#you will also miss out if you wait to watch The Substance at home

[vanishingmoments]

the way theaters are dying because people think "oh I'll just catch it later on one of 700 streaming services" is really tragic. I've seen four movies in theaters this year and with one exception I can say that the experience of seeing them again on my TV will never be anywhere near as complete of an experience.

[ateliersss]

Blooming Family Part 3 - He Shan‘t Lose

Pairing: Yautja x F!Reader Summary: Mere two months ago, you returned home after the incident on Earth. Now you were back, ready to indulge yourself and go on the weekly "date night" with your mate. If only your unborn pup had better timing… Cross-posted on AO3: here Warnings: English isn't my first language Word Count: 6,716 Part 1: here Part 2: here Masterlist

⇨ Oh, I missed my Mi‘ytiar.

⇨ I can't believe I finally got this done and I'm able to present this to you. Also, my birthday, guys! God, I'm 20 and I already feel old. Please spoil me with comments, re-blogs and likes.

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“Be'jaa, go! Go! Good boy.” You laughed as you watched your four-legged companion chase after the trail he had scented.

Hell Hounds, they were called, and probably the closest thing to a pet you could get on Yautja Prime. You learned quickly, after your first encounter with them, that they were similar to the hounds on Earth, and like hounds on Earth, they had one purpose — hunting prey.

Unlike a curious Beagle, a devoted Pointer, or a stubborn Basset Hound, Hell Hounds were more similar to Yautjas than dogs, both in looks and characteristics. But you still could recognize some traits that reminded you of your childhood dog.

You didn’t hunt with Hell Hounds often — it was more special and intimate when it was just you and Mi‘ytiar — but your mate had insisted that at least one of them should accompany you. As experience showed, the two of you had to split up at times; sometimes he also kept in the shadows, high on top of a tree, to watch you hunt on your own. It was simply a safety measure.

It wasn’t like you couldn’t handle the prey on your own. The creatures you hunted were either as small as a cat or as big as a horse. They were insignificant opponents, laughable for a Yautja and not nearly on their hunting standard, but Mi‘ytiar felt different. He didn‘t care how tiny or weak the prey was compared to him.

It wasn't about him, after all.

Those hunts were solely for you, so you could be a part of his culture without him having to worry about endangering your life. 

He had been ecstatic when you voiced your wish years ago for him to teach you how to hunt, how to track and kill as it was custom on his home planet. And even now, after you had exceeded his expectations, he still was immensely proud of you every time you succeeded.

No, Be'jaa wasn’t only there for tracking or for flushing out his targets but also for guarding. You were in the final stages of your pregnancy, and your strength, your speed, and your stamina had decreased, leaving you more vulnerable should prey ambush you. 

Speaking of him, he had been gone for quite some time.

“Be'jaa?” You called, whistled, and waited for a moment for him to return to you.

When you neither could hear him bark, or see him running towards you, you tried calling him again, “Be'jaa?”

And again.

“Be–”

The other half of his name turned into a strained whimper as a stabbing pain pierced through your body, coming from your stomach. You stifled a scream, but when something wet suddenly ran down your legs, a shaky breath escaped your lips.

You knew what this meant.

Your water just broke.

“Oh no. Not now, my sweetling.”

Clutching your stomach, breathing in and out, you slowly approached a tree and practically slumped against it. One of your hands gripped the meaty texture of the tree trunk for support while the other snaked down and between your thighs. When you pulled your hand back, it was coated with the clear substance of the amniotic fluid.

And blood. There was also blood on your fingers, but it was nothing too alarming. When you had been pregnant with Akail, there had been blood too, but it was still an unsettling sight to you.

“Ahhh!” You cried out as another wave of agonizing pain washed through you, your head thrown back.

As much as you had enjoyed the mostly perfect pregnancy, you had completely forgotten about birthing the pup at the end. Maybe you had just pushed the whole thing aside since the mere memory of Akail‘s birth was still able to instill that deep-rooted dread within your body.

You went into labor when both moons were at their zenith.

Mi’ytiar, who had slept peacefully next to you, was hovering over you the second you tried to wake him up. 

It took one panicked look from you and he knew what was going on. 

He got up from his lying position on your nest and knelt beside you.

You had already pushed the furs you used as a blanket to the side and he saw your legs shining with moisture in the moonlight.

“My water broke.” You faintly answered his silent question. “Our little one is coming.”

Mi’ytiar was on high alert as he knew what that meant. 

He tried to lift you into his arms, his mind fully set on bringing you to Cahrein, the healer, but unfortunately, a contraction hit you right at that moment. The pain, plus the one you felt as Mi’ytiar lifted you up, ripped a heart-wrenching scream from your throat. 

It hurt so very much that you punched him out of instinct, an instinct telling you to do anything to stop the pain, hitting him right in the face.

You looked up at him with wide eyes. “Oh God, Mi‘ytiar. I’m so sorry.”

His heart clenched at that. 

You shouldn’t apologize. He’d barely felt the impact anyways, your human strength too weak to actually hurt him, but he didn’t deserve to not feel anything. 

He should have felt pain, should have been knocked from his feet.

He had hurt you, had caused you more pain than you were already feeling.

You noticed the guilty expression on your mate’s face and grabbed his hand. “It’s okay, tahní. It‘s o–”

You cut yourself off as you pressed your lips together while another contraction hit you.

“–kay. It’s okay.” You panted, “Just get Cahrein.”

Mi’ytiar shook his head determinedly as he placed his free hand on yours, which clasped his other hand in a death grip. 

“Cannot leave you.” He growled.

Another contraction made you cry out, “Mi’ytiar, please!”

It took a lot of persuasion for him to finally leave your side to get the healer.

You understood that he didn‘t want to leave you on your own, out of fear something bad would happen to you if he let you out of his sight only for a second, but you needed Cahrein to deliver your son safely.

The healer had gotten to work as soon as his eyes met your tiny, withering body. Putting aside the various instruments he had taken with him — you recognized them from one of your visits where he had shown you which ones he used for births — he helped you to remove the panties that you wore with the little piece of clothing you called nightie, which you had already pulled up, over your bulging stomach, and out of the way.

Usually, you and your mate slept naked with nothing shielding you from each other’s skin, but since you got closer and closer to your due day, you wanted to be prepared. You wanted to keep at least a little of your dignity, not wanting to lie completely bare in front of Cahrein. 

Even though you knew he wouldn‘t care, taking his job far too seriously for that, your body in all its naked glory was meant for Mi’ytiar‘s eyes and Mi’ytiar‘s eyes only.

With your mate on one side and the healer on the other, you spent hours in indescribable agony.

Mentally, you were so far gone, blacking out for a second here and there. You barely caught how Mi’ytiar was insistently talking to you or how Cahrein alternately injected you with a transparent and a bright green fluid.

It felt like a miracle when the unbearable pain decreased bit by bit but not fully disappeared. Your fuzzy mind and your blurry view started to clear. 

With the pain now more bearable, you could finally focus on the natural instinct that told you to push.

What you didn’t know was that the following screams and cries woke up the clan in alarm, gathering almost everyone in front of your home, eagerly awaiting the new addition. 

This occasion was special, after all. Their fierce and mighty leader was expecting his first pup, something no one had expected to happen. Ever.

The tense uncertainty inside and outside of your home dissipated as soon as the whiny squeals of your newborn pup finally filled the air.

“Such a bad timing, my sweetling.” You mewled.

Tears were gathering in your eyes and you quickly blinked them away. You didn’t know if it was because of the pain of the contractions, which were now four minutes apart, or out of fear of being all alone in a hostile environment.

With your tongue between your teeth, you waited until the pain subsided, fully intending to call for your mate, but when you did, his name only escaped your lips in a short-winded whisper.

It was like you couldn’t breathe.

Biting back a sob, you formed your hand into a fist and hit your chest repeatedly, trying to get yourself to breathe regularly again. And when you thought you had enough air in your lungs, you bellowed, “Mi’ytiar!”

Your breath hitched and tears finally streamed down your cheeks. You bend your upper body forward, towards the tree, and pressed the palms of your hands against the tree trunk. With your head facing the ground, tears left your eyes and rolled down the bridge of your nose before dripping down the tip to the forest floor.

You were crying and panting, your body clenching every time another contraction hit you.

“Mi’ytiar, please, please… I need you… please, please.” You begged, your voice barely audible.

Contentment.

That’s all you could feel as you adjusted your lying position on the soft fur and the woolen and cotton fabrics of your nest. It was living up to its name as it reminded you of an actual nest, a bird’s nest; just as round but with more comfortable materials. Mi’ytiar had been very picky, something that amused you to no end.

That and the fireplace embedded into the floor, enclosing the round platform the nest was on, kept you warm and cozy.

You and the pup that was sleeping on your chest.

Little Akail let out little purrs while he enjoyed the warmth of his mother’s body, which kept him tranquil and happy.

Only ten hours old and he already had such a significant place in this clan and his parent’s hearts.

You hummed quietly to your pup, only looking up from the endearing sight when Mi’ytiar entered your home and came to a halt in front of your nest, taking in the very welcome view of his (tantalizing naked) mate and his newborn son.

“Don’t get any ideas.” You warned him playfully when you noticed his heated gaze racking over your body.

“Back on Earth, some parents hold their babies like this. The skin and warmth forges a strong bond between them and the baby can get used to its parents’ touch.” You explained, your fingers slowly caressing Akail‘s back.

Mi’ytiar only clicked his mandibles in acknowledgment before he started to take off his armor and his traditional clothing as clan leader. 

You had to bite your lower lip, reminding yourself of your own scolding words only seconds ago, but you simply couldn’t help yourself. Your mate was a fine specimen, a strong and gorgeous Yautja. You were one hell of a lucky woman.

You watched him get on the nest, now only dressed in his loin cloth, and he moved on his knees towards you. 

You wrapped an arm around Akail — still curled up into a ball with his head tucked under your chin and his feet resting on your belly — and got up into a sitting position.

Mi’ytiar grabbed you by your thigh and hip, lifted you up, and pulled you to him so you were sitting on his thighs while your legs were wrapped around the width of his hips.

He looped his arms around you, drawing you into an embrace, so little Akail was now nestled between both of his parents’ warm bodies.

The smile that had grown on your lips since the moment Mi’ytiar had entered your home was now so bright and wide your cheeks started to hurt. 

But you didn’t really care. You couldn‘t hide the sheer happiness you were feeling right now at this moment.

You felt movement against your throat and above the valley of your breasts, and when you looked down as best as you could manage, you saw Akail nuzzle his face into your skin while his tiny hand was now lying on your chest where your heart was beating.

You wanted to cry happy tears.

You had never expected to become a mother, never planned on it, never even remotely wanted it if you were being honest, but having your baby now in your arms made every antipathy disappear. 

You placed a soft kiss on Akail‘s head, using as little pressure as possible so he wouldn’t wake up.

“He’s perfect.” You whispered and looked up at Mi’ytiar who was already watching you intently. “Are you happy?”

He cocked his head to the side, his chest vibrating when he confirmed, “Happy.”

He felt Akail‘s small body against his own, felt his tiny body press against his every time he was breathing.

Breathing.

A beating heart.

Alive.

He loosened the embrace of one of his arms around your body to reach between the two of you and for his son, his fingers tracing from Akail‘s forehead to the back of his head — there, he had the same scale pattern as his father, only with reversed colors — and from his temple over the hints of dreads on each side of his little head with his thumb.

Akail was indeed perfect, just like his mother, and he loved him with all his heart already, but the price he almost had to pay for having him here…

“I thought I would lose you today.” He admitted, breaking the comfortable silence between you.

You lifted your head from where it had been resting on his chest to look up at him with a small smile.

“For a second, I thought I would never see you again. I thought I would never meet our son." You nodded, thinking about the sharp pain and the feeling of life leaving your body as your pup fought his way out of you. “But Cahrein had prepared me as well as he was able to. He helped me through it. Who knows, hadn’t he injected me with your blood…”

You trailed off when Akail began to stir. You quickly started to rock him up and down, luring him back to sleep.

“He’s a very gifted male. I’ve trusted him with my life since the first time we visited him together after my arrival here so many moons ago.”

You adjusted your arm and its hold on Akail, the other reached up and cupped Mi’ytiar’s cheek. You let your fingertips glide over the scaly texture of his skin and dragged them over his jaw to his chin, down his throat to the middle of his chest.

“He also told me that I would be able to give you another pup in a foreseeable future…”

Mi’ytiar frowned, asking skeptically, “After what you gone through today?”

You shrugged and leaned your head forward, your cheek pressed against his pec. “I’m not talking about now or tomorrow, my love, but someday. In a few years, maybe.”

Mi’ytiar bristled, a loud rumble shaking his torso. “No.”

“No?”

“No.” He shook his head, a very human gesture in your eyes. “You almost died.”

You smiled into his skin. Protective through and through, even when it came to his own offspring.

You were incredibly lucky to be chosen by a Yautja like him. 

It was rare for them to be interested in a human. It was rarer for them to treat that human-like an equal instead of a slave or one of many lovers. It was the rarest for a human to be injected with Yautja blood to largely adapt to their DNA and enable life on their planet.

And Mi’ytiar told you himself — you were the only human ever being Life-Mated to a Yautja who carried his offspring and had a similar leading role as him as the mate of a leader, all in one.

You were the rarest of the rarest, a uniqueness, something completely new.

But humans had birthed Yautja-Human-hybrids long before you, most of them more than one or two.

“The next time will be different, Mi’ytiar. My body will be stronger and mentally I will be more prepared.” You told him and peppered his chest with feather-light kisses before you looked up at him again, a loving smile on your lips. “You shan’t lose me.”

You whimpered in relief when you finally heard the familiar growling bark of a Hell Hound. 

“Be'jaa!” You called, “I’m… here!”

You felt something move under you and fill the free space between your bend-over position against the tree. You opened your eyes, which you had closed to calm yourself and your breath, and looked down to see the Hound’s face already fixed on yours.

“N‘yaka-de. Get him.” You panted and watched as Be'jaa turned around to run.

When he suddenly stopped to walk hesitantly back to you, not liking the fact he was about to leave you behind who was obviously in distress, you stomped with your foot and yelled, “Be'jaa, fucking now!”

He darted off and you felt a tinge of guilt for lashing out. After all, he was loyal and a surprisingly good cuddle partner.

“Argh!” You cried out when another stabbing sensation almost made your legs give out.

Once again, it felt like you were being torn apart, but at least you didn‘t feel like you were closer to death than life, like at Akail‘s birth over 30 years ago. You were kind of proud of yourself, actually, considering you were still able to stand. 

Yeah, standing against a tree for support instead of lying in your warm and soft nest where you had actually planned to deliver your second pup. You didn‘t want to give birth in an unsafe environment, with no Mi’ytiar and no Cahrein. 

But who would have expected that your pup was ready to be welcomed into the world on a hunt?

You did. 

You had felt premature labor pains for two days now, but you hadn’t paid them any mind as Akail was born only six days after those pains had started. 

But even those pains had felt different in those two days, so why hadn‘t you just listened to your body when it undoubtedly told you “No!” while you answered Mi’ytiar‘s question “Hunt?” with an enthusiastic “Yes!” ?

You knew the answer to that, too. 

While women on Earth had to stop certain activities at one point in their pregnancy and were limited in their doings, Yautja females could still follow their everyday lives throughout their whole pregnancy. Meaning, they could still jump from one obstacle to another, chase their prey, and kill it. 

Thinking that you were able to do that too had been utterly stupid and arrogant, but you just didn’t want to seem weak. Yes, the clan had accepted you and saw you as one of them, as the mate of their leader, but you couldn’t stop the suffocating need to prove yourself again and again.

It was unnecessary. Mi’ytiar had told you that, Cahrein had told you that, the Females you liked to spend your time with and considered friends told you that and, hell, even a few Males who were close to your mate told you that.

But here you were, crying and groaning when another contraction cursed through your body. You regretted leaving your cozy home, regretted not being pampered by your loving mate in your nest, and regretted leaving your son behind, who had been by your side all the time, hovered over you in case he had to step in should you need anything in your state, followed you around like a lost puppy if you weren’t napping in your nest.

It reminded you of the time when he had been much younger and much smaller. He had been practically attached to your hip and everywhere you went, he was there. He had been such an adorable and shy little boy. Who were you kidding? He still was, but you missed those times anyway. He had grown up too fast.

You were nervous.

With your arms wrapped tightly around your body, you watched the hustle and bustle in the distance. They were preparing for the departure of the five Young Bloods who would soon leave for a faraway world to hunt and complete their initiation into Adulthood.

Among them was your son, your Akail, who would leave you for who knows how long to presumably search for the largest and most dangerous beast and kill it to prove himself.

Just like his father, you thought.

In the first year of your relationship, Mi'ytiar had told you everything imaginable about himself, and one evening about his own initiation ritual. He had told you how reckless and sure of himself he had been as a Young Blood, how he threw himself into danger to impress his clan.

Although that had secured his position as leader, he’d summoned his son the day before to admonish him to proceed with caution, to be logical and strategic, and to not let arrogance control him.

Lost in worried thoughts, you didn't notice as Mi'ytiar approached you, dropped to one knee, and pulled you to his torso with his strong arms. He nuzzled his face into your hair, his mandibles running through it.

He loved your hair. It was just as soft as the rest of you.

“What on your mind, yawne?” He asked.

“I’m scared.” You breathed.

“On your home planet, oomans worry too when child leaves?”

You put your hand on one of his arms that was wrapped around you. “They do, but not like this. On Earth, human children leave the safety of their homes every day to go to school, to learn, and then they will return. In a few hours, Akail will leave the safety of his home to finish school, so to say, but will he return?” You told him absentmindedly, your attention still fixed on the ship. “Human parents don't have to fear that particular day when their children go on a journey to possibly get killed just because of a custom.”

You felt his arms tighten around you. “Do not be scared.” He said.

“I can’t help it. I’m his mother.”

Mi'ytiar let out a chuckle that sounded more like a growl than an actual laugh.

“And I his father.” He said and turned you around, not loosening the close embrace. “I trained him well. Made him strong and made him smart. Doubting my skills, yawne?”

Although he had already lowered himself, reducing his height to be closer to you, you still had to raise your head to look at him.

God, you loved his eyes. Even though there were rare variations at times among their kind — sometimes a lighter shade, sometimes a darker shade, sometimes more orange than yellow — the eyes of all Yautja had the same color.

But to you, Mi'ytiar’s eyes were different, even though one couldn’t possibly spot a difference when he was standing next to other Yautja. To you, they were brighter, more intense, more expressive. Or maybe it was just the way he looked at you, with so much gentle affection and love you wouldn't credit a beast of his stature with.

“Of course, I’m not. I could never.”

You suddenly could feel large arms engulfing your body from behind, pulling you into an upright-standing position, and you just let yourself instinctively fall into their embrace.

You knew those limbs, knew their warmth and their strength.

“Mi’ytiar, the pup… the pup is coming.” You panted and dug your fingernails into his forearm.

You felt him move behind you. He lifted you up, his arms supporting your back and the back of your knees as he held you to his torso. He briefly registered how you quickly wrapped your arms around his neck before he took off.

He ran like he never did. At the same time, he was careful not to let your body jolt around too much as he jumped over fallen tree trunks and climbed rocks to reach the Scout Ship while you clung to him.

Every time a contraction hit, he could feel your body tense in his arms and your mouth press against his chest as you muffled another scream.

Oh, how he wished he could take away the pain, but at least it wasn’t as horrible as it was at Akail’s birth.

Mi’ytiar remembered your glistening tears and your little withering body, how you had squeezed his hand so hard that even he had felt pain, and how you had begged both him and Cahrein to stop it. Especially the fear of death in your eyes haunted him to this day.

He had almost lost you — you, his precious human — all those years ago and it had been his entire fault.

The possibility of becoming a father had been zero, non-existent, and at one point in his life, he had accepted the fact that he may be not meant to be a father. He stopped caring and someday just forgot about it entirely. The wish to continue his line like any proud leader faded away and instead he settled for the idea of passing on his knowledge and experiences to the pups and Younglings of his people.

Then he met you, this petite beautiful thing, when he was lounging on a building near an alley. He heard you before he saw you, heard you and them.

They were calling you strange names and whistling after you before they decided to follow you down the street. Trying to escape them, you took a left turn and quickened your strides as you crossed the alley.

Mi’ytiar, who was attracted by the noises, slid down the rooftop and soundlessly landed on the metal balcony of one of the apartments. Even from the third floor, he had a perfect view of what was happening down in the alley as the men grabbed you, pushed and pulled on you, and he felt mildly impressed when you started fighting back; kicking, scratching and screaming.

The men’s playful, taunting behavior quickly turned fatal when one of them, fed up with your attempts to flee, slapped you so hard across the face that you stumbled back, tripped over your own feet and fell backwards to the ground.

Your screams quickly turned desperate when one of them pushed up your skirt and tore on your panties, mumbling something about teaching you a lesson while his companions held you down.

At this point, Mi’ytiar knew something had been wrong. Mating between a Yautja male and female consisted of fighting each other, too, but not like this. Not with more than one male and not with the female resisting long after the male fought the female into submission.

Your behavior told him everything he needed to know — you weren’t even close to being interested in mating with those males — and before things could get any worse, he jumped down and killed those who forced themselves on you.

By the time four bodies in various morbid states of dismemberment were littering the alley, your whole body was trembling as you stayed on the ground, cowering.

He had crouched down to your level and one of his bloodied claws reached out to touch your face, your horror-widened eyes watching him with caution.

To him, you were what a kitten was to a human. You were so small, he noted, so small and soft and pink. He also thought you were beautiful, contrastive to what Yautja usually thought about your kind. He took you with him that night and the rest was history.

Even though you weren’t a suitable mate, his clan begrudgingly accepted the idea of a human being with their leader. He couldn’t have pups anyway, so why not just let him indulge himself and let him seek happiness and pleasure in other things?

And then, one day, you told him about your wish to carry his pup. He had been excited, absolutely ecstatic, but not about the image of your rounding belly with his offspring — he knew he was unable to have one — and rather about the fact that you were willing to mate with him in a way that could lead to a child. The fact you loved him and trusted him enough was all he cared about.

As much as he loved his son, he should have done something the second both of you learned that you were pregnant. He had been so overjoyed his human mate was extraordinarily able to have his pup that he never thought about possible consequences.

Anyone would have had serious doubts and would have objected because there was no way a human would survive that, but Mi’ytiar didn’t, too blown away by the prospect of becoming a father.

That changed as the day of the pup being due crept closer and closer, and slowly worry and fear set in.

And to make one thing clear: if you hadn’t been injected with Yautja blood from the beginning — first daily, then weekly, then monthly, until it stopped years ago — you wouldn’t have made it and Akail would have torn you apart from the inside out.

He was glad that Cahrein had kept a cool head and realized that his blood would help you when all other means had failed.

It was like history was repeating itself as he tried to focus on the task at hand — getting you to the ship — and not let the fluid running down his arms and body distract him. He wished he hadn’t dared to look down, to look down and see the blood you were losing, coming from a source that was his fault.

Why did he let you convince him to have a second pup? Why did the mere thought of getting you pregnant again make him so ignorant of your near-death experience? Why did he listen to Cahrein when he told the both of you that another pup was possible? Why did he forget that you weren’t like his kind?

His heavy, thumping footsteps suddenly sounded different, and when you pulled your face away from his chest to look around, you noticed the soft earth of the forest had been replaced by the cold metal of the ship.

As careful and gentle as he could in his rattled state, he put you down on the closest surface he could find — the table used for planning, briefing, and orientation with several holo-maps — and slammed his fist down on the surface. He growled and hissed a few words you couldn’t understand. Your translating earpieces were perfectly fine, but your brain was only picking up the pain shooting through your body instead of noticing any stimuli from your surroundings.

You were so out of it, the tears blurring your view, that you missed the conversation between Mi’ytiar and the holographic image of Cahrein.

“Mi’ytiar.” Cahrein greeted his leader in the customary way of placing his left fist on the right side of his chest while slightly bowing down his head.

“The pup is coming.” Mi’ytiar said without hesitation, straight to the point.

Cahrein rounded the table to stand next to him and he leaned over you to get a better look at you. He reached out to grab your calves to open your legs, but his hands went right through you.

“Pauk. I can’t help her like this. You have to bring her here.”

“No.” You cried out, answering before Mi’ytiar could even open his mouth. “The pup is coming now.”

Cahrein looked conflicted, contemplating what to do next as he was restricted in his actions. He could already tell that this was going to be hard.

“Mi’ytiar, I packed a Medicomp for emergencies when you said you two would go hunt. Get it.”

You let out a whine when your mate disappeared from your side, which was quickly occupied by the healer who noticed your distress. “Calm, (Y/N), calm.”

“It hurts so much.” You cried out.

“I know.” He retorted and eyed the red fluid running down your thighs to your calves, dripping down your toes. “You need to take off clothes.”

With trembling hands, you started to open the pants-like cloth that hugged your legs like a second skin and circled them from your ankles up to your hips. You struggled with the complicated lacing and cursed as you began to rip on them out of frustration.

Bigger hands replaced yours and when you looked up, you saw that Mi’ytiar had returned and stood between your legs. He used his sharp claws to cut the cords open and he pulled the rest of the garment down. He was more considerate with the bloodied panties underneath and tried not to rip them, although you believed that they were irreversibly ruined.

The first and last time he had torn your panties to shreds, you had scolded him for it after he was done fucking you from behind like a dog in his rut. You didn’t have much of your human clothes left — most of them had been replaced by self-made clothes of local fabrics inspired by their style anyway — but what you definitely wanted to keep was your underwear. So when Mi’ytiar returned to you one day from a spontaneous trip to Earth with a dozen new undies, you had been more than thankful.

Mi’ytiar grabbed your ankles, placed both of your feet flat on the table, and spread your thighs apart, stepping aside for Cahrein to finally take a look at you.

The healer’s holo-image got down on his knees and peered between them at what was happening between your legs.

You wanted to hide and press them back together, but you knew that it wasn’t much of help and just let him do his thing. Instead, you let your head loll to the side and looked at your mate.

Mi’ytiar had his hands in fists, keeping them tightly pressed to his sides, and he watched Cahrein with concern and something else in his eyes. You knew he was worried about you. He tried to hide it, tried putting his true feelings behind the mask of a collected and strong leader and warrior like he always did in dicey situations, but you could see right through it.

“And?” He urged Cahrein to finally give him an answer.

“She is ready. She has to push.”

“What about the blood?”

“Incidental. She has to push.”

So that’s what you did.

Taking a deep breath and gripping the edge of the table for the support, you strained every muscle in your body. The resulting blood-curdling scream even got the two Yautja to flinch and Mi’ytiar lunged forward. He pried your fingers away from the table where you had been holding on for dear life and intertwined them with his. You instantly squeezed them and Mi’ytiar let out a surprised hiss.

After a moment, your tense body slumped down. It simply gave up after not being able to endure the pain any longer.

“You need to keep going.”

“I can’t.” You hiccuped, choking on your tears as you shook your head vehemently.

“You can. You did this 30 years ago. It was impressive. I never expected such a tiny creature to survive, but you did. You will again.” Cahrein turned to Mi’ytiar and pointed to the Medicomp. “Take the syringe, take your blood and inject it.”

Rather reluctantly, he loosened the hold you had on him and opened the Medicomp. He rummaged through it, found the syringe, and jabbed it into the flesh of his arm, uncaring of the following pain. You were far more important than anything else right now.

While he filled the syringe with his fluorescent-green blood, Cahrein was talking to you and encouraged you to keep going. He tried to distract you and keep your mind from drifting off to a place of no return.

“Something is wrong.” He murmured after a while.

He had watched Mi’ytiar inject you with three doses of his blood already, but you still were in agonizing pain. You even had lost consciousness twice, something that hadn’t even happened when you birthed your first pup.

You squeezed your eyes shut and only opened them again when the pain subsided a bit. “W-What?”

“You should have started crowning already, but you don’t.”

“Why?” You asked in a long-drawn cry.

Cahrein, for the first time in over thirty years, looked baffled and completely clueless. He couldn’t explain it as he had no idea himself. There had never been complications when the females of his clan gave birth. You were the only exception.

“What are typical problems that arise for oomans during childbirth?” He asked, not knowing what else he could do.

It took a moment until you became aware that you had been asked a question.

“Am-Amniotic fluid e-enters the bloodstream… the u-uterus tears… the ba-baby is in an abnormal p-position… it’s s-stuck…” You offered between pained huffs, trying to come up with as many options as you could think of. “In most emergencies, w-when a natural birth isn’t possible, they d-do a c-section… they cut into t-the woman’s belly a-and get the baby out... and then…”

Mi’ytiar wanted you to stop talking. He wanted you to stop putting images of your cut-open body in front of him. He wanted you to stop making him think of your lifeless form after the pup was pulled out of it.

“You have to incise into her abdomen. I will instruct you.” Cahrein finally said.

Mi’ytiar immediately straightened his back and let out a roar. “No!”

“If you do it, either the pup and (Y/N) survive, or just the pup... but if you do nothing, then they will both die.” Cahrein pressed and eyed you for a second.

You were running out of time.

“I… I can’t.”

He sounded defeated. You had never ever expected to see him like this — so vulnerable, so hopeless, so broken. He was the definition of strength, of courage, of accountability, of resilience, and now only a hollow shadow of the man he was was standing in front of you, thinking about the chance of losing his entire world.

He couldn’t lose you. He couldn’t.

How could it be possible for him to live, breathe, without you?

He had a taste of a life he never wanted to leave, a life he wasn’t able to quit, a life only something as extraordinary as you could give him. Not because you were human, although that was probably one of the aspects, but because you were you.

He loved you.

You had taught him that love was the most valuable thing to a person. Love was worth more than anything else in life. It was such a strong, overwhelming feeling no one could put exactly into words until one actually felt it.

And he loved you.

“No, Mi’ytiar… you have to, you have to.” You urged him between panting breaths. “Save our… our baby. Forget me… ju-just save our son… please.”

Mi’ytiar looked down at you as you begged him to do something he wasn’t willing to do in a million years. Cahrein would have hesitated in his stead, but he wasn’t your mate and would have cut into you. Mi’ytiar, on the other hand, could never do something that would harm you.

But he already did, though. He had doomed you the second his seed took.

“Mi’ytiar!” Cahrein barked and pulled the male out of his thoughts.

His body was on autopilot when his hand reached for a scalpel-like tool from the Medicomp.

“Thank you, thank you!” You cried out.

The only thing you felt was relief as your body slowly went numb, tears clouding your view. Everything around you became blurry and Mi'ytiar started to disappear. The world around you grew darker and darker as he set the sharp blade onto your skin and slowly applied pressure, cutting into you until blood flowed onto the table and down to the floor of the ship, creating a red puddle.

You never even registered the feeling of him cutting you open.

Your body shut down before you could.

continue with the fourth part He Shall Prevail

[zeninprincess]

rehab; a. hayakawa

wc: 3.6k | aki hayakawa x reader | nsfw 🔞

warning(s): mentions of nicotine addiction 🚬, toxic relationship (aki is neglectful partner, reader is too attached to aki), power dynamic, gaslighting, p in v, cunnilingus, fingering, blowjob, creampie, breeding 🥧

aki keeps saying that you're the one needed him as if he didn't need you when you left him. but then again, maybe you did need him as much as he needed his cigarettes

a/n: purple prose, im trying to expand my english vocabs. sorry if it's annoying. ty for understanding!! also guess what songs inspired me to write this.

i. withdrawal

aki loves to smoke even though he knew it would hurt his lungs, however it's hard not to smoke. he knew it could kill him someday yet he still do the very thing that might end him. smoking traps the man in a vicious cycle of needing to consume and feeling guilty to the point he'd stop smoking for a couple of day but then, withdrawal would hit him hard and before he knew it, he relapsed.

it's a never ending cycle of hurt, guilt, and a desire to burn. its addicting and when it hits you, it hits hard. to say that you hate that aki has an addiction to something as bad as cigarettes is an understatement, although you yourself is addicted to something else that hurts you. and it was love. you love him even though it hurts you, even when it rips your self worth apart.

you found yourself crying to sleep after an argument, but just like a smoker to nicotine, you can't get enough of him. in the morning you'd come to him and everything will be fine. he’ll pat you on your head and fucks you good. to say you needed him is an understatement but it's not far from the truth. you couldn't shake the feeling that you needed him, almost as if you were addicted to his presence. it was more than just a strong desire; it was a deep-seated need that seemed to consume you.

waking up in the dead of night, you couldn't feel his presence on his side of the bed. the duvet was cold, mirroring his words a few hours ago when you two were screaming at each other over the fact he rarely comes home. the coolness of the duvet being a stark reminder of his absence.

you'd find him on the balcony smoking. he does this everytime he can't sleep. and when he's done he'd flick them out on the street. you watch him as he inhale nicotine and exhale smoke.

perhaps you two are more alike than you've realized. both of you seem drawn to the thrill of danger, the adrenaline rush of near misses. addiction, in its various forms, seems to have a hold on both of you. the highs and lows of your tumultuous relationship, much like the intense cravings and withdrawals experienced by those addicted to substances, keep you both coming back for more. it's a dangerous cycle, fueled by the intense heat of your passion, akin to the burning sensation of aki's cigarettes.

remember, addiction can be a destructive force, and if left unchecked, it can lead to devastating consequences. thrilling sensation and feelings of hunger for love destroys you little by little.

being with aki really deconstructed you as a person. the way he made you feel so lonely yet fills your loneliness it was a paradoxical experience. you also felt that you're the only one who's trying in this relationship, aki acts like a broken radio, echoing nothing back to you. he kept you waiting, hoping he'd say something back or repay your effort but it was met with radio silence. he made you question your desirability with the way he treats you.

he's not a jerk who hurts you physically nor did he fool around with other chicks, sometimes you wish he did so it'll help you hate him and justify your actions. he just doesn't give any attention outside when he's dicking you down, he doesn't really give you praise or express his love to you. he just doesn't care that much. it's torturing you. it really looks like a one sided love to outsiders who don't know that you two are together.

but you're no saint either. aki felt like you were too attached to him, unhealthily. but that feelings of your inability to live without him is a better feeling than being loved by you. he felt alive and sober with you needing him. he loves your effort, though he hated the way you keep uttering phrases like

“do you love me aki?” you ask with puffy eyes.

to him, he's a silent lover only showing how much he loves you through hard love and his own way. he prefers working hard til morning than to cuddle with you after waking up because he wants you to live a comfortable life. he'd rather risk his life killing devils just to get minimum wage than see your feet swollen after taking orders for 6 hours a day as a waitress.

“a question that need not be asked nor answered” he replied as he drew a big one.

“you never took me out on dates anymore” you nagged.

“woman i cook dinner for you every time i'm home, besides it's not safe out there what if some devil eats you alive? what then? i'm not paying for your funeral when we could barely feed ourselves” he said in his neutral tone. you rolled your eyes. “you're not even at home every day aki”

“and you never told me how pretty i am”

“am i just a free dishwasher who you only fuck whenever you wanted?”

“have you ever cuddled me these days?”

“i guess i wasnt wrong when i say you're cheating huh? i guess thats why youre rarely home”

“answer me aki!!”

you were growing desperate after each question. and still he's soundless.

“god i hate you. please let me go aki. please i beg of you” this doesn't feel like home anymore, the strange foreign beauty in front of you didn't even bother looking your way as you paced to the shared bedroom and pack your belongings.

“i'm leaving you for good. goodbye aki, may we never cross paths ever again” you say for the thousandth time as you put on your coat and unlock the entrance to your freedom. hearing the slam of the door he could only sigh knowing you’ll be back.

you always come back.

right?

a week passed by and nothing changed except you're gone now and it's eating aki from inside. he fell deep into a spiraling mess, he didn't eat, did not sleep, he never came home instead he distracted himself by working incessantly. afterall, his sanctuary was gone, and the lingering scent of your perfume stuck inside the 16 by 16 unit you two used to share and it brings him to reality that the only trace of you left was the unwashed dishes and messy duvet from the day you left.

he isn't the same man anymore, he was just a shell of what once was inside. lost in his thoughts which were dominated by you, he sighed. today he's smoking at the park where you two met each other for the first time. ashes fall to the ground. he flicks off the half burned ciggy, he finds it hard to enjoy the cigarette not knowing where you are and who you're with.

you had him blocked off on every social media, you changed your number, cut your beautiful hair to above the shoulder it was a much needed reset. staying in a cheap motel, you found solace in nicotine. aki was right, smoking helped numb the pain and for a moment it gave you the illusion that aki was near you smoking on the balcony like how it used to be.

“may you never forget me aki hayakawa and the pain you've caused me” you muttered under your breath.

ii. anticipation

‘ahh~ ahhnn’

‘s-shoo good!! harder aki harder!!’

“Fffuck” up and down the shaft he copies the rhythm from the video. aki watches you bounce up and down his cock on his phone. you're so pretty all sticky and flustered like that on top of him. his body trembled in pleasure, eyes shut tightly and toes curling as he heard you moan on max volume.

“fuck name i need you so bad” he cried out as he rode the highs feeling the building up orgasm. he reminisce how tight and warm your pussy was around his cock. his heart pounds as he reaches orgasm, he calls out your name, riding the orgasm. in his mind you were there lapping his tongue while going up and down pounding your cervix letting him fill you up with his cum.

the fluid overflows from the tip of his cock to the duvet under him. the video still playing on his phone, he was brought back to reality. sitting at the edge of the bed naked, post nut clarity hits him. aki puts on his boxer before reaching to the bedside table for his cigarette box. seventeen minutes past midnight, aki had found out that the box was empty, sighing he put on his jeans and shirt. he needed a quick fix, thus he went to the convenience store across the street which was a familiar destination.

inside the convenience store, he picked one cigarette between selections of many. he picked the one with cotton candy flavour. it smelled like your perfume that has long gone in the span of 7 weeks. he tried everything in his power to keep the residual odour inside. going as far as refusing to open the window and balcony but it was no use because in the end he had inhaled all the scent.

at the same time you were walking home from the waitressing shift which you took since you needed money to pay rent. kicking the rock on the curbside, you reveal white stocking underneath your miniskirt you had to wear as it's part of the dress code. walking down the street near your old apartment. you stop by a convenience store, a familiar figure was leaning against the glass window. neon lights illuminates the figure. a smoke came out of his system.

his hair were longer, eyebags presents itself, he noticed you walking towards him. was that really you? he thought to himself. you wore a long coat, a mini skirt and a white blouse that hugged your figure just right and your hair, it's shorter now he didn't think you'd look that good in short hair. he knew you'd come back, though a bit longer than what he had anticipated.

your heels clicking against concrete, his eyes glimmering with hope as you get closer and closer. you clutch your handbag tightly. you stand beside him, leaning on the glass window before falling to your knees crying exhausted. aki removed the cigarette on his lips and crouched down to your level.

“i hate you but i don't have anywhere else to stay” you confessed, chin resting on your knees. “you have me. i'm where you're supposed to stay at” he said, hesitating to pat your back. as excited as he might be, he couldn't express the fact that his longing for you had ended the second you made eye contact with him.

you tilt your head towards him, “i missed you”

“come back to me doll” he say as he opened his arm far and wide waiting for you to fall into his hug to which you didn't take a second to do. you cried in his arms. you keep relapsing back to him no matter what you do. it's a bad habit yet you don't mind if you destroy your life chasing the never ending fire.

you took his hand and walk back to your forever home with him.

iii. relapse - intoxication

he kissed you incessantly on the way there, groping you all over your curves. as soon as the door closed he took your coat off and ripped open your blouse. buttons flew everywhere. still kissing you, his tongue explores your cave, one hand cupping your cheek, the other one fondling your breast. he broke the kiss for a moment to regain his breath.

“let me show you the way i love you dollface”

he sucks on your neck leaving a red mark, grinding his hardness on your exposed black laced panties. your skirt rode up to your navel, aki pinned you to the door. “mmm aki~” you cooed as he bury his face on the crook of your neck.

he picks you up in the bridal style to the bedroom. you sprawl yourself onto the sticky duvet, god knows what's making it sticky. ugh. your attention snapped back to the man who's pinning you on all fours. chills send down your spine as you're half naked. the room was dark. the only thing that illuminates the room was the moonlight.

“aki i know you want me but-” you paused, parallel to his hand that were fondling your mounds. “i'm here to crash not to stay”

“yeah yeah keep yapping angel i know you” his pepper kisses on your mound felt like a rapid fire. using your free hand you unzipped his pants, freeing his member. “you think you can leave me that easily? nuh uh baby. you're addicted to me” that cocky remark really did something to you because now your folds are soaked.

“shit we got hurricane katrina under here”

after cupping your pussy through your panties he felt how damp it was. he slid it down to your thighs. his index finger circles your clit, you writhe in pleasure, moaning loudly as he keeps torturing your clit enjoying the way you tremble in pleasure each time his plush finger flicks your clit. “ahn- aki!!” you screamed, at this point your neighbours probably has heard your unholy mewls.

he undresses you properly before opening his clothes. you two are naked now. he sat on the bed. leaning himself against the headboard, his cock twitches. aki looks at you, he waits in anticipation as you begin to lubricate your hand with your spit. you pump your fist around his member, he moans as you move your hand up and down. lowering your head, his tip kisses your plush lips. precum overflows, god you are heavenly.

aki is enjoying your sweet time, licking and kissing his cock, worshipping him. he's afraid this feeling might turn into a full blown addiction, he loves the whole thing, the 7 weeks, the emotional turmoil he felt when you left, and the happiness when you came running back to him. he loves your hopelessness, he loves that you're addicted to him, and especially he loves the way you're choking on his cock right now. “s too big akii” tears running down your eyes, yet you keep bobbing your head on his shaft. such a hypocrite.

“you're acting as if we've never done this before baby” he grabs a handful of your hair and slams your head down to his cock. spit and cum pools on your mouth and cheeks. “god you're such ah~” he moans “s-slut” you fasten your pace and sucking on his cock harder to stimulate him. not long after you change pace, thick ropes of cum spurt on your mouth “ffuck” his eye rolls in pleasure.

this was so long overdue, it was what you two needed after all. communication maybe the key to a good relationship but nothing beats a good sloppy head. “you're so pretty. fuck when was the last time we did this?”

“um like 6 fucking months ago? since you're so busy you just go straight to bed” you replied with a hint of annoyance on your tone.

“get on all fours since you wanna be a bitch” he smacks your ass before getting behind you waiting for you to get on all fours. “jerk” is all that you can say before his tongue assaults your folds. and all you can do is shriek in surprise before you melt in his mouth. he flicks his tongue, eating you out, making out with your pussy. his hands grips your rear end you're positive it'll leave a nice red mark in the morning. he pulls out with a hitching breath with a string of saliva being the only reason his lips are still connected to your pretty pink pussy. “god you're so sexy” he watched your trembling body from behind your only response was to pull his head back to your pussy. “you're awful at this aki” feeling challenged, aki enters two digit inside while he sucks on your clit you can feel him smirking when you tremble.

feeling your pussy tightens, he pulls out his digits, denying you the pleasure of cumming. he smacks your ass with his hand again.

“uhn aki why did you do that” you changed position into laying back

he didn't mutter a word, instead he spit on his cock, preparing to enter you. spreading your legs apart. he looks godly like this, with his hair down, sweat trickling down his toned abs, and the way he eye you down like a predator preparing to strike its prey. he smacks his cock on your wet pussy.

“were doing it raw tonight, ill make sure you're pregnant with my bastard after this is done” he said

while waiting in anticipation, you watch him as he spit on his cock, lubricating it so it'll slide easier inside your tight pussy hole. you felt your core burning inside. then he spreads your legs apart, his cock dangling, sticking on your fold. using one hand he guides his long thick erect member inside you. you hissed as he brute forced his way inside of you.

“fuck- that's it baby, take it all” he kissed your forehead before licking your tears away.

“ngghhh aki~ i can't take it anymore”

“shh baby, you're doing so good” he starts moving in and out of your pussy.

fuck, he needed this, more than cigarettes. listening to your mewls and looking at your hair sticking on your bare skin, you drooling, pussy clenching his dick tightly just like the way you hug him, you just can't let go of him.

and it took him all his fibre muscle not to cum right now. you scratch his back just enough to make him shudder in pain and pleasure. he definitely needed to make you a mama. wet sloppy sounds echoing in the small room, mixed with a faint sound of bed creaking.

“aki I cant- I'm gonna-” he cuts you off by sucking your tits. “ahhh fuck. aki I'm gonna cum”

his mouth left your nipples, “yeah you're gonna cum f’me baby?” he looks at you with those puppy eyes of his that he only showed you when he's lovesick.

“fuck name, let's do it together. get pregnant with my kids yeah?” he asks you hoping you'd let him knock you up. your mind was hazy as climax approached you couldn't think of anything else but cumming. “yes! yes aki! please make me pregnant!!” he thrusts deeper before finally feeling how tight your hole is, clenching him tighter by the second. hot liquid fills your womb while you squirt your cum all over his cock. you felt a little touch of death, aki fell on top of you, arms around your waist, cock still snuggling inside of you.

heavy breathing paced between you and aki. he kissed your eyelids, spouting praises and sweet talks. you've never felt so loved before. face buried on his neck you struggled to breath with aki on top of you, and only you can know how nice it felt to be so closed like this even when you're crushed under his weight. aki, noticing the way you struggle to breath moved himself beside you. he grabbed a cigarette from the mahogany table near the creaking bed, he reached for the silver plated lighter adjoining the pack. this habit of cigarettes after sex wasn't unknown of aki.

“i know you'll come back to me eventually” aki fires away his sassy remark while inhaling the fumes. hands extending to his, you reached for the cigarette that sits between the plush pale lips of his. it's your turn now.

“my landlord kicked me out” you confessed. “i don't miss you aki” but this was probably a lie, a snort came out of aki as he eyed you. smoke escaped your lips while you were spatting out those words.

“you needed me name” but maybe aki did need you too, maybe more than you needed him. it's ironic how akis now the one addicted to the burning sensation of you, things have flipped around.

“you're the one that's been babbling about me til now. let's talk about how you actually feel bro. but for starters, fuck you and all of your shits aki. i missed you” sigh escaped your lips

“i want you to need me like you need your cigarettes. i hate to admit this but i'm jealous of the devils you hunt everyday, i wish you'd dedicate your time to me the way you dedicate it to do your job that doesn't even pay you that good aki. is it that hard to do so?”

aki took the cigarette out of your mouth. he sat up, his digits traced your moon lit skin, separating baby hairs that sticks from your forehead. “atleast tell me how much you care about me aki” he laughed at that statement not in a mocking way, but in a playful way.

“im sorry for treating you the way i've treated you”

love can be as addicting as nicotine, it's craving as intense, and withdrawal will always be as painful as a heartbreak. and just like a smoker needs their fix, a lover needs love to fill the absence they feel.

he ruffles your hair, finishing his cigarette.

“thank you”

even when you know all these are just talk no substance, you still feel at bliss. aki himself smiled before he kissed you and one day you'll learn that love doesn't need to feel like a nicotine in the sense of it's addicting. and that sometimes, it's best to let go of the remaining cigarette before it reaches the end of the stick and burns your lips. but for now, bask in the intoxicating warmth and the overwhelming intensity because rehab isn't needed when destruction feels this good.

©️ zeninprincess 2024. reposting, plagiarizing, translating or claiming my works are strictly forbidden.

[artficlly]

a dish served cold (mini series - part one)

Wild West Marvel AU

outlaw!bucky x reader after the murder of your pa, you go on a journey to find justice. fate brings you to crimson junction for a reason, and that reason is bucky barnes. 

Warnings: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, violence, mentions of death, blood, mention of guns, alcohol, swearing, creepy men, period typical attitudes, outlaw bucky, protective bucky, bucky has issues, mention of robbery & crimes, mention of police (law), mention of flooding & drought, vague mention of animal death, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 3k

A/N: hiya! it's been awhile. i started a first draft of this story literally like a year ago? it's gone through so many changes to the plot (it was originally called queen of the gunslingers). this has been so refreshing and wonderful to write, i wasn't even sure if i was ever going to post it because western marvel au is so niche but i know a few people enjoyed me & the devil so!! this mini series is pre written so i'll be trying to post updates weekly as i edit. the series is sitting around 25k-30k words and will be 7 chapters long. if you'd like a tag list let me know. sorry for any typos - not proof read.

main masterlist | series masterlist

Rain was supposed to be a welcome sight. 

The inhabitants of Crimson Junction had been thankful for the blessing, a relief from the drought that had plagued them. The surrounding areas had been unceremoniously crowned The Dustbowl after seven years of no rain. Fierce winds had blown in, kicking up the dirt, sand, and dust, blanketing the surrounding areas. Crops failed to grow, animals suffocated, and homes were buried. Most left the area, choosing to abandon their land in search of fruitful and safe territories.

The canyons bled crimson the day the rains came; water mixed with the red soil and rock. The people of Crimson Junction celebrated, their prayers were finally answered. It was only as the valleys began to flood and the once barren riverbeds overflowed that the inhabitants considered the bleeding waters an omen. 

Those who lived out in the west were familiar with danger. Out in the open, death lurked everywhere. It watched from the desert, a darkness always lingering a few feet away. Death took on many forms—a bullet, a wound, a sickness—but when the rain came disguised as a blessing, no one was prepared for its wrath. 

Floods wiped away entire homesteads. Homes and countless heads of cattle were lost to the raging waters, swept downstream, and smashed between debris. Survivors, soaked and shivering in their nightgowns and nightshirts, gathered in the small crossroads town of Crimson Junction. Fortunately, the town had been spared, but it had become an island, isolated in a lake of thick, deep, red mud. Travellers and misplaced locals sought shelter, and the town came to life overnight. The canyons were unstable and too dangerous to travel due to the landslides and debris blockages, and with mud up to your elbows, it would be impossible to walk through, let alone lead a packhorse. So, you were all stranded, patiently waiting until the roads were cleared. 

It appeared fate had led you to Crimson Junction for a reason. 

The hotel attendant sighed as you descended the stairs of the rickety building, the older man muttering about the mud tracked in through the entrance. Even Crimson Junction had not been spared the sludge. The thick, red substance appeared to be a problem in every establishment in the area, gradually caked onto not only your clothes and shoes but also the flooring. 

You gave the attendant a shy nod of your head as you exited into the night. The chill of the night air bit at your bare skin, and you were suddenly grateful for the layers of skirts that pooled around your legs. The road so far had been hot and sticky, with layers of dust that clung to your skin. When it was not still and scorching, the winds would whip violently. Sand and rocks had pelted you, leaving your skin stinging and your hair tangled. The floods had allowed the temperature to finally drop below the pits of hell. 

You hesitantly depart the porch of the motel, the heels of your riding boots clicking as you lower yourself onto the street. Wooden planks squelched under your weight as they sank deeper into the sludge. The town had tried to combat the muck by laying out boards to traverse, but despite their good intentions, the wooden boards seemed to sink deeper and deeper with each passing day. The streets echoed something more akin to a pigsty than a walkable path. 

With the chill in the air, you hugged your arms around your bodice, still making sure to hike up your skirts to prevent them from dragging through the mud. Ever since finding yourself stuck after the rains, you had resigned yourself to your hotel room. You slept and read to pass the time, and your horse was boarded at the stables for a hefty price. But after days of waiting and your funds running low, you found yourself feeling rather antsy, your impatience growing the longer you waited. With impatience came risk and rash decisions, so, against your better judgement, you opted for a strong drink at the saloon to quieten your mind. 

The saloon was alive with music and chatter, with other stranded travellers slurring their words or in a state of undress despite the sun only having recently set. You expected many of them to have wondered into the establishment not long after awakening from whatever alley they had drunkenly stumbled into the night before. It certainly smelled like it, with clothing plastered in mud to match. The chaos allowed you to slip in quietly, finding an empty spot along the bar. You frowned at the coating of muck congealed onto the floor, a mixture of questionable liquids you did not want to identify. With a wave of your hand and coins slid over the sticky bar, you were content staring into space as laughter and singing broke out around you. 

Your peace was short-lived. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see a looming shape as a body slid in beside you. Your eyes stayed locked on your drink, only noticing the scent of whiskey and sweat clinging to the man. 

“Where have you been hidin’, Miss? I ain’t never seen a woman as pretty as you in these parts.”

You expected a lady such as yourself to be few and far between in these lands. Most of the folks who roamed this far into the desert were hardy, stocky, and rough around the edges. You did not fault them for it, but rather a sense of admiration for the determination it had taken to live through the seven years of drought. You were, arguably, a bit delicate in appearance. Though, it was a purposeful presentation. Pristine and shining among the filth. Your hands were smooth; there were no calluses or scars. Hair neatly pinned back, and a clean and tidy handkerchief knotted around your neck. Your skin was untainted by the sun, and your lips were unpeeled. Your dress, though not the height of city fashion, was impractical for such a lifestyle as farming or droving. The layers of fabric were orderly, with intermittent embroidery and lace. You had lived a comfortable life, and it was clear you were raised to be a wife and homemaker. Your Pa had worked hard to afford you such a future.

“Not from these parts.” You spoke into your glass as you raised it to your lips with an eye-roll. A gentle girl you might have been to your Pa, but he was not present. And you were not feeling particularly in favour of being pleasant. 

“Traveller, like myself. Guessin’ you stuck ‘cause of the floods too?” The man mused, leaning his forearms against the sticky bar. He shifted his body forward, craning his neck as if desperate to catch a proper glimpse at your face. 

“Somethin’ like that.” You respond dryly, unmoving. 

“Say, you interested in havin’ a good night, sweetheart? I got a room in the hotel over yonder if you wanna join me.” 

Grinding your teeth in annoyance, you jerk your head around to face the man.

“What do you take me for?” You snap at him. You take note of his greying hair and the locks thinning along his hairline. His beard, with uneven, yellowing teeth revealed by cracked lips, turned into a sneer. 

“I didn’t mean no insult, darlin’.” He starts, “I ain’t insinuating you’re an easy mark, sweetheart. Just knew I couldn’t let a catch like you go walkin’ out of here without at least tryin’.”

“Charmin’,” you huff. “Did you not consider that I would never want to lay with a dimwitted pest such as yourself?” As you speak, you can see his once-toothy grin harden into gritted teeth and a look of drunken rage wash over his features. 

"Well, ain’t you a quick one, huh?” He spits out, his body looming closer. Only moments before the two of you had been invisible, another set of bodies in the crowded saloon. As his voice began to rise, you could feel heads turning and eyes locking onto the both of you as the scene unfolded. “A fuckin’ tease, ain’t ya? Hangin’ around this bar all by yourself, askin’ for it. You tellin’ me a lady like yourself travelling alone ain’t some whore lookin’ for some attention?”

You roll your eyes once more, shooting back the last of your drink. Perhaps it would’ve been wiser to remain in your hotel room. Back turned, you begin to walk away from the seething man. In your brief moment of naivety and vunrablitiness, he wraps his mud-clad hands around your forearm, yanking you backwards towards the bar. 

“Now where ya think you’re goin’ now, miss? I weren’t done talkin’ to you.” He hissed into your ear, the stench of his warm whiskey breath fanning across your face. You began to lower your hands, reaching for your riding boot. Your fingers gathered your skirts, entangling themselves in the fabrics as you hoisted up the layers. Your hands drew closer to your knees, your back pressing into the hardwood bar, twisting your torso away from the man. 

A gruff voice quickly interrupted, drawing your attention away. 

“You know this man, ma'am?” The low voice asks. You glance over at it’s owner, a dark-haired man, and look him over with one sweep. 

The man was familiar to you, though he wouldn’t know you. Out of all of the towns you had visited in the past few weeks, there was scarcely any that failed to have his likeness plastered upon a bounty board. James Buchanan Barnes. Or Bucky, as he was more commonly known. The papers and gossip of fellow travellers spun a tale, one of a group of heartless butchers and thieves. He was wanted for a train robbery gone wrong in the south. A decent price upon his head, as well as that of his gang. From what you had read, the group had split in an attempt to lose the law. One had gone north, another deeper south, while Barnes had gone west. 

The posse of outlaws had been lucky, as the law had hurridly dismissed the chase; a different high-profile robbery had drawn their attention away. One they had prioritised more than the livelihoods of the lowerclass who had been on the train that day. Bounty hunters still pursued, but mostly the world moved on. Some Duke from Europe had been robbed while exploring the west too trustingly, and the story had become an overnight sensation. So Barnes and his companions had become a distant whisper, a sun-bleached and fraying poster behind a bar. 

But you had not forgotten Bucky Barnes. 

“No.” You finally choke out in reply, your hand raising back to thigh-height as you stand tall. When faced with a killer, you had anticpated a feeling of disgust, but instead a burning curiosity roared through your veins. 

Barnes lets out a slow breath, his eyes darting over the unwelcome man. Barnes was easily twice his size, with pure muscle and a wicked look in his eye. There was a charm to him, you supposed, in a rugged, dark-handsome stranger, saviour of damsels in distress type of way. Messy dark hair peaked out from beneath his hat; some pieces curled around the nape of his neck. Behind his dark lashes were icy blue eyes, with the crinkle of a smirk at the corners. Like many others, there was a hint of red earth dusted across his face, neck, and hands. The clothes covering his broad, muscled body looked well-worn, and his boots were caked in mud. You noted the two revolvers slung around his hips and a bandolier stocked with ammunition across his chest.

“Do you want to know this man?” He asks again.

You lift your chin. “No.”

“Good.”

Before you can react, Barnes has leapt forward, landing a solid upper-cut on the drunk man with a grunt. The room erupted into cheers and whistles as the two clashed, glasses smashing and furniture overturned in their wake. You stood frozen, fingers in a white fist around your skirts. There was the sickening sound of bones crunching beneath flesh, and blood sprayed in droplets across sodden floors. As quickly as it started, it was over. One of the bartenders promptly escorted the unruly man out as he seethed and yelled obscenities. The saloon crowd roared back, a pulse of excitement and adreline rushing through the saloon. Barnes put his hands up in surrender as the barkeep eyed him cautiously, but the barkeep inevitably backed off, returning to safety behind the bar. Barnes sweeps a hand through his messy locks, his eyes darting around in search of his hat, which had been knocked to the floor. 

Against your better judgement, you bend down, retrieving the hat. You brush some of the red dust and broken glass from the brim before handing it back to the outlaw. He places it solidly back on his head.

“I appreciate your concern, but you didn’t need to do that, Mr.” You tell him, and he shrugs. 

“If you say so.” Barnes goes to turn away, then thinks better of it. Sucking his teeth, he tilts his head, looking you up and down once again. His eyes linger on your hair, then your dress, before finally settling on your clenched fists. “You travellin’ alone, Miss?”

“I don’t see why that's any of your business, Mr…?” You trail off, fingers flexing as you force yourself to loosen the grip on your skirts.

“Mr. Clark. Benjamin Clark.”

A false name. Clever. 

“Right.” 

He chuckles with a shake of his head, tapping the bar for a drink to be sent his way. Exhaustion seems to embody his very being; fatigue hangs from his bones like his own flesh and muscle. He doesn’t seem to notice your analysing stare; his focus is instead drawn to wiping off the splatter of blood that had been spat in his face at some point during the commotion. 

“Look, Miss…?” He begins with a sigh, finally looking you in the eye. 

“Nellie Chase.” You lie through your teeth, watching him through your eyelashes. His tongue darts out, wetting his lips as he looks down at you. 

“Look, Miss Chase. I don’t know yer circumstances, but it ain’t safe for a lady such as yerself to be travellin’ alone, especially in these parts. I imagine you was just passin’ through like the rest of us, then got stuck ‘cause of all that rain. But, with men and women of all sorts all trapped up together like this… well, it’s bound to cause trouble. You’d be better to stay locked up in your rooms, Miss; it would be safer than roughin’ it out with this lot.” 

You hold back a scoff and instead opt to lift your chin. A smirk pulls at the corners of your mouth as you take a step closer to the outlaw, eyebrows raised and head cocked to one side. “Well, thank you for your wisdom, Mr. Clark, but I am perfectly capable of handlin’ myself.”

A glass of whiskey was now in his hand, and you coolly slid over a coin to pay for it before he could. He blinks at you in surprise, and you flash him a grin in response. With narrowed eyes, he swallows back half of the amber liquid. 

“I imagine so.” He lets out gruffly. “Where are ya’ headed?”

“Saguaro Basin.” 

“Saguaro Basin? Wha’chu doin’ headed that way? Last I heard, there was some bad business in those parts. Cholera and all that.”

“I’m goin’ to be married.” You make a point of flashing the ring on your finger, which is met with a half-interested grunt. He didn’t seem to question how garish it was or how the metal did not match the earrings dangling from either side of your head. Though you imagined, you could not expect a man to notice such details as a woman might. 

“Yer gettin’ married and yer husband-to-be ain’t even got the time to come get’chu himself?”

“Well, I imagine he is quite busy workin’, and it is such a long distance to get there and back. So he paid for me to take the coach, as it is supposed to be safer—” You cut yourself off with a frown as you notice his eyebrows raise. You clear your throat as you decide to shift the topic. “So, where are you headed then, Mr. Clark?”

“Same as you. West. Bit further, though maybe more Marielle ways.”

“Marielle… that’s…?” You trail off. You knew exactly where Marielle was, nestled deep into the western deserts and canyons. Once, it was the home of outlaws, whores, and rustlers. These days, it had been transformed into some sort of respectable town with the help of the law and the church. In fact, it seemed the now bustling town had grown in size from it’s humble beginnings and was becoming a hotspot of trade and business in the deep west. You’d heard mention of the fearsome prison that had been erected not two years ago, where prisoners were subject to hard labour while awaiting their sentencing. 

“Long past Saguaro Basin, that’s for sure.”

“Right.”

You were met with silence, but continue to pry. Would he spin a grand, elaborate tale just as you had done yourself? Or would he tell the truth—a raw, bitter confession of guilt to just another pretty, misplaced lady stuck in Crimson Junction? This was all rather exciting. 

“What brings you there? Business, pleasure… family?” 

“Business.”  

“What kind?” You dare to push further. 

“Not the type’a business a lady such as yerself would be interested in.” 

“How so?” You seem to be out of luck; as the outlaws patience had grown thin. You could practically hear the tension snap as he let out a low ‘hmph’, reluctant to answer the question. Your fingers dance across the sticky bar as you ponder if you should push your questions further, but Barnes had other plans. Taking a long swig from his glass, he finishes the last of his whiskey and gets to his feet. 

“Well, Miss Chase, I thank you for the drink but I must be goin’ now. And you should get back to yer rooms and keep outta’ trouble now.”

The outlaw did not stay long enough to hear your farewell, preferring to slink wordlessly out of the building. With a smile, you lean against the bar, motioning for the barkeep to get you another drink. 

Fate had led you to Crimson Junction for a reason, and how gratifying it was to know why.

PART TWO

[starcrossedlvvr]

So High School - Part 1

-> wanda maximoff x OG!character - high school AU

authors note: hi! this is my first story, so please bare with me 🙏 the story is inspired by taylor swift’s song 'so high school'. not proofread, because i’m too exited about posting. let me know how you like it!!

Part 1: The First Day

The sun was barely up when Jillian Walker woke to the shrill beeping of her alarm clock. She groaned, burying her face into her pillow, but the buzzing of her siblings outside her room quickly reminded her why she couldn’t afford to sleep in.

“JJ!” Louise’s voice came through the door, high-pitched and impatient. “Mom says you need to get up now or we’ll miss the train!”

“I’m up!” Jill shouted back, though she still didn’t move right away. For a moment, she let herself lie there, staring at the water stain on her ceiling and steeling herself for what she already knew would be a long day.

The beginning of another school year at Xavier Academy.

By the time she dragged herself downstairs, the chaos had reached its peak. Vicky was already in tears, Charlie and Benji were bickering over who got to sit by the window on the train, and their mother was pacing in the kitchen, muttering complaints under her breath.

“Jillian!” Her mother whirled around when she saw her. “Where have you been? I can’t do this by myself—help me get these kids moving!”

Jill bit back the sarcastic response that threatened to slip out. “I’ve got it, Mom,” she said instead, grabbing Vicky’s hand and shooing Charlie and Benji toward the door.

It wasn’t until they were finally on the train and the younger kids had settled down that Jill allowed herself to relax. She leaned her head against the window, watching the scenery blur by, and let her thoughts drift to the year ahead.

Her siblings would all be with her at Xavier now, which meant no more sleepless nights worrying about whether they were okay back home. But it also meant constant interruptions, endless questions, and no escape from the responsibilities that always seemed to fall on her shoulders.

At least she had Pietro.

As if on cue, her phone buzzed with a message:

Pietro: Back to the grind, huh? Meet me at the front steps when you get here. We’ve got to scope out the new kids.

Jill rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile. The first day of school at Xavier Academy was always a spectacle. The courtyard buzzed with activity as students returned from their summer breaks, hugging friends, hauling suitcases, and exchanging updates.

Pietro was waiting for her by the front steps, as promised, his signature cocky grin already in place.

“There’s my favorite genius,” he said, slinging an arm around her shoulders as she approached.

“You say that like you know any other geniuses,” Jill quipped, shaking him off.

“Fair point. Come on, you’ve got to see what Wanda’s wearing. It’s ridiculous.”

Jill’s stomach tightened at the mention of Wanda, though she’d never admit it. Pietro’s twin sister had a way of getting under her skin like no one else.

She didn’t have to look far to find her. Wanda Maximoff stood near the fountain, surrounded by her usual group of friends. She was dressed in a pale pink blouse and denim shorts, her dark hair loose around her shoulders. She was laughing at something one of her friends had said, her green eyes sparkling with amusement.

Jill hated her.

“Walker,” Wanda called out when she spotted her, a smirk curling at the corners of her mouth. “Still dressing like my brother?."

“Maximoff,” Jill shot back, folding her arms. “Still trying to distract everyone from your lack of substance with overpriced clothes?."

The jab landed, and for a split second, Wanda’s smirk faltered. But she recovered quickly, stepping closer with a defiant tilt of her chin.

“At least I know how to dress,” she said. “You look like you just raided a thrift store.”

“Better than looking like I walked out of a magazine no one reads,” Jill said coolly.

Pietro groaned, stepping between them. “Alright, ladies, can we save the insults for later? Some of us would like to enjoy the first day without a full-blown war.”

“Fine,” Wanda said, brushing past Jill with a dramatic flip of her hair. “See you around, Walker. Try not to bore anyone to death with your Shakespeare monologues.”

Jill clenched her fists, biting back a retort. She told herself it was anger that made her heart race whenever Wanda was near. Nothing more.

[deadboyfriendd]

Mele Kalikimaka

Summary: Just a little blurb I wrote to try and break myself of this awful rut I've been in for months! I even made a cute graphic! You accompany The Harringtons on their yearly Hawaiian Christmas extravaganza.

Content Warnings: Despite a lack of smut, all of my content is 18+, minors and ageless blogs DNI, Steve'd dad is a creep and inappropriate on a plane, Steve's mom is on substances, Steve feels bad about it, suggestive content but no smut.

To put it bluntly, the Harrington Family Christmas Extravaganza was a vapid and obnoxious display of money and status. Steve aptly apologized for this a seventh time this week. 

The head of the Harrington household pressed a crisp hundred into the hand of the mousy flight attendant, “For your troubles, honey.” He’d said to her, boldly, and in the presence of his wife– who had dosed herself well before the plane ride and followed the flow of the crowd with glossy eyes. 

“I’m sorry.” Their son would whisper, both to you and the girl on the plane. Eight. 

Honey sounded much different coming out of John Harrington’s lips than it did Steve’s– saccharine sweet and in abundance. You had learned this in the few times you had spent with Steve’s family, their rotating door of involvement in his life, even as an adult, still left an unease stirring in your chest. But they would never dream of missing the holiday extravaganza, especially not without their son. 

Hawaii was pleasantly warm this time of year, the blankets of snow that fell in heavy sheets back home replaced by humid air and soft white sand. The hotel was grand, you had expected nothing less from John and Martha Harrington. Creamy white tile artisanally chosen to match the sand surrounding the hotel expanded from the lobby to the outside curve of the grand entrance, where pretty women with olive complexions and long dark hair and pearlescent smiles waited for you with thick leis. 

Hawaii seemed like a far away dream. To Steve, this was just another year away from home. 

“Mele Kalikimaka.” The woman would say to you as she placed the lei over your head. 

“That means Merry Christmas.” He whispered through a kiss pressed to your temple, arm finding itself firmly around your shoulders. 

“I’ve also heard that song, Steven.” 

“I’m sorry, that was pretentious.” Nine.

It was an accepted fact that Steve Harrington was inherently beautiful, moreso in the presence of the beach. However, there was something about him, be it the remnants of sun bleached caramel in his hair a reminder of this past boating season, the soft petals of the lei pressed into the course curly fur that escaped the open buttons of his floral patterned shirt, or the almost unreal dew that formed on his skin and his skin alone, that stirred the silt that settled in the bottom of your stomach once more. 

The hotel room door clicked behind you, the flat plane of your back pressed against the cool composite. You watched Steve carry the bags in without exerting much effort, and you tried to picture the way his skin stretched over his back with each movement— even beneath his shirt it was so clear in your memory. 

“I’m sorry about them again. My mom is just so—” 

You rolled your eyes, pushing yourself off of the door with your own weight, arms folded in front of you, “Stop apologizing, Steve.” 

“They’re just weird and it's so embarrassing to be with them sometimes.” He closed the gap that existed between your bodies, pleasant heat radiating off of him even in this humid weather. He pressed his forehead to your shoulder, pulling your body into a tight embrace. 

You rested your forearms across his shoulders, twirling the overgrown lock of hair at the nape of his neck around your finger in a half-hearted figure eight, “Steve, their weirdness doesn’t mean I love you any less.” 

He pulled his head from your shoulder to look at you, hands still affixed firmly around your waist, “Do you think I’m weird too?”

“Yes.” You chimed, your faces growing closer. 

“Oh, really?” The smile grew quick and wide across his face, the early essence of crows feet creasing the delicate skin of his cheeks. 

“An absolute freakshow.”

[slothquisitor]

Invisible String: Chapter Sixteen

A Baldur’s Gate III Modern AU.

Chapter Summary: With the exhibition open, Liv can finally figure out how she feels. Here there be smut!

Read from the beginning.

Read on AO3.

______________________________________________________________

When Liv arrives at the empty apartment, she’s struck by what a relief it is to walk back into a space that is hers. And it still does feel like hers despite all the ways she’d worried it wasn’t anymore. She doesn’t regret leaving, but she does regret telling Astarion it wasn’t her home. Because it still very much is. 

There’s a familiarity in dropping into her own bed in her own room, in the quiet of the apartment. Astarion promised her time, and she intends to take it, but first, she needs to sleep. And then she plans to spend the entirety of the weekend in what she lovingly refers to as goblin mode: in comfy clothes and absolutely not leaving the apartment under any circumstances. 

She does this sometimes, especially when it feels like her social battery has run out. She enjoys a weekend hermitted up alone and ordering takeout and generally not having to interact with anyone. It’s been a long time since it’s felt like a need in the way this weekend does though. 

On Saturday, she doesn’t wake until almost noon. She hadn’t realized just how tired she was until she woke up to discover she slept nearly twelve hours. Several notifications wait for her from her colleagues, congratulating her on the exhibit opening. She’s also missed a call from her sister. All of that sounds like a good thing for Monday Liv to deal with. 

She goes about making coffee, reads a book, watches her baking show. Orders a truly unhinged amount of take-out that will keep her fed all weekend. And then she does the only sensible thing one does in goblin mode: binge-watches the worst romcoms she can find.

The problem with most romcoms, despite her love for them, comes in the third act break-up. Every romcom has them. It is the staple of the genre and important to maintain a cohesive plot structure in an otherwise too-quiet story since the tension of the romantic leads getting together, which holds an audience’s attention until the culmination of the romance, needs to exist in some other way. Now they’re together, what is the thing that is going to tear them apart? And how do they overcome whatever insurmountable odds the writers have placed for them and claim their happily ever after? 

Liv’s issue with the third-act break-up is just that all too often the conflict feels…contrived. I didn’t tell you I was writing an article about how to get a guy to break up with me. Going out with you was actually a bet, but then I caught feelings. All of my wildest dreams have come true, and I’m dating this actor guy but I miss my best friend. Or least likely of all: I matched with my roommate on a dating app, and he figured it out before I did, used it, caught feelings, and then came clean. 

So does that make her the ridiculous one or the fool who forgives an unforgivable offense too quickly or readily for the sake of a happily ever after? Is there real substance here or do the main leads simply have too much chemistry that the audience is willing to believe they can just work it out? Are they on the list of couples that don’t even make it six months past the events of the movie?

Is that what this is really about? Is she afraid that whatever it is they are won’t last? That a single month in and his confession has rocked her to the very core, what happens if she forgives him and they have more time…and it still doesn’t work out? What happens to her then?

Because it’s a lot easier to hold Astarion at arm’s length now, to put that distance between them. Her own family can’t find a way to love her, to choose her, so why would he? And in lying to her, hasn’t he shown her what he thinks of her? But then…he’d also come clean. Not because he had to or because she’d caught him in the lie…but because he values honesty. Because he wanted something real. And where does that leave her? What happens now?

There are a lot of people she could call to talk this out with, but she needs someone who will understand completely. So she calls her sister. 

“How was the opening?” her sister asks. She sounds terrible, already coughing twice over the course of the call and clearly stuffed up. 

“It was great, but that’s not what I called about…I can let you rest though.”

She hears muffled movement of the phone while her sister goes through another bout of coughing. “It might be annoying to talk to me like this, but please distract me. I’m so miserable, and I blame Erin completely.”

“Is she feeling better?”

“Yes, thank the gods. We’re the worst versions of ourselves when we’re both sick. So…what did you call about?”

And so she tells her everything: from joining the app to that kiss on the couch even telling her about Astarion being a vampire. She leaves nothing out, even the way she’d run out of the apartment the other night and the distance she’d kept from Astarion at the exhibition. She tells her about her fears and hopes and everything in between. And Brelia listens. 

“You know, if he’d been any less awesome about you asking for time, I might be more mad at him,” Brelia says. “I feel like his respect for your boundaries says a lot about how much he genuinely cares. He did fuck up, don’t get me wrong, but he is also trying to fix it.”

“Is it ridiculous to want to let him?” she asks. 

Her sister clears her throat. “Oh honey, no. You love him.”

She immediately goes to correct her sister, to realize…that she’s not wrong. She does love Astarion. 

“When I first left the family, I felt like I was wandering around with my hands up, ready to fight anything. I felt suddenly so strong, so able to advocate for myself. And I was utterly convinced that I wouldn’t put myself back into a situation where I was treated like that ever again. What I didn’t realize was just how fucking isolated that made me…made it impossible for me to connect to anyone around me.”

Liv knows exactly what her sister is talking about. “So what did you do?”

“I had to learn how to let people around me in. That also means letting them close enough to hurt you. But you know what I’ve always admired about you, Liv?”

Her sister admires something about her? “What?”

“Your capacity for hope. For seeing the goodness in the world and being good to people regardless if they deserve it. You’ve never let your pain define you, don’t let it shape this either.” 

“You’re very wise.”

“Thank you, it’s the cocktail of cold medicine coursing through my system. Don’t expect it every day.”

“I do appreciate you letting me talk this through.”

“I think this is what sisters are for, but can’t say I’m very practiced at it.”

“Me either.”

“Liv?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

“Love you too.”

When she wakes on Sunday morning, she feels like a person again. And unlike yesterday, the apartment feels empty. Astarion’s absence is everywhere. She wanders over to the open doorway of his bedroom, coffee in hand, leaning against the threshold. She misses him; it would be a lie to deny it, even to herself. She misses her friend and roommate. She misses the person who wanted to talk about weird theories from Crown of Shadows with her and set out her coffee in the morning so they could chat in the living room. The person who choked down food he doesn’t even eat simply because he wanted to spend time with her because he wanted to feel normal with her. She misses the jokes and the sarcasm and all of the ways he is the most high-maintenance person she’s ever known. 

 And yes, he had lied and obfuscated and it had hurt her. But he had also acknowledged it. Apologized, shown up when it mattered. Astarion is not her family, and it’s unfair to punish him like he is. 

He had called himself a bad draft with such utter hopelessness. And he’s not…like everyone else in the world, he is simply painfully imperfect. 

And at least now, she knows what to do.

***

“How am I supposed to do anything when I don’t know where I’m going?” Astarion says as his operator gets violently murdered in the video game Petras has insisted he play with him. 

“You’ll learn the map. Just look for people with red names over their heads and shoot them,” Petras replies. “Karlach says you walked off the edge earlier though, maybe don’t do that.”

Astarion bites his tongue because it’s not as if he can hear Karlach’s response anyway. He refuses to put on one of those ridiculous headsets like Petras is wearing and ruin his hair. So he simply can’t hear Karlach while they play. 

“Oh! I got a kill!” Astarion says excitedly. Had the person been mostly injured by another player? Yes. Did he still get the final shot? Also yes. That’s all that matters.

“Ayyyy. You’re gaming!” Petras says, but the tone is so patronizing he slaps his shoulder. 

“I won’t keep playing if you and Karlach make fun of me.”

The only good thing about couch rotting with Petras this weekend is that it keeps him from obsessively checking his phone to see if Liv has decided to talk to him again. He feels like his entire life is somehow hanging in the balance, and there’s really nothing to do but wait. He told her she could have time, and well, here he is, playing the most ridiculous white male military simulator…and weirdly having a good time anyway. 

Karlach and Petras are good at this game, moving with practiced ease and dragging Astarion along. He just likes opening loot boxes and gathering as much money as possible and hoarding all the good weapons even though he can barely win a gunfight in the game. He will grudgingly admit that he’s having fun, but he’ll never tell Petras or Karlach that. 

“Why are there no stairs in this house? I can hear a loot box,” Astarion says. 

“You’re looting right now? Karlach and I are fighting a team. Get over here!”

He shrugs. “No.” And keeps looking for a way up to the second story of the building. So annoying Petras and Karlach might be where the bulk of the fun is coming from. 

He’s a little disappointed when they all hop off so that Petras and Karlach can get ready for their shifts at the Elfsong later this evening. “You could come in tonight if you want,” Petras says. “Give you something to do that’s not watching your phone.”

Astarion tosses his phone aside on the couch. “I’m not watching it.”

Petras laughs. “You are, but it’s okay. She’ll reach out.”

“Eventually.”

Though how much longer is really anyone’s guess. Which means he’s stuck here for the foreseeable future. He finds he hates it less than he thought. Petras…isn’t the worst company in the world. He’s toying with the idea that maybe he should tell Petras that, but then his phone vibrates and he nearly leaps across the couch to see the notification. Even Petras freezes on his way to the kitchen. 

Liv: Are you still at Petras’s? Do you have some time to talk?

“It’s her…she…wants to talk,” Astarion announces. His chest feels tight like he can’t quite catch his breath. He’s already typing out a reply and doesn't care about how potentially desperate responding immediately makes him look. 

Astarion: Yes, of course. I’m still at his place. Do you want me to meet you somewhere?

“And?” Petras asks. 

Liv: I’m already on my way. I should be there in five minutes or so.

Despite having been waiting all weekend for this moment, he finds himself suddenly unprepared. She’s going to be here in five minutes? And then he’ll no longer be in limbo wondering what is going to happen to them, but what does that mean . Is it a good thing she’s coming here instead of inviting him back to their apartment? 

“Hi. Would love an update here…you’re just like…hyperventilating and we don’t even have to breathe,” Petras says leaning against the kitchen counter. 

Astarion stands up, unable to contain this sudden influx of nervous energy. “She’s on her way here.”

“Like right now?” 

Astarion nods. 

Petras looks around the apartment with concern. “We should clean up.”

It’s not as though they’ve really made a huge mess of the place, but Astarion’s bedding from the couch has been unceremoniously tossed on the floor to make room for gaming and there are empty glasses that were once filled with either booze or blood scattered across the coffee table. They immediately move into clean-up mode to make the apartment look a little less like Astarion’s personal pit of depression. 

A few minutes later, the place looks better and Astarion feels not even a tiny bit more relieved for that fact. “Should I go out front and meet her or…wait for her to knock on the door?”

Should he change his clothes? Should Petras be here for this? The questions all become quickly moot when there’s a quiet knock on the door. 

He and Petras stare at each other for a moment. Liv is here. 

He feels frozen in this moment, staring down the short hallway that leads to the door. Whatever happens next is either going to be very good or very bad. And he has no idea what to expect. 

“Astarion!” Petras hisses, and he’s brought back to his body. “Answer the damn door. Go!”

He nods quickly and hurries to the door, opening it to find Liv. She’s bundled up against the cold, cheeks bright from it. He drinks in the sight of her, unsure for how long he’ll be able to do so. 

“Hi,” she says with a tight smile. 

“Hi,” he breathes. 

Behind him, he hears Petras peek around the hallway. “Hi, Liv!”

She offers Petras a smile much less complicated than the one she’d given him. He tries not to resent it. “Maybe we should chat out front?” 

“Sure.”

He doesn’t need it, but he grabs his coat anyway, if only because it gives him something to do with his hands, and follows her back out into the cold, into the small courtyard in front of Petras’s apartment building. 

There’s a mixed sense of anticipation and dread. He wishes he knew whether he was walking towards the death of something or not. He wants to ask, but instead, he decides to wait, she’s clearly got some sort of plan, and…well, he’d follow her anywhere. Even out here. And he tries to make peace with the fact that this could be the end of everything and that maybe in a few moments, all he’ll have is the comfort that he did get to love her, and that will have to be enough. Because he does love her, but he wants her happiness more. Whatever that means for him. 

The silence drags on, but he’s aware it hasn’t really been that long when she turns and begins to speak. “Thank you…for giving me some space to figure this all out.”

“Of course,” he replies, stuffing his hands in his pockets so that she can’t see the way they’re shaking. 

“When you told me about the Weave…and I had to run through all those conversations and memories and pass them through the lens of that new understanding…it felt…it felt a lot like when my mother told me about my half-brother,” she explains. 

Oh, shit. He hadn’t thought… “I’m so sorry, I didn’t -”

She holds up a hand. “I know, and…it’s not your fault that it triggered those memories. You were wrong to keep that from me, and you could’ve just kept going on like that. I never had to know…but you value honesty too much.”

It’s funny to have spent so much of his life lying and pretending. Even his career is in some ways a bit dishonest, the way he hides behind a handle and can’t show his face. But she’s right, in this, with her…honest is the only way he can have it. 

“I should have told you sooner,” he says, gaze falling to the pavement. 

“Yeah, you should have,” she agrees. “But I forgive you.”

The vice grip on his chest loosens, just a bit. “You do?” He looks back at her, her green eyes are soft, full of an emotion he can’t quite place. 

She steps closer, not quite touching him, but it would be easy to close the distance entirely. He keeps his hands in his pockets, lest he does something to mar this moment, lest he’s read this wrong. 

“You made a mistake, but you’ve owned up to it. And I think you’ve been punishing yourself long enough. Don’t you?”

No. Not just for this…but for everything that came before it too. The years and the pain and all the ways that he kept himself locked up there. “Some days I don’t know how to move forward…if I’m even moving forward or just…walking in a circle.”

She nods like she understands, and he knows she does. “Do you want to figure it out together?”

“Yes,” he breathes. He wants nothing more. 

She smiles. “Good, I really miss my roommate.”

Is that all? He wants to be content with that…with whatever and however she’ll have him. “I missed you, too.”

But that is not all he wants to tell her, and he has waited too long and suffered too much to not at least try . “You are the single brightest spot in my life. You’re brilliant and funny and kind. Sometimes, I get overwhelmed just knowing that you exist. I love knowing how you take your coffee and that you watch baking shows when you’re stressed. I love getting to be the person you come home to every day. You’re the best roommate I’ve ever had, but I don’t want to just be your roommate. Liv…”

Her eyes are bright as she gently cups his face. At her touch, all words desert him. He leans into the gentleness she offers. “I love you.”

After everything? Even knowing every bit of darkness? All his secrets…everything he is so ashamed of? She loves him. And she wouldn’t say if it wasn’t true. This feels too big to hold. “I love you, too.”

“So kiss her already!” 

They both turn to look back at Petras’s building, seeing him standing at his bedroom window, head propped on his chin, unashamedly eavesdropping. He scowls and flips Petras off, but then Liv’s hands are back on his face and she’s pressing onto her tiptoes to kiss him and he forgets to be annoyed. 

Her lips are soft where they meet his, but he cannot help but deepen the kiss, arms wrapping around her and pressing her fully against him. She loves him, and he feels the truth of it with every press of her lips and gentle caress of her hands. 

Liv pulls away all too soon. “Do you want to come home?” Home. She’d told him that their apartment wasn’t home, but it is, for them both.

He pulls her back in. “Gods yes. You’ve no idea how dismal the shower pressure is here.”

She laughs into his kiss, and he thinks it might be the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard.

***

Liv books a rideshare back to their apartment after bidding goodbye to Petras. Despite his unabashed listening in on their conversation, Astarion had even thanked him for allowing him to stay there, and there had been some understanding passing between that she was glad to see. If nothing else, the events of the last week have shown both her and Astarion that they are not alone in this city. 

Still, it feels right to walk into their apartment together, falling right into routines and habits as if no time has passed at all. They hang their coats on the hooks near the door and she places her keys in the bowl on the counter. 

Astarion pauses as he enters the kitchen. “You cleaned.”

She shrugs. “Helps me think.”

“And what all did you need to think about?” he asks. Because he would need to know, to understand what kept her from forgiving him immediately, what kept them apart.

She steps closer to him and leans against the counter. He’d held her hand the whole way back here, as though letting go might mean she’d simply disappear. It breaks her heart a little to realize how tenuous this all must seem to him. She needs to explain this, explain it right. “That despite my knee-jerk reaction you don’t and have never treated me in the same ways my family has. For years, I minimized everything they did. I made excuses for the ways they treated me. And it was easy because none of it was outright abuse, no one hit me…no one told me to my face that I was unlovable or stupid or only worthwhile if I did something that they could brag about…It was easy for me to believe I was the one with the problem when faced with their utter indifference.

“So I made excuses and I minimized my own pain so much that when the next thing happened…I was always filled with so much hope it would be different this time that it all felt like fresh betrayal. Every damn time. Until I cut them out of my life, I didn’t realize just how…exhausted I was.”

His eyes are hard. “You deserve so much better than the ways they treated you.”

She nods. “I know. I know that now. If this past year has taught me anything, it’s that…they’re the problem not me. But I did allow it for a long time…so when you told me the truth…I was…I was afraid that forgiving you would be falling back into that same cycle. But it was unfair to you.”

“And I was unfair to treat you like someone who might discard me the moment I didn’t live up to expectations. You’ve always been patient…understanding…kind.” He steps closer, presses his forehead against hers. “We are…both of us…more than what others have made us.”

“I love you,” she says. The words come easier the more she says them, the more he offers them back. And the words are nice, but they have been telling each other how much they care in smaller, more subtle ways for a while now. She thinks the speed should scare her, but it doesn’t. It just feels right . 

His whole face softens at her words. “And I love you.”

“I’m in this, Astarion. All in. No matter the risk.”

He takes her hands in his. “I still don’t know what I’m doing. I might…hurt you again….even without meaning to.”

She squeezes his hands. “We’ll probably hurt each other, but that’s just part of being imperfect people. What matters is what we do every other day, not just the bad ones.”

“You make me feel like all the struggle might be worth it,” he says and then he’s kissing her, lips soft and insistent. Her arms are around his neck and he’s pulling her flush against him while backing her against the counter. They’ve been here before, kissing and touching and holding one another, but this feels different. There’s an undercurrent of need pulsing through them both, as though they’re trying to reach something in each other no one has ever found before.  

They are so often careful with the physical aspect of their relationship, but there is nothing careful about the way Astarion kisses her now, every touch a branding. He lifts her onto the counter, and her legs wrap around his waist, locking him there. Cool fingers ruck her sweater up, run over the exposed area of her stomach and waist before pushing higher to cup her breast through her bra. She is surprised as the sound it coaxes from her, the low neediness of the whine. He drops his attention to her neck, kissing and gently worrying the sensitive skin with his teeth while her fingers tunnel through his hair. 

He pulls back and they’re both breathing hard, but his crimson eyes are bright and alert, and so very present. “Your bed or mine?” he asks. 

“We don’t-” she begins only to be cut off with a fierce kiss from him. 

He pulls back just enough to brush his nose against hers. “I’m all in.”

And what a gift that is. “Yours.” And then she drops off the counter, letting him lead her to his room. She pauses at the threshold. “Not exactly interested in adding another roommate to the mix though, do I need to grab a condom?”

He smiles a little at her attempt at a joke. “I’m not interested in that either, though it’s less of a concern for me. Vampires…can’t.”

“Good to know…I’ve got an IUD, but I’m usually paranoid enough to use both.”

“Now that doesn’t surprise me one bit.”

He pulls her in, easing her sweater up and over her head before discarding his own shirt. She laughs as she nearly loses her balance trying to kick off her shoes and kiss him at the same time, and he’s smiling into every kiss too. This feels different than the night he drank from her, there’s a lightness to it, an absence of shame, still, she is careful in following his lead. 

He removes her bra and she is nearly undone by the press of skin against skin, the drag of her breasts along the smooth expanse of his chest. He pushes her jeans down and she steps out of them, already working at the button on his pants as he presses her down onto the bed. 

When he breaks away to kiss down her chest, tongue circling the peak of her breast, she stays watchful, looking for any sign or hint that this is too much. His gaze meets hers and reads the concern there. He crawls back up her body, and brings them nose to nose, the weight of him a solid press into the softness of the bed. 

“Stop worrying. I’m with you. Besides…I’ve had such plans since the last night we spent in my bed.” There’s no false confidence, no forced aloofness, just a naked earnestness that feels softer, more hopeful than anything he’s shown her before. 

He pulls away, kneeling on the floor and pulling her to the edge of the bed with him. He kisses the inside of her thigh, watching her with an obvious question in his eyes. Her mouth feels too dry to form words, so she simply nods and lets him pull her underwear away before burying his face between her legs. 

Her fingers clench the sheets as he licks her tongue toying at her entrance before darting up to her clit and white-hot pleasure courses all the way through her. It takes every ounce of willpower not to tighten her thighs around his head, worried what he might feel if she boxes him in. She’s lost for several moments in the movements of his tongue, drifting on the waves of slowly building pleasure. 

And then she feels his fingers move inside her and she nearly jumps at the sensation. “Astarion…”

“Hmmm?” he hums with amusement, mouth closing around her clit, the vibration making her see stars. Her hips buck uncontrollably at the sensation, and his fingers move inside her at a torturously slow pace, but all it takes is a flick of her clit with his tongue and she’s coming around him with a soft cry. 

His fingers coax her through the orgasm and when she gathers herself enough to look at him, she realizes he’s watching her with a soft, self-satisfied smile. She’s already pulling him to her, and he follows easily, discarding his briefs as he crawls up her body. She flips him as he kisses her, tasting herself on his lips, his hands in her hair. 

Now, there is nothing between them, just the coolness of his skin against hers. She rocks forward, groaning at the sensation of her swollen clit on his cock. He whispers her name and she breaks away from the kiss, only for him to carefully cradle her face in his hands. His hips roll below hers, and she shifts just slightly to feel his cock at her entrance. It’s tempting to simply sink down onto him, but she waits, breathing hard. 

One of his hands skates down her neck, over her shoulder, and across her waist. She shivers at the soft caress before he pulls her to him, his cock pressing inside of her. Fully sheathed inside her, he presses his forehead against hers, eyes falling shut. She kisses him, softly, tenderly and then they begin moving together in a broken rhythm. 

They move slowly as if this isn’t the first time but the thousandth, hands reverently seeking each other. Liv doesn’t forget the act of trust that this is, how preciously rare. He kisses down her neck, sitting them both up so he has better access to her breasts. He swirls one nipple with his tongue while his hand gently squeezes at the other, it’s all she can do to hold on as she moves in his lap. He leans back up to capture her lips in a hard kiss, his breathing stuttering as his hold on her tightens. 

“I’ve got you,” she whispers into his skin, reaffirming it with the press of her lips on his neck, his chest, whatever parts of him she can reach. 

He flips them in one fluid movement, rocking into her, hips picking up speed. He reaches between them, fingers brushing her clit, another orgasm building at her edges. She meets each thrust of his hips, the friction driving them both higher. The wave of pleasure rolls over her first, his name escapes her in a breathless whisper. He follows soon after, coming nearly soundlessly, arms tightening around her. 

He pulls back just enough to look at her, his eyes a little wide, but they remain connected, his softening cock still inside her. 

She brushes an errant curl out of his face. “I love you.”

He presses his face into her neck, breathes her in. “You are everything.”

And they lay there together, comfortably entwined for a long, long while.

[sleepyfan-blog]

Exhaustion

Author’s note: this is the second part of Sirass’ backstory! First. Next. I hope you enjoy the fic!

Tagged: @egrets-not-regrets @the-pure-angel @whorety-k @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan

Warnings: medical horror, child endangerment, child soldiers, child death, child abuse mention of brainwashing/indoctrination, Iron Warriors Aspirant Training, please ask me to tag something if it bothers you/I missed something

Summary: A look into the day of Aspirant Sirass, immediately post surgery.

Sirass woke up, as he did most days after his capture by the Iron Warriors, in pain. He gritted his teeth and breathed in through his nose, out through his mouth as he waited for the agony from the most recent surgery he’d been forced to endure. He heard a quiet sob from one of the other aspirants in the bunk above him. Part of him desperately wanted to reach out to his brother to try and comfort him… 

But Sirass was keenly aware of the fact that their captors were watching them most if not at all times. They saw compassion as a weakness. They saw kindness as pointless unless it was in service to manipulate others. If they were being watched, saying a kind word, or poking his head over the side of the other’s bed and trying to crack a joke, or offering a light touch to the shoulder or arm would get their entire squad beaten black and blue if they were lucky.

So Sirass forced himself to ignore the quiet sniffling and hiccupping from the occupant of the bunk above him, breathing through the pains of the surgery inflicted upon him. He’d been informed that it was another organ meant to make him stronger, better, faster. To turn him into an Astartes. He knew when the pain was at a level he could start to move at, as the aching, bone-deep ravening hunger in the empty pit his stomach had become started to gurgle and grumble.

The Iron Warriors aspirant looked at the chronometer and suppressed an annoyed sigh. He had an additional hour and a half before he and his squad would be collected for the morning meal…

Though to call the thick, porridge like substance filled with chalky vitamins and gods knew what else a meal was generous at best. It tasted awful, but it filled his belly up like nothing he’d ever eaten before. Sirass closed his eyes, muttering to himself the many if arbitrary seeming rules that he’d been told that sticking too would allegedly allow him to survive the trials ahead of him into becoming an Astartes.

Sirass didn’t necessarily want to become an Astartes, but he’d also been told that if he did survive and pass all of his trials, he would eventually be able to go back home. He might be able to see his mother again, which was the main hope driving him onwards. He’d heard over and over again how it was an honor for him and the others to be chosen to become Astartes. To Serve the Imperium of Man, to serve the Tyrant of Olympia in such a direct and honorable manner. Sirass privately thought that was a lot of groxshit, but he knew better than to say that out loud. 

Rebelliousness was severely punished. Dissension meant death - and often not just of the mouthy Aspirant who said unwise things, but those closest to his physical proximity. 

~

“GET UP YOU LAZY LAYABOUTS! IT IS TIME FOR FIRST MEAL AND TRAINING!” The training sergeant yelled as he kicked down the door, startling awake the nearly dozen aspirants who’d been sleeping in their bunk beds. 

There were startled sounds coming from the others, and Sirass had jumped in his bed as well, but he waited three seconds before getting out of bed, immediately turning to make it before standing at attention at the foot of his bed, hoping that he hadn’t bled through his bandages and sleeping tunic from the abdominal surgery he and the others had received yesterday. He’d be scolded for being messy.

The others slid out of bed at varying levels of coordinated and stumbling. The aspirant two bunks above him rolled off the edge of his bed and began to fall.

Sirass reacted on instinct, taking a half step forwards and catching the other before he could fall all the way to the floor, setting him on his feet as fast as possible, silently hoping that the training sergeant either didn’t notice, or didn’t care that had happened.

The training sargent swept past the two of them  without so much as a glare in their direction - which caused Sirass to let out a tiny sigh of relief, making sure to make as little noise as possible.

The brother he caught murmured a soft “Thank you!” Before going up on his tiptoes to make his own bed before standing at attention.

Two of the aspirants at the far side of the sleeping room hadn’t left their beds. They hadn’t even moved when the Sargeant had called for everyone to leave their bunks.

Sirass could understand why they didn’t want to move - his body ached from the surgery and he was so hungry he was shivering and felt a little weak at the knees and clammy. But such open defiance meant a beating.

The training sergeant stomped over to where the two unmoving aspirants were and looked at them both. There was a small sneer on his face “Weak. These two were week. Not enough Iron Within to handle the process. Cadet Sirass!”

“Yes sir!” Sirass called out, snapping a crisp salute the other’s way, ignoring the way that it tugged at his stitches.

“Lead this group of your brothers to the cafeteria. I will hold you personally responsible if anyone gets lost or the group loses discipline on the way to the grubhall. Understand?” The sergeant ordered.

“Yes sir.” Sirass acknowledged, swallowing hard. “You heard the sergeant. Everyone line up in two lines. Cadet Malix, you’re my second.” Several of the others looked at the unmoving Aspirants, but no one wanted to be accused of Questioning Orders and hurried to obey. That and Sirass suspected that they were just as hungry as he was.

~

The trip to the cafeteria was mercifully short and silent, though He had been forced to reprimand four of the others for trying to start an Unauthorized Conversation in the hallway of the massive ship they’d been training on. He wanted to know what was going to happen to the unmoving aspirants as they did, but as he was “in charge” of them, and cross-chatter wasn’t allowed in the hallways, he had been forced to maintain discipline. 

The hot sludge they were being fed today was greyer than normal, and the liquid that was too sweet-salty to be normal water was thicker as well. Sirass couldn’t find it within himself to care or wonder about the whys behind it, eating his position of food as quickly as possible. 

“I wonder why Umil and Shay weren’t moving… They’re going to be in trouble.” Malix murmured quietly, a worried frown on his face.

“They were the last ones out of surgery, yesterday.” Sirass responded quietly “And their surgeries took twice as long as ours. I don’t… I’m not sure…” While most of the time, if an Aspirant was going to die because of a surgery, they died on the table, not returning to the squad they’d been assigned to, from what SIrass had seen. But sometimes an Aspirant or two died in his sleep after being released from the butchers… Apothecaries… Who’d cut him open and shoved an additional organ inside of them before sewing them back up again.

“Ah. I… Oh.” Malix sighed, staring forlornly at his half-full bowl of sludge. 

“You need to finish eating. You know how they get when we don’t.” Sirass encouraged. “It’s best… Not to think about it. There’s nothing we can do.”

Malix huffed silently but nodded, morosely digging his spoon into the grey sludge, swallowing down another mouthful.  The two of them diligently watched over their remaining brother-aspirants for breakfast.

~

The only positives about the handful of weeks after a Surgery Day was that the physical training was less gods-awful, if only to ensure that they didn’t rip their stitches and bleed out over the training floors and waste the time and expense poured into them by the trainers and medical staff who were shaping them into astartes. The downside was during those weeks, they pushed the propaganda and indoctrination into How Amazing The Imperium Is and Serving The Imperium hard.

Sirass dutifully repeated the mantra of the Iron Warriors over and over again, to the beat that the training sergeant set, alongside his fellow aspirants. They would be doing this for another hour, before being told more Glorious Stories about the chapter, and the brilliance of their Primarch, Lord Perturabo. 

The more he learned about the incredibly powerful being, the less he ever wanted to be anywhere near the near-godlike being. He sounded equal parts tyrannical bastard and unholy terror, both in the forge and on the battlefield. All Sirass wanted was to be able to see his mother again, to apologize for not listening to her. He could still remember what she looked like, and the sound of her voice, at least…

He did most of the time. It scared him, the days when he forgot what his home had been like. To know that he couldn’t recall the color of his mother’s eyes. On those days he’d take out the purloined needle he’d taken and practice the stitches his mother had taught him on the blanket he had, or the inside of his clothing, making sure to undo it before anyone could see what he was doing. The needle wasn’t something he was allowed to have as an aspirant, and practicing a skill that would probably be seen as frivolous… Sirass did not want to be beaten for trying to remember the one person who had truly loved and cared for him.

Not in this place of blood and fear and misery. Sirass was fairly certain they were trying to beat all of the kindness and humanity out of him and his fellow aspirants. This one, small act of defiance was something that he was hoping he’d be able to have.

[borbology]

idk if anyone has asked this before but may i ask for some knight headcanons? specifically sword and blade,,?👀

YESSS I have been waiting for this ask! I have a lot of hcs about Sword and Blade that I'd love to share. GET READY FOR A LONG POST!

To start off, I have the post where I drew what I think they look like under their armor (I also birthed this cursed image).

First of all, and as much as I love them, I think Sword and Blade didn't get a big enough personality in the anime. If I were to describe them in my hcs, I think that Sword is generally the more chill one out of the two. He strikes me as the kind who is easy to hang out with, but he can be unexpectedly funny or stubborn at times. Sword is more gentle with the way he speaks, whilest Blade is bri'ish and has an ocassional potty mouth (says wanker and consistently gets away with it because no-one knows what it means). Because Blade has a harsher voice in the dub that somehow makes me want to make him the bolder one of the two. He's the one who's more likely to express himself. We gotta hear more of that hilarious voice afterall lol. In making his design I gave him his one eye that he has in the game sprites. I've really enjoyed drawing him very expressive so I decided to make him a creechur with big emotions.

I love thinking about how they interact with eachother. I see them as brothers. They've been through a lot, love eachother, but also get into shenanigens and bother each other sometimes.

Their relationship is both endearing and hilarious. Between the two of them, Blade is actually the older one -- I decided that because it's funnier if he's the eldest even though he's shorter. At this point they wouldn't know what to do with eachother. I think that they share a room next to Meta Knight's quarters, and that they have bunk beds. I actually have a sketch of their room that I want to finish someday soon.

As for their personal lives, it's important to me that characters have substance which makes them feel like real people, so when I make my own characters I always give them five things to help with that -- hobbies, desires, a favorite food and favorite drink, a birthday, and trivia (some little traits that have no real impact on the character in their story but still exist and are interesting). This is something I love doing and my autism always has me making lists/filling out self-made questionares for characters. I highly reccommend it, it's fun as Hell and a useful tool for writing character.

Sword:

He can play guitar and he likes music in general. Once I decided to give him antenna I thought it would be neat because bugs hear by picking up vibrations, so the vibrations of music are probably very pleasing. He also likes to watch sports because he has become quite athletic since training under Meta Knight.

He is happy with the state of his life but once he feels like the timing is right he wants to find a girlfriend. My man has been alone too long. Part of this is because he feels like he missed out on getting to experience relationships when he younger (due to the war). He'd like a girlfriend, but he's somehow embarrassed to talk about it and he worries how Blade would feel if he spent some of time with another person.

Sword likes comfort foods like macaroni and cheese. He enjoys the taste of ginger ale because it makes him think of the ginger beer they sold at home (whatever the kirby universe's equivilant to australia is lol)

His birthday is June 14th (I do have a system for how I pick chracter birthdays btw but I'm not willing to share it you just have to trust me)

For trivia, he likes cats, and he's allrgic to peanuts

Blade:

He likes to relax in his off-time and scientifically the best way to do this is by playing Animal Crossing, so I gave him an Animal Crossing town because I love Animal Crossing. It'd be funny if there was a game in the Kirby universe where you played as a cappy or something in a village of creatures like Rick, Kine, and Coo. He also likes to practice baking (he and sword said in the anime that they both always wanted to be cooks, but they were too afraid to tell this to meta knight. plus its fun for him to watch meta knight eat all the treats and still somehow try to deny he has a sweet tooth lol)

Blade, unfortunately, is British - which means that he, unfortunately, likes British food. He will eat beans on toast and make everyone around him uncomfortable. As for his favorite drink... peach nectar lol (bugs love sugarsugarsugar)

His birthday is March 9th (don't question meee)

For trivia, he likes dogs (its funny if he is a dog person while sword it a cat person). He's got just the one big eye so cats give him allergy. I also subscribed to the idea of him being trans because of the difference in his voice between the sub and the dub versions of the anime. Just this alone comes with its own set of hcs I won't get into here.

Lastly, I felt the need to dive into their history. Their backstory about being survivors of the war and having to resort to robbery to survive is so interestingly tragic and something I feel like people don't pay attention to enough when it comes to portraying them. They had to have homes and family and friends that they both lost before happening upon each-other and deciding that two is better than one when it comes to staying alive in the barren hellscape that they now roamed. I plan on making some art about this topic in the future so I'll leave out my hcs for now.

THANK YOU FOR COMING TO MY TED TALK FEEL FREE TO ASK QUESTIONS

[andydrysdalerogers]

The ABCs of Nick Vaughn - "I"

Pairing: Reader x Nick Vaughn (Before We Go)

Summary: Children its time to learn your ABCs. And Nick Vaughn is here to teach you the lessons. 26 glimpses in the world of you and Nick Vaughn

Warnings: S-M-U-T!!!! (under 18 please leave the chat!) descriptions of sexual activity including some themes of BDSM, loss of virginity, fluffy bits, pet name etc...

A/N: The new upload will probably be Sundays and Thursdays. Have fun kittens! Also, the tag list is open!

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS. Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Previous: H - Hair

ABC Masterlist - Main Masterlist

I - Ice Cream

Calling Nick from your office, you twirl around in your chair, waiting for him to pick up.  

“Hello?” 

“Hi baby!” 

“Hey sweetheart. How are you?” 

“I’m good. Just making a shopping list. Anything special you want?” 

Nick chuckles.  “No, not really.  Maybe some ice cream since it's warm out.”  

You hmm in agreement and a wicked thought crosses your mind.  “Sure, I can get some ice cream.” 

Once at home, you store your purchases as Nick walks through the door. “Sweetheart?  I’m home.”  

“Hi baby!” You walk over to greet him with a kiss. “I ordered a pizza.”  

“Great! Too fucking hot. Eighty-nine in April is ridiculous.”  

You giggled. “Agreed. Should be here any minute. Oh, and I got your ice cream. And toppings. I figured we could make sundaes.”  

Nick nodded. “Sounds like a plan.” He flipped on the TV, a hockey game was on. He’s distracted now, which helps in your plan.  You went to change, slipping into a black lace number but covering yourself with one of Nick’s soft button downs.  You hear the pizza guy at the door and Nick greets and pays him.  

You come out and Nick is still not paying attention.  You huff slightly, grabbing two beers from the fridge and the can of whipped cream.  You plopped yourself into the big armchair and grab a slice, your bare legs dangling from the side. You both finished dinner, and just as the third period started, you grabbed the whipped cream can and squirted some in your mouth.  

Nick finally glanced over and sputtered in his beer as he saw you in just his shirt, swallowing the creaming white cream from the can.  “Sweetheart?” 

“Hmm?” You didn’t take your eyes off the screen, watching the puck go back and forth. This caused you to miss Nick moving behind you until you felt the tips of his thick fingers ghosting over your collar bone. You sigh at his touch.  

“You said there was ice cream for dessert?” 

“Mhmm,” you reply as you raised the can to your mouth. But before the sweet creamy substance could be dispensed, Nick snatched it out of your hand.  “Hey!” 

Without any words, Nick hauled you up and over his shoulder. “Nicky!” He set you down on the counter of the island and stands between your legs.  Nothing is said, just his heated gaze on you.  He starts to unbutton his shirt, slowly, his skin never contacting yours. Your breath hitches as he reaches the last button, and he glimpses at the black lace.  

You watch as his pupils diolate a little more.  He grabs the can and squirts a little over the swell of each breast and then licks it off.  You moan at the sensation of his tongue over your body.  When he was done, he reached for the chocolate sauce.  

“Baby, what are you doing?” 

“Making a deconstructed ice cream sundae.”  He undid your bra and made you lay back.  He poured some chocolate over your nipples and began to suck it off, making your arch and moan.  He stopped and went to the freezer to grab some good old fashion vanilla. Your chest was heaving as he grabbed a spoon.  He scooped up a dollop of the cold dessert and dropped it right in your navel.  The cold burn and you hissed.  Nick chucked but bent to eat the ice cream up.  

“Oh god, Nicky,” as he begins to peel your panties away. He grabbed the chocolate once again and poured a little at the top of your mound. He licked it off, dipping towards your clit at the end. You squealed at the sensation. Nick lapped at your slit, your taste mixing with the chocolate in his mouth.  

It was torture but now you wanted revenge. 

Quick as a flash you were on your knees in front of Nick, tugging at his belt and pushing his slacks down as far as necessary to let his glorious thick cock spring out.  You grabbed the can of whipped cream and sprayed a little on the tip. With your eyes on his, you licked the tip.  

Nick’s eyes rolled to the back of his head, and he let out a loud moan as you sprayed a little more along his length and proceeded to lick it off. The cream is mixing with the precome leaking from him, making a new delicious flavor. Ice cream would be a bad idea on this part of his body but the chocolate, well, it would make a fine reason to lick his balls.  

Nick was ready to blow after you sucked the chocolate right off his balls.  He couldn’t wait.  He picked you up and set you on the kitchen table.  You were still sticky with ice cream, but Nick couldn’t give a shit.  He lined himself up and slammed into you. You screamed at the force, but Nick was in a carnal state, needing to fuck you hard and fast. He drove in, over and over as you wailed his name.  He needed more, so he picked you up again, never disconnecting and got your onto the couch, draping himself over you. Your bodies are slick with sweat and sticky from the ice cream.  

“Fuck,” Nick says, “I love ice cream for dessert.” You can’t help but giggle and then moan as Nick drives her to the ending.  

“Nick, oh, god, so close.” You grasp your nails into his arm. The pain is the perfect catalyst to get Nick to the end.  

“Come for me,” he orders.  

It sends you over the edge, prompting Nick to release as well.  

After cleaning up, you were resting on the couch when Nick appeared in his boxers, holding two bowls.  You looked up at him curiously.  “I made you a sundae.” You snorted with laughter and took the bowl.  You took a bite and made a face. “What’s wrong?” 

“Doesn't taste the same without the under taste of your cum.”  

Nick chokes.  

Next

taglist

@patzammit @slutforchrisjamalevans @jennmurawski13-writes @firephotogrl74 @texmexdarling @tinkerbelle67 @atoosa22

[crisalidaseason]

Panic: Dating a demigod

Summary: Carter Kane and his turbulent, chaotic and dangerous life while also dealing with the fact he is in love with a demigod.

Chapter 1: Hello, stranger! I'm here to help!

Pairing: Carter Kane x Original Character (She/They) CW: Blades, fighting monsters, mentions of wounds, cursing

Carter enjoyed watching people. While his father disappeared into yet another dark hole within an archeological site, the Kane boy would either read until his eyes hurt or just watch the people around him - even if they were merely a few researchers. On countless waiting hours at airports or harbors, Carter would watch the ordinary people go around with their daily routines, somewhat missing what he did not remember having: steadiness. As much as he enjoyed his chaotic life with his father, sometimes all he wanted was to have a boring normal life: school, homework, playing outside, doing chores and then sleeping, just like the other kids he saw in countless cities. The habit of watching people stuck with him, even when his life settled - if you could call it settling - in Brooklyn. On the rare weekends off Sadie would force him to take, Carter would go for a walk and carefully watch people around him, some late for work and others going for a run or having fun at the local parks and squares. 

It was peaceful, most of the time.

One particular Saturday, he was already returning to the nome, crossing the square to avoid the busy sidewalks, when he felt it. A vibration on the ground that he knew was nothing ordinary, magic felt different than a simple earth tremor. Carter was already used to trouble out of the blue, but something about the way his entire body went into danger mode felt…different. He stopped walking and watched his surroundings, lifting the mortal veil easily from his eyes. A commotion about forty meters away caught his attention. It seemed to be an abandoned and undone building, but the eerie teal light flickering inside stirred the regular gray and black of the old construction. Carter - with the wonderful hiding advantage of the mortal veil - summoned his weapon and walked in the direction of the building. Hopefully, whatever was inside did not cause much trouble and he would still return home for lunch.

Oh, was Carter mistaken.

The blast of green- or whatever that green like flaming substance was - almost hit him in the head. He ducked again behind a pillar, breathing heavily and trying to find an easy way to slay that snake/dragon. His sword was stained with a dark blue, he had managed to strike the unfamiliar creature a few times, but nothing lethal. 

“I told you to go the fuck away, now the thing is angry!!” they scolded him.

Carter was usually immune to people scolding him in battle - he had a very grumpy sister after all - but he would be lying if he said the stranger did not make him upset. He entered the building a few minutes ago, just to find a girl almost getting blasted by the creature. All he did was jump to action and try to help her, but apparently that was wrong! She was hiding in the pillar next to his, her blue and orange hair all messy and a few bruises and cuts on her arms and face. The creature hissed again and swung its tail in their direction, which forced them to leave their only shelter and run away from the debris. Carter and the girl tried to hide in yet another room.

“If it keeps breaking things the structure will collapse” Carter said “What do you know about this thing?” 

“Nothing! I never saw this thing before” she yelled at him.

Carter knew nothing either. The creature was unfamiliar. It had a triangular head, encased with something hard that resembled a helmet. The body was snake-like, green and teal, with small limbs and a spiky tail. 

“I think the head might be a weak point” the girl managed to say before the monster broke into their hiding spot. 

Carter dodged and swung his sword when the creature tried to bite him. He managed to cut it on its neck, but the scales were too hard to do any significant cuts. He could always do magic, but he had a feeling it would not work properly. Either way, he took his curved wand and quickly drew energy in the air. The spell glowed and suddenly exploded on the creature’s face - just enough for Carter to circle the monster and try to cut its neck on the other side, maybe under the strange helmet.

“Tail!” the girl screamed and he dodged just in time for the tail to swing by his head, causing cracks on the wall. 

He tried to hit under the helmet-like structure, but it was a risky move and he could get crushed. Before Carter could actually commit to anything, the girl jumped above him and he almost went blind with the blast of light that came right after. For a while, he could not see anything, his vision had spots because of the strong stimulus. When he could see something, the snake was struggling to move accurately, just wiggling around and swinging its tail. The girl was in front of him, making strange and quick gestures with her hands before throwing another punch in the air. Amber and lilac flicker of lights exploded from her punch and whatever that was, it made the creature dizzy once more. 

That was his opportunity.

Carter ran, dodging the frantic tail, until he could strike his blade right in the creature’s left eye. His blade successfully ran through the creature’s head, enter and exit wound. He twisted the blade for good measure and took it out. The creature died instantly - he thanked Horus silently - its corpse dissolving in a strange gold and yellow sand. 

“Shit” he heard the girl behind him. 

Carter immediately ran to her when he noticed she would collapse on the ground. He held her by the shoulders while laying the unconscious body on the ground. Her track pants and plain t-shirt were black, making it difficult to see it she was hurt, Carter successfully scanned for any injuries, finding nothing worrying externally. He was no healer, but he learned enough from Jasmine to handle himself in an emergency. With his right hand above the girl’s frame, he closed his eyes and scanned her for any internal injuries, which thankfully were none. Upon doing this, he felt his fingers prickling with the unfamiliarity of her essence, as if his magic knew she did not belong to his world. 

A demigod? It could be. He knew a few of them. 

Carter pulled his phone from the duat - after the third broken-in-battle phone, he never put it in his pockets again - opening his sister's contact to send her a message. He was almost sending it when the girl suddenly took it from him.

“No phones!” she struggled to say “dangerous!”

He suddenly remembered Percy saying something about it and almost hit his own forehead. There could be more monsters around. He sent his phone to the duat once more.

“Sorry” he said “I was going to ask for medical help-”

“No” she said, trying to sit up.

Carter offered and she accepted a helping hand. Now that he could see her better without the looming danger of snake-demonic creatures, he noticed that her athletic frame was trembling horribly and her skin was visibly pale. 

“I really think you should-”

“Hey, I said no” she reinforced “but if you want to help, there is a blue bag somewhere outside” 

It was not long before he found it and brought it to the girl. She took a regular plastic container from it and ate two pudding-like cubes. He looked at her with worry explicit on his face, she did not seem less pale or shaky. 

She has an interesting face, he thought to himself. A thought he tried to shove away quickly. Even pale and tired, her features seemed to draw him to her. I DO NOT have time for this!

“I know” she said “but it helps, just don’t ask me how”

He shook his head, trying not to distract himself. 

“Are you sure the -uh- pudding will heal you? You’re pretty drained” he tried.

“I’m gonna be okay” she insisted “You can go”

He felt bad at just leaving her there, but if she did not want help there was nothing he could realistically do. It seemed she noticed his conflicted thoughts.

“Look” she sighed “It’s best if we pretend we never saw each other, this smells of trouble” 

Carter understood without her saying it explicitly. It was like Percy all over again, two worlds colliding. It was best to keep interactions at a minimum. With his own morality screaming at him, Carter nodded and sent his sword away, slowly backing away to the building’s entrance. 

“Hey” she called and he turned.

Her face was gaining color again, despite the visible tiredness. He had to concentrate harder to listen to her next words. 

“Thank you” she said “I’m sorry I got mad before, I just…panicked”

He nodded, a small smile on his face. 

“It’s nothing, really. Glad I could help” 

With that, he left the building. He looked back one more time, still feeling guilty for just leaving her there in need of help, but walked back to the nome nonetheless - believing he would never see the stranger again. 

[trashyocstash]

chapter 8, this one has some slight NSFW references, but nothing explicit

chapter 1 chapter 2 chapter 3 chapter 4 chapter 5 chapter 6 chapter 7

Though Lily had been spending her time caring for Phantom Blot, she still had a job that she couldn't afford to miss. She had to return to working at Minnie's boutique, and as she was getting ready to do so, Blot watched her.

She gave him a worried face, “Will you be alright?”

He smirked, loving her concern, “Don't worry darling, I’ll be just fine.”

“Remember to periodically put ice on your bruises, take aspirin and only eat soft food,” She reminded him.

“I know I know..” Phantom Blot chuckled.

Lily placed her hand on the doorknob, “I'll see you after work.”

“I'm looking forward to it,” He waved goodbye, keeping his gaze on her as she left.

Now that he was alone, Blot decided to go back to watching the neighbourhood. After all, he wanted to keep an eye on Mickey.

Peeking outside the living room window, he saw Mickey on the sidewalk outside and was able to overhear him.

“I have to find out what Phantom Blot is planning. I know he has something up his sleeve, I know it. And he's not going to get away with it.”

Phantom Blot chuckled, Mickey had no idea what was coming.

—--------

At the boutique, Minnie couldn't help but be curious, “How did things go with Mason?”

Lily frowned, “He hasn't called or texted me in a while, even though I've been trying to talk to him. I thought the date had gone well but..I guess not..”

She hated to lie, but she couldn't tell Minnie that she was harboring the Phantom Blot at her place and that's why Mason had ghosted her. Lily knew she wouldn't react well, and was terrified of being judged and hated over it.

Minnie sighed sadly, “I'm sorry, I had no idea things would go badly. He seemed so sweet.”

Lily gave her a reassuring smile, “It's alright, you and Ortensia couldn't have known. And well, it's the thought that counts. I'll find the one for me, one day.”

Minnie smiled back, “I know you will. Whoever you'll end up with will be a lucky guy,” She decided it was best to change the subject, “When would you like for Mickey and I to paint your house with you?”

Lily paused and twiddled her thumbs, “Um..I'm not sure, do you mind waiting?”

Minnie was confused, “Uh, yeah I don't mind.”

She wasn't sure why Lily was acting so strange, it wasn't like her. Was she hiding something? Minnie didn't know, but she wanted Lily to feel comfortable telling her things.

After Minnie agreed, the two continued working. Minnie looked back at Lily, who was acting like herself again as she put clothes away, and hoped everything would go well for her.

—-----

Meanwhile, Mickey had been doing investigation work on Phantom Blot. The long absence he had taken and the ink-like substance he had used when robbing the art gallery were suspicious. Something was up.

This work led him to a criminal that supposedly had information on what Phantom Blot was doing. Mickey met up with the criminal, a cat, in a dark, foggy alleyway.

“Yeah I know what happened with him..he got into a fight. And it was..bad..the other guy was hospitalized. I heard he got shot, had his ribs crushed and had been scratched and bitten. But no one has seen Phantom Blot since then,” The cat explained.

Mickey's eyes widened, a sense of fear and dread washed over him, “No one? No one has a clue about his whereabouts?”

“Nope. It's not the most unusual thing with him, but still, disappearing after a dangerous fight like that?”

“Well..do you know what the fight was over?”

“Also nope. The few guys who had shown up to talk with him claimed the details were meant to be kept private, until the time was right.”

That made everything even more suspicious, and confirmed in Mickey's mind that something was indeed up. Now that he knew Blot was missing, he intended to track him down.

—--------

After a day of work, Lily returned home. She didn't notice Blot when she arrived and called out for him, quickly getting a response.

“I'm in the shower.”

“Alright!”

She placed her purse down and blushed, her mind wandering to imagining him naked..and wondering how big he was before she quickly stopped and mentally scolded herself for thinking such things about him.

Lily sat on the couch and put on a TV show to try and ignore her lewd thoughts. But her sensitive hearing meant she couldn't ignore the sound of running water, no matter how hard she tried.

As for Phantom Blot, he felt he had needed this, as the warm droplets of water soaked his fur, trailing down his body. Any tension he'd been feeling drifted away.

It was comfortable and relaxing as usual to be surrounded by reminders of Lily, with the green shower curtain and wallpaper, the pink bath mat, the flowery towels, a painting of a forest on one of the walls and the feminine hygiene products on the shelves of the tub. As it was just her usually, she had nothing for men, but that was fine with him. He was the kind of man that was very secure and confident in his masculinity, his goth proclivities had led him to wear black eyeliner and lipstick on occasion too, he felt no sense of emasculation about it. And well..it still worked didn't it?

Being alone like this allowed him to dwell on his thoughts. After Phantom Blot had taken the time to heal, he was going to resume his plans. When it was all over, he intended to get everything he ever wanted: all the money he could ever want, world domination and Lily..right there by his side, as his queen and the mother to Phantom Brat. Every moment he spent with her only made him want her more, and reinforced how good of a mother she'd be to his daughter.

When he was a little boy, he’d read tales of gallant knights and wise kings, and it always made him wonder what it would be like to be a king himself and to rule over a kingdom.

Now, he was finally going to have that kingdom.

Soon, he finished his shower and dried himself off, before wrapping a towel around his waist. He picked up his clothes and headed downstairs, making his way to the laundry room.

Lily caught a glimpse of him and her face turned a bright red, “Blot!”

He heard her and stopped, turning his head towards her, a devious grin on his face, “Just going to get these cleaned up, dear.”

Lily watched as he resumed walking, her mind racing seeing him in just a towel. She knew he was messing with her on purpose too.

Phantom Blot returned and sat on the couch next to her. Lily was desperately trying to ignore her thoughts and embarrassment, she had to distract her mind with something else. Luckily for her, she soon thought of something.

“Do you..want to get take out and have a movie night together?”

He smiled at that, “Sounds perfect.”

After she ordered the food, Phantom Blot spoke up, “I missed you.”

It felt strange, admitting any kind of vulnerability. But Lily was kind, it was easy to talk to her and trust her. It was also far easier to admit that he missed her than anything more personal.

She blushed, “I missed you too.”

He pulled her closer for a hug, both their tails wagging in response. Though, Lily also couldn't ignore her face being pressed against his chest, making her blush deepen.

After he pulled away, she tried to regain her composure and put on Pawflix, “So um..what do you wanna watch?”

Blot shrugged, “Not sure, you can pick.”

Lily scrolled through the different options, before landing on one, “Oh! What about this one? I loved watching it growing up. It's supposed to be like a classic fairy tale, where a knight has to rescue a princess from an evil sorcerer bent on taking over the world.”

He was more than happy to indulge in the things she enjoyed with her, and gave her a grin, “Sure.”

As they watched the movie together, Lily noted Blot being annoyed by the knight character, with things like rolling his eyes and calling him a goody two shoes, making her giggle. It was also clear the sorcerer character was romantically interested in the princess, and Blot was supporting them getting together instead of the knight and princess.

During the movie, Phantom Blot left to get his clothes from the laundry and came back wearing them. Lily was saved from the shyness she felt at seeing him in just a towel, but he was still walking around with no top under the jacket.

The food arrived too, and they happily started eating together. She'd made sure to order some soft burgers and fries, for his sake.

Phantom Blot was used to eating fancy food, the expensive kind the average person could only dream of having. But he didn't mind this, he enjoyed it, in fact. He enjoyed being here with her, in her cute, cozy house where she was able to lead a simple, average life. Blot was raised to find all this beneath him, his parents expected him to eventually marry a young woman from a wealthy family like theirs, prim and proper, and to continue the family legacy with her.

Instead, he'd gravitated towards Lily, a woman from a different world than his own, who could only dream of the luxuries he'd always known. It wasn't a purposeful act of rebellion, but he embraced it as one.

The two continued to watch the movie. There was a scene where the sorcerer promised the princess that they could rule the world together, but she rejected him in favour of the knight.

Blot scoffed, “She has no taste, either that or he needed to do a better job convincing her, I know I would.”

Lily giggled, “Would you?”

He nodded, “I would talk about everything power gives you, stress how valuable it is, how many would kill and die for it. And I would promise to give her everything she wants.”

“You're missing the most important thing though: love. You won't want to agree to be with someone unless you love them,” She countered.

He dwelled on her words, and it made him think about his desire to make Lily his queen. Hopefully when his plans were fulfilled, she would be in love with him. But he didn't doubt she would.

“Well, guess he needed to be more charming then. But no one matches up to me,” He gave her a flirty wink, making her blush.

“You're right about that,” She replied shyly.

Lily truly did enjoy being around him. She thought about how he brought out the best in her, and a key thing she had noted was that he revealed a more bold side to her. She could disagree with him and he wouldn't mind. He could make her angry and she'd never hesitate to show it. It wasn't like with Cody, where he'd make her afraid to express anger, and once she tried, he'd hit her.

But Phantom Blot let her be angry, he never expressed disapproval, and she was grateful for it. Perhaps it helped her be so open with him overall.

Cody had made her lose parts of herself that she was slowly gaining back thanks to her friends, including Phantom Blot, and she was grateful for it.

Once the movie finished, they went to watch more together. The two ate their food, laughed and poked fun at any bad movies they came across together.

At some point, Phantom Blot managed to convince Lily they should put on a horror movie. It was all a ruse to get her to snuggle up against him..which worked.

In her frightened state, she also wrapped her arms around him and leaned her head against his. He was very pleased to see her leaning on him for protection. It reminded him that that pig he fought had brought her up, so there were probably more people outside those he was affiliated with who knew of Lily. If anyone dared to try and harm her, there would be hell to pay.

Eventually, Blot glanced at her again and noticed that she fell asleep on him. They'd been up watching movies for a while so it was only natural she'd get tired.

He smiled at the sight, she looked so peaceful, beautiful and adorable. Phantom Blot decided to let her stay like that and rested his head on hers, soon falling asleep with her.

—------

In the morning, Lily's eyes fluttered open and she looked around, before noticing she had fallen asleep on Phantom Blot, his eyes still closed.

She was flustered, her face red, but she quickly realized that she had gotten the best sleep she'd had in a while, and she knew why.

It was because of him.

That must've been why, on the first night he'd stayed with her, she had gotten a good, long rest too. Her mind must be taking comfort in his presence, seeing him as a source of safety and security.

Of all people, the Phantom Blot filled that role for her.

Lily reasoned with herself that it did make sense; he'd never hurt her and she knew the worst things he was capable of, he had nothing to hide from her. She knew he was strong, she'd seen him fight Mickey, even though he lost, and he'd gotten into that fight with the pig. If she ever needed his help, she knew he'd give it to her.

She moved herself off him, and quickly held onto his arms, stopping him from falling over. Then, she laid him down on the couch, his head resting on the multiple pillows. A smile appeared on Lily's face as she pulled the blanket over him. Watching him peacefully sleep, her curiosity on if he loved her rose up again. She couldn't help it, he was so handsome and her mind was wandering, thinking of kissing his forehead and running her fingers through his black hair.

Lily had to tell herself again that Phantom Blot was a villain, a villain who had attempted to kill one of her best friends before. She couldn't fall in love with him.

But she would still be kind to him.

She made her way to the kitchen to prepare more pancakes for him, desperately trying to ignore her growing feelings.

[strgshazam]

Missing Out - Chapter IV - If you forget what I've done, I'll do it again

While she's smoking, he leans down and starts pressing his lips against her neck. She turns her head away from him and back towards the party to give him more room to work.

That's when she sees Steve Harrington coming their way.

She puts a hand onto Billy's chest before whispering to him, "Sorry babe, fun police is here."

Just as Billy's pulling away to see what she's talking about, Steve makes his presence known. Loudly.

"Harper! The hell are you doing back here?" Though he doesn't say it, she can feel the added 'with him' at the end of that question.

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previous | next

a/n: writing has been especially tough because i'm traveling for work right now, but i'm doing my best. also, if anyone is interested in being a beta for this, please let me know!

about: billy hargrove x ofc, slow burn strangers to lovers modern!au

warnings: drug and alcohol use, substance abuse as a coping mechanism, dead dove: do not eat, eventual smut, minors dni, violence

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10:14 AM billy the flirt: Hey. Can we talk?

He set his phone back down on his nightstand with the intention of going back to sleep (or at least attempting) for a few hours. Harper didn't typically wake up until mid-afternoon. To his surpise, his phone buzzed against the wood surface beside him almost instantly.

Harper: sure thing, honey. the sooner, the better. got some shit to take care of later.

He had spent the majority of the last three weeks pissed off - why the fuck had she lied to him? What was wrong with him that she was interested in...anybody else? It wasn't until he had driven Max home from school a few days prior that some sense was knocked into him.

"Get in the car, Max. You're already late enough as it is."

"I'm only like two minutes late! What's up your ass lately?" She tossed her skateboard into the trunk of his car - there's no way she's putting that dirty piece of wood on his leather seats - and climbed into the passenger's seat and shut the door with a light slam.

"Hey! Watch the door, shitbird, or you'll be walking home for the rest of the month," he turned the key in the ignition and checked his rearview mirror that just so happened to contain his own reflection before peeling out of the school parking lot.

She huffed and crossed her arms over her chest, "Seriously, what's your deal? You been fighting with that girl?"

His head snapped to look at her ever so briefly, "What girl?" She let out an incredulous laugh. "The girl you've been spending all your time with lately."

"There's no girl. And mind your fuckin' business," he kept his eyes focused on the road.

Max made her eye roll obvious enough that he didn't even need to look at her to see it. "Then why're you so defensive? How'd you fuck it up, huh?"

"Watch your mouth, Maxine. I didn't fuck up anything."

"Oh right, I forgot that you've never been an asshole to anyone before. 'Specially not girls. Never been anything less than a gentleman while trying to get in their pants."

That's what set him off. The tires of the Camaro screeched to a halt on the side of the road before he reached over to grab her arm.

He pulled her closer to him with an intense grip, "Didn't I tell you to mind your fuckin' business? I didn't do anything. And there's no girl to fuck anything up with anyway. Now get out of my car before you piss me off even more," he shoved her arm back toward her and waited for her to get out. 

She climbed out of the car and held the door open, "Never been an asshole to a girl, huh?" She sneered at him before slamming the door.

He sped off without giving her the skateboard out of the trunk.

To no one's surprise, Billy had a hard time admitting he was wrong. What was worse than Max calling him out was the fact that she was right. He'd never admit that to her, of course, but she was.

The next day, he had taken her out for ice cream. Neil hadn't liked that.

He arrived at Harper's apartment and knocked on the door. He wasn't sure that he still was welcome enough to just walk in.

"It's open, Billy!"

He found her in her usual spot on the couch, but the...air of the apartment felt different. He could tell that she felt differently about him now. God, he really had fucked this up. He finally had accepted that they were just going to be friends, but now it was too late. Now it was-

"Holy shit, what happened?" He saw bruising on her cheek and a split lip that was no more than a day and a half old. He moved quickly to sit beside her on the couch and hesitated a bit before gently placing his hands against her jaw to get a better look.

She didn't flinch at his question. She didn't flinch at his touch. She only muttered, "I could ask you the same thing," as she pointed to her own eyebrow. The exact spot that he had a butterfly bandage on his own face and what little bruising remained from a black eye.

"You okay?" He gently touched his thumb against her cheek, which still didn't make her flinch. "I'm fine. You?" She stared directly into his eyes. When most people saw him like this, they couldn't stop staring at the injuries. But not her. She couldn't stop staring at him. 

He used his calloused hands to gently turn her head to try to get a better look, and that's when he saw it: the bruises on her neck that were in the middle of fading. Or the middle of developing?

"Harp. What happened to you?" His voice was barely above a whisper. 

She smirked at him, "You should see the other guy."

He dropped his head and let out an exastperated sigh, "You're not going to tell me, are you?" He pulled his hands away from her face and she shrugged, "You show me yours, I'll show you mine."

He leaned back against the couch and rubbed his hands over his own face, carefully avoiding his own injuries.

"Look, about what I said..."

"I forgive you," she smiled at him as much as she could without pulling her split lip open again. She reached forward toward the coffee table and picked up a joint. Holding it between her teeth, she lit it with the Zippo she pulled from her pocket.

Before she exhaled, she nudged her shoulder against his, "Hey. What's the difference between a hippo and a Zippo?"

He held his eyes closed for a moment, not wanting to just change the subject as if the situation they were in was funny. However, that was clearly what she wanted, so he gave in.

"What?"

"One's really heavy, and the other's a little lighter," she absolutely beamed.

The joke wasn't funny. It was pretty stupid, honestly. But her smile...despite them both being in the middle of shitty circumstances, she was still wanting to make them both laugh. And it worked. His own smile was big enough to exceed hers. He dropped his head into his hands and muttered, "You're the fuckin' worst," while trying to hold back as much laughter as he could. 

She passed the joint to him as her smile faded, "You really wanna know what happened?"

[grumpygreenwitch]

The Fairy and the Prince #35 + #36 + #37

Part 1 - Part 2 - Parts 3 & 4 - Part 5 - Part 6, 7 & 8 - Part 9 & 10 - Part 11, 12, 13, 14, 15 & 16 - Part 17, 18, & 19 - Part 20, 21 & 22 - Part 23, 24, 25 & 26 - Part 27, 28, 29 & 30 - Part 31, 32, 33 & 34 - Part 35, 36 & 37 - Part 38, 39, 40 & 41 - Part 42 & 43 - Part 44 & 45 - Part 46 & 47 - Part 48, 49, 50 & 51 - Part, 52, 53 & 54 - Part 55 & 56 - Part 57, 58, 59 & 60 - Part 61, 62, 63, 64 & 65 - Part 66, 67, 68, 69, 70, 71 & 72

Originally posted 12/14/2022

Adam and Dane came back nine days after their departure, and found the palace no more interesting than when they’d left. The young prince was given the news of William’s death almost belatedly; compared to some of the fates that had befallen the other princes, William’s seemed to have been an almost discreet affair. Adam was fairly certain that everyone thought so only because they hadn’t been close enough to hear the prince scream. There were questions, of course. Too many people knew what Adam would not admit out loud, that he had friends among the Folk In the Woods. Too many people also knew that William had tried his hand at courting a fairy-maid, though no one knew the details. But in the end Needlemaw’s reasoning stood: Adam hadn’t been there, and blame couldn’t rightly be laid at his feet.

He should have cared, he knew, but he was distracted. Once again he felt as if he were being watched, and this time Dane had confirmed it for him. The black bird, sometimes a crow, sometimes a raven, sometimes something larger still, had followed them on the trip there and back. At home, trying to make sense of strangers that claimed to be family to him, Adam kept on running into a black cat indoors, with mismatched eyes. Dane had glimpsed the large black dog a few times, enough to readily identify as a dog and not a wolf. On the last night before reaching the palace they’d both seen a black stag in the woods, but it had been late and they’d not been able to swear that the color wasn’t the light coming from behind it and wounding their eyes.

He made his greetings and told his tales, and gave small traveling gifts to Culli and to Beli. The next morning he dug up his painting supplies and tromped determinedly into the woods, setting up his work area before climbing up the linden tree to see if he could catch sight of his friends. “You know,” he told the tree conversationally as he waited. “My family has six linden trees. None of them are anywhere near as gracious as you. All they did was make me miss you.”

“Adam!” The cry came across the woods, and he nearly threw himself off the branch in his eagerness to see his friends.

A branch snarled on the back of his shirt and he had to recoil to untangle himself. “Alright, alright, I’ll be careful!” Who needed the language of the trees, they made themselves heard loud and clear, the whole pack of nannies of them. Laughing, he slid recklessly down the ancient trunk and sprinted for his friends, taking Linden and Needlemaw both down with glad shrieks and much laughter. “Oh, I missed you all! Where’s Boul?”

Boul, profoundly stubborn as only a troll could be, had insisted on waiting for Adam every day, ‘just in case’, even after both Linden and Needlemaw had repeatedly explained that such trips usually took a week - more, in Adam’s case, because that week didn’t cover time spent going there and coming back. It had, eventually and unsurprisingly, made him sick. But Boul had grown nervous after Adam’s previous, year-long absence. Trolls, Adam was told, didn’t actually go into sunlight at all; it burned away their substance until they were nothing but cold, empty, dead stone. Boul’s resilience was unheard of among his people. Unfortunately for most of them, Boul also remembered why he’d developed that resilience.

Clinging like laughing scarves from the redcap maid as she galloped through the woods and howled in glee, they ran off to visit their friend in his cave, and by the end of the day it was if William had never happened.

Much later on in his life, whenever Adam came to a moment of doubt, when a mistake or a hard decision chased away his sleep, the memory of William would often haunt him. In the quiet of his sleepless nights, in the silence of his home, he would pace and wonder if there were anything he might have done differently. If perhaps he should have gone to the prince himself, rather than the redcap. If reason, or warnings or appeals to his honor and his higher nature might have changed his fate.

In the end, he would always come to the same conclusion: William’s fate had been for William to choose, and he had chosen. It had been a choice born from cruel circumstances, and it had been a selfish choice, but it had been William’s. In his place, Rickard had chosen to live; in his place, Adam had chosen to be true. In the end, William had chosen Needlemaw, and the redcap had done the only thing she could do with that choice: she’d been true to her nature.

***

They carried on through that last golden summer of childhood, sharing stolen bits of honeycomb and endlessly harassing the long-suffering creatures of the woods, sharing trout and rabbit cooked over merry campfires. Adam found himself a teacher as much as a student, Needlemaw eager to learn of tactics and strategy, though she readily admitted her people were unlikely to ever rely on such things. Borrowing Arditty’s jewelry with the promise of bringing her even more beautiful pieces, he’d allowed Boul to examine them and duplicate them, watching in awe as the young troll thrum-called gold and silver and gems to the surface, polishing the later against the rough coolness of his fingertips, making wonders no human artisan would ever duplicate by following fantastic patterns no fairy could have imagined.

Linden…

Linden asked him for iron.

Under Needlemaw’s and Adam’s worried eyes they examined the old, plain ring and slender, ivory-handled knife that the young prince brought. “Boul learned to live in sunlight. It took him years, but he’s stronger for it than any troll twice, five, ten times his age. How long do you think it would take to grow used to iron?”

“Iron’s poison, Linden. Always has been, always will be,” Needlemaw protested.

“You count iron your finest trophy,” Linden countered.

“Because I bled to take those buttons! Even in death my foe balked me for them, that’s why!”

“Well…” Linden looked at them, and frowned at their fear and their concern. “Oh, fine. But can I keep these, Adam?”

“I suppose,” the prince agreed warily. “As long as you don’t hurt yourself with them.”

“I’ll be careful as a tree with them,” Linden assured him, and Adam couldn’t help but smile to be reminded that at all times they were surrounded by the fussiest of nursemaids, a whole woodland’s worth of them.

As summer grew into autumn, Linden sat and watched Adam struggle to paint his friends on canvas, muttering at himself and his perceived lack of talent, until they had to laugh merrily at his struggles, tipping against his shoulder and staggering him sideways.

“Linden!”

“What are you even painting, Adam? You’re trying to put down the things no one but you can see. It’s no wonder it never comes out right!”

“Wait, what?” Adam stared at his canvas, and then at those many-colored eyes full of laughter.

Linden grinned. “It’s like my eyes. You’re not meant to see them, you never were. But you do anyways.”

“Well, they’re your eyes. I wouldn’t ever want to not see you, Linden.”

The young fey sapling beamed at the mortal prince. “I know. I would know you anywhere just because you see me truly, Adam.” They turned and gestured at the clearing where Needlemaw had clambered over Boul and was challenging the young troll to peel her off, tickling him merrily when he threatened to give up. Where threats might never have worked, Boul gleefully took on the challenge with that good-natured urging, laughing in his crackling, coarse bullfrog voice without shame. “You see the truth of us. But your hands keep trying to paint the glamour, the light and lie that hides us and protects us from your people. You’re going to have to get them to agree with one another before you can do much painting.”

Adam stared at his canvas. On the clearing, Boul went down and efficiently squashed the redcap, who squalled and called foul while tickling him mercilessly. “Would you let me paint you, Linden? Maybe that way I can learn. But it’s awful boring, sitting there still for it. I’d understand if you didn’t want to.”

Linden stared at him, the shattered eyes a glory of colors where none could match the depth and richness of the blue in Adam’s. “I think I’d like that.” Then they leapt into the wrestling knot with a wild and gleeful yowl, and there was nothing for it but that Adam would follow.

***

It grew too cold to swim, but they still occasionally snuck out to the kelpie’s pond. As far as they could tell the water horse had not returned, though the palace staff had eventually come and removed the chain and repaired the old and tiny pier. They would sprawl among the branches of the cherry trees, sometimes nestled between their roots. Adam brought blankets, and they would make a small fire and heat up tea. Needlemaw had brought a bottle of spirits once, and Adam had gone pale at the mere sight of it. The redcap had never brought them liquor again, looking profoundly amused.

At some point they ended up watching Boul wade across the pond, carrying Linden on his shoulders; the troll was the only one of them who didn’t feel the bite of the cold water, and Linden used him to dig for water chestnuts and sweet cattail roots, treats that they coveted no matter what the season.

Needlemaw, watching her charge and their stalwart companion root about in the shallows, smiled indulgently. It was an odd sort of clan to end up with, sharing no burrow or blood, but still she knew them for kin. When Adam, wrapped up in a blanket, suddenly moved to press close to her, the redcap automatically lifted an arm to make room for him, and felt the angry buzz of his emotions just under his skin. “I was wondering if yui’d noticed,” she said quietly.

“It’s him, isn’t he. The Prince Beyond the Woods.”

“Aye.”

Adam sighed. The black bird haunted their every other day together, following them by leaping from branch to branch; at night the black dog prowled at the edge of the palace grounds, lambent eyes on Adam’s windows. “What’s he want with me? I thought it was Linden he wanted.”

“Aye, an’ he does. But I think by now he’s figured out that he cannae get to Linden without going through ye.”

“I don’t tell Linden what to do, no one does.”

“That, I think, he’ll have to figure out on his own, because in his world that is how it works, Adam. He speaks and others obey.”

“Well, I think he’s -” Adam bit down what he’d been about to say, mindful that the boughs above them might hide a black bird that wasn’t a bird. “- not very clever if he can’t figure that out,” he clipped out, “after all the watching of me he’s done.”

Needlemaw snorted inelegantly in laughter. “Perhaps this is how he’ll learn,” she suggested, her tone making it clear she didn’t expect it to actually happen.

“I can’t tell him to go away, can I? I can’t get him to leave me alone, because he’s not really doing anything.”

“Aye, I’m afraid so.” She sighed. “Will you be alright?”

“Yes. He can follow me all he wants. Linden belongs to Linden alone, and he’d best be figuring that out quickly. If this is how, then whatever. I don’t care, it’s just annoying.”

Needlemaw, who rather believed the Prince Beyond the Woods would take infinitely more offense to being called 'just annoying’ than to actually being threatened, laughed wildly and ruffled Adam’s hair.

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Platonic Yandere Ghost x Childhood BFF Reader

Warnings: No pronouns used for Reader except for ‘You’, spoilers for Ghost's past, mentions of abuse, angst, fluff, yandere Ghost, toxic behaviour, possessive behaviour, kidnapping, arguing, guilt tripping, intrusive thoughts, etc.

Ghost would never let anyone else have you.

To him, you are the one fragment of his life which is truly his own, that doesn't belong to the dark confines of his childhood or the military.

You were, to put it plainly, Simon's safe haven.

Having known each other since childhood, you are the person who is nearest and dearest to Simon, and he to you.

You were there to shelter him from the abuse of his father, taking him into your home and showing him what a real family could be.

You were there when he decided to join the military, a decision you were concerned about yet supported him nonetheless.

You were there to celebrate his return home, throwing your arms around him and telling him how much you missed him.

You also cooked the most delicious meal he could imagine, and he'd polish all of it off without fail.

And for all these reasons, Ghost is absolutely feral when it comes to you.

He knows it's selfish, but he thinks that you're his and his alone.

If you tell him you're going out with some other friends, he'll mope about it.

Perhaps not in front of you. But he may guilt trip you into staying home with him so you can cuddle.

He loves holding you btw, and being held by you.

He feels protected - safe - like nothing can hurt him.

Reminds him of how you and your family would protect him from his own home life, the two of you sharing your single bed and you playing with his hair, promising you'll never let anyone hurt him.

I should be telling you that, is what he thought to himself then, wrapped in your embrace.

And it's what he tells himself now as he argues with you, telling you that you can't trust those people you call friends - they're only out to hurt you!

"Not everything is a mission, Simon!" you'd snap. "Not everyone is out to get you or me; they're just people! We are just people!"

"I'm only trying to protect you."

You can only sigh, both of you aware of how well that line works on you because you know it's true.

"I know, Si. But I just want to live my life. The same way I want you to live yours."

You rarely argue aside from that. Which is what makes your confrontations so explosive at times.

One evening, after you came back late with the shopping, Ghost snapped.

It was a screaming match the second you walked through the door, Ghost demanding you tell him what took you so long, telling you why you were a liability to yourself, why you needed him with you at all times.

The details grew hazy around then. And with good reason.

While begging Ghost to just let you live without casting suspicion on every relationship you had and every decision you made, Ghost threw himself at you, muffling you with a cloth.

It smelled strange. Medical.

You tried fighting back, knowing what it was, but the substance had already taken hold and made you sink into Simon's chest.

You knew where you'd be when you woke up, just not where.

You knew you'd be locked up somewhere, a dark warehouse or a cabin in a forest, but you didn't know exactly the location of these chambers.

Lo and behold, vision coming back to you, you found your answer.

Indeed, Ghost had confined you to a cabin in the woods.

A tinted window decorated the wall, bars bolted across it.

You knew Simon, and you knew nobody would be able to see in while you could see out, a peep show of freedom you'd never have again.

You suspected the doors were metal, too. Too heavy for you to open and sealed with a code or a key that only Ghost had.

Speaking of, he resided in a chair by your bedside, mask on, watching you.

The room was dark, the night not yet having ended.

He must have had this planned, you thought. Unless he's waited a whole day to wait for me to wake up.

Your heart pounded, your nerves burned.

You didn't know who should talk first. You and Simon had a system that one or the other should start a conversation based on who started one last time. A game then, an uncertain future now.

"I told you I only wanted to protect you."

Ghost's voice sent shivers up your spine. As did his mask, the white details of which barely poked through the darkness.

This wasn't your Simon, you concluded. This was a damaged man possessed by his actions - by the persona he'd fashioned for himself to protect him.

He watched you now; a protector guarding a protector.

It felt confrontational, in a way. You, the one who'd done nothing but love and care for Simon all his life, and Ghost, the phantom that took hold of him when the situation called for it.

You were his next mission.

"And I told you--" you flinched at how dry your throat was, "--that I don't need protecting."

Wordlessly, Ghost took a glass of water form the bedside table and offered it to you.

When you didn't take it, not even sparing it a glance, his eyes burned.

He growled, stood, and threw it against the wall, the glass smashing, the sound making you flinch. The intrusive thought of you walking on it flashed in your mind, making you flinch again.

No, this was not your Simon at all.

Ghost, breathing heavily, looked down at you.

Your arm was cuffed to the bed on a very short leash, giving you no way to even go to the bathroom, never mind the bedroom door.

Ghost, seemingly calmer now, eyes softening, reached a hand out towards you.

You winced at the prospect of this stranger touching you, this alternate person Simon told you about when he came back from his travels, the one who killed, bled and suffered for an unknown cause.

And now, his cause was you.

"I love you, (Y/N)." His voice was deep, almost as if his throat was as dry as yours. "I want you to know that this--" he gestured to the room, "--is only temporary."

You swallowed, pain splintering in your throat, multiplying like an infection.

With his once-outstretched hand, Ghost held your shoulder, then placed a knee on the bed.

You wanted to jump back, but Ghost's growing grip on you stole that option from you.

He lay on his side, facing you, encouraging you with a sentimental gaze to do the same.

With few options, you complied, though opted to face away from him.

He didn't seem to care, pulling you into him, encasing you with his frame.

Your position was the inverse of what it had been when you were children, when you'd tried cover Simon with as much of yourself as possible, blanketing him; as if to take the bullets that were meant for him, to absolve him of any more pain.

"It' my turn to take care of you now." Ghost said, his voice quiet yet booming in your ear. He squeezed you, punctuating his point.

"Nothing can hurt you anymore."

You're hurting me, you wanted to say, tears welling in your eyes and throat.

You willed yourself to succumb to sleep, to dream of a life wherein Ghost did not exist, and where this was only you and Simon, holding each other as you did when you were younger, dreaming of a better future.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously :-)

Masterlist

Masterpost

[nekomamiiz]

eyes on me

kirishima x f!reader

wc: 3.8k

warnings: all characters aged up 21+, mention of alcohol consumption, use of marijuana, established relationship, mutual teasing, size kink?, dry humping, oral (m. receiving), slight dacryphilia, unprotected sex, no prep, p**sy taps, slight breeding, mating press, creampie, cockwarming, kiri's monster coque is a warning all in its own ;)

a/n: i was hoping to get this out for baby boys birthday, but i got hit with a bad case of writers block for almost a whole month so here we are lol, also wanna say a huge thank you to @a-shy-blueberry for beta reading this bad boy, ilysm bb ! i made a playlist for this fic and you can listen here if you want to. i hope y'all like it and remember reblogs are always appreciated <3

When you and Kirishima came home from the club, you crashed onto the bed together in a mess of teeth and tongue, tracing the curves of each other’s bodies with your needy hands. Your minds are still caught in the drunken haze of spending the night dancing so close to one another. The entire time you were at the club venue, all you could think of were his rough hands on your skin.

Now, here you are. Your dress is on the floor, his clothes are thrown around the room, and you lay on top of him with your thighs straddling his.

Kiri has one arm around you, his hand rubbing down your bareback—fingertips tickling your spine just right as you tremble in his arms. His hand is inching closer down to your ass, and he gives it a soft squeeze, chuckling into the kiss.

“Baby,” he pouts. “I’ve been waiting all night to get you home,” he says, pulling back to look in your eyes, his hand caressing your cheek. “Don’t make me wait any longer.”

You, however, had other plans.

The moment you set foot in the bedroom, you were reminded of the joint you rolled before the two of you left for the club. It was supposed to be enjoyed prior to your outing, but you both had gotten distracted. Now, you see it from the corner of your eye and can’t resist pulling away from him to reach for it.

“I know, but this has been waiting for us the whole time we were gone,” you say, pouting as you sit upright in his lap.

You put your hand flat on his stomach for balance, and you don’t miss the opportunity to dig your nails into the grooves of muscle that reside on his abdomen. He watches you; his ruby eyes fixed on your every movement as you place the rolled substance between your lips. You then move the joint to the corner of your mouth.

“Can you light it for me?” you ask, handing him the lighter. The joint dances between your lips as you speak, which garners a chuckle from Eijirou as he reaches for the object in question.

He grabs the lighter from your fingers, twirling it between his for a second. You watch how he moves the object between each digit with so much skill.

You would know how skilled those fingers are.

Shifting your weight, you move on top of him, grinding your clothed pussy against the fabric of his boxers. The material creates amazing friction for the two of you, and he groans from your movement, dropping the lighter on his stomach.

“Stop teasing and let me focus,” he hisses at you, chuckling at your playfulness.

He admires the way your breasts bounce in front of him, and he’s mesmerized at how gorgeous you are; that’s all the time, really. He stares for a moment with no other thought in his mind as he holds the lighter to the paper, flicking it to life.

Then you take a deep breath, the citrus-tasting smoke invades your lungs, and you hold it for a second or two. You blow out, leaning forward to get it in his face, and Eijirou feels high already just from the sight of you.

“Feel better?” he asks as he tosses the lighter back onto the nightstand.

Large hands find your hips, and he digs his thumbs into your sides, massaging the skin softly, pinching and squeezing. He’s starting to move your body, just a little bit. Beginning with a slow, comfortable grind against his cock, and you moan, taking another hit from the joint.

You only hum in response. The weed is already clouding your mind, and the way his hands feel on your body is driving you crazy. “Feels so good,” you say breathily.

It takes a while to notice that you’ve been waving the joint around, hogging it from Eijirou. The feeling of his cock hardening beneath you has you moaning in pure ecstasy as the marijuana sets into your body.

He is all you can focus on as you take another drag from the joint and pass it his way.

“Just love to keep me waiting, don’t you?” he asks, grabbing the paper, then twisting his body to flick some ash into the tray on the nightstand.

He settles back onto the bed, placing the herb between his lips, smirking at you—his pointed teeth handle the joint with so much care, and you return the smile to him. You begin rutting against him softly once more—this time, your hands wander lower, toying with the waistband of his boxers and tugging it down slowly.

“You know I love a patient man,” you say in a low voice, “and teasing you is all part of the fun.”

Your fingers have managed to roll his shorts down far enough to expose the mess of black hair that trails down to the base of his cock. He shudders from your touch, hips bucking underneath you, the length of him brushing against your inner thigh.

You move down lower on the bed, wiggling your ass in the air as you get comfortable in a new position—face to face with Eiji’s cock, nestled right between his thick thighs.

You wrap your hand around his shaft, moving up and down as you twist your wrist to stimulate him further. There’s a bead of precum forming at the tip, and you massage it into the rest of his length with your thumb, swiping it over his sensitive head.

Eijirou takes another hit from the joint, holding it in a little longer than the last. He releases the smoke through his nose and mouth with a heavy sigh, feeling every twist and squeeze of your hand more intensely than before. His eyes are on yours, watching as you settle on your knees, letting your lips hover just above the tip of his cock.

He holds his breath, watching you spit on his dick. Your saliva dribbling down the ridges of his cock, onto your fingers—letting the length of him slip and slide easily through your talented little hand.

“So fucking pretty,” he says softly, moaning a quiet fuck right after that.

You look up at him with heavy eyelids and see his eyes are closed, and his head is tossed back. He still has the joint between his lips; you aren’t bothered to ask for some, though.

With a giggle and cute smile, you kiss the tip of his dick before taking him in your mouth. Slowly at first, letting your tongue swirl around the head, stimulating the underside of him as you keep going further down.

You’re beginning to feel the stretch in your jaw; he’s so thick and hot on your tongue that you let out a slight whine to accommodate the rest of him. He bucks into your mouth, the sound makes your throat tighten around his cock, and he grunts—low and deep.

It’s so messy. Spit and pre trails all the way down his balls, and you feel him shiver when you pick up the pace. Your hand squeezes the base of him a little tighter, and he can no longer hold his voice back.

“Ah shit, that feels so good,” he rasps as one hand finds the back of your head.

He holds you in place, his cock halfway in your mouth, and the tip of him is already bumping the back of your throat. You only hum and swirl your tongue on each side of him, making sure to stimulate the tip. Kiri thrusts into your mouth when you wiggle your tongue over the ridges of his cock—moaning your name as he tosses his head back again.

He takes another hit after flicking more ash off to the side. The hand that was on your head has now found its way to your cheek—caressing it softly and wiping away the small tears that slip from your eyes.

“My pretty girl,” he moans, and some puffs of smoke follow his words.

You hum at his praise, taking him deeper as you slide your hand down to his balls, cupping and massaging them in one hand. Eijirou can’t control his hips and starts thrusting faster into your mouth—slow for now, but it’s only a matter of time before he puts both hands on your head and really fucks your throat. He’s still looking at you while taking hits from the joint, blowing the smoke into your face each time you take him deeper.

“Fuck baby, I’m gonna cum,” he groans, and you can feel his balls twitch in your grasp.

You pull off and away from him with a wet ‘pop’ as you reposition yourself back onto his thighs. While leaning over to plant a kiss on his chest, you slip your panties off, discarding them into a dark corner of the room.

“You’re the worst,” he grumbles as you move to grab the joint from his fingers. “I was about to—”

He was about to cum, but there’s only one place you want it.

“I know,” you admit as you wrap your free hand around him, pumping a few times. He’s still slick with your spit, and you rub the tip of his dick through your folds, catching your clit as another rush of your arousal seeps out of you.

“Only want your cum inside me,” you gasp as you lower yourself onto his cock.

Eijirou quickly puts his hands on your hips, supporting you as you adjust to his thick size. He can feel the way your pussy squeezes and resists the intrusion, but you simply don’t care. As you bring the joint to your lips, you shift your hips to take his entire length inside you, and the two of you moan in tandem at the feeling of your walls stretching to fit him in.

“Oh f-fuck,” you keen, feeling him reach the deepest part of you.

The tip of his dick hits a spot that makes you tremble, and he grips into your skin to keep you steady—massaging your sides to calm you down. It’s not until you roll your hips once, then twice, that you fully adjust to his size. He’s so thick—you can feel every vein, ridge, and twitch of his cock each time your pussy squeezes a little tighter. It’s a feeling you will never get used to but will always find immense pleasure in each time.

You don’t even have the sense to pay attention to the joint. Not when Eijirou holds you like this, keeping you seated on his cock as you let him squeeze and tickle your body. By now, the marijuana has had enough time to settle into your system. Evident in how you can feel every slow, heavy thrust of his dick while his hands explore your body. As if he hasn’t been doing it forever already.

Finally, you take a drag and let it settle in your mouth before leaning forward—your eyes fixed on bright ruby gems staring lustfully back at you, waiting patiently.

You place your hand on his chest for balance, coming face to face with him as your lips hover above his. The smoke spills from your pursed lips and into Kiri’s waiting mouth, where he sucks down the substance as if it were oxygen. The source of such an intense body high just came from your mouth, and he’s always eager for more of that feeling.

As you both release the last bit of smoke from your lungs, Kiri takes the joint from your hands and places it on the nightstand. He puts out the cherried end quickly and moves even faster to get both hands back on you.

When he comes back to you, you take it upon yourself to pepper little kisses on his neck and collarbones. Reveling in the way he twitches and squirms beneath you when you lap over the column of his throat. The deep groan he lets out when you bite down makes you shiver and tighten up. The both of you are so sensitive and pent up from such a long night, and now that he finally has you the way he’s wanted, he’s going to enjoy every minute of it.

“Fuck baby, you’re so tight,” he grunts, taking a deep breath.

He places both feet on the bed and holds you up for a moment before slowly settling you back down on his cock. The muscles in his arms strain from the effort, but you know it’s easy for him. He’s tossed you around much more than this; he always has such a thrilling look in his eye that keeps you begging for more when he does.

Kirishima moves one hand to the small of your back, wandering lower to get a handful of your ass. He squeezes the flesh harder, demanding you get closer to him, so you do. You lean in closer, and he presses you down, prompting you to relax your body on top of him.

You find his lips and kiss him sloppily, feeling the heat of his tongue on yours as you drag it along the bottom row of his teeth and moan into the kiss as goosebumps rise on your skin. You’ve waited all night to be this close to him, this full of him.

He supports you with one hand on the back of your neck and the other gripping your ass. Right now, he’s in complete control of the pace. Meeting your hips with slow, sweet thrusts as he bounces you on top of him. The tip of his dick is gently massaging a spot that makes you freeze, clamping down on his cock as he hits even deeper, wrapping his arms around you to hold you closer.

“Eiji, that feels good,” you breathe out, panting and moaning in his ear as you brush your cheek against his.

Turning his head slightly, he finds your lips, desperately searching for your tongue so he can tease you with his. Warm, wet flicks on your lower lip make you whine as you part them slightly, letting his tongue invade every corner of your mouth. The same way he invades every part of you.

“Yeah, baby? Right there?” he asks, picking up the pace as his thrusts become a little harder, hitting with more precision.

Slick sounds fill the room, and the slap of his balls on your ass gets increasingly louder. Eijirou is beginning to get lost in the feeling of your pussy gripping onto him so tightly, practically begging for his cum without having to say so. He grips your hips tighter, moving you at an angle that makes him groan, and he bites his lip to keep from spilling his load too soon.

“Baby,” you sigh, shaking in his arms as you wrap yours around his shoulders. “I’m gonna cum.”

The groan that comes from deep within his chest sounds more like a growl as he sits upright, cradling you in his arms. You easily wrap your legs around his waist and bury your fingers in the mess of hair at the base of his neck.

You whine into his mouth, and heat rapidly builds in your core as your first orgasm rips through you. Eijirou smoothes his hands over your hips while you babble sweet praises in his ear. He’s moving you slightly, building you back up, and savoring the feeling of your pussy fluttering around his cock so deliciously.

Both your thighs are sticky with your cream as he rolls you over on the bed, positioning himself on top of you. His cock slips out of you, and you pout from the loss, scratching at his chest and arms. Trying desperately to get him back inside, rolling your hips to meet his, but he holds you down with one hand.

“Shh, don’t worry, sweetheart,” he coos softly, kissing your cheek as he thumbs at your swollen clit. His cock is hot and heavy against your inner thigh, and you keep moving your legs up and down his sides, attempting to trap him between your thighs.

“Gotta be patient. Remember?” he says, teasing you the way you did earlier, now toying with your wet pussy. His long fingers gather your slick and spread it through your folds, circling your clit and giving it a light tap.

You jump from the sensation and feel the shock it sends through your body long after he does it. Those skilled fingers work you in a way that only he knows, and you mewl, bucking your hips as you beg for more.

“Please, Eiji,” you whimper softly, craning your neck in search of his lips. “Want your cum.”

It’s the desperate furrow in your brow that makes him cave—as much as he likes to tease you; he loves watching you beg and cry for him much more. He plants a soft kiss on your cheek as he takes his cock in his hand, coating his shaft with your slick and teasing your entrance with the tip.

“So needy for me, baby,” he says with soft laughter that quickly dies once the head of his cock slips inside of you. “Still so fucking tight.”

He grits his teeth as he eases the rest of his length inside you, all while he rubs soothing circles into your hips and thighs. You’re so soft and pliant beneath him that all he has to do is kiss you to have you falling apart one more time. His hand moves from your hips, finding its way back to your pussy and thumbing at your clit.

It takes a moment for you to adjust to his size again. You’re still squeezing him so tight, and he can see that you’re struggling to fit the rest of him in. One of his arms moves beside your head, and he leans into you, supporting his weight on his elbow. He brushes his hand over your forehead and wipes some sweat off your brow, melting at the sight of your face twisted in burning pleasure.

Your eyes are closed, and brows pinched as he flicks your clit faster, feeling you open up for him just a little more.

“Hey, pretty girl,” he coos into your ear, and he doesn’t miss the slight gasp that escapes you when he softly presses down on your swollen nub, “Eyes on me, baby,” he whispers to you sweetly.

You whimper his name before your eyes flutter open, looking at him through hazy eyes as you bite your lip and relax in his arms. All you can do is slur the words please, and yes, and Eijirou quickly kisses your lips, swallowing up your cries for more.

The pace he built up has lost its previous rhythm, but the soft smacking of skin on skin stays the same. He’s nearing his end, and you can see it in the way he looks down at you—his eyes darkening, and his brows creased in complete ecstasy. He looks so handsome like this.

“Want you to fill me up, Eijirou,” you beg with persistence, arching your back to push your tits against his chest, desperate to get him close again.

He chuckles lightly, this time because of the way you’ve been begging for his cum all night. He knows you’re a needy little thing, and you won’t stop until you get what you want. So, he takes both legs in his hands and pushes your thighs into your chest as he successfully folds you into a mating press.

Finally, he thinks, as he bottoms out inside your sweet pussy, feeling your juices gush out of you and down the crack of your ass. Finally, he gets to have you a filthy mess beneath him, at his mercy. You yelp and moan in this position, unable to keep your sounds in because he reaches so deep like this and fills you up so well; it’s almost sinful.

He places your ankles over his shoulders as he hunches over, caging your head between his strong arms and placing soft kisses on the skin of your calf before planting more on your pouty cheeks.

“Don’t worry, baby. I got you,” he reassures you as his hips smack more feverishly against yours, his breath fanning hot above your lips. “Fuck, ‘m gonna fill you up,” he groans as he leans in to take your lips in an all-consuming kiss. The two of you breathe heavily, reaching the highest peak of pleasure at the same time as the other.

His hips come flush with yours, balls twitching as he spills ropes of hot cum deep inside your pussy. You can feel the thick ring of cum collected at the base of his dick and the way it squelches between you when he moves his hips. Some of it spills out, dribbling in thick globs down your ass, and makes you clench harder around him when it drips down the tight muscle.

You hum happily at the feeling of warmth filling you from the inside, especially when provided by Eijirou—who can see just how content you are to have the one thing you’ve begged for since you left the house earlier that night.

“Feels good,” you mumble with a smile on your face, turning your head to the side as drowsiness starts to take over your body.

Kirishima only laughs at the sight of you—so spent, yet so cheerful. He runs a hand down the side of your cheek before lifting himself and placing your legs back on either side of him. When he pulls out and away from you, there’s another glob of cum that spills from your pussy, and it’s enough to make his cock harden once more.

He curbs the need to fuck you silly by stuffing his cock back inside you, letting you wrap your legs around him again as he lays you both on your sides.

“Need to shower,” you whine in protest, but you contradict yourself by wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him closer into you.

He quiets you by kissing your forehead, cradling the back of your head in his hand while the other finds comfort on the swell of your ass.

“Just relax and get some rest,” he whispers in your ear; the pads of his finger trace idle circles into your skin, and it’s almost like he’s rocking you to sleep.

You can feel he’s already grown soft inside you, keeping his seed plugged deep inside as he holds you close to his chest, his warm scent covering you like a blanket as you drift off peacefully to sleep.

Before wandering into your dreams, the last thing you hear is Eijirou’s light voice mumbling sweet praises and affirmations of his love for you—how he wants more nights like these, how he can never get enough of you, and your insatiable appetite. He wants you all the time, every day.

He wants you in his arms just like this, all the time and every day.