#I FAILED SO UNGRACEFULLY

[lil-gae-disaster]

Happy ides of March!

I wanna stab my failed Latin test like the senate stabbed Ceasar.

[mountainficss]

Hii beautiful!!💗 do you have some thoughts on threesome with mingyu and dokyeom?? I feel like they're impatient puppies so they would be all over you, probably even fingering you together at the same time 😫😫

!! mentions of: unprotected sex, threesome, fingering, handjobs, marking, nipple play

hi there, gorgeous!!! <33 and omggg threesome with the two puppies?? they’d be all over you oh my goodness.

as soon as you get home from work they’re both pouncing on you, both of them peppering any exposed skin with wet smooches. you wouldn’t have any time to even put your stuff down before they’re setting it down for you and tugging at both your clothes and theirs. they’d both pant and whine like mutts in heat while they suck at your skin, the three of you stumbling ungracefully to your bedroom. they’d lay you down on the plush comforter and literally worship your bare body, feeling you up in ways that can only be described as indecent. seokmin’s face would be nuzzled in your neck, kissing and sucking frantically over the skin and leaving marks you know will last for days. meanwhile mingyu’s face is buried in your chest, suckling at your hardened nipples and leaving hickies on your warm flesh. mingyu would snake his hand down to your heat, sliding two fingers through your arousal and pushing a long finger slowly into your hole. seokmin would get impatient, stuffing a finger alongside mingyu’s as he continues to nip at your skin. you’d feel full just from their fingers and could feel yourself tightening around them already. your body was always so reactive to their touches, and just watching you writhing in pleasure would make them even more desperate to feel you. after the both of them give you a mind-numbing orgasm just by using their fingers, they’ll press fleeting kisses all over your cheeks and forehead as you wind down from your high. you’d take deep breaths, chest rising and falling slowly as you watch mingyu settle between your legs and line up his throbbing erection to your clenching hole. he’d slide in slowly, letting out a groan as he bottoms out. seokmin would be glued your side as mingyu buried himself into you, cupping your cheek and kissing you languidly to help distract you from the painful stretch. you’d reach a hand down to seokmin’s twitching cock as mingyu picks up his speed, wrapping your fingers around him as he moans into your mouth. seokmin’s whimpers and mingyu’s whines do nothing but spur you on, tightening your grip on seokmin’s cock and your legs around mingyu’s waist. they’re both always so needy for you, and the way they act never fails to bring you to your climax at record times. “please…lemme c-cum inside,” mingyu would beg, his large hands groping the plump flesh of your thighs as he thrusts harder. watching you fist seokmin’s length would bring mingyu closer and closer to his release. “cum inside puppy,” you’d breathe, gazing at mingyu with loving eyes. “be good and fill me up.” mingyu would do as he’s told, pumping you full of his cum and enjoying the sight of you giving seokmin his very much needed orgasm. seokmin would fuck up into your hand, chasing his pleasure as you mumbled sweet praises to the both of them. just seconds later he’d paint your digits with his cum, eyes squeezed shut as the sensation overwhelms him. after they’ve both calmed down you’d let them switch, giving seokmin a chance to fuck your clenching hole and letting mingyu observe. they’re both just such good puppies, they both deserve to have a turn ;(

taglist: @jeonghanpill , @bangantokchy , @caratboy , @bewoyewo , @luvseungcheol , @wonvsmile , @haolovre , @aaniag , @writingbarnes , @dokyeomkyeom , @allieyaaa

[everyonewooeverywhere]

MDNI 18+ BLOG -> ageless blogs and minors WILL BE BLOCKED

pairing ✭ caring bf!yunho x gn!reader

synopsis ✭ yunho absolutely loves it when you play with his hoodie strings. even though you rarely notice you’re doing it.

content/genre ✭ fluff, established relationship

word count ✭ 1.2k

notes ✭ this was a request from @justsomedreaming :)

thank you loves for the requests! they are still open. if you want to leave a request, just read my guidelines first! i'd love to hear from you.

also! i love love love hearing feedback about all of my work, and i also just love hearing from ya'll. so if you want to come say hi, my dms and inbox are always open!! 💗💗

✭✭✭✭

“Baby, where do you keep the popcorn bowl again?” Yunho yelled from your kitchen.

“It should be in the cabinet to the right of the microwave.”

You heard him rustle through the cabinet before he shouted again, “Oh! I found it!”

“Yun my apartment isn’t that big. You don’t have to yell,” you laughed softly at him from your spot on the couch.

He gave a soft “sorry” before going back to his search.

You had offered to help him make the popcorn several times, but he’d insisted that you let him do something nice for you. The amount of nice things he did for you were nearly countless, but you didn’t mind letting him have this gesture too even if you were a little worried that your apartment might smell of burnt popcorn for the next three days.

Nevertheless, you let him have his moment. He loved taking care of you, so who were you to take that away from him? Especially when it meant you could stay cuddled up on the couch with your hot chocolate, scrolling through streaming services to find a suitable movie for your date night.

When you finally settle on a movie, you peer over to your boyfriend in the kitchen. He’s dumped the bag of popcorn into a bowl and is digging around in your cabinets for more snacks to go with the popcorn. 

He’s so focused. You love how serious he is about things like this. He cares so much about even the little things, and he never fails to make you feel so special. 

It took him a couple of minutes, but, when he plopped himself on the couch beside you, he came armed with plenty of snacks. Not just the popcorn, but he also had a variety of chips and chocolates, too.

“Wow, you really spoil me,” you said, reaching for the popcorn bowl. When you placed the bowl in your lap, he immediately stuck his hand into it and grabbed a fistful of popcorn. “Ok, now you’re just being greedy.”

He laughed and kissed your forehead before shoving the food into his mouth rather ungracefully. As gross as you may have found it, you did love the fact that he felt so comfortable around you. Even if it meant being a victim to some of his obnoxious behaviors.

“What movie did you choose?” He asked, pulling your legs over his thighs so that you were basically in his lap.

“Barbie Princess Charm School,” you said, gesturing to the TV with the remote.

“Seriously?” he smiled down at you, eyebrows raised. He was making fun of you, but you were standing your ground.

“Yep! It is a vital part of my childhood, and it’s a crime you have never seen it.” You poked him in the chest, “And it is my turn to pick the movie, remember?”

He loved how passionate you were about this. The only reason he teased you over it was because he loved to see you so adamantly fight for why the movie was worth watching. 

When you pressed play on the movie, Yunho leaned back into the couch, pulling you with him. 

“How was your day?” he muttered, running a hair over your hair. 

You looked up at him and hummed, running your hand over his chest and playing with the fabric of his hoodie, “It was alright. We’re still pretty short-staffed staffed so things have been hectic, but tips have been good. So I guess that makes up for it.”

He gently grabbed your hand and kissed your knuckles, “I’m sure you’ll find more people soon.”

You sighed, “I hope.”

“Baby, if you need a break, take one, okay? I know you don’t like financial help, but I’m always here for you,” he lowered your hand back to his chest and kissed your forehead again, “Don’t overwork yourself.”

“Thank you, baby.”

He looked down at you. It was obvious from the bags under your eyes and the tone of your voice when talking about work that you were stressed. The biggest sign of your anxiety was that you were fidgeting with your hands quite a bit. That’s why he’d made a point to kiss your knuckles, he wanted you to understand with every part of you, both conscious and subconscious, that he was going to take care of you. 

“Hey,” he started, wanting to get your mind off work, “Didn’t you get lunch with that high school friend of yours?”

“Oh yeah! I meant to tell you about that.”

“How’d that go?” He encouraged.

He watched you very adamantly as you spoke of the little lunch date you’d had with an old friend. It had gone well from the looks of things. From the remembering smile on your face to the levity of your tone, he could tell that this meal had brought some sort of solace to your rather hectic life. 

It wasn’t long into your story though, that Yunho noticed you had started playing with the strings of his hoodie. He smiled fondly. He was pretty sure you never really noticed it. It felt more like a habit.

Nonetheless, he enjoyed watching you fiddle with the strings. Tying them into bows and knots as you talked. It gave you something to do with your hands, and that fact alone made Yunho incredibly happy. He was able to give you something, even if it was a minute gesture, to calm your nerves. 

The both of you forgot about the movie completely. Though you both never fully watched the movies you put on anyway. It always ended this way. One of you talking about your life while the other listened. Peacefully eating snacks and occasionally watching the movie in its final moments.

“But, yeah, it was really good to see them again,” you smiled softly at him.

“I’m glad you had fun, baby,” he leaned down toward your face again, this time kissing you on the lips. He was so gentle in moments like these. 

It was a simple gesture of his love for you, but you loved how he could make soft, quiet moments even more beautiful with a small kiss.

You did, however, pull on the strings of his hoodie, trying to pull him closer to you. He grinned against your lips, laughing just a bit.

Pulling back you looked at him, slightly confused, “What?”

“What do you mean?”

You were really confused now, “You laughed at me?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” his smile only grew.

“Yunho,” you hit him in the chest, though, not very hard.

“I’m just teasing you, baby,” he pecked your lips again.

You scoffed playfully, poking his cheek, “Well stop teasing me.”

“Okay, no more teasing,” he grabbed the hand you had by his face and pressed it to his chest. He brought his lips to yours one more time for good measure. This time letting it last a few more seconds before pulling back a couple of inches from your face, “I love you.” He whispered.

It was your turn to smile stupidly at him, “I love you, too.”

You pulled him back down and kissed him. He couldn’t help but grin again at the fact that you had pulled him to you with your hands tangled in his hoodie strings.

✭✭✭✭

notes ✭ thank you for reading!! as always, reblogs and comments are very appreciated. i absolutely love hearing from you guys, so don't be afraid to come say hi 💗

[princeoftheeternalbog]

Would op boys catch you if you fell? Lets find out next time on dragonball- no sorry it just reminded me of that narrator ANYWAYS.

I only did boys because i didnt have much inspi for Nami and Robin so i decided to wait until i do cos I don't wanna half arse stuff.

So anyways I feel like I saw someone do this idea already but it might've been just one character like a law x reader? I'm not sure but I would love to tag them so if you know please tell me ! I will also try to make sure mine is different :p.

Luffy

Depends. Like if he's fighting or eating then probably not but if he thinks you might get hurt then he will 100% attempt to catch you. Key word being attempt. Poor boy probably makes the fall 10x worse, like if you trip on one step you're suddenly falling down the entire flight of stairs with a weight on top of you. He will apologise though so at least there's that.

Zoro

He always catches you. Or prevents the fall in the first place. He tells himself it's so you're not unnecessarily out of commission for a fight but really he's a huge softie. Though he always catches you really ungracefully, llike there’s no princess carrying here, he's holding you upside down by the ankle with one hand fr. He scolds you every time too like- "Why do you never watch where you're going" or "Tie your shoes next time idiot", which you should hear as "I can't stand watching you get hurt". Cutie:(

Sanji

Oh you know he does. He lives for romance and what's more romantic than saving your beloved from certain doom (tripping on a rock). Oh he also does it in the most dramatic way possible, he'd rather throw himself to the ground underneath you then let you hit the floor, he's doing twirls, picking you up with one arm, occasionally will throw you in the air first so he can rearrange what he's holding. Menace tbh, like he's just obsessed with teasing you in any way possible.

Usopp

Another one who tries his best…tries🙁. He's always so dramatic about it too, he literally screams your name like you're in a horror movie and everyone is always like "WHAT'S WRONG?!" and Usopps just "Oh they tripped on a step". He either injures one of you in his attempt to catch you OR you both end up in the most compromising positions just as someone walks past . He goes so red trying to explain the situation while also trying to check if youre okay😭.

Franky

Oh every time and it’s smooth as hell every single time. Says super cheesy lines every time like “OWWWW GUESS YOU FELL FOR ME BABE”, and he gets sparkly eyed every time, he loves romance as a genre and finds it superrrrrrrr(😚) cute when something happens that matches a trope he's read. If he didn't catch you he'd probably panic and constantly apologise but just give him a kiss and he'll forget about it soon enough.

Brook

Catches you every time, really gently and really romantically. Instead of just full on catching you, he'll purposefully slow your momentum to minimise injuries in case his attempt at grabbing you fails because then you'd both fall and he'd rather not. Like if you trip into him then he'll pull you both into a delicate spin type of dancing and you're like huh??? He thinks its a really cute trait to be honest but it also makes him really worried about your safety so he likes to keep one hand on you at all times.

Jinbei

Catches you as often as he can, like he won't sprint across the ship to stop you from falling but as long as you're in his reach you will never hit the ground. And he always catches you really gently like you barely feel the impact so sometimes you won't even notice you've tripped until later when you see the scuff on your shoe or something. He really likes holding your hand to make sure you ‘keep your balance’.

Law

He doesn't want to look soft so he tries to force himself not to catch you for just harmless falls...yeah no that doesn't work. As soon as he sees you losing balance you hear that ever familiar room, shambles and then you're in his arms. If it's later in your relationship then he's a menace, he will use this to tease you, like "Oh. Looks like an angel fell into my arms" with this stupid ass smug smirk. He's just really obsessed with you.

Kidd

Catches you most of the time unless it's gonna be really funny. Also he catches you super awkwardly, like he's so obsessed with you but he never knows where to put his hands because hes not used to giving affection so it's like just in the most ungraceful ways. You are literally being held up by his arm around your thigh or something and you're like what the fuck and he's just stood there 🧍🏻‍♀️.

Killer

Prevents the tripping and catches you if necessary. But if you're too clumsy then he just starts getting huffy and hauls you up into his arms so there's no risk of you falling whatsover...and then you bang your head against the ceiling- He probably feels so bad if you get hurt because of him to be honest, he tries so hard to make you happy yk. Anyways at some point he just starts adding cushion to all the potentially harmful areas on the ship so even if you do fall it doesn't hurt.

[hwanchaesong]

┗🖋️ Mayhem, mayhem follows silence / Walks unto the middle a prince / Bringing luck out of fountains / In a vow of shielding the villains 📖

🎧: Taylor Swift - Guilty As Sin?

wc: 1.6k

genre & warnings: angst, sprinkle of fluff, smut, toxic & drunk psh, figure skater!psh, implied situationship, unprotected sex, fingering, cunnilingus, etc etc mdni

a/n: this is a part of The Tortured Poets Department series. if y'all want, you can read the other album inspired fics of other groups here.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" you squint your eyes at the man in front of your door, basically disturbing your peace in the middle of the night.

"I missed you." he garbles, impaired speech due to the alcohol running in his system yet you clearly understood the three words that you have always wanted to hear from him, and you hate how much it affected you.

"Really? Sunghoon, after all the shit you gave me? That's all you have to say?" you scoffed, finding this situation ridiculous.

"But I do!" he yells, "I fucking missed you, Y/N! It's not the same without you!" his loud voice resonated throughout the area and you panicked, scared that the neighbors will sue you for his stupid noises when everybody is asleep.

"You sh- come here!" you dragged him inside your apartment, letting him stumble on the floor.

"Y/N, bab-"

"Stop calling me that!"

Anger pulses in you. How dare he storm in after all the crap he pulled on you?

He really had the audacity to show himself to you even when you made it transparent enough for him to read that you're done. You are so fucking done of dealing with him.

You love him, so so much, but he has done nothing but give you the worst delusions and fantasies that prove to be dangerous for your sanity. It kills you, shooting bullets in your brain and slicing your heart into pieces.

You've imagined yourself with a man who will treat you like a princess, not like you’re some kind of side chick.

You were diving too deep into your madness that you failed to keep an eye on Sunghoon's movements. Being a figure skater has its pros, one of them is that his sense of balance is still great even if his surroundings are swirling around, and that allows him to lurch into your direction with ease.

The bricks that you were using to build your walls seem to be fake, as it easily crumbled when his lips were placed on yours. A sudden, soft lipl ock that had your knees buckling.

It was a contrast to how he kissed you before. Full of lust and desire but now, why is it that his kiss feels like a warm blanket of love?

His hands tread on your hair, pushing it out of your face, his palms landing on your cheeks to gently caress it. His whispers of affirmation and assurance against your lips made your mind hazy.

Is it possible for alcohol intoxication to be passed down to another person by breathing into their mouths? Or is there any other explanation as to why you're suddenly hot, out of breath and your ability to think straight was crumpled.

"Y/N." Sunghoon cries your name out, and it's worrisome that he remembers the way into your own apartment even in his drunken stupor, guiding you into your bedroom.

"I really did miss you, lemme show you how much, hm?" he smiled and you gulped, don't you have any other way of halting these erroneous actions that will lead to remorse sooner or later?

Sunghoon kisses you again and your resolution tumbles down on the ground like how your body surrendered to his, ungracefully falling onto your bed.

You panted his name when he proceeded to kiss down your neck, lightly nibbling on the stretchy skin and trailing splotches of hickeys that you'll have trouble hiding for the next few days.

His hands went over to your clothed breast, feeling your nipples harden under his touch, his fingers tweaked on it. Thumb rolling over your nipple whilst he continues peppering your neck with kisses and bites.

When he has enough, he pulls your shirt up, revealing your bare chest to him. He moistened his lips, clearly enjoying the view.

"You're fucking gorgeous." he murmurs before delving into your tits, burying his face onto it and doing the honor of leaving his marks. He then popped a sensitive nub on his mouth, guzzling on it. His tongue circled around your areola, sucking on your nipple and tugging it using his teeth.

You moaned his name wantonly and that spurred him to do more, to move faster, to fuck you until you're begging and writhing for him.

He hastily removed your shorts along with your underwear, tossing it haphazardly and his mouth waters at your glistening pussy.

It has been a while since he tasted you, but he bets on all his assets that you still and will always taste divine.

Snaking his body down and dipping a finger in your wetness once he comes face to face with your womanhood.

You squirmed at the intrusion, more so when he added another digit in. He seems to be playing with it. Feeling his fingers lather juices around your labia, then inserting it inside your hole, aimlessly pushing in and out and curling them out of the blue.

He saw your legs twitch, and he smirked devilishly when he removed his fingers, denying you of orgasm.

Your eyes went wide open, lifting your head up and glaring at him, only to be greeted with a sensual visual of him licking his fingers clean. A low satisfied hum coming out of him.

"Baby, you look mad." he sighs, and you roll your eyes at his feigned innocence.

"Sunghoon," you whined, your hand flying to his shoulders when he positioned himself on top of you after ridding his clothes, freeing himself from his own restraints, "do something. Please, Sunghoon."

How he loves the way his name comes out of your lovely mouth, melodious and relaxing. It soothes all his worries away and for a minute, he thinks that he's invincible from the problems that the world throws at him.

You always had that effect on him, and maybe that's the reason why Sunghoon can't seem to stay away from you. Maybe that is why he wants you all to himself, even if it's an opposition to reality.

"What do you want me to do, princess?" he purrs, rubbing his nose against yours while his lips are barely touching yours, allowing his breath to fan your face.

You whine out of contempt, but he won't budge. He needs to physically hear you say it. Beg for it more.

"C'mon, baby. Tell me." he urges, his cock sliding up and down your slit, covering it with your slick and it had you squirming.

Whenever his length comes up, it also makes you jolt, your clit being simulated by his actions. Although, it doesn't really help. It only adds to the burning desire for the man. Giving you a taste of what you can have but not fully feeding you of the dish that you need to eat.

"I w-want you to f-" your cheeks heat up, coloring you a shade of pink, and he finds you impossibly adorable.

You've done this with him a million times (an exaggeration), but the way you get shy under him never fails to turn him on even more.

"I'm listening." he mutters, the tip of his cock prodding at your entrance, his hands digging into the plush meat of your thighs.

You take a deep breath, swallowing the embarrassment, "I want you to fuck me. Please, Hoonie. Please do something I- Ah!"

You wailed when he entered you without any warning in one go, the intrusion surprising you as it had been a while since you had sex with someone. The last time was when, well, with Sunghoon.

"You know how to get to me, do you?" Sunghoon grits his teeth, the nickname that you accidentally slipped out made him go feral, snapping his hips into yours without letting you adjust first.

He's harsh, mean, and relentless— and you won't have it any other way.

You moan, hands making their way into his hair, treading through his jet black tresses and wiping the sweat from his forehead. A display of affection that did nothing but to make his heart race.

Vaguely, you felt his fingers draw lines on your upper thigh. Shapes? Letters? You couldn't catch up on what he was doing, especially when he kissed you hard while simultaneously hitting your deepest spot inside your leaking walls.

He mumbles against your bruised lips, "We have all night, baby. I'm not stopping until I'm satisfied."

It was rough, the way he manhandled you into different positions on your mattress. Merciless, when he cums into you before slamming back in, pushing his seed into your womb.

Your vision became pitch black during your session, and you can't help but wonder about the morning that is about to come.

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

A stray light passes through the curtains, seeping through your closed eyes and it stirred you awake.

Then you shoot up, remembering the events last night.

Sunghoon meeting with you, kissing your top lips rather messily, confessing the word that starts with 'M' and ends with an 'E'.

You peeked under your blanket. Completely clothed, you're clean, not sticky, yet the musky, alcoholic scent in your sheets tells you otherwise.

You shut your eyes tightly, salty tears threatening to fall as they form in the corner of your lids. Hands on your smooth hair, gripping it to the point where your scalp started to sting.

Are you imagining things? Have you finally gone insane?

You stand up from your bed, making your way into the mirror and there you see the love marks that he left.

That's a relief, you're not exactly crazy.

The labyrinth that you're solving is nowhere near close to finishing, and here you are, going back to zero.

Washing yourself in warm water, the remnants of last night flowing down the drain, it made you contemplate.

If he continues to torment you like this, how much would you last before the beauty of his terror finally makes you crack a dam?

Only one answer to that damned question.

Remain constant in choosing the false god that you worship until the heavens give you a sign that you’re guilty as sin whenever it comes to him.

taglist:

@shakalakaboomboo @ramenoil @slutforjeno @pshcomforts

[heaven-with-mark]

hey, i was just seeing if your requests were open? and if they are, i have a request. i’ll tell you now tho so it’s not a huge long thing- pretty much just a fluffy moment with mark where he’s laying his body between his s/o’s thighs with his head pressed to their chest. maybe sweet talk happens, i’m not sure. i just want more mark worship of thighs 😭 thanks lovely!!

"𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙨"

Unwinding from a long day, dinner ate and leftovers stored in the fridge. Tired, minds slowing, limbs aching. TV humming, lights soft, house warm. 

Beyond thankful you urged Mark to buy a couch with larger cushions, because it allowed for moments like this. Thighs spread, knees hiked up, Mark on his own between them. Your ankles locked behind his legs, keeping him from leaving; as if he even dared to move. While your lovely boyfriend was focused on some bogus TV show thrown on, his hands roamed your bare thighs, slow and idle on their own accord. There was high chance he didn't even notice the movement his own body was doing, just for the fact alone it was a normal occurrence.

More often than not, your evenings were spent downstairs, on the couch finding shows or movies of interest for the night. Mark liked to swap off dinner duty every other night, though in the end the other always butts in to help just minutes in. Cleaning was also done as a duo because it was easily over within maybe twenty minutes. 

Entranced by the show yourself, you barely register the movement of Mark's hands until they both stop mid-thigh to squeeze, gentle but reminding of his touch. That makes you turn, eyes flit from hands to face as you notice how alike he was to a child zoned into an iPad; you mocked him as a child for being on his every time without fail. His hands don't relent, his attention doesn't waver, not until you twitch a leg and he looks down to where his palms sit. "Why are you so warm?" Mark huffs, not at all upset but feigning jealousy. Your body tended to run hot, leaving you to deal with a very clingy boyfriend under the blankets, leeching your body heat and stealing kisses.

"What if I'm not warm and you're just cold?" You purr, quiet, almost drowned out by the TV. Mark squints at you as his hands continue their path, dragging softly up and around your thighs in random tracks. The moment he trails across inner upper thighs, he hesitates before squeezing. He's no longer watching your face, instead staring down at the way his fingers sink into the doughiness, the way it looks squished under his broad palms. The moment you turn to look away, face flushed a little warm, Mark is nudging your thighs apart a little further to make space as he ungracefully drops his body between them. Head to your chest, turning the same way your attention is, one hand making its way behind your back just in case you think of getting up. After a moment of contemplation, His other hand reaches to hook under your thigh and grasp at your calf. Thumb strokes soft skin, not a word spoken. "I love you," Mark croons, drawing little hearts into your back. "I love you more!" You laugh, turning to press a quick kiss to his hairline.

[onwednesdayswewrite]

flawless {vada cavell}

Pairing: Vada Cavell x Reader  

Warnings: smut (18+) smoking weed, vaginal fingering, oral sex, language, talk of the shooting,  joking about the queen of england (please don’t come for me lol rip)

Vada and reader are both 18+ in this

Word Count: 1.7k

hey y’all, I’ve had this one in the works for a while now, but it’s finally done! Next part of this hell with hopefully be done in the next couple of days!

~~~~~~~~

“And don’t even get me started on the Queen like I’m lowkey not even sad she died. No cap, the old bitch definitely had something to do with Diana’s death, that shit is suspicious as fuck” Vada’s rambling trailed off at the sensation of your fingers running up her leg. The prickle of her unshaven legs tickled your fingertips. Her baseball shorts rode up her thighs as she sat on your bed. You were supposed to be getting ready for Nick’s party, but Vada had somehow roped you into smoking before you went so she could chill more.

“Baby, what the fuck are you doing?” You practically jumped out of your skin at the sudden rise in your girlfriend’s voice. The smoke from your joint left the air between the two of you hazy. The mischievous look that filled your face was enough to tell Vada you were up to something.

“Oh I was just wondering when you stopped being my girlfriend and became Bigfoot” you fired back. A laugh fought its way past your lips as one of her eyebrows shot up. Vada snatched the joint from your free hand, narrowing her eyes at you as she took a hit.

“I’m wounded that you tried to use my dude Bigfoot to insult me” Vada was a little out of breath, and her voice scratched as she spoke. Her attempts to contain her cough from the long drag failed for a moment, but it didn’t stop her from taking another hit before handing it back to you.

“Like Bigfoot is THE MAN, he’s my icon, the legend” with each word her voice raised an octave to the point she was almost yelling, her hands waving about to emphasize her point. “I think I might love him” Her voice trailed off to a whisper as she finished, her eyebrows knit together in confusion.

You sat up in bed and leaned on your elbow to look at her. Her eyes were red now, and a dreamy haze seemed to cloud them. She leaned forward to take a drag from the joint still between your fingers, she didn’t pull away though. She seemed to linger for a moment, contemplating her next move. Her lips brushed against yours as she exhaled, milky smoke filled the space between the two of you, and began to enter your lungs. She didn’t move for a moment, allowing you to get the smoke, before she dramatically pushed up from her spot.

“I’ve always wanted to do that” Vada giggled, rolling ungracefully across the bed.

“You are an Idiot, Vada Cavell” you took another hit from the joint before setting it in the ashtray on your bedside table.

“Well, I think you’re beautiful” Vada’s voice shifted when you returned to the bed. All the chatty energy had faded and left something else in its wake.

“Nah, I think you're just high, V” you tried to shake her off, you knew there would be no way you would make it to Nick’s party later if you let her get her way.

“No, I’m being for real y/n, you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen” Vada took your hands, settling them on her hips. From all her moving around, Vