddered in your embrace, the world narrowing to your shadows in the candlelight, the heady movement of your lips against each other, his hands in your hair.

“You’re so sweet. Taste so damn good,” he rasped. He dropped his hand between your thighs, his touch rougher now, needy. “I can’t get enough of you.”

“You have all of me,” you whispered, sliding your hands across his back. You arched your hips up into his grasp, couldn’t help smirking when his body followed your lead instantly. You could feel the insistent twitch of his cock beneath you and wiggled your hips back just enough to make him swear under his breath. He tightened his grip on your waist, lifted you to straddle his lap.

He swallowed your moans, shot through with desire. “Wanna take care of you, show you how much I adore you,” he dragged his lips across your collarbone, lower, nipped at your soapy tits. You knew he wouldn’t go further unless you asked, and god did you want him to go further.

“Need you, need to feel you inside me,” you panted, arms thrown limply over his broad shoulders. His breath caught on the needy words, and he almost broke then and there.

“Yeah, you want me to fuck you, princess?” The words burned hot against your chest.

“Don’t wanna be able to walk after. Gonna need you to carry me everywhere,” you pleaded with a breathless laugh.

He knew you were mostly joking, but the idea still sent a possessive thrill through Shiu. “That so?” He held you down harder, so there was no mistaking the throb of his cock between your legs. “You want me to wreck you?”

“Ohhh, yes…” He rocked his hips up against you again, his swollen head at your core, teasing and tantalizing. He lifted you by the thighs, holding you open in the swirling water.

“You ready for me?”

“Please, baby…”

Shiu’s breath caught at the need in your voice. “Begging already? You know what that does to me.” His voice was raw. He braced one hand against the edge of the tub, the other holding your hips in place, thighs spread open. You dug your nails into his shoulders, your cunt already slick and clenching in anticipation.

He moaned at the feeling of you, somehow wetter even than the water surrounding your bodies. You were radiating heat. “You want me that badly, princess?”

“Don’t be mean Shiu,” you whined, desperate, tired of the teasing though you had been the one to start it.

He couldn’t deny you what you wanted, not when you begged so prettily. “Yeah baby, I hear you,” he growled. “I’ll give you what you need.” With one swift motion, he pulled you down on his cock and bucked his hips up, a cry spilling from his lips at the sudden relief. The familiar stretch was delicious, the first few inches of his considerable length driving the last remnants of the day’s stress from your mind. He felt the shift in you, the way your eyes rolled back as he pushed past the first tight ring of muscle, and grinned fiercely.

“Love fucking you dumb, angel,” he groaned, pulling back just enough to leave you gasping with the loss before slamming back up, filling you to the hilt. Or what you thought was the hilt- you were already grinding down against his pelvis when he rocked up harder, forcing himself in further from the new angle. It knocked the air from your lungs and you crumpled into him, moaning even louder.

“Shh, I’ve got you,” he soothed, the gentle words a contrast to the insistent throb of his cock deep in your womb. He held you in place, not letting you move just yet, the need to take this slowly at war with the urge to claim you ruthlessly. You whined, tried to bounce against him, but he held you firm. “Just give me a moment,” he rasped, “don’t want to hurt you…”

You sighed and held tighter to him as you waited, until the burn had softened to a dull warmth. He noticed your softening, pulled your arms tighter around his chest. “Gonna start moving again,” he warned, ghosting his lips over the base of your neck like an apology for the harsh strokes he began to subject you to.

His head fell back as he lost himself, enveloped in the tight, slick heat of you- the closest thing to the divine he’d ever felt. “God, you feel incredible,” he breathed, awed and needy and aching with every drag against your clinging walls. He was slow, controlled, deliberate, made you feel every pulse of his veins as you sucked him in.

The water swirled around you as he lifted and dropped you on his cock, sheathing himself deeper and deeper each time. Fucked dumb, you raked your nails down his back. Shiu’s hips stuttered, rhythm lost as he shuddered under you.

“Yeah, princess, scratch me up,” he groaned, “wanna feel you everywhere.”

You gripped him harder, left crescent-moon evidence behind of your manicured nails on his skin. He chuckled and palmed your ass under the water. “Want more, baby?”

“Anything you want,” you huffed. “I can take it.” You emphasized the point with a tug at his hair, fingers tangled in the close-cropped strands. He let his head fall back in your grip, still laughing, the rumble in his chest going straight to your needy hole.

He loved this side of you, felt the want lick through him like fire at the sharp little tug of your hand in his hair. He sped up, caught his bottom lip between his teeth as he bucked into you harder, eyes locked on the way your flesh rippled at the force.

The heat in his eyes made you feral, made you beg shamelessly into his neck, made you reach a desperate hand to your throbbing clit. He shifted slightly to give you more access, sought out the places inside you that he knew would drive you crazy. “Want it rough, baby? Such a good girl, taking everything I give you.”

“God, yes, please, Shiu, fuck me,” you mewled into his mouth, eyes squeezed shut as you rubbed frantic circles on your twitching clit.

“That’s what I wanna hear, angel. Gonna make you forget your own name.” His breath heaved, body drawn taut as a bowstring as he worked you over. His muscles would burn later, make him stiff in the morning, but he didn’t care. Nothing mattered but the way you felt around him. His fingers were locked on the soft fat of your hips, sure to bruise in the shape of his powerful grip.

His confident voice was strangled now, his control slipping further as you clung to him and moaned. “Can’t get enough of the sounds you make, can’t get enough of your body, so perfect for me…” He suddenly flipped to press you against the side of the bathtub, held down and fucked breathless as he chased your contact, your friction. He angled his hips to slam into the spot that had you seeing stars, groaned at the way your cunt spasmed around him.

“Fuuckk Shiu, you’re so deep.” You curled your fingers around the edge of the tub, hung on for dear life as water slopped onto the spotless floor.

“That’s the spot, huh baby? Feel your pretty pussy milking me, fuck.”

“Yes, yes, I’m all yours, baby, you own me,” you babbled. You rolled your hips back to meet each thrust, slick skin sticking deliciously to his torso as he rutted up into you.

His precision gave way to urgency as you whispered filthy words into his ear, sweat and suds stuck to your cheeks, the curls of soft hair on his heaving chest. “You feel so goddamn good, like you were made for me, princess.”

“I was, was made for you, I’m your cocksleeve,” you murmured, the words spilling out without thought as you were lost in pleasure.

His answer was a strangled laugh, a deep blush spilled across his cheeks. “You’re gonna kill me, talking like that,” he shivered, hips sloppy and reckless against you as he bullied his cock deeper. “Don’t fucking stop.”

How could you deny him? “I’m your good girl, your slut, your pretty little toy- mmmmphh…!” He cut you off with a fierce kiss, swallowed the rest of your filthy words. He squished your cheeks in one hand, held you tight against him as he devoured you, so deep that you felt him in your stomach. You couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, just needed more and more of this, falling up into your peak.

He was right beside you, helplessly confessed it against your ear, “I can’t hold on much longer, angel, I’m so close, please…”

You eagerly took the power he offered up, tilted your head in a teasing little gesture like he didn’t just have your eyes rolling back. “Please what?”

He bit his lip, hung his head against your neck as he caught his breath. “Please, keep talking to me like that, please.”

“You like when your pretty baby talks dirty?” He shuddered, nodded, hid his face in your neck. Your own orgasm was imminent, coiled behind your navel and sparking down your spine. You couldn’t be mean to him, not when he’d been so sweet all night. You cupped the back of his head, held him even closer. “Mmm you’re so fucking deep, make me feel so good…want you to fill me up, make me yours...”

He whimpered something affirmative that slipped down your collarbone, settled between your legs. You pressed back against him, rode him harder, met every stuttered thrust with your own grinding arch.

You read each other instinctively, with the blind trust that had been part of your relationship since the beginning. Your bodies fit together perfectly, like they’d never meant to be apart. Shiu’s heart beat wildly at your back, matching the frantic fluttered pulse in your clit as you stroked yourself to your peak. Sharp teeth closed on your shoulder as you came, as the feeling of you clamped around his weeping cock undid him.

“Come for me, angel,” you ordered through gritted teeth, and he obeyed, surged forward to cover your mouth with his, caught your silent scream between his teeth as he came hard, hot pulses of thick white cream filling the deepest parts of you.

His body trembled, slumped against you. Shaky hands pulled you flush to his sweaty chest as he fought to catch his breath, your own body limp and spent. “You’re incredible,” he murmured, swollen lips caressing your jaw, your neck, your chest. “So goddamn perfect, I’m all yours…no one else could ever do this to me.”

You closed your eyes, leaned back to urge him lower, sleepy and beyond satisfied as the bath water slowly cooled. He slipped out of you with muffled apologies, brought soothing fingers to cup your well-used pussy. “We’re made for each other,” you sighed dreamily, reached for the glass of wine you’d left behind, passed Shiu his cocktail.

“Damn right we are, princess. Couldn’t imagine my life with you.”

You grinned, clinked your glass against his. “Cheers to that, my love.”

“Cheers indeed.” He sipped the whiskey, savored the burn, eclipsed by the fire still smoldering through his limbs. “To us, to our life together.”

Across the room, still bathed in golden light from the melting candles, his phone pinged with your food delivery, but neither of you were in a hurry to disentangle from each other. You couldn’t remember that you’d ever been stressed at all.

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if you made it this far I love you, have a forehead kiss! This ended up being SO much longer than I planned!! Happy Kinktober Shiu Nation <3

#shiu x reader #jjk shiu #shiu smut #shiu kong #shiu x you #jjk smut #domestic fluff #shiu fluff #kinktober 2024 #how is my longest oneshot Shiu Kong smut

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tovalhallaandback · 17 days ago

Text

Vores Lille Dukke

Summary: A night at the club on All Hallows Eve turns into frighteningly intimate evening when you run into York’s undead King and Queen who offer an invitation that you’d be stupid to turn down.

Pairing: Vamp!Sigtyggr x Vamp!Stiorra x Human!AFAB!Reader

Warnings: SMUT (18+), threesome, unprotected sex, p in v sex, oral sex (giving male/female, receiving male/female), lowkey dom/sub vibes (dom Sigtryggr, switch Stiorra, Stiorra is also a bratty sub lol, sub reader), minor rough sex, minor blood kink, minor praise kink, mentions of blood, legal alcohol drinking (but reader still able to consent), possibly more that I'm missing ?

Wordcount: 10.3 (Yeah...i went a little nuts..)

AN: So uh, happy belated halloween?! I have more to say in the AO3 ANs lawl.

Cross-posted on to AO3 since it's so long. Also if you want to skip to the smut, then skip to the bolded part.

There’s a luminescent glow in your favorite club tonight, black lights illuminating only whites and neons while casting everything else into eerie shadows. The bass from the speakers beats so loudly, you feel it in your bones, like a second heartbeat as you lean against the bar nursing a cocktail, watching your friends. You can’t help but laugh as one slaps another party goer across the face while the other seems like they have been starved from human touch for centuries with the way they try to devour their companion. At least, they both seem to be having fun, though you wish they had kept their promise of not abandoning you tonight when they forced you out of your apartment.

The costumes tonight lack creativity - white bunny costumes as an excuse to where lingerie in public, skeleton body suits like a second skin, angels with far too salacious grins…Though creativity tends to get stifled when there’s only so many white and neon costumes to choose from for a halloween blacklight party. And besides, it’s not like your ingenuity is any better, spotting several other possessed dolls within the throngs of people on the dance floor, even if you had no clue that you’d be coming out tonight until four hours earlier when your friends arrived clad in costume, giddy with excitement as they announced a change in plans from your annual horror movie marathon. And for a last minute costume, you look damn fucking good.

Sure you would have rather kept to your converse instead of the four-inch strappy stilettos one of your friends insisted you wear knowing far too well that high heels, cobblestone, and alcohol are a lethal mix, but you’re still quite proud of the rest of your thrown-together costume. It’s a simple assemble - just a white pleated skirt with your favorite white tank top; both of which emphasize your favorite physical attributes in just the right way. Then of course, there’s the black leather jacket and white lace-trimmed thigh highs that add a little bit of edge to your look. But the cherry on top? Your make-up, so detailed and precise that it looks like a professional special-effects make-up artist completed it. So while tonight might not be your usual scene, at least you feel damn fucking confident in the way that you look.

“What’s your poison?” You just barely hear a voice that can only be described as sounding as sweet and harmonious as Tchaikovsky’s “Waltz of the Snowflakes” say over the blaring music, though still loud enough that your heels pop off the ground for a moment, still unable to shake the feeling of being watched that’s haunted you the last couple of weeks. At first, you ignore it despite the voice’s alluring nature, like a siren in a storm, beckoning you to find its source. Plus, you’re certain they must be talking to someone else. But then it comes a second time, even louder and clearer, like the person has moved closer to you, “It looks really fucking good.”

Your eyes flick down to the deep ruby red cocktail in your hands. The stranger’s right; it is fucking delicious, tasting mostly of sweet cherries and pomegranate. It’s one of those drinks that you could easily down five of in a row, completely forgetting there’s alcohol laced between the sweetness.

“I think it was called Dracula’s blood? Or something cheesy like-“ The words get stuck in your throat as you meet the deep dark eyes of the stranger, not quite able to discern their color under the blacklight. The petite lithe female looks like a walking goddess with her pin-straight dark chocolate brown hair falling almost to her waist and skin-tight little black dress that falls just to her mid-thigh. You instinctively swallow, licking your lips as she stares back at you, a sweet but tantalizing smile hanging off her lips.

“Like that,” you say finally, though it comes out almost like a whisper. But, it’s a miracle you were able to even finish you sentence with the way this young women has captured your attention.

“Would you like another?” she asks as she waves down the bartender.

All you can do is nod, still awestruck by how perfect her cream colored skin looks under the purple-hued lighting and how the dress she wears draws your gaze to the delicate slope of her breasts, then the curve of her waist. But on the bright side, she seems to hardly notice your blatant ogling (or she’s just used to it).

Either way, you chastise yourself for such behavior, forcing your mouth that you didn’t even realize fell open closed. And somehow, you manage to remove yourself off the bar, the sleeves of your jacket making a squelching noise as they peel off the tacky ledge covered in God knows what.

As you reach into your pocket for your card, the mysterious female shakes her head, “It’s on me.” With a gracious grin, you accept the drink from her then bring it your lips, allowing the sweet nectar to flow over your lips one more.

“Fuck that is good,” the young woman says.

She adds something else, but you hardly register it, now enamored by the way the crimson drink drips off one of her canines (wait have those always been so sharp and pronounced?!) and onto her plush lower lip like she’d just sunk her her teeth into someone’s flesh. Then, you find yourself wishing for chance to taste the beverage on her tongue… And that’s when her costume finally makes sense - the little black dress with sheer black tights, the velvet choker around her neck, the smears of blood in odd places, the overly emphasized canines…she’s a vampire.

“Great costume,” you splutter out then immediately close your eyes. Fuck?! Great costume?! If she weren’t still standing there, you’d probably be hitting yourself over the head for such a stupid fucking line.

She smiles at your sweetly, like you’re a cub who thinks they can keep up with the lions. “Thanks,” her eyes do a once over your costume. “Big Child’s Play fan?”

Your hand seesaws, “Yes and no. Mostly just the ones from the late 90s that are more comedy than horror. Let me guess - True Blood? The Vampire Diaries?”

“Something like that.”

Your fingers tap against your thigh as your eyes fall over the crowd again, rattling your brain for something more clever to say to the vixen then talk about your fucking costumes. You spot one friend, now practically fucking their companion on the dance floor as other people grind, jump, and fist-pump to the beat. You’re still scanning the crowd for the other when your eyes meet a different stranger’s gaze. The taller man leans across the far wall, a drink at his lips as he stares back at you and the vixen to your left. You’re certain that someone as devilishly handsome as him has to have his eyes on his clear counterpart, but then her glass clinks against yours as she whispers, “I think someone likes you.”

But before you can counter her, she’s gone, unable to even locate where she disappeared too. Besides, it only takes two seconds to realize that she’s right as the other stranger’s eyes remain glued to you instead of following wherever the chestnut-haired stranger disappeared too. Heat rushes to your cheeks , and suddenly you’ve never been more thankful to be in a club with backlights. Your teeth sink into your lower lip as you finger waggle at the stranger, swearing you see the flash of a smirk as he takes another sip of whatever he’s drinking.

Maybe if you were three or four drinks deep, you might have enough confidence to waltz over to the new stranger. But you hardly feel the familiar warmth or euphoria pulsing through your veins, still only on your second drink with the first having been nursed for almost an hour. Besides, there’s no fucking chance you’d have a chance with him. Right?

For God’s sake he looks like fucking Mr. James Dean with the jeans, glowing white t-shirt, and mohawk…? (Really you’re just certain the sides of his head are shaven.) But either way, he looks like the type of guy who need only wink and panties fall to the floor for him. (And that’s just in shitty lighting from thirty-feet across the room. Up close? He probably looks like a Greek fucking god.)

Your other friend appears, swiftly dragging you by the hand as they weave through the crowd towards the bathrooms unintentionally saving you from embarrassing yourself a second time this evening. Their iron grip around your wrist disappears once in the sanctity in the bathroom, then your friends turns to face you. “You cool finding your own way home tonight?”

Your friend glows pink under the neon sign mounted above the sinks reading, ‘Please Don’t Do Coke in the Bathroom’. There’s an odd coziness to the brick-walled bathroom with four onyx stalls and and a double vanity sink, like the owners of the club knew most people retreat to the bathroom for a moment to themselves as just the thrum of the bass beats through the walls now. It’s nice being able to actually hear your own thoughts and not need to shout to be heard.

“Yeah. After you both promptly abandoned me the minute we got drinks, I figured that would be the case.”

Your friend wraps you in too tight a hug, then places a gentle kiss on your temple. “We don’t deserve you.”

“No, you really fucking don’t,” you say with a giggle as the edge of the countertop bites into your hipbones. It’s not the first time they both have pulled this move on you, nor will it be the last. But, you’ve never minded it, just insisted all three of you ensure your location-shares stay on and check-in that you’ve all made it home by lunch the next day.

You listen intently as your friend rattles off to you all the details they have learned about their prospective companion for the evening, clearly elated by how the night has shaped out. Eventually, you get your chance to tell her about the two strangers who caught your eye, only to quickly deny any plans of leaving with them when your friend wiggles her eyebrows at you. There’s no way in hell you have a chance with either of them. Then with one more giddy hug, they leave you in the bathroom alone.

The silence is comforting, appreciating how you can finally think straight as you try to decide whether to stay a bit longer or to leave. Plus, the bottle of pedialyte you guzzled in anticipation of the evening has finally made its way through your system.

You jump in your heels when you reemerge from one of the stalls, having hardly heard the female stranger from earlier enter the bathroom. She sits cross-legged on the grey concrete counter top, the deep cherry red of the soles of her heels flashing at you as she uncrosses her legs, her smile widening, like she’d been waiting on you. She pops off the counter as graceful as a feline, her hips swaying as she glides effortlessly towards you like she’s barefoot instead of wearing at least four-inch black patent-leather Louboutin stilettos.

“I got worried you left,” her musical voice says, sending a tingle down your spine. She smells like sweet vanilla, roses, and like she’d make all your dreams come true if you asked.

“Just needed to cool off,” you manage to mutter despite her proximity. If you just leaned forward half an inch, you’d finally find out what your chosen drink of the evening tastes like on her lips.

“Do you mind if touch you? Fix a few things out place?”

You shake your head. Of course you wouldn’t fucking mind if she touched you; she could do anything she wants to you. The graze of her knuckles against your own when she handed you your drink earlier, then again when you clinked glasses together, had sent a spark of electricity coursing through your veins, leaving you with wanting more.

Goosebumps erupt across your collarbone when her wine-red nails scrape across the tops your breasts as her fingers curl into the hem of your tank top. She shimmies it down a little lower, so the material highlights your cleavage a little better. Your chest rises and falls slowly when her hands move to your hair, then your face, making small adjustments here and there, until she finally grips you at your shoulders gleaming at you like you’re her masterpiece. “That’s better. Now, I do hope you at least say ‘hi’ to your admirer before you leave. I’m sure it would make his night.”

You nod without quite realizing it, hypnotized by her scent…her charm…the way her breasts seem to strain against the bodice of her dress every time she inhales…. Up closer now, you swear she seems familiar, like this is not the first time that you’ve seen her. But, she seems young enough that you presume it’s from your job or university classes.

“You two know each other?” you ask, cursing under your breath after the fact for the way your voice squeaked out the words. Fucking hell, you need to pull yourself together.

“Something like that,” she says for the second time this evening, still seemingly oblivious to the way your mind drifts off wondering what it would be like to end up in between the sheets with her.

You let the vixen guide you out of the bathroom, arm looped with hers like you’ve been besties your entire life. Thankfully, she deposits you back at the bar before sauntering away into the crowd again where she disappears within the sea of people as you berate yourself for forgetting to even ask her name.

A bartender finally wonders back over towards you, but not take your order, instead just handing your drink of the night right to you. Just beyond the bartender at the other end of the bar, the vixen (wait when did she get over there?) blows you a kiss. This time when she rejoins the dance floor, you follow her with your eyes. She stops when she reaches the middle, leaning forward as she whispers into a tall burly blonde nearly twice her size, dressed like Fred from Scooby Doo.

And then…fuck that’s fast. Then again, she is drop dead gorgeous and you too would probably follow her like a lost puppy if she asked you too. A pang of jealousy rips through you suddenly wishing you could be the man who gets to worship her this evening. But it’s only a momentary feeling, for seconds later the vixen’s cupping her hand around the male stranger’s ear from earlier. Then with a wink so clearly meant for you, she drags the other male towards the exit. Shit, and here you thought you wouldn’t actually have to follow through with the promise you made in the bathroom earlier, could just slip out undetected in a few minutes.

Your eyes flash up to the ceiling then to the DJ then the bathrooms, desperately searching for anything that could hold your gaze instead of the handsome stranger’s eyes. It’s not that you don’t want him, because oh my fucking God, you would trade a kidney to even spend one night with him. It’s just that you’re not known for pick-up lines…And what if he’s just been staring at you because something is out of place with your costume?

But a voice so tantalizing with its velvety smoothness and hint of an accent that it forces you to find its source trails over your ear, saving you from having to make any such moves. “You know it’s dangerous for a young woman like yourself to be out unaccompanied.”

You don’t realize that your mouth has fallen open again till the owner of the voice reaches out and presses a finger beneath your chin till your lips meet. Of course the voice belongs to the handsome stranger from earlier in the evening; it matches him perfectly.

Fuck, he is even sexier close-up…and also supposed to be a vampire? For a minute there when he smirked at you, he seemed to have the same over-accentuated canines like the young woman from earlier. Plus, there’s also those dark splotches at the hem and collar of his shirt… Regardless, the alcohol has thankfully finally begun to hit, just enough now that you feel your earlier trepidations with flirting disappear but still remain of sound mind and judgement.

So instead of dwelling on what exactly his costume is tonight, you say “Technically I did not arrive alone nor am I currently alone,” a giggle escapes your lips as he peers around you then looks behind his shoulder like he’s searching for a companion. “You’re here.”

His eyes are lighter than the vixen’s, but you cannot quite determine whether they are blue or green yet, nor can you figure out the color of the remaining hair on his head, braided down the center like you’ve seen in those medieval viking television shows. But, his jawline is so sharp it could cut steel and based on upon the way muscle ropes around his forearms and biceps, you’re certain there is a chiseled six-pack you’d love to run your tongue over hiding under that t-shirt.

“Ah, but I’m a stranger. Could easily be a serial killer out to lure young women just like yourself under the guise of a good time.”

A flash from one of the strobe lights flickers off of the array of rings riddled over his left hand as he brings his drink of choice to his lips. The golden ring implanted with a larger burgundy stone on his left finger intrigues you the most, reminding you of a class ring or perhaps a family heirloom with how worn it appears, like it’s been in his family for a very very long time. He looks oddly familiar to you too, but maybe he also attends your university.

“Who says that I’m not the serial killer?” He chuckles at your lame deflection and you think you might just die then and there. “Besides, we won’t be strangers anymore if we exchange names.”

The purple-hued light highlights his teeth when he grins in a frighteningly sexy kind of way sending a shudder down your spine, “Sigtryggr, and yours?”

Sigtryggr…interesting. You’re pretty sure it’s Scandinavian, yet you get the feeling that it’s no longer a common name even for that region of the world. But then again, maybe it’s a family name passed down for generations.

You tell him your name, then add “So, Sigtryggr, are you enjoying your evening?”

“It seems like it’s on the uptake now.” Damn, he’s smooth. And before you can even think to respond, a scent that reminds you of drinking spiced apple cider in an evergreen forest during autumn washes over you all while his warm breath starts to tickle your ear, “You could solidify that outcome if you went home with me tonight.”

Is it the most ingenious line to ever exist? Nope. But does it work? Yep. Yep, it fucking does. Because who would say no to an invitation like that from a man as handsome and sexy as him?

Your thighs squeeze together as a rush of heat washes over you, desire brewing deep in your core at his prospect. Never in your life did you think we’re that easy to persuade, especially by someone you had only just barely talked too, and yet here you were letting this stranger lead you out of the club into the brick-walled lined back alley.

A crisp autumn breeze sends an abandoned beer can rolling down the alley while leaves of browns, reds, and oranges skate across the pavement and a chill runs down your spine as you instinctively wrap your jacket further around you. Then there’s Sigtryggr with not even a singular patch of goosebumps in sight.

“You’re not cold?”

“Where I’m from, this is warm. Here,” his hands feel like they’ve been resting in front of a fire as they rub up and down your biceps and oh - his eyes are a brilliant piercing blue, like a frozen lake… so easy to drown in…. “My place is only a couple of blocks but would you prefer to go back inside and wait for a taxi instead of walking?”

“Don’t you mean an uber?”

“Same thing. Question still stands.” Then that grin that makes your knees go weak beneath you appears again when you shake your head no, “Good, because I don’t think I can wait any longer.”

His hands thread through your hair as he tilts your head back sending waves of desire crashing throughout your body. Your lips meet and you immediately taste iron. Fuck had you been so desperate that you had you bitten him by accident? Or maybe did he bite you? Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to mind. And before you can dwell on the thought, his tongue swipes across your lower lip eliciting a gasp that grants him access to your mouth.

Your muscles begin to relax as you give into the kiss, letting your hands roam up over his broad shoulders to his head, the stubble from where he’s shaved the sides of his head prickling your fingers. The heat building at the apex of thighs begins to throb as the intensity and desperation between the two of you begins to climax. Fuck, you want him so badly that you’d drop your panties right now and let him fuck you against the brick wall, onlookers be damned. So what if you end up in jail or in the paper tomorrow? He’s fucking hot and so worth it.

You find yourself keening forward onto your toes, eyes still shut, when Sigtryggr’s lips suddenly disappear from yours, desperate for another taste of the bourbon laced with iron on his tongue. “Finished already, my love?” he asks.

No, of course you’re not fucking finished with him. You two have only just gotten started, the heat pooling in your belly begging to be relieved by either his cock or one of those long ring-clad fingers of his.

Your eyes pop back open when your back hits the cool bricks, breaking you of your daze like having a bucket of ice water dumped over your head. Sigtryggr’s hand rests gently on your shoulder, holding you firmly in place as you follow his gaze, finding the chestnut-haired angelic vixen from earlier striding towards you as she licks her fingers.

And that’s when you clock the glittering gold ring with a deep burgundy stone shaped like a flower, looking oddly… familiar. Then like a flash of a lightbulb turning on, it comes to you; it matches the gold one that you had written off as just family heirloom of Sigtryggr’s …like a coordinated set…both rings looking straight out of the early medieval section at the museum and worn on their left ring fingers… Then another headlight from a car passing by illuminates the two strangers; alright, they definitely are dressed like vampires…a matching costume…because they’re married. They are most definitely married.

Fuck, you didn’t know that they were married, let alone married to each other. But, she practically pushed you into Sigtryggr’s lap, hadn’t she? Or maybe she was talking about a different stranger? And that wink had nothing to do with the promise she had asked you to make in the bathroom?

Either way, you open your mouth to apologize, but the vixen beats you to it, her melodic voice gaining a vicious edge to it as she says, “Tasted too much like coke and fuck boy for my liking. But, I think she’ll taste much sweeter on my tongue.”

“Too bad I’ve already claimed her for the evening.”

“I saw her first. And you don’t mind sharing, do you?” Sigtryggr’s palms slide up and down your waist now, but it does nothing to help the fear rising inside of you as they both stare you down like two ravenous predators. Oh.. so she meant that question for you.

You gulp, eyes shifting between the two of them as you sputter, “I-Are you two divorced?” Because, they have to be…right? It feels like the only explanation for what’s happening.. and shit, the vixen most definitely could kill you in a heartbeat.

“Nah that’s on my agenda for next century.”

Sigtyggr’s head whips towards his wife faster than an elastic snapping back into place, “What?”

“I’m kidding, sheesh,” the vixen says with a dramatic roll of her eyes. “I file for divorce once when women finally earned the right when we were already due to update our marriage license and he’s still so fucking sensitive about it, as if we have not been together for the last millennia.” Damn, they have a backstory for their costumes and everything. They must really fucking love halloween…or roleplaying…or both. Alright, so maybe being swingers isn’t totally out of the realm of possibility here…

“My wife, the drama queen.”

“And you fucking love it.”

“I do.” Then suddenly, Sigtryggr begins conversing with his wife in a dialect you don’t recognize, some Scandinavian language probably.

And that’s when you put together who they are or rather what they are… the eerily ancient rings, the pure perfection of their appearances, their enticing scents, the old yet modern ways in which they speak, the iron on your tongue….

Your thumb brushes over your lower lip, coming away clean. The only blood you can see on Sigtryggr is on his - yeah no, that’s definitely real blood on his clothes. And the vixen’s lips? Definitely not still stained from the cocktail… Plus those hyper-realistic over exaggerated canines are not some weird cosmetic surgery either…These aren’t some silly costumes.. Nor are they history fanatics or family heirloom hoarders… They are history. They are…. vampires.

But not just any vampires either. You’ve heard about a million different versions of the legend of the undead king and queen of York, more frequently as of late due to the season. Some hailed the hauntingly beautiful young woman in front of you as the secret queen of York, Sihtric Caech’s true love and mistress whom all his children were truly sired through, his marriage to Eadgyth only political. Others believed she was King Athelstan’s sister but changed her name along with the king of Northumbria as to not raise suspicion when they were believed to be dead. But your absolute favorite version of the myth told the story of a king so distraught, driven mad even, by the death of his first wife that he sold his soul to Hel in exchange for an eternal life with her.

The beat of your heart begins to thrum in your ears, something deep inside of your urging to take the opportunity to run. But instead, your feet stay firmly in place, too mesmerized by the way the mated pair in front of you toys the line of arguing and flirting, expressions shifting between teasing smiles and exasperated eye rolls as the two lover’s quarrel. A flash of light from the headlights of a car reflect off the undead queen’s pearl white teeth momentarily when she smiles making your breathing halt, looking like some demonic mix of angel and monster.

Monster. Right. Vampire. Right.

Their love quarrel continues with you now certain it’s over who gets to sink their teeth into your neck then suck you dry till you’re just a cold limp corpse on the ground. Your chest begins to rise and fall thrice as fast as its previous pace. Vampires. They’re vampires, idiot. And what do vampires eat? Dumb little humans who fall for their charm…. You need to leave. Now. Before you become their next meal.

A puff of dust erupts from the brick wall as a loud cracking sound that can only come from cement (or maybe bones?) splitting echoes across the alleyway at the same time Sigtryggr emits a low primal growl from deep within his chest as he pins his wife to the structure. Your heels pop off the ground momentarily, but more from the suddenness of the gesture; honestly the motion should have terrified both of you and the queen with its intensity. But while the vixen just giggles playfully at her husband, you feel the deep ache from earlier makes itself at home between your thighs once again. Worst of all, you’re stuck ogling at them once more as she takes his bottom lip between her teeth, urging his lips to meet hers….

Right. Fuck. Vampires. Fuck. Want to eat you…even if they are hot and so lost in their lust for one another that you feel that pang of jealousy a second time that evening. So lost… they don’t even know you’re there anymore. So lost… they won’t even notice if you leave! Which you should definitely do…Now!

Your feet finally begin to move beneath you as you attempt to tiptoe away from them, slowly turning towards your exit. But just as you think you’re free, your ankle begins to roll.

Fuck, fuck, fuck! They will definitely hear you eating shit on the pavement. Once again - fuck, your best friends and their insistence on stilettos with cobble stone. But before the edge of your foot even fully makes contact with the pavement, a firm grip lands on your shoulder, steadying you. Of course they fucking noticed before it even happened, even heard it happening, enhanced abilities and reflexes be fucking damned.

You still turn your head back even though you know exactly whose hand has just saved you from embarrassment. “Careful there. Wouldn’t want you to get hurt before we’re done with you, ” the vixen says with a wink.

“Are y-you going to kill me?” you manage to stutter out.

“Oh no, youre too pretty for that. We took care of that earlier anyways. We just want to have fun with you.”

Fun?! What could they mean by fun other than killing you? What the fuck do vampires do to have fun? “Like go to an arcade or something?”

“Were you planning on going to an arcade with my husband?” Shit, you said that last part out loud didn’t you? And no, you were planning to fu- Oh. OH.

“So what will it be a yes or a no? My dear husband said I’m not allowed to make the decision for you, but you better —”

“Stiorra,” the undead king chides. So, that’s the vixen’s name…Seems fitting for her as well.

“So, if my answer is yes, how does this work? Are we taking turns or something? I mean he’s your husband so obviously you get first cho-”

“Oh, don’t flatter my husband. He’s not the one being shared. It’s you.” Oh, fuck. You definitely did not see that in the cards for tonight.. And then Stiorra answers the question you didn’t even realize you still had, “Together.”

Together…like a…like a threesome. Oh….Oh. “Yeah, I think that uh..I think that’s fine.” You say trying to hide the giddiness building inside of you. Isn’t the saying that everything can be solved with a threesome?

Stiorra turns to her husband, a look that can only be categorized as ‘I-told-you-so’ clear across her features as he remarks, “Well, lille elskede, my wife gets her way once again.”

“No, that doesn’t fit her at all. She’s our…our lille dukke.”

Not even fifteen minutes later, you’re tucked against Stiorra’s lithe frame, already feeling reluctant at having to eventually detach yourself from the warmth she provided you on the walk from the club to their apartment. Their flat is unsurprisingly the penthouse suite; what else would you do with a millennia worth of savings?

“This is your place?” Fuck, what another dumb fucking question. Did Sigtryggr not just use a key to open the door?

“Quaint isn’t it? Wanted something more discreet and cozy as we’re here so infrequently and mostly for business.” Sure, the place could be considered quaint if you were used to mansions and castles - oh, right, you may not have confirmed it officially, but you’re still certain that they have to be the undead king and queen.

You humbly accept Stiorra’s offer of water as your eyes scale the vaulted ceilings, the silvery white glow of the moon shining through the skylights. But, your time exploring their apartment is cut short as Stiorra practically yanks you down the hall, not even stopping when her fingers curl into the collar of her husband’s shirt to drag him along too.

Their bedroom hosts a beautifully espresso-colored ornate four-poster bed (probably a California king) garnished with what looks like the most luxurious, soft, plush linen set in a deep navy that you’ve ever laid your eyes upon. The bright overhead light coming from a beautiful gold and crystal chandelier blinds you briefly before dimming down to a soft warm glow, just enough that you can see them clearly. Well, there’s clearly no time to run now seeing as you’ve officially ventured into the lions den.

Butterflies dance in your stomach as the anticipation for the evening peaks inside of you. Your grip on the heavy crystal glass in your hands tightens as your hand begins to tremor. Sure, this might not be your first time, but it is your first threesome with thousand-year-old vampires who most definitely know what they are doing when it comes to pleasure.

But then a gentle hand brushes the hair away from your shoulders, tickling the delicate skin there in the most delightful way. You turn towards the sensation, your eyes meeting the deep chocolate brown of Stiorra’s who beams at you like an angel as her husband trails kisses along her neck.

“I’m going to kiss you now, okay?” The sweetness and sincerity in her musical voice soothes the trepidation inside of you, just enough that you take the step forward towards her to close the distance. The glass in your hands gets passed to Sigtryggr, disappearing almost like magic (though really it only seems that way as you’re too busy worrying your lower lip as you become enchanted by Stiorra’s beauty once more).

Then finally, her lips are on yours, gentle and soft - like she’s easing you into the evening ahead. The taste of sweet maraschino cherries overpowers the lingering bits of iron from her earlier meal, but it’s the way her feather-light touch skims over your frame that makes you wobble at the knees. For a moment, it’s just the two of you underneath the most glorious clear night sky, the kind of night where you can see the milkyway in all its different shades of blues, purples, greens and grays.

And oh my god, the way her tongue runs over the seam of your lips has you daydreaming about how glorious it might be to have her wield it between your thighs. She giggles when you whimper into her mouth, hands fumbling into her hair as you attempt to pull her as flush to you as possible. But instead, she shifts beneath your touch till one of your hands lands on something much harder, like granite.

Your eyes flutter open, unveiling the new placement of your hand. Sigtryggr lifts your chin, pulling you towards him as your lips meet for the second time this evening. You can taste his wife on his lips and the faint remnants of bourbon. Melting into his touch, you keen forward onto your tiptoes as you pull him closer, nails digging into the sides of his head.

A sharp nip at your neck has you inhaling sharply, but only for a moment as seconds later, your head begins to fall back as a tongue sweeps over the tender area. As you relish in the feeling, one of your companions hands slides up across your stomach till it lands on one of your breasts. Your back arches, pressing yourself further into their touch as they begin to knead the soft mound. Then a moan trembles of your lips when fingers find your nipple through the thin fabric of your tank top and bra giving the hardened nub a sudden twist.

The sensations halt suddenly, a little whine coming from your throat as you hear the beginnings of a belt buckle loosening. Stiorra stands directly between you and her husband now. You watch, fingers brushing over your now tender and slightly swollen lips, as Stiorra quite literally rips away the king’s shirt, hands exploring the smooth muscle of his rock solid six pack then slowly descending lower and lower till one slips down past the waist band of his boxers.

Sigtryggr’s head hits the wall behind him with a loud clang as he groans his wife’s name. You swear you hear her smirk right before she falls to her knees in front of him. And then there it is… just as rock solid as his abs…Fuck, he’s big. The queen runs her hand up and down the length of the steel rod, stopping ever so often to brush her thumb over the tip or give a little kitten lick to the underside as Sigtryggr steps his way out of his remaining garments. Arousal pools between your legs, yearning to know what it feels like to have the king’s cock sheathed inside of you….or even just get a taste.

And then as if she can read your mind, Stiorra pulls you down next to her. “You want a taste of my husband’s cock, don’t you?” That playful little smirk of hers that promises nothing but trouble appears again after you somehow manage to nod while picking your jaw up off the floor as she adds, “He likes it when you take him deep.”

Sigtryggr’s fingers rake through his wife’s hair in a sweet but possessive way commanding, “You’re going to need to show her, my love.”

His thumb then presses at the hinge of her jaw, till her mouth falls open for him. Your mouth begins to water to the point where you might be drooling as you watch the king slowly guide his member into the mouth of the queen then keeps going…and going…and going… till only an inch or so remains.

His hips rock forward as Stiorra remains still as a statue, eagerly and easily taking her husband’s cock in her mouth like it’s the simplest gesture in the world. Even when he holds her at the deepest point for a few long seconds, she hardly flinches. And, it’s not until he pulls her off him with a swift tug of her hair that the queen makes any noise beyond the muffled garbled noises from having her husband’s dick shoved down her throat. But even looking positively wrecked from her husband throat fucking her, the queen is still as radiant as ever, now just with mussed hair, rosy cheeks, and glistening lips.

The soft mewling sounds emanating from Stiorra quickly morph into soft purrs when Sigtryggr’s hand moves to cup his wife’s throat. Her head then flips towards you, deep brown eyes now blown an onyx color, a wicked grin plastered on her face. She reaches out to you, brushing your hair off your shoulder before wrapping her hand around your jaw. Then slowly, the queen begins to guide the king’s cock into your mouth inch by inch.

“That’s a good girl,” she praises as her fingers brush through your hair, slowly bobbing your head up and down for you. “Just like that.”

Tears brim your eyes as Sigtryggr fucks you, each thrust hitting the back of your throat. Your nails dig into his arse, eager to please him just as his wife had done. Though, there’s no way you can do what she did, only able to tolerate most of his length. A growl emanates from low in Sigtryggr’s throat as he pulls himself all the way out.

Air fills your lungs, your following gasp a little too loud for your liking. But neither one of your companions seem to notice as Stiorra leans into the hand that strokes her head, gleaming like an obedient pet whose just been praised for good behavior. There’s genuine love in the way Sigtryggr looks back at her, but there’s pride there too. It’s the kind of affection you only see between two people who would stop at nothing but to give the world to one another, so unbreakable that even death would only seem to be a new beginning, like a gateway to eternity.

With one more deep inhale and a lick of your lips, you return to the work you started, this time relying more on your tongue as you run it underneath the entirety of his length then swirl it around the tip. The milky white bead his cock weeps burns your throat slightly when you swallow it. But, you ignore the slight discomfort, desperate to please in hopes of having the ache that now throbs between your thighs quelled by one of them…or both of them…really whatever they want to do.

A delicate hand lands on your shoulder, then tugs backwards ever so slightly, just enough that you know they’re asking you to stop. Together, the three of you migrate to the bed, where Stiorra immediately shoves her husband onto his back. The mattress has a little give to it as you crawl a top of it, preparing to take Sigtryggr’s cock again. But just as you get into position, a vice grip entraps your ankle then yanks you towards the head of the bed.

The sound of fabric tearing fills the room for a moment, the remnants of your lace thong fluttering to the floor. Then the king’s tongue is running up and down the length of your seam. You fall forward onto your hands, a moan immediately trembling off your lips…Fuck. Never in your life could you have imagined sitting on top of one the hottest men to ever exist as he wields his tongue in ways you did not ever think were even possible and yet…here you are….

Slow teasing passes turn into more deliberate strokes, then small flicks till he’s narrowing his focus onto the small pearl at the apex of your sex. You peel your tank top off of yourself, desperate to have every inch of you touched as you ride the king’s face. When he suddenly groans against you again, likely from the way the queen continues her magic on him at the base of the bed, your walls begin to tighten as your get closer and closer to reaching your high.

It’s all over for you once he slips two fingers inside your cunt, alternating between scissoring the two digits and thrusting them against the second most sensitive point of your womanhood. Your chest rises and falls, faster and faster as an electrifying tingle begins to spread out from your core to the tips of your toes. And when your high finally comes, you cry out the king’s name, panting as you whole body begins to tremble.

“Seems like our lille dukke is enjoying herself,” Stiorra muses as Sigtryggr moves you beside him, all while a rush of heat stains your cheeks crimson. Had you really been that loud?

“Do I sense a bit of jealously, my love?” The king says as his hand makes lazy sweeps over Stiorra’s thigh.

“Only that you got to taste her first.”

Then like a lioness on the prowl, the queen crawls on top of her husband. Now clad in only a delicate black lace full lingerie set, a singular piece probably costing more than your entire outfit, you gawk at the vixen as if she is the prey being served to you on a platter, wishing to roam your hands all over her lithe frame. Alas, it’s the king who receives that honor first.

Your arousal still clings to Sigtryggr’s lips and barely-there stubble as Stiorra captures her husband’s lips with her own, grinding herself against him. But she does not just clean his face of you, taking her husband’s fingers still glistening from your cunt into her mouth as she sucks them clean, a motion that immediately reignites your heady need to be ravished by the two of them.

Sigtryggr’s hands palm at Stiorra’s arse then slowly roam up over her back, the straps her bra falling forward off her shoulders from the force of the elastic snapping open. It falls to the floor as the two mates continue to relish in each other’s touch, making you start to wonder if your time with them is over.

You’d already gotten much more than you had initially expected, thinking you’d mostly be pleasuring them then the other way around. But just as you’re ready to slip away, Stiorra sets her sights on you, the breathtaking lioness cornering you like prey.

You taste yourself on her tongue as she rids you of your bra, hands massaging your sensitive mounds. Kisses then skate down across your neck, over past your collar bone, till she takes one of your pebbled nipples into her mouth. Your back arches into her as you pull her closer, your body aching for her to unravel you. A mewling noise releases itself when a couple of her fingers slip past your folds, dipping briefly into your cunt, your whimpers only growing louder when she pulls her digits away.

“I think someone’s ready for you, Sig.”

Then like she’s your lady-in-waiting, Stiorra helps you straddle her husband. You whimper again as the tip of Sigtryggr’s cock slides against your slickness, then slowly slips into you. Just like the queen had guided your head when your first took Sigtryggr into your mouth, she guides your hips, lifting you up and down. Your head falls back, the fullness alone driving you mad. But, it’s when Stiorra’s singular digit begins to draw circles over the hooded bundle of nerves that you start moaning out both their names.

Sigtryggr’s hands replace Stiorra’s in roaming your body, fingers occasionally tweaking your nipple or sliding over your pearl as you ride the king. As you surrender to the slow build, your teeth sink into your lower lip, watching the queen slip her panties off her long curvaceous legs.

Stiorra’s thumb brushes tenderly across her husband’s forehead as she places a gentle kiss to his lips. Fuck, if you were anywhere else, you’d be getting your camera out at how adorable the two of them look. It’s the kind of love you hope to find one day, one that earns the title of the greatest love story ever written or recorded.

A growl reverberates from deep within Sigtryggr’s chest suddenly, as his hands fly to his wife’s hips, pulling her up on top of his face just as you had been early. Stiorra hums, grinding herself down against her husband. Then her chocolate brown eyes are on you again.

She leans forward, a wildness alight on her features as she pulls your face close to hers. The kiss she gives you sends butterflies flipping in your stomach with it’s gentleness, almost like she’s telling you that she cares about you too. Your fingers lace through her silken hair, the scent of vanilla and roses overwhelming you once more. God, you could kiss this vixen for hours.

Then, fuck, there’s that sharp twinge of pain mixing with waves of pleasure as the Queen suckles at your pulse point. A warmth trickles down your neck, bright droplets of cherry red dripping down Stiorra’s lips onto Sigtryggr’s chest. Her grin spreads across her face when you offer her your wrist next, needing to feel that sensation over and over again. She takes it eagerly, savoring a few mouthfuls before placing your hand back over your clit where she helps you draw small quick circles.

A loud smack sounds through the room, though Stiorra only smirks, removing herself from her husband’s face. Then Sigtryggr lifts you off of him, like your weight is equal to a feather, before positioning you onto all fours as he climbs behind you.

“You’ve been greedy tonight, my love.”

Stiorra guffaws, “You started it. Besides, she tastes sweeter than candy.”

“Perhaps, it’s time I take a taste as well.”

Then for a moment, your back is flush to his chest, his teeth sinking into you as he finally takes a taste. You shudder beneath his touch, head lolling back onto the king’s shoulder as he drinks from you. Another sharp pang at your wrist sends your eyes flying open, catching the reflection of the three of you in the windows. Sigtryggr’s hands explore every inch of your naked body, kneading and massaging his way up and down. Every nerve is on fire as you stare breathlessly at the reflected image, inciting a frenzy inside of you. But, it’s when the king and queen’s blood-tinged lips meet in a messy kiss as they share the taste of you that your core goes molten.

You cry out as Sigtryggr suddenly sheaths himself inside of you, your hands somehow managing to catch you before you face plant. His pace is faster than yours had been, hips snapping into you over and over again. Moan after moan rolls of your lips, one after another, growing louder as every thrust hits you deeply, right at the second most sensitive spot of your cunt.

The queen moves in front of you, her legs opening up to you as she puts her womanhood on display like an invitation to the most decadent meal. You lick your lips, leaning closer and closer till your head just hovers above her center. The queen’s hand threads into your locks, gently stroking across your scalp; she wants you too.

Your first taste of her is sweet yet salty, twinged with the same acidity you had tasted on Sigtryggr, like it’s not quite meant to be experienced by humans. You dive in anyways, your tongue swiping up and down her seam, eyes flickering back up every so often to ensure that what you’re doing pleases the queen. She keeps her hand intertwined with your hair, tingles spreading from your head to your toe as she massages your scalp. Then, Stiorra finally hums when you spread her folds to kitten lick at her nub.

You pause suddenly, spotting Sigtryggr’s hand reaching forward as his lust-ridden voice says, “She likes it when you’re mean.” Then his fingers pinch at her pebbled nipple, twisting it in a way that can only seem a little painful, “Don’t you, my love?”

For the first time that evening, you truly hear the queen roar with pleasure as her back arches off the mattress, chest pressing further into her husband’s palm. With your new instructions, you return to your work, eager to make the vixen purr just as her husband had done. And when your nail accidentally scrapes at Stiorra’s pearl, you begin to piece together what the king had meant for you to do.

Alternating between sweet strokes and small nips, Stiorra begins to squirm beneath your touch as her body sings for you. All the while, your own body begins to inch closer and closer to the edge, walls beginning to flex against Sigtryggr’s cock as he continues to fuck you. Your peak comes suddenly like a wave crashing over you, your whole body clenching then releasing in the most delicious way, barely able to continue your work with the queen.

Sigtryggr carries you through your orgasm, letting you ride out every ounce of it till you’re a breathless mess. Then with a sigh, his movements halt suddenly, “I’m close, my love.”

Like a trained pet, Stiorra’s legs snap shut as she rolls towards her husband, gently nudging you out of the way.

With a wink she teases, “Dont want any babies with married man do ya?”

A loud smack reverberates around the room, the bed rattling beneath you so forcibly that you think it might break, when Sigtryggr’s hand lands on his wife’s ass, a slyful smirk on his lips.

But she hardly moves, keening forward ever so slightly on to her hands as a soft moan escapes her lips. “I think you’re losing your touch,” she teases, despite her wrecked voice and onyx-blown eyes indicating otherwise.

Sigtryggr’s teeth sink into Stiorra’s arse, then his head disappears out of sight. Your thighs press together suddenly, hoping the action might hide the way desire now pools out of you as you watch the mated pair. Only seconds pass before Stiorra’s hands fist into the sheets at your feet, her head falling forward. Her shuddered breaths fill the room, slowly growing louder like till she can no longer hold herself back, her husband’s name falling off her lips in a cry.

The shine of Stiorra’s cunt glimmers off her husband’s fingers and barely-there beard as he reemerges. Sucking his digits clean, he says “Still think I’ve lost my touch?”

When the queen arches her back, wriggling her ass at him like a mouse being dangled in front of a hungry feline, you think you might shatter right then and there, wishing to both trade places with her and be her undoing.

Then she says, “Hmm, I think you could learn a thing or two from our lille dukke ” making a rush of heat form beneath your cheeks.

And by the way Sigtryggr grips his wife’s hips, a way that can only be bone-crushing to a human, then buries his cock inside of her in one quick snap of his hips, you are certain she’s driving him crazy too.

The heat beneath your cheeks deepens to the point that you’re sure if you looked in a mirror right now you’d be scarlet as you watch the king fuck his queen. Sigtryggr’s hands rake into his wife’s hair as he pulls her up against his chest, hips bucking into her at a pace far quicker and harsher than he had been with you. The muscles in his forearm flex beneath his flesh as he holds it flush against the chestnut-haired queen’s waist while his other hand moves from her hair to cup her chin, tilting it up and away till he can sink his teeth right beneath her ear. His wife squirms against him, a mewling noise trembling off her lips.

You inhale sharply, tongue running over your lips as you watch the hand around Stiorra’s neck slowly descend down through the valley between her breasts then across her stomach, only stopping once it has reached the small tiny pearl at the apex of her thighs. Your legs squeeze together even tighter, the slickness of your arousal pooling out of you making your thighs slip against each other instinctually as you try to quell the throb you feel in your cunt.

One of Stiorra’s arms snakes up behind her husband’s head, pulling him down towards her till their noses brush. There’s a tenderness in the way she kisses him, like it’s meant to show love not passion. More importantly, it’s clear as day now that they’re done with you with the way the two mates hold each other’s gazes, lost in their love and lust for one another once more.

Somehow you manage to will yourself to move, needing to force yourself to look anywhere else but at them before your drool drips onto the sheets. But just when you’ve swung one leg over the edge of a bed, a delicate hand wraps around your wrist, then a voice that sounds prettier than a bird song floats over your ears, “Oh, don’t think we’re finished with you just yet.”

Stiorra falls back onto her palms like a feline, releasing the grip of your wrist in favor the ankle still on the bed. Then before you can process what she’s doing, her hands pin your knees to the mattress, putting your glistening cunt on display.

“I think somebody wishes we were rougher with her,” the queen smirks.

Heat flushes your cheeks again, but your bashfulness is only short-lived for the queen’s tongue licking your inner thigh clean of your slickness as she trails closer to your center has you seeing stars. Unlike her husband, she plays with you, taking her sweet time as she nibbles and flicks her tongue anywhere but where you seek it most. A musical amused giggle tickles your flesh, causing your hips to buck a second time; the first having been when the queen suddenly sank her teeth into your thigh.

A loud smack sounds through the air at the same time Stiorra jolts. “Play nice with our lille dukke,” Sigtryggr’s husky voice chides.

You catch Stiorra pouting as she looks over her shoulder to her husband whose palm twitches against her ass, his pointed look promising trouble if she continues with her antics. Then with a dramatic eye roll, the queen starts to lower herself onto her forearms, as if she’s finally about to give you what you need.

But just as you feel her warm breath against your folds, you stutter “No it’s - it’s okay. I kinda liked it.”

Stiorra gleams brighter than a neon sign, a smile that can only promise wicked things pulling at the corners of her mouth. Then after a quick flash of her tongue at her husband, she begins to reward you for your confession.

Kitten-licks to the small bead at the apex of your sex turn to quick tight circles as you begin to fall a part beneath the queen’s touch. You’re back arches off the silken sheets, gripping them so tightly that your knuckles turn white. The Queen’s name trembles off your lips and just when you start to see fireworks, she plunges two fingers inside of your cunt. Together with her tongue, the queen’s fingers curl and pit patter inside of you bringing you higher and higher. You begin to tremble beneath her touch, toes curling while you beg for your release till finally, every nerve explodes with pleasure as your third little death completely destroys you.

Your body goes limp as your peak comes crashing back down, chest rising and falling at a slower and slower rate as a warm hum begins to spread throughout your limbs. Never once in your life have you felt so satiated by a sexual encounter…felt so alive.

When you finally find the energy (and will) to push up to your elbows, you find an endearing sight in front of you. The queen has her legs wrapped around the king’s waist as her hands cradle his head, kisses swallowing each other’s sounds of pleasure. Fuck, they even make finishing together look straight out of a twisted Hallmark movie as they whisper sweet nothings to each other. They really couldn’t be any more of a perfect couple.

Moments later, Stiorra lands on the bed next to you looking like a giddy preteen about to have her first sleepover party as she kneels at your side. You catch the towel Sigtryggr tosses your way, wiping your body as clean as a dry towel will allow as Stiorra runs hands through your hair.

“Can we keep her? Please?” Stiorra begs, stroking your forehead like you’re a…like you’re her new doll.

“It’s not up to us, my love.”

Stiorra rolls her eyes at her husband again then bites her wrist and offers it to you. “It’ll help you heal faster.”

You nod, apprehensively bringing her wrist to your mouth. A rush of warmth flows over your tongue like you’re drinking warm honey instead of blood. You whimper when the wrist disappears suddenly, depriving you of the sweet nectar, only for a larger slightly rougher wrist to replace it as Stiorra grumbles “Hey!”

“My blood’s stronger,” Sigtryggr teases, a smacking sound presumably coming from his wife shortly following the jab. “Alright, that’s enough lille dukke. Don’t want to bleed us dry.”

A sheepish grin tugs at the corners of your lips as Stiorra tucks a piece of hair behind your ear. “Such a good lille dukke.” Then with a sigh, she pulls back the covers, “Come let’s get you to sleep.”

You open your mouth to protest, insist that you take a cab back to your flat, only to feel the rush of exhaustion weigh down your eyelids. You have your location shared with your friends. Plus, Sigtryggr and Stiorra don’t seem to want to murder you…yet. So perhaps, staying the night isn’t the worst idea in the world. With a yawn, you slip underneath the covers where Stiorra nestles herself between you and her husband, pulling you close to her as your scalp begins to tingle from her fingers stroking through your hair. Then, only moments later you succumb to the sweetest slumber.

The bed is empty except for yourself when your eyes flutter open the next morning. A sharp pang pierces your heart as you look around the room searching for them. You’d think it had all been dream had you not woken up in someone else’s apartment. With a mournful sigh, your toes flex against the wooden floor as you push yourself to stand then go searching for whatever remains of your clothing. And that’s when you see it - a small pile of clothes and shoes that are not yours, a paper bag, a danish pastry, and a small note written in the most elegant calligraphy you have ever laid eyes upon:

“Our driver will take you home whenever you’re ready to leave, just let the doorman know. We hope to hear from you soon, lille dukke.”

Then in a slightly less elegant hand-writing, an addendum:

“PS - Keep the clothes. I have plenty. What remains of yours are in the bag.”

#the last kingdom #tlk fanfic #sigtryggr x reader #stiorra x reader #sigtryggr x stiorra fanfic #sigtryggr ivarsson #sigtryggr ivarson #stiorra uhtredsdottir #sigtryggr x stiorra #my fics #this is ur psa that stiorra wants to be included in the reader fics ;)#and yes i am wicked bi for both of them #while also being equally captivated by their love for one another and cant possibly ship them with anyone else #k will be hiding for the next century #sigtryggr #stiorra #alternate universe #vampire au #modern au

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chelseachilly · 1 year ago

Text

THIS LOVE - chapter four | you can hear it in the silence

pairing: ben chilwell x reader

rating: T

word count: 2.2k

summary: you try to keep your distance from ben after italy, but after a terrible day, there's no one else you'd rather be with. i wonder why that is...

A/N: sorry it took longer than usual to update guys, it's been a very busy week for me! this one's a bit short as well but the next will be longer. i'm so happy the prem is back and we're getting so much good ben content though, the chelsea media team is keeping us well fed (and inspired one line of this chapter lol). title is from you are in love by taylor swift 🙈

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Your plan when you got back to London seemed almost foolproof at the time.

You picked up a bunch of shifts at work, more than you would ever normally take on in one week. If you’re constantly working, then that gives you 1) an excuse not to attend any more events with Ben and 2) a good distraction from the developing feelings you’re experiencing for him.

The facts are simple.

He is your best friend in the world. He most certainly doesn’t return whatever weird feelings you’re having. Nothing is going to happen.

You’re sure it’s just a weird side-effect of this fake dating you’ve been doing, but that’s just playing pretend.

Seeing him return to his usual ways - that perhaps he never left - of sleeping with beautiful models, firmly planted you back in the real world.

And there’s nothing that can help you snap out of your fantasy life than a double shift in an East London emergency department.

By the end of the week, you’re burnt out, exhausted, and you’re coming off what might be the worst shift you’ve ever had. Everything that could have gone wrong did go wrong, and it takes all your energy just to make it home on the tube and get yourself up the stairs to your flat afterward.

You don’t know whether you want to cry, scream, sleep, eat, or something else entirely when you finally make it to your couch and collapse into it.

Some time passes - you’re not sure if it’s minutes or hours - without you moving a muscle, your face buried in a pillow as you try to forget about your nightmare day. You’re snapped out of it when there’s a knock on your door.

You’re not expecting anyone, but you reluctantly force yourself off the couch and trudge your way over to open it.

And there stands Ben, who you haven’t seen or really spoken to except a few texts in a week and a half. Perfect.

“Ben, what are you doing here?”

You’re aware it’s not the most polite greeting, but you don’t really have much more than that in you.

“Are you alright?” Ben asks as soon as he has a moment to take you in, his eyes scanning your face. “You didn’t answer my call yesterday or my texts this morning, I was worried.”

Although you missed the texts because your phone was off at work and haven’t had the energy to check your messages since, you did dodge his call.

“I’m fine, I just had a long day at work and I-“ You pause as it dawns on you what day it is, as well as the fact that Ben is dressed a bit more smartly than usual, in black trousers and a nice leather jacket. “Oh, shit. The Nike thing. I completely forgot.”

You had agreed weeks ago to attend a big flashy party for Nike as Ben’s date tonight, but as you focused all your energy on work this week it completely slipped your mind.

“I’m sorry, just give me a few minutes to get changed and I’ll-“

“Hey, hey,” Ben says softly, stepping into your flat and closing the door behind him. “Forget about the party, is something wrong?”

You shake your head. “I just had a rough day at work.”

Ben nods, gesturing for you to go on, and something about the sincere worry in his eyes makes it impossible for you to remain closed off from him.

“We were really understaffed, and it was just one thing after another and then I lost a patient and I just-“

You cut yourself off as you feel that you’re about to cry, the sheer weight of your awful day and week catching up with you, but Ben can see it in the way your lip is trembling slightly and you’re avoiding eye contact with him.

“It’s alright, come here,” he says, stepping closer and pulling you into his arms before you can insist that you don’t need to be comforted. You definitely do, and there’s no better comfort on earth than Ben’s hugs.

He holds you close against him, letting you hide your face in his chest, and you can’t resist letting out a few sobs now that he’s opened the emotional floodgates.

“Shh, you’re okay,” Ben says so softly that it almost makes you cry harder. “I’ve got you.”

Slowly, and never breaking contact, Ben shuffles you both backward until the back of your legs hits the couch and eases you both into a seated position. He pulls you even closer so your legs are draped over his lap and your face rests in the crook of his neck, his hands slowly rubbing your back as your sobs taper off into quiet whimpers.

You can feel everything bad and stressful about today slowly leave your body with every soothing murmur and stroke of Ben’s warm hand against your back.

He’s like an instant cure for everything wrong with the world, and it occurs to you that a big part of your terrible mood is probably the result of not seeing him for longer than usual.

Now that you’re back in his presence, in the strong arms that have held you when you were eight and you scraped your knee falling off a bike and when you were sixteen and a boy broke your heart for the first time, you never want to leave.

You’re no longer crying when you finally find the strength to pull away from him and look him in the eye.

Ben releases you but keeps his hands firmly on your arms as he examines your face with worried eyes and a creased brow.

“Are you alright?” he asks barely above a whisper.

You nod, wiping the tears from your cheeks. “Sorry, I guess this week was just a bit overwhelming.”

“You’ve been working a lot lately, yeah?”

“Yeah, well, have to pay the bills,” you shrug, as if that’s the only reason you’ve been drowning yourself in shifts on purpose.

You do regret the comment slightly as Ben’s mouth opens and you know what he’s going to say before he even says it.

“Y/N, if you ever need money, you know-“

“Ben,” you interrupt. “I don’t need money, I’m fine. It was just a stressful week, but I’ve got a few days off now.”

You’ve had this dispute before, with Ben freaking out whenever you seem overworked and insisting on covering some of your expenses. You never take him up on it, obviously. You do mostly love your job and helping people, and Ben knows that. He just worries about you.

“Alright, fine,” Ben accepts. “Now why don’t we order some food and pick something to watch?”

You blink at him in confusion. “What? What about the Nike thing?”

Ben shrugs. “I’ll skip it. No big deal.”

“Ben-“

“Y/N, you had a shit day, you’re not going to some dumb party, and I’m not leaving you alone.”

He says it so matter-of-factly, like it’s his job to take care of you when you’re sad. Like he’s more than just your friend.

You can’t help but smile at his sincere expression, and how he’s gently rubbing your calf that’s still draped over his lap, as if you touch each other like this in private all the time.

“I thought you said it would be a fun party?” you raise an eyebrow. “Or were you just trying to trick me into it?”

Ben laughs. “Well, it might be alright. A couple of the boys are gonna be there. But not as fun as watching a film with you.”

There it is again - that damn fluttering in your chest that is equal parts exciting and terrifying.

Suddenly, doing anything with Ben sounds pretty good. Even a dumb party.

“You know what, let’s go,” you say, wiping any remaining tears from your cheeks. “There’s no point in this whole fake dating thing if we don’t commit, right?”

“Are you sure?” Ben asks, frowning a bit. “We really don’t have to.”

“I’m sure. Let me go get changed.”

You get ready fairly quickly, putting on your go-to little black dress and comfiest heels, because you did just work a 12-hour day. You make your hair look presentable and apply a bit of makeup.

It’s nothing special, but the look on Ben’s face when you walk out of your bedroom says otherwise.

The stress of your day continues to fade away to nothing as you and Ben make your way over to the party. Ben drives as they have a match Sunday so he won’t be drinking anything, and he loudly sings along to the Taylor Swift song on the radio in a clear attempt to cheer you up. It’s definitely working.

The party is a cool, lively affair at the Nike HQ. There are loads of athletes there, some that you recognize from television and some that you know through Ben.

As you navigate the party, chatting with some Nike execs and some of Ben’s past and present teammates, Ben maintains some kind of physical touch with you. His fingers intertwined with yours as you walk in; his arm around your waist as you talk to his mates; his hand rubbing gentle circles on your lower back as you order a drink.

You don’t know if it’s the fact that this is an event hosted by one of his biggest sponsors and he wants to play up the “man in love” thing or if he’s still trying to comfort you, but you can’t help hoping it’s the latter.

After a while, Ben is approached by someone from Nike asking if he can do a short interview for social media.

“Your girlfriend is welcome to join too,” the woman says nicely, flashing you a smile.

“You don’t have to,” Ben whispers in your ear, but you just shrug.

Normally you would shy away from any press, but maybe a part of you doesn’t mind being called his girlfriend tonight.

“I’ll do it,” you say with a small smile at the interviewer.

Ben keeps his arm protectively around your waist as the interview begins, glancing at you from time to time to make sure you’re alright.

They ask him a few questions about football before diving into the personal stuff, which you know is juicer for social media.

“So, Ben, we see you’ve brought your lovely girlfriend Y/N here tonight,” the interviewer says. “How does she keep you grounded during the hectic football season?”

You tense a bit as you wonder what Ben is going to say, or if he’s going to be able to come up with anything on the spot, but he barely takes a second to respond.

“She’s such a calming presence in my life, really,” Ben says, squeezing your waist slightly. “She’s a nurse, so her job is infinitely harder than mine, and she still supports me emotionally whenever I hit a low point with my career. She’s…just the best person I know.”

Your heart is beating so wildly that you’re worried Ben is going to be able to tell, but you don’t have much time to stop being flustered before she’s directing a question at you.

“Y/N, I’ve heard that you two have known each other for quite some time before your relationship began,” she says. “What’s your favourite thing about Ben?”

There are a million things that come to mind right away, most of which feel too personal to share.

You love how he takes care of the people in his life without expecting anything in return. You love how he cries every time you watch Marley and Me together, even though he’s seen it a thousand times. You love close he is with his family and how he calls his mum every Sunday night just to chat.

You love…

“I love how positive he is,” you say after a moment when you realize it’s taking you too long to answer. “He’s overcome a lot of adversity in his career, but he always has a smile on his face and makes everyone around him feel better by being in his presence.”

While you try to keep your answer somewhat football-related, since this is a work function, it’s also completely true.

And when Ben looks at you with that same bright smile, you think he knows that.

“Well, it seems love is in the air at Nike HQ tonight,” the interviewer swoons. “I hope you both have a nice evening, and we wish you all the best this season, Ben.”

As she leaves you standing there alone with Ben, trying to process the weight of your feelings, he turns to smile at you and tightens his grip on your waist.

When you meet his gaze and your stomach churns, you know two things for certain.

The first is that you’re in love with your best friend. It’s absolutely terrifying, due in part to the fact that you think you may have been in love with him without realizing it for a long time, but there’s no disputing it anymore.

The second is that you’re going to have to end this fake relationship before someone gets hurt.

You just hope it’s not too late.

a/n: let me know what you thought, predictions, etc!! love chatting with all of you and your comments/asks make my day! <3 tag list: @lunamelona @kathb59 @captainwans @amandaaa1025 @bbygrlllllll @cinderellawithashoe @batmansb1tch @ncentic @myheartgoesvroom @chillymountsjess @babygirlbenji @delicateearthquakellama @joyfullyswimmingface @xxenia14 @chaotic-taco-collector-blog (let me know if you would like to be added or if i missed you!)

#ben chilwell #ben chilwell x reader #ben chilwell imagine #ben chilwell x y/n #chelsea fc imagine #this love #my fics

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writingawaymylife · 7 months ago

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A/N: so I read @icyblogs fic about Ghoul!Simon and I was so inspired, and suddenly, this idea had me in a chokhold. I was so tired last night I couldn't write it, but literally, the moment I got up, I was writing this out on my phone. I did a quick read through and tried to find any mistakes, so I hope it's smooth, but I did write this in a hour, lol

Synopsis: Simon has spent two years trying to survive after a rude awakening to the new world. Losing everyone close to you is an experience he never wanted to suffer through again. Navigating the world alongside that grief doesn't make it any easier. It seems, however, that the world has finally decided to give him some mercy.

Word count: 1,800+

Warnings: swears, angst, hurt/comfort, mentions of a severed hand and violence, please tell me if I missed anything

Simon had been stuck in some facility when the bombs fell. Some test. It's not like he wanted to stay in there, but they were testing out something related to the effects of cryogenic stasis on the human body (especially those who had peak body performance), and the week long study "just happened" to take place a few days before the bombs dropped. He had been told that if he took part in this, that him and his partner would be safe in a vault, but now he's waking up, and it's been over 200 years and everything is destroyed. He is mourning everything. The loss of his friends, his life, and you. Sweet you.

Waking up to this world bring so much grief that he nearly loses him mind, but he pushes through. Everyone that he ever loved and who ever loved him would want that. You would never forgive him for giving up. So, he eventually just falls into a life of survival. Odd jobs here and there, traveling. He often thinks back to who he used to be and his life, but he forces himself to focus on what is in front of him. Keeping himself afloat through the continuation of everything he'd known from before the Great War.

He's at a small town in the middle of nowhere yet again. Nursing a few shit wounds and an ever shittier whiskey as he tries to shake off some of the stress of the day. Raiders had taken up in an abandoned factory near the town, and he'd been hired to clear it out. Simple job for him really, yet even being out in the wasteland for a while now, he still finds himself missing his team. The companionship and the way they all worked together like awell-oiled machine. He tries not to think about how lonely it makes him, but some things just aren't so easily forgotten.

The bar is pretty full, much to his surprise, and the knowledge that he has found himself in yet another town where half the population begins getting drunk by 5 pm is putting him on edge to a certain extent. He's seen how easily people begin to pull out their weapons at the slightest provocation. So he keeps himself in the corner of the bar with his back to the wall, his rifle leaning against the table at an immediate grabbing distance as his eyes do idle surveys of the room It's unlikely that anything will turn sour, he knows that, but the past two years out here have only further emphasized all those years in the military; and he isn't keen to just let it all go for moment of lazy relaxation.

Then he hears something. It's drowned out by the other conversations filling up the space, but it rings something in his head, a small little echo of what once was. Leaning into that feeling shouldn't be so easily humored, he knows this, but beyond the veil of gravel and radio static there's something so familiar. A melody he hasn't heard in so long, one he can't help but soak in and embrace. His eyes are trying to find the source, weaving through the crowds, before they land on the weathered, spike shouldered, leather jacket of a Ghoul. He can't see their face, but something about the curves of their body looks so intimately familiar that he finds his hand shaking as it grips the glass. Inklings of recognition fire through his synapses, forcing him to stay on their back. They're talking to a man beside them, nodding along and shrugging before they're speaking again, and Simon feels like he's going fucking insane. The knowledge of that voice, that same intonation, forcefully summoned to the forefront of his mind.

Then the ghoul turns their face.

Everything comes to such an aggressive halt he nearly wheezes. His eyes never leaving their face, scarred and worn and-

You.

You're sitting there two hundred years after the end of the world in some leather jacket and vest, a rifle strapped to your back and two pistols in your waist holster. There's a severed hand on the table between you and the person, marred and glinting with a few rings, and the man you're talking to nods approvingly at it. Giving you a swift pat on the arm before handing over a rather comfortable looking pouch of caps. Then the man says something, and you're laughing, and yes, it's different and rough and age worn, but he would know it bloody deaf.

Simon can't move. He's thinking about all the years you've been out here. The pain, suffering, the ghoulification process that he has heard stories of, the things you must have done to keep yourself from going insane. His eyes are honed in on the pouch of caps, and he knows that you've had to become strong in a way that he wasn't there to help you through. While you fought through two centuries of destroyed civilization and were shown the worst of humanity, he had been safe and tucked away in a vault. It wasn't his fault. Not entirely. That doesn't stop the mind-numbing guilt that has come back and multiplied twofold. Nor the anger he's feeling that is mixing with that nauseated realization that everything he did, all he had sacrificed, had been for nothing. He had left you for months on end while the world was falling apart, and you didn't even get the one reason behind all of that.

Every reeling thought has that flight response he hadn't had in so long flaring, but he can't move, can't look away. He keeps looking at you and the way you talk and hold yourself, the similarities shifted through years of experiences. You still gesticulate but it's more toned down, arms staying relaxed where they rest on your thigh and the bar as your fingers dance in the air with whatever you're saying. That little smile you still do is on your face, but he can see how the light in your eyes has changed. Not gone, but as if it has taken on a different filter, colours being more highlighted than the ones that once were.

There's a slightest twitch where your brows once were before your looking around the bar, and he doesn't have time to look away, to hide his face and the shame he believes it will bring before you're looking at him. Eyes snapping to his and your body freezing in place. The man beside you is continuing on, but you aren't paying attention anymore. Your head is tilting. A furrow on your lips as you scan his face while he is unable to leave your eyes. He can see the slow build of shock and pain as recognition kicks in full force. Leather and spike clad shoulders almost shaking as you grip at the room temperature beer you were drinking. He expects horror next. Hatred. You had begged him to stay with you before, your pleas ignored from his desperation to keep you safe. The man stops talking, following your gaze and landing on Simon, but whatever he says next is ignored.

You're almost stumbling out of your chair as you land your feet on the worn bar floorboards, boots planting themselves firmly for a moment like you're hesitating. Eyes scanning and rescanning his face like you don't really believe what's in front of you. Then something clicks in your eyes and you're fucking barreling towards him. For a moment he expects you to try and kill him, and he wouldnt have even tried to stop you. He would have let you press the barrel of your gun into his forehead and paint the wall and tables with his blood and brain matter. But there isn't an ounce of aggression in your eyes as you roughly push past a couple of customers in the way, only such bone deep desperation and begging, suffering hope. Other customers are looking at you with shock at the suddenness of your actons. like you've suddenly gone feral as all conversation comes to a jagged stop. But no one moves, too interested to see what they probably hope to be an entertaining fight after a rather quiet evening.

When you get to him, you are stopping so quickly you collapse to your knees in front of him. Sucking in air like you didn't run twenty feet but miles, eyes pleading and shining with tears as one of your hands rests on the rough wooden floor like it's an anchor. The few nails you have are digging into the rotting spots, most definitely shoving splinters into the thick skin of your fingertips. The other hovers in the space between you two, fingers twitching as you seem to struggle between keeping them open, or pressing them against your fist to avoid giving into the desire physical contact he can see so plainly in your features. It falls back down to your lap for a moment. Neither of you are saying a thing in the dead silent bar as you give him such a begging look, his eyes start to burn.

Such heartbreak and fear and grief should never grace your face. It shatters him, dismantling him to his base atoms and burning away at his skin and organs. You're almost struggling to breath while Simon can't even remember how to when something finally breaks down within you. Your quivering hand reaches up again, cautiously, fearfully almost, to cup his jaw as you look at him like he's some mirage of shade and water after years in the desert.

Your voice croaks, the gravel in it emphasized by your scarred and aged vocal cords as you say his name likes he's your god. Bowed before an alter and finally being graced with the presence of a deity you've spent your life worshipping. "Simon?"

It's like he's been splashed with cold water, jolting him from where he sits as he leans forwards and practically scoops you up onto his lap. The other people are ignored, their stares insignificant as he wraps his arm around your waist and dig that hand into the soft leather there, his other hand coming up to the back of your head. He's pressing your forehead into his as you settle on his lap. Its like he can finally breath, that bone crushing weight leaving his chest as he sink into so many different emotions they become static, unimportant now that he has you in his arms and can feel your body and weight. Ragged breaths match your own as your arms tangled around the other, and he can feel the solid muscle and sinew under your thinning skin as you hold him so tightly. Like you're trying to fold him into you, make him a permanent part of your worn and weary body so he never leaves.

He vows than that he'll never leave you. Never go without that touch that hasn't changed despite the stark difference in your hands. Whatever happens now doesn't matter as long as he's with you, and he'll spend the rest of his days making you know that.

#simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #fallout #modern warfare #this was fun but i really should get back to me other fics now lmfao

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iwritenarrativesandstuff · 2 years ago

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sorry i have to brainfart this somewhere but mersault chuuya wearing almost damn near similar clothing to his youth got me thinking about dazai and chuuya's fashion choices.

dazai, in all the eras where he was in the mafia....never changes his outfit. it fitting, given his character and such.....so his ada outfit makes him look like a rainbow. dark blue vest, blue gem(?) bolo tie, striped shirt and a tan coat similar to oda's. i think it's cool, to show the stark contrast between his pm days and how he's faring now, aswell to show how much effect oda had on him.

chuuya.....is the complete opposite. boy changes his clothes all the time. but it's so interesting.

his fifteen outfit is very "him" in a sense. street kid, street kid style- red shirt, grey hoodie, green leather jacket, bright blue sheep armband. he fits right in with the rest of the sheep, and hes so...colorful here. almost similar to ada dazai's outfit. and then theres the outfit he wears in the mafia- the first one we saw back in the manga where he seems to be wearing like a..."beta" version of his current outift- but the way it was drawn (disregarding the anime for a second) it looks like its almost ill fitting for him. the vest is too big, the coat looks so heavy, the tie isnt properly tucked, and his pants are baggy. like hes struggling to "fit in".

then theres sb outfit- hes wearing the standard mafia outfit like higuchi, but with his own touches- rolled up sleeves, glasses tucked in his breastpocket, choker, gloves. its not much, but even higuchi doesnt do anything to hers. we kinda see him "getting into" the mafia work, and theres no pop of color here. the dragon head conflict outift is different though- hes wearing clothes that are "his style" again. simple shirt, jacket, choker, gloves. he also has his red petticoat (i think thats what it is? whatever that long cloth underneath his jacket) that, once again, gives him some color. i dunno what spured the outfit change, but i honestly think the red color is his own touch- his own "color"

and then current chuuya. no color at all, maybe safe from the ribbon on his hat. he wears his coat on his shoulders, similar to pm dazai. (also, slight off tangent here- he always loses his coat whenever hes dealing with dazai?? i think?? which is. interesting. given with how glued pm dazai's coat is to his own shoulders. like he actively takes it off/gets it taken off and i SWEAR this only even happens when hes with dazai. idk. ever since asagiri said beast dazai wearing his coat fully to signify him accepting his role as the pm boss ive been. thinking about it. a lot.)

where was i going with this?? oh yeah. why is mersault chuuya wearing his old clothes?? specifically fifteen clothes? like was it his off day or something. bc if you look at chuuyas various outfit as his progression towards the mafia then him wearing his old non mafia clothes either means two things : 1. this is to signify chuuya, under vampire influnce, is well. obviously not loyal to the mafia atm. or 2. something might happen in the future that makes him swear allegiance to someone else which i dont find possible but??? who knows. im overthinking this

Oh my god I opened my asks to find this monster in here and scrolled through it like ?????????

Please feel free to do this anytime this was an absolute joy to read hahaha

"dazai, in all the eras where he was in the mafia....never changes his outfit." His outfit stays pretty similar, you're right, though he does actually change it once during his mafia days. The left image is the outfit he wears in Fifteen and Stormbringer, while the right is what he wears in DHC and Dark Era.

The difference is the blazer jacket he adds under his coat. It's a minimal change but I think it's significant. I mentioned in this post how I believe the change might be related to his change in pronoun from boku to watashi, but really it's more the added layer of distance that makes this significant. Dazai just looks a little... odd, in the first outfit. The coat hangs off him loosely, his shirt is a little baggy. He looks very boyish, and that makes his deceptive tendencies and deeply concerning outlook all the more disturbing to others.

The second outfit makes one change but his clothes now look like they fit him (still with the exception of the coat, which never fit and never will... in this universe anyways. You mentioned Beast so... you know already hehe). In the case of the second outfit, he looks more mature and formal, which lends itself to a person who withdrew further and further away from people (with the exception of the other two at Bar Lupin); who became a terrifying executive in other's eyes, moving away from the "creepy intelligent child" image he had earlier - even though he is still very much a kid. No one knows Dazai - I think the added image of formality and authority here is just one of the many barriers he constructed to keep people from getting too close.

"so his ada outfit makes him look like a rainbow. dark blue vest, blue gem(?) bolo tie, striped shirt and a tan coat similar to oda's."

hjdfvbdjf rainbow - entering his no longer closeted gay era (sorry lol i couldn't resist)

No but you're right about the coat looking a bit like Oda's. He cared for and respected that man like no other and I think when Dazai thinks of "a good person" Oda is the first person who comes to mind. His shirt in the manga is also stripy like Oda's, a little detail that got lost in the anime. :')

"his fifteen outfit is very "him" in a sense. street kid, street kid style- red shirt, grey hoodie, green leather jacket, bright blue sheep armband. he fits right in with the rest of the sheep, and hes so...colorful here."

Yeah. He looks every bit the street kid and blends with the Sheep near perfectly - more than fitting in though, I think it's more than implied that he wants to fit in and changes his look to do so. Chuuya goes to great lengths to give the appearance of fitting in - because he never felt like he truly did (and certainly the Sheep did not treat him like an equal or a friend).

"and then theres the outfit he wears in the mafia- the first one we saw back in the manga where he seems to be wearing like a..."beta" version of his current outfit- but the way it was drawn (disregarding the anime for a second) it looks like its almost ill fitting for him. the vest is too big, the coat looks so heavy, the tie isnt properly tucked, and his pants are baggy. like hes struggling to "fit in"."

YES you get it!! And adding onto that, Chuuya doesn't really have a lot of reason to want to fit in yet. He hasn't found his personal groove yet, because he has little personal attachment to the mafia at this point in time.

Yeah in Stormbringer he's got a few personal touches but is still pretty non-descript (though you're right, it's much more than Higuchi... something to think about for her character too, and how it seems the mafia may be more of a job than an investment to her). By Dead Apple though, Chuuya's outfit is... well, back to his punk vibes, just a little more mafia-classy, I guess. (I don't know fashion I'm sorry, please don't kill me)

"but i honestly think the red color is his own touch- his own "color""

Red makes a lot of sense as a colour for Chuuya. It's energetic, emotional, fierce and aggressive. It's also considered protective, so yeah it suits him for sure. Red clothes, red ability... red camellias...

"and then current chuuya. no color at all, maybe safe from the ribbon on his hat." Ooo ok. So in the anime, this is true but in the manga, I believe his vest is actually a pale red.

Well. Brown with red undertones. Your point still stands though because the colour is very muted. It's not like Fifteen or DHC Chuuya for sure.

"(also, slight off tangent here- he always loses his coat whenever hes dealing with dazai?? i think?? which is. interesting. given with how glued pm dazai's coat is to his own shoulders. like he actively takes it off/gets it taken off and i SWEAR this only even happens when hes with dazai. idk. ever since asagiri said beast dazai wearing his coat fully to signify him accepting his role as the pm boss ive been. thinking about it. a lot.)"

Oh. Thinking on this. Um. Embarrassed to say - I don't think I noticed that actually. Like obviously he loses the coat a lot and that was already something to think on but... only around Dazai, is that right? Hold on, I'm gonna check.

Ok so my check wasn't super thorough (read: I am too tired and drained to go through each and every panel he appears in) but...

By god, I think you're right.

That's. Hm. I'm going to join you on thinking about that for awhile.

I see the coat as a representation of his role and responsibility he takes on, really, so it's interesting that the formality and symbolism of his service to the mafia gets quite literally discarded in the scenes with his foil and equal. Fascinating.

He's also not wearing it in any of these now infamous panels from Chapter 101:

Huh. Well. Thank you anon. You've just given me a whole new thing to whir about.

"why is mersault chuuya wearing his old clothes?? specifically fifteen clothes?"

Honestly, I'm still waiting to figure this out too.

Because of the purplish hue over this piece of new art, I find it hard to tell what the actual colours of his outfit are but it does look awfully similar to his Fifteen outfit. It could just be his "day-off" outfit but I think there's got to be more to it than that. It could have to do with allegiance, like you suggested. May I also suggest the return to a sense of inhumanity?

These are also the clothes he wore when his journey to find answers on himself began. Might he be entering a new arc where he has to "find" himself again?

I still feel we don't have enough information to make a solid judgement. As the meursault pov continues, I think we'll have a better reason as to why he's dressed like this.

#thanks for the ask!#feel free to dump thoughts at any time whoever you are anon this was so fun #also i'm so annoyed with myself that i didn't notice that bit about the coat earlier but also so happy you pointed that out!#things to think about when i am less tired...#bsd #bsd chuuya #bsd dazai #soukoku #skk #storyrambles #as always if i screwed up somewhere... just tell me. rip the bandage off lol

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silurisanguine · 6 months ago

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OC Questions tag game - (lisa-and-shadow question answers)

I was tagged by @lisa-and-shadow in the oc questions tag game and I'm going to answer the three given me as all 4 of my ocs!- Seren Jones, Aeryn Ryder, Zofie Orel and Kiara Black This was great to really delve into their personalities as i wrote these, i hope that comes across! Since this is going to be a long post, answers behind a cut! And I'll tag @vorchagirl @despicablediet and @bearlytolerant @staticpallour @fangbangerghoul @a-cosmic-elf @atonalginger @eridanidreams @toxiclizardwrites @therealgchu @aro-pancake with these three questions to answer, no pressure though! What is your favourite place to visit? Do you have a signature style or look? What was your favourite toy as a child?

First up Seren Jones (My Starfield, Coemancer Starborn OC)

What was your first kiss like? "Oh...fumbled, messy and embarrassing!...but kinda nice too. I was fourteen and so innocent in that regard. It was with a girl I'll call Katie, a fellow expat I'd met and grown fond of in the Akilan secondary school I ended up in after my parents and I had moved back there. I'd known from the moment i started thinkin about other kids in that way that I liked both boys and girls and finding a girl that seemed to like me too, well I jumped at it...guess my curious explorer streak came out early! It was such a classic trope, kissing her behind the school sheds during break. She basically dared me and I'd never kissed anyone, so I just sort of smushed my lips against hers as she opened her mouth and yeah...messy. Then a teacher came round the corner and discovered us and although they weren't angry I was so embarrassed. Katie I think more so as she kinda avoided me after that." Do you have a signature style of dress/favorite outfit? "Now? I guess my starborn suit. It feels like it's part of me... I dunno. When I'm reborn in a new universe, I'm already wearing it, like it's born with me. But style? I tend to go practical, what will fit under it, so sportswear or jumpsuits, anything fitted or light. As for what I like, I guess I used to enjoy wearing fitted suits and formwear in dark colours, like blues, blacks and greys, sombre tones rather than bright colors. That I leave to my hair! Think my favourite item of clothing though...was my wedding dress. That was this cream and deep dark navy blue sleeveless gown I'd found in a shop in New Homestead, but I think that had a lot to do with the way Sam looked at me when he saw me in it." Are you quick tempered? Or even-keeled? "I'd like to say even keeled most of the time, even when I'm seething inside I play it cool usually. Why I survived that gauntlet going undercover with the Crimson Fleet for Sysdef. I used my anger to play the role and I think when I do show anger it's the cold kind. I don't tend to scream or shout, unless it's the Hunter provoking me, then...well I tend to react." Next Aeryn Ryder ( My Mass Effect Andromeda pathfinder)

What was your first kiss like? "Oh god let me think...Okay, you know, I don't actually remember exactly as those days have become a blur. I can tell you though the first kiss I do remember, the one that set the bar for all future kisses. That was with Kesala when I was eighteen, a research assistant on a prothean dig I was peacekeeping. She was this petite lavender skinned asari that just made everything so interesting. She had such enthusiasm for her work that it was infectious and she brought that to the evening I spent with her at the bar. She was what...112, young for an asari but I could tell she was experienced if you know what I mean. The kiss itself was tender, slow and made my legs weak...and that's all I'm saying on the matter." Do you have a signature style of dress/favorite outfit? "My black leather jacket, I love that thing so much. I usually pair it with a simple top, and fitted pants and my go to sneakers, usually in purple shades. I like comfy and casual. Not that I don't like dressing up, I love dressing up, but I never get chance now! I'm either in armor or wanting to wear something comfy afterwards. I did get to see these gorgeous fabrics back on Aya that Jaal told me were used to make gowns for ceremonies and important parties. Maybe one day I'll get something made for myself, when we can finally celebrate." Are you quick tempered? Or even-keeled? "Feisty, that's what my brother Tristan says I'm like. I've had to temper it as Pathfinder with all the important people I deal with and SAM thank god really helps there, calming me down from doing or saying something I might regret. But there are times they know to just let me loose and let it out my system!"

Next Zofie Orel (My Deus Ex / Assassin's Creed OC)

What was your first kiss like? "Hmm. Jason, a fellow Assassin acolyte in the Coterie. We shared a birthday so we shared a kiss too after both of us getting a little drunk at our eighteenth party...He died in the Incident protecting civilians. He was a gentle soul really, I don't really think suited to the life, but he was a damn good scout and very good kisser." Do you have a signature style of dress/favorite outfit? "I only wear red, black and white clothes as it makes it easier to mix and match when travelling and I rather like the symbolism. I suppose I have different signature outfits depending on who I am at the time. As Sofia, I wear sleek, expensive clothing, usually a fitted suit. As myself when on a job I wear my custom made tac vest and armoured combat trousers and when I'm off the job, it's what ever is clean but I tend to go for more high end clothing, just in case I need to put on the Sofia persona." Are you quick tempered? Or even-keeled? "I would be lying if I said I didn't have a temper, but I've been trained to control it, hone it into a weapon. Some may call me cold for it, but I feel things strongly, I just hide it well, lest my emotions be seen as a weakness by the enemy." Lastly Kiara Black (My Thief/Dishonored OC)

What was your first kiss like? "That's a bit personal, why do you want to know?" *a few minutes pass* "Fine, you're not going to let this go are you? It was a streetgang kid when i lived in Dunwall, nothing special." Do you have a signature style of dress/favorite outfit? "Anything dark and fitted so I'm not noticed. I tend to swap between my gear - this leather and twill get up I'm wearing now and something loose after to let my skin breath." Are you quick tempered? Or even-keeled? "I...try not to be. But some people make me angry with their bigotry and arrogance. I can't do much about it though, so there is no point in getting angry, it's better to get even."

#Seren Jones #Aeryn Ryder #Zofie Orel #Kiara Black #Oc questions tag game #Nightshaded #Poison the well #siluri writes

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olet-lucernam · 10 months ago

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A Hollow Promise [22] chapter v, part iii

main tags : loki x original character, post-avengers 2012, canon divergence - post-thor: the dark world, canon-typical violence, mentions of torture

summary: In the aftermath of the Battle of New York, the Avengers need a few days to build a transport device for the Tesseract. With the Helicarrier damaged and surveillance offline, SHIELD sends an asset to guard Loki in the interim: a young woman who sees the truth in all things, and cannot lie.

Even long presumed dead, her memories lost to her, Loki would know her anywhere.

And this changes things.

Some things last beyond infinity. And the universe is in love with chaos.

(Loki was never looking for redemption. It came as an unexpected side-effect.)

chapter summary : despite his chains, loki begins gathering his pieces on the board. astrid works on escaping her own confines, and mitigating the damage of disasters to come.

recommended listening : venus in gemini, dezi

[PREVIOUS] | [MASTERLIST] | [NEXT]

“So. What do you think?”

The question rang slightly in the room, ricocheting against metal plates and graphite-grey walls.

Arms folded, facing out into the open floor, Fury allowed the slight turn of his head and expectant silence to serve as invitation.

After a moment, Alethia- sleekly attired for the autumn chill like a native Manhattanite, in black skinny jeans, mid-heeled ankle boots, and fine-knit turtleneck sweater of berry wool- pushed herself off the wall, stepping forward.

She and Romanoff had been on the roof before Fury called them into the VERITAS testing area, drinking coffee in the cold and soundscape of noise above the city. Alethia had stripped the long wool coat she had been wearing when she arrived inside, draping it over one of the chairs, but Romanoff was still wearing her camel leather jacket, curls soft and mouth faintly pursed, eyes fixed on Alethia’s back.

Glancing over the two of them, Fury could easily understand why Romanoff had identified with her. The resemblance between their circumstances was self-evident, but the subtler physical similarities were in the details; it was written small, in the simple facts of their heights, their builds, the way they moved- a confident ease with a slight tension underneath, like a dancer waiting to fall into the right steps.

They matched nicely against each other. Fury could envisage sending them out into the field together, on intelligence retrieval and social reconnaissance- Romanoff’s ability to assess and assimilate, and Alethia’s eye for truth and steel nerves, would make for an invaluable combination.

Fury’s eye flicked back to Romanoff where she remained in place, exuding a faint anxiety like the vapours from paint thinner.

He knew that Romanoff wasn’t unaware of her bias. But neither did that awareness make her immune to it.

Rather than letting it become a liability, Fury had warped it into an advantage; if Alethia saw the truth in all things, it was better to offer her a favourable truth, in the form of a handler who wanted her recruitment to be successful for reasons beyond fulfilment of mission parameters.

Alethia halted- coffee cup still in hand, its heat-sleeve stamped with SHIELD’s eagle insignia- before the centrepiece of the room, head tilted consideringly, the sheen of her curls shifting across her shoulders.

The wide chair was set on a high swivel, aggressively angular, constructed from darkly brushed titanium, strict right-angles, and heat-sensitive fabric. A biometric plate was affixed into the centre spine, metal cuffs locking at the armrests, leashed with black electrical cables; a unit reminiscent of a cranial halo capped the structure, winged forward to encase the temples of its occupant. Immediately behind where Alethia stood was a large, simple control centre, inset with a touchscreen display.

“The fruits of your labour.” Fury announced with a wry twist of aplomb. “Thought you might like to see it. Ninety-six variables in total, monitored and analysed by a unique algorithm, based on and verified in efficacy by your contributions. Say hello to the alpha version of VERITAS- the Verification Enhancement for Response Input Technological Analysis System.”

“Stars. If that acronym were any more tortured, the Geneva Conventions would have something to say about it,” Alethia quipped, almost more to herself than the room.

“It was the initial code name for the project,” Fury replied with the intonation of a shrug, unfolding his arms and stepping forwards, the leather drape of his overcoat shifting with the motion. “We’ve got a few like that. But, if you feel that strongly about it- give it a new name. The DNA of it is mostly yours.”

People tended to be more reluctant to destroy or abandon that which they felt personally invested in, Fury found.

Alethia gave a quiet hum from the back of her throat, and lifted a free hand to skim the closest cuff of the chair.

“You think so.”

“It wouldn’t have been possible without your input,” Fury admitted, “not on this time scale. Maybe not even in this generation-”

“It was your design, Nicholas. So- congratulations,” she lifted her voice to call out. “It is a highly sophisticated piece of scrap.”

She rapped a fingertip against the cuff, two neat taps.

“I hope that you’re satisfied.”

Fury took a long moment to study her.

In most cases, he would avoid rising to the bait. Not unlike another troublesome asset that came to mind, Alethia had an element of narcissism to her character- and worse, just cause for it; like Stark, she acted like she knew more than anyone else in the room because, most often than not, she did. Fury’s general policy was that they did not feed egos, particularly those attached to individuals that liked to provoke. Indulging it was a short-term solution that would result in long-term headaches.

Alethia was an exception. Unlike other consultants, they had little information to use as leverage, her available history alarmingly sparse- something that happened approximately never, given SHIELD’s not inconsiderable reach and resources. And as Alethia had deduced with irritating accuracy during their negotiations, the threat that had brokered her cooperation- to flag her with every agency that SHIELD had backchannels with, threatening her meticulously cultivated anonymity- was a card that could only be played once.

Romanoff’s evaluation had found that the most effective strategy was to play her game. Alethia would speak in circuitous riddles and rhetoric, but the more you paid attention to her words, the more you engaged, the more threads she would cast out to watch you follow, chasing towards the truth that she was hinting at.

It was a power play- but one that Fury could tolerate. The rules were consistent, for the most part, and Alethia played fair.

“That the most advanced lie detector system in the world,” he answered patiently.

“Nicholas, you couldn’t even use me properly.” Smoothly, she pivoted to face Fury, unimpressed and unusually direct. “This machine can’t talk back when you’re asking the wrong questions. If not scrap- it is a monument to irony.”

“With regards to what?”

Alethia pushed off the chair, shoulder set, a strange pressure gathering in the air.

“SHIELD is a monster. You might be the hand feeding it, but you are not the one holding the leash.”

She flicked her head back towards the gleaming chair.

“Call it Cassandra.”

With that parting shot, Alethia cut a path out of the door.

Romanoff shifted her weight, as though moving to follow her- but Fury halted her with an open palm and quelling look.

Six minutes later, Fury emerged onto the rooftop.

The Base- codenamed in recognition of its legacy as the original headquarters of SHIELD, after it was established on the foundations laid by the SSR- would have been an imposing building in any other city. Within the cloistered, oversaturated streets of Midtown, however, the broad tower block of dark stone and glass panes blended in amongst the billboard-plated skyscrapers and storefronts that lined the avenues, glossed over like any other corporate office building on the island. At over a dozen storeys tall, the roof was far enough above street level that the coordinated chaos melded together into a rush of tires on asphalt and idling engines and a miasma of passing chatter, punctuated by the distant blare of car horns, sirens, and rattle of construction work- a cocktail of sensory overload, diluted down to a half-ratio. The rubble of the Incident had been cleared, its smoking wounds cleaned and under repair, returning the great aortic chambers of the city to full capacity.

Alethia stood near the edge of the roof, gazing down at the traffic below, vanilla hair and underdressed torso caught in a cross-breeze. As the wind twisted around her, Fury thought he caught a snatch of a high-contrast melody- something that rang of Rodgers and Hammerstein, and the golden age of Broadway showtunes and classic jazz standards.

“For someone who was so determined to keep her mouth shut when you got here, you’ve sure got a lot to say,” Fury interrupted, projecting his voice above the rush of traffic and whip of the winds, strolling up behind her.

“For someone who demands answers at every opportunity, you’re not very willing to listen,” Alethia retorted swiftly, knocking back the dregs in her cup and setting it on the raised edge of the roof. From the drop of liquid left on the plastic rim, it seemed that Romanoff was continuing to keep her sweet with a supply of matcha lattes.

“I’m listening now.”

“Ah, right. Like you were with the Tesseract?”

Fury’s visible eye narrowed.

“What did you mean by that jab? About monsters and leashes.”

Alethia drew her bottom lip between her teeth, glowering, eyes burning like a golden-hour sun behind storm clouds.

Eventually, she filtered out a shallow sigh, her expression cooling.

“There is a principle,” she began slowly, dark lashes lowered as she watched the traffic below, “in regards to statecraft, that you cannot design a seat of power solely with regards to what will allow one individual to do good- but must also consider what will prevent another from accomplishing evil, if they were to acquire the same position.”

Alethia looked directly at him, sombre in a way that she only was once she had given up any attempt to fight or undermine.

“I would strongly urge you to consider what evil could accomplish in your position, Nicholas.”

“Implying that you don’t think I’m evil,” Fury observed, with some intrigue.

It was an unexpected, and interesting concession; Alethia had made no secret that she held SHIELD wholly in contempt, and Fury by extension as the one at its helm.

“I think that you’re a manipulative, opportunistic bastard with few scruples and broadly altruistic intentions, which makes you very good at your job,” Alethia answered, glancing away with a dismissive air. “I also think that you’re arrogant enough to think that you’re paranoid enough, and about the right things, rather than what fits your worldview and skillset.”

Fury absorbed on her appraisal. He had received less scathing evaluations, but he found himself oddly unoffended by it.

“So what should I be paranoid about?”

She looked to him with a slow blink, her expression hard, more resolute than angry. Her irises seemed deeper than the usual hazel, verging upon amber, despite the flat light of the overcast midday skies.

“I told you. You are not holding the leash.”

The meaning clicked.

Fury’s initial, instinctive reaction was outright scepticism.

SHIELD was strictly compartmentalised for a reason. Trust was a commodity both coveted and scorned in the industry, and any system worth its salt in resilience did not merely trust in the integrity of its participants, but enforced it. SHIELD was no different. Its structure split its various branches and operations in such a way that its design could trap and isolate the first hairline-fracture roots of subversion, before they could sink deep enough to alter the fabric of the organisation, or its directives.

The structure of the organisation was not of Fury’s making, but it was one that he had maintained and improved upon since he had been appointed as director, and it worked. A certain level of grime was to be tolerated- in an organisation like SHIELD, entrenched as its operations were within the global network espionage, geopolitics, and commerce, both legal and black market, there was no such thing as clean hands, and even less so of a clean house. It would be the height of naivety and idealism to believe otherwise. But Fury would have detected the swells of a schism forming, of acceptable margins for disagreement becoming an unacceptable division. The sharks may circle, and there would always be blood in the water, but they would never get close enough for a bite.

SHIELD’s identity, and its purpose, was as secure as they had been when Peggy Carter and Howard Stark had founded it.

Common sense dictated that he should verbalise none of this to Alethia.

“So what do you recommend? Tell me what I should be looking at.” Fury began consciously convincing himself into a counter position that he could justify- that there was more to gain than to lose in hearing her, that it was eminently for Alethia to have noticed a risk that they had failed to assess.

Truth was the only shield that held against Alethia. If he didn’t believe it, then neither would she.

The irked tightening of her eyebrow was not encouraging.

“I know you’re humouring me, Nicholas, but let’s ignore the subpar charade otherwise for now.” Alethia shifted into resigned slant, arms folding against the brisk air. “Alright. First. You need a stricter delineation between personnel files, and dossiers on civilians and associates. Especially in regards to storage and access permissions. The keys to unlock one door should not work on another. It’s a security risk, and more than a little alarming that I have to bring it up. Second- stop kidnapping people. Human rights and due process aside, it’s a good way to build up ill will with the very people you may need help from in the near future. Less vinegar, more honey.”

“They are people of interest-”

“Stop kidnapping them.”

“So you’re telling us to ignore the risks-”

“I am telling you that the secret is out,” Alethia interrupted sharply, “and that the bell can’t be unrung. So- exploit it. Instead of trying to wrench the curve backwards, stay ahead of it. Advise the appropriate legislative bodies. Drive the drafting of fair laws to cover the hypotheticals that have become realities- just like with every other advancement in history. Provide evidence for public trials. Give people due process if and when they violate the law, and stop kidnapping people on the basis that they might, possibly, at some point, become a threat. Offer them the resources to help them control their abilities, instead of the choice between constant intrusive surveillance, working for you, or getting disappeared to a facility that doesn’t legally exist.” She paused, with all the ominous inertness of an active hotplate. “And get some actual oversight.”

“This may be hard for you to believe, but we have oversight.” Fury replied, wondering exactly how inept she was under the impression SHIELD was.

“Your oversight is faceless, tried to nuke Manhattan, and has yet to face any questions in regards to it.” She said flatly, staring at Fury with a particularly blank contempt. “Get better oversight.”

Regrettably, she had a point.

Although, Fury was slightly more concerned with where and how, exactly, Alethia had acquired that information.

“I am well aware of their shortcomings,” Fury answered evenly, “and, frankly, I’m a little insulted by the implication to the contrary.”

“Nicholas,” Alethia sighed, part impatience and part resignation, seething, “I don’t like you. But that does not make me intellectually dishonest. There is a reason why I am talking, despite the fact that you are proving incapable of listening. I know that you know. And I am aware that you are not unreasonable. Or- entirely incompetent.”

Fury ignored the qualifier. It was impressive that she had held out this long without a thinly veiled insult.

“But you don’t trust me.”

Alethia smiled slightly, in a way that declared I would have to be an idiot.

She wasn’t entirely wrong.

“You and yours are not answerable to the public,” she said simply, combing her hair out of her eyes as the wind picked up and tossed it into disarray. “And the Avengers have to be, if the project is going to be sustainable. You had a good idea, but- SHIELD is not the right organisation to execute it. It is not what you’re good at, or suited for.”

“Protecting the world from threats that it’s not ready for?”

“By sealing truth in the well. Yours is a war of cloak and dagger- a necessary one,” Alethia added with a pointed glance in Fury’s direction, as though daring him to accuse her of being unfair, “and you’re good at it. But you cannot protect the public by keeping them ignorant ad infinitum. And treating people as though they’re helpless children won’t help them develop critical thinking skills. It will just keep them- reactive, and uninformed, when the situation forces their awareness. This is not a terrorist cell with a glowing cube that defies the established laws of thermodynamics. This is an entire world that has been emerging for decades, and is past being kept a secret.”

Fury felt his chest expand with a deep, slow breath, his gun holster tightening briefly, leashing in his thoughts.

“So. Stronger protections for our data, more outreach to enhanced individuals, focus on laws, improvement of oversight.” Fury concluded. “Those are your recommendations?”

“It’s not a panacea,” Alethia said, lifting one shoulder, “it’s a safety net.”

“It’s a pretty reasonable report.”

“I’ve learned to lower my expectations.” She lifted her face to the open air, soaking in a sudden break of sunshine from between the clouds, warming her colours and sharpening the contrast between her golden complexion and fair hair. “Nothing that I mentioned should offend your sensibilities overmuch. Although, I notice that you omitted the no kidnapping clause.”

Not for the first time, Fury resented that Alethia was so determined to distrust SHIELD. In some respects, she reminded him of Maria Hill, driven and intelligent and unapologetically argumentative, first to point to flaws that no one else would mention due to adherence to chain of command.

The crucial difference was that Hill was capable of doing what she was told.

“I never thanked you,” Fury decided to say, eventually. “For guarding Loki."

It seemed gracious to acknowledge it, as they neared the end of Project VERITAS.

“It’s unnecessary to,” Alethia stated tonelessly. “You would have forced the issue if I had refused, and I had my reasons to say yes.”

“Such as?”

Alethia lowered her gaze, to cast it out over the city, serenely blank.

“Some that you wouldn’t understand. Others that- you probably wouldn’t credit.”

“Well, I might surprise you,” Fury murmured, before shrugging. “That was a pretty good pitch, by the way.”

“Oh- thank you,” Alethia said, the lightness of her cadence surprisingly devoid of sarcasm. “I spent a considerable amount of time refining it. Including editing out a point about SHIELD’s double standards, hypocrisy, and lack of self-awareness over the concept of unbridled, unknown power in the hands of obscure organisations with dubious motives. I thought it might be- unproductive?”

“Smart call,” Fury replied dryly.

Alethia’s mouth flicked into a smirk, before fading into something more solemn.

“But this doesn’t guarantee that you will take my advice, does it?”

Damn right. A good argument makes you a good orator, not a good strategist.

“You knew it probably wouldn’t. So why make the case?”

This time, Alethia laughed outright, sudden and disorientating as a sun-shower.

“Sometimes,” she said through a luminous smile, “I really just want to walk away, and let all of you die.”

But she wouldn’t.

That much had been proven, by the warnings she issued about the Tesseract, by the fact that she had taken up watch over Loki despite the considerable personal risk, by the arrogance-clad counsel that she offered an organisation that she openly abhorred.

Fury let his mouth quirk.

This, he could be satisfied with. Even if SHIELD had not acquired Alethia’s loyalty, her cooperation was no longer a complete impossibility.

And Fury was reluctant to slam any door shut forever. So long as it was left ajar, he could allow the matter to rest as success enough.

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hrefna-the-raven · 7 months ago

Text

Heart of Steel

Fallout masterlist - main masterlist

Chapter 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6

Song for this chapter:

Summary: You pay Goodneighbor a visit, meeting up with Nick in the Memory Den to find out where the Institute is hiding, hoping to save your son. Meanwhile something as simple as a visit to Goodneighbor proves challenging for someone with the mindset of Elder Maxson. He made a promise but keeping it might crack deeper into what Arthur truly wanted.

Warnings: smut (18+), violence (although Finn deserves it), a lot of feel feels

Notes: sorry for the length of this chapter^^ but there'll be smut at the end as a reward ;)

Chapter 7 - Dangerous minds

You nervously paced up and down in front of the entrance of Goodneighbor, jumping at every little noise around you. Your hand instinctively reached for the pistol in the holder on your hip as someone emerged from around the corner. As the person drew nearer, you noticed that it was a tall man with dark brown hair. The sides of his head were shaved, while the hair on top was slightly longer with a few strands that fell in his face. A snug white t-shirt clung to his well trained torso, covered by a worn black leather jacket. His dirty blue jeans clung tightly to his legs and his boots were worn and covered in dirt and scratches. As he approached, you caught sight of a long scar on his right cheek and only then did you relax, removing your hand from the pistol.

"Arthur", you greeted him with a smile, "you look...different."

"Different enough that you were ready to shoot me", he grinned, "I suppose that means I've been successful."

You thought he was already good looking before but that clean shaved face took it to a whole new level. No beard to hide that wonderful sharp jawline, perfectly contouring his face, making him look more his age. You were positively surprised how many years his beard had added to his appearance. As your finger traced over his scar, he suddenly became self-conscious, realising that most of it had been hidden beneath his dark facial hair for so long. Memories of how he'd barely managed to defeat that deathclaw seven years ago violently flooded his mind, causing his hands to tremble and his vision to blur as sheer panic caused by the flashback flooded his entire body.

"Don't worry about that", you spoke softly as you kept touching his scar, "I actually think it adds to your rugged charm. Although, at some point, I would love to hear the story behind it."

You placed a tender kiss on his lips and felt the tension melt away. Arthur let out a nervous chuckle, surprised at how you were able to have such a calming effect on him. Just a simple kiss managed to wash away the painful memories of his encounter with one of the most dangerous creatures in the Wastelands.

You made your way through the creaky worn wooden door but only a few steps in, your way was blocked by a scarred bald man in road leathers. He casually lit his cigarette, his eyes scanning between Arthur and yourself, lingering as he examined your appearance.

"Welcome to Goodneighbor, Sweetie. Can't go walking around without an insurance. It would be a shame if something happened to you."

The disgustingly smug smile he gave you made you want to punch this dude straight away but you knew better than to start trouble in this place, especially with the Brotherhood's Elder by your side.

"Unless it's “keep-dumb-assholes-away-from-me” insurance, I'm not interested", you shrugged nonchalantly, trying to keep a neutral expression as you heard Arthur laugh next to you.

“Careful babyface!”, he pointed at Maxson before turning his attention back to you, that greasy smile reappearing, “now don't be like that, sweetie, I think you're going to like what I have to offer.”

“Whoa, whoa, time out, Finn!”, Hancock laughed as he strolled towards you, “my favourite Vaultie makes a rare visit to town and you're hassling her and her friend here with that crap? Good to see you again”, he winked at you.

“What d'you care? She ain't one of us and he ain't either! You're soft Hancock, one day there'll be a new mayor in town”, Finn took a few steps towards the ghoul, raising his arms provocatively.

“Come on, man. This is me we're talking about. Let me tell you something.”

Hancock now stood mere inches away from Finn when he swiftly pulled out a dagger from beneath his coat and began thrusting it into Finn's body until it went limp and collapsed onto the pavement, a dark crimson pool forming around it. The ghoul wiped the knife clean on the corpse and slid it back under his coat, a genuine friendly broad smile gracing his lips now as he approached you with open arms and to hug you tightly.

“You alright, sister?”, a concerned tone in his voice as he inspected you before addressing Arthur, “don't let this little incident taint your view of our little community. Goodneighbor's of the people, for the people, you feel me? Everyone's welcome.”

“Of the people, for the people? Oh brother...”, Maxson grumbled.

Hancock burst into laughter before playfully slapping Arthur's shoulder.

“Same as her, he he, I can tell I'm gonna like you already. Your room's ready at my humble State House, courtesy of being the mayor. Old Nick's waiting at the Memory Den. And be sure to pay a visit to The Third Rail, trouble always seems to find your little merc MacCready.”

“He's not mine, you know”, you chuckled as you watched Hancock make his way toward the State House.

You wanted to head straight to meet up with the detective but Maxson's fingers wrapped around your wrist and he pulled you closer.

“You're...friend...is a ghoul”, he whispered with disdain.

The sudden hostility in his tone should have shocked you but upon seeing the sorrow in his eyes, you knew exactly where this was coming from. Those were words that sprouted from the seeds of military indoctrination sown in the mind of a child who ever only got to see the worst of each supposed enemy. It reminded you that war was not the only thing that never changed.

“Quite the deduction skills, Captain Obvious”, you teased him, refusing to play into his hateful statement.

“But-”, he started but you cut him off.

“You made a promise to me yesterday. Now I kindly ask of you to leave the Elder at the Prydwen and let Arthur follow me”, you said with a mocking bow, sticking out your tongue before taking his hand and leading him towards the Memory Den.

A surge of righteous outrage swelled within his chest, roaring in anger as it fought against the audacity of your response. It felt ridiculed, left alone in a dark corner with the nagging voice of doubt that had grown louder in recent times. He did make a promise yesterday and despite suspecting that this journey would challenge everything he believed in, he still chose to accompany you. He had to buck up on his ideas, at least for now, for you and his own sake.

The glowing yellow circles in the otherwise lifeless eyes, the grimy worn pallor of the artificial skin, exposing pieces of complex machinery on the places it was torn. Arthur recognised the synth for what it was immediately, his stomach only twisting further as it presented itself as detective Nick Valentine, friend of yours. It didn't take him long to connect the dots between this machine and the first discussion you had with him about the synth. This was one of the Institute's abominations and, at the very same time, the one saving your life multiple times. And now here it was waiting for you, ready to risk its own life yet again to help you find and rescue your son from the clutches of the very institution it should be loyal to. Your answer on your first day finally had a face to it, the face of a discarded machine and that of a truth he kept denying vehemently. His mind held countless reasons to hate every synth, everything created by the Institute, but his heart began to waver, secretly driving the wedge between his convictions and yours deeper, leaving him struggling to find out which version of reality would ultimately prevail.

"Don't worry, they'll both be alright ", doctor Amari assured, a smile on her face as she continued to observe you, delving deeper into Kellogg's memories, "although I have a feeling that one of them is more important to you."

Arthur's gaze never wavered from your form, afraid to even blink for fear of missing a moment where you might be in danger, beyond his reach.

“I know who you are.”

He finally dared to look away from you towards the doctor, his lips parting but the words failed him. What did he even want to tell her? That he couldn't care less if she knew? That nothing she could say would sway him from the path he had set the Brotherhood on? That even if he wished to stray from that path, he couldn't? He was trapped, his name, its legacy, hanging like a bleak prophetic shadow over him, regardless of what he truly wanted.

“But I also know”, Amari continued, “that she made the decision to bring you here and I will place my trust in her judgment. What she has done so far, the people she has helped, there is an honest heart and open-minded soul within her.”

“And what do you think happens now?”, he finally found his voice, his words escaping in a faint and uneasy whisper.

His mind failed him, trapped in the worries around you in this moment, he didn't have the energy to summon the soldier he was expected to be.

“Nothing”, Amari chuckled, her laughter filled with a mix of amusement and reassurance, “I will keep a watchful eye on you, but as long as you care for her and show respect to those residing here, you will be welcomed. We are not the Brotherhood; we don't immediately resort to violence against those who hold different beliefs, or physiology for that matter. ”

His eyes darted to the screen just in time to see the courser vanishing with Shaun.

“Teleportation”, he muttered under his breath.

“Now it all makes sense. Nobody's found the entrance to the Institute because there IS no entrance.”, Amari spoke, her fingers swiftly tapping on the buttons of her computer as she spoke into the microphone next to the screen , “let me pull you out of there.”

Arthur couldn't tear his eyes away from Magnolia, slowly draining his drink as her voice and music hypnotised him further. The sultry tone dancing around the swinging rhythm lured him deeper into the depths of his own musings. It felt different hearing the music directly sang by someone pouring their soul into the song and touching others with a directness a radio could never replicate. He huffed, after this day, he was truly wondering if the singer was even human or one of those damned machines. He wouldn't know anymore and he grew too tired to think about it... To claim that this day had been exhausting would have been an understatement. It had been a long time since he'd experienced the world the way he did today. The Brotherhood had always kept him busy, even more so since he was appointed Elder, but despite being out there in the world, he never truly saw it. Yet, in spite of his fatigue, a part of him still yearned to leap from his seat and return to the Prydwen, armed with the newfound knowledge he had acquired to further his war against the Institute. He groaned instead, shifting his gaze from Magnolia to the empty glass he twirled between his fingers.

Your hands gently caressed his shoulder, your tender gesture prompting the first smile since both of you left the Memory Den. He seemed more quiet than usual, out of place, his usual cockiness stripped away and it caused a flicker of uncertainty within you. You questioned whether it was the right decision to bring him here but then again, these people became your allies, some of them friends, and if he was to be a part of you, he needed to witness and embrace everything that came with it. You nuzzled your face in the side of his neck, trailing kisses up to his ear.

"Mac's still not here and I'm getting tired, let's head back to our room", you whispered, leading him to the State House.

As soon as the door closed behind you, Maxson flung his jacket onto the armchair in the corner and collapsed onto the bed, absorbed in a mist of thoughts while he stared at the crumbling plaster of the ceiling, only lifting his head when he felt the mattress shift under a weight at its edge. He swallowed a groan as he watched as you crawled on top of him, gradually moving until you were lying upon him, placing a long tender kiss on his lips. The pressure and warmth of your body weighing down on him washed over his mind, clearing a path for his insatiable longing for you.

"Arthur", you breathed sultry, your eyes finding his.

There was a subtle shift in the depth of your stare, beneath the vast ocean of your deep affection, there lingered something more intense - a yearning that he had grown all too familiar with since you entered his life. Away from the ceaseless hum of the Prydwen's engine, with no danger of being interrupted by anyone at any time, the realisation of just how much you wanted to be close to him, to melt into him without ever leaving again, hit you with an overwhelming force. You moved slightly to the side, causing a gasp to escape his lips as he felt your hand gently stroke his clothed member. It didn't take long before his growing bulge felt almost painful against the confines of the tight jeans. Biting his lower lip, he watched as you unbutton his pants before pulling them down along with his underwear. The sudden coolness of the room against his throbbing erection caused him to inhale sharply; you had barely touched him, yet he was already teetering dangerously close to his limit.

"May I?", you asked, licking your lips as you settled between his thighs.

Arthur had no idea what you were implying but he knew he'd take whatever you offered him. He hissed as your lips wrapped around the tip of his cock, swallowing it slowly until all of it was buried in the wet warmth of your mouth. He'd touched himself many times in the solitude of his quarters but this felt unlike any pleasure he was ever able to give himself.

"I...I...I don't know for how long I can take this", he stuttered, "I've never been with anyone, not like this."

His confession tugged at your heartstrings. Here you were, lying in bed with the one man, whose Brotherhood almost lifted him into the realm of legends due his deeds and leadership, bare before each other in a rare moment of vulnerability of him admitting that you were the very first to grant him this kind of intimacy. It saddened you, realising that this man, whose soul revealed a profound connection and gentle nature, had never been seen in this light by anyone before. Despite the Brotherhood's reverence and adoration for him, they failed to recognise the beauty within his soul. But he'd no longer be alone for he had you now. You continued bobbing your head, twirling your tongue around the tip each time. You barely managed to do this five times before you felt his cock twitch, his warm release filling your mouth as the sound of your name mingled with long sinful moans dripping from his lips. You eagerly swallowed every drop he offered, and with one final lick, you crawled back to lie beside him, offering him a gentle smile. It took him a few deep breaths to recover before he settled on his knees, slowly starting to undress you before taking off his own t-shirt, leaving both of you completely bare before each other. His steel-blue gaze trailed over you body, brows furrowed as if he desperately tried to burn every little detail of you into his memories while his hands trailed over your soft skin. He remembered a part of that book he once stole in the Citadel, eager to try if those old words held any truth. Leaning in, he licked and sucked on your nipple while his hand ventured down between your legs, two fingers slowly dragging through your folds. His inexperienced touch and movements might have been slightly rough and uncoordinated, but they elicited the sweetest moans from you. He noticed that that every time his fingertips grazed against your clit, your legs quivered ever so slightly and your moans grew needier. You opened your eyes at the sudden lack of his touches and found him staring at his fingers, coated with your wetness. A smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you witnessed his fascination with something so ordinary, highlighting how his life must have been devoid of intimacy all these years.

"All for you", you whispered, earning a genuine smile from him.

"Do you truly want this?", he asked, a hint of uncertainty in his eyes.

You remained silent, aware that words alone would never be enough to convey the depth of your desires in this moment. Instead, you pushed him onto his back, straddling him as you pressed your wetness against his cock, grinding against it and feeling him grow hard again.

"There is nothing I want more than being here with you, feeling you, loving you", you breathed, pausing your movements, "you're all I ever wanted."

Arthur's heart felt as if it were on the verge of shattering at your words. He had been going through life without ever experiencing such affection and tenderness. For the first time, he felt truly wanted, even loved, not just for his name, his purpose, but for his soul, his own true essence.

"I don't recognise that feeling plaguing my heart and mind but if this is truly love", a teardrop welled up in the corner of his eye, "then allow me to tell you that I love you."

You positioned his cock at your entrance, moaning his name, feeling him stretch you perfectly as his cock was sliding deep inside you. His hands clasped unto your hips, fingers digging into your supple flesh while he held you in place for a moment, overwhelmed by the sheer pleasure. Your walls clenched around his twitching cock and you slowly began moving, placing your hands on his chest while your gaze locked onto his. Arthur began thrusting his hips upwards, anticipating your movements. The lewd sounds of him thrusting deep inside your wetness filled the room, entangling with the heavy breaths and lustful moans. Arthur watched your head fall back in pleasure as you rode him and he couldn't care for anything anymore in this very moment. The Brotherhood, his war, held no significance at this moment, all he cared for was the closeness to you, the love which bound you together and the heavenly bliss you had brought upon him. Both of you approached the edge fast and your moans grew louder as both of you finally plunged into the abyss of purest pleasure. Panting, you tried to get off him but Arthur pulled you down on him, his arms wrapping around you, holding you in a tight hug, both of you surrendering to the irresistible lure of slumber.

Chapter 8 - why do fools fall in love?

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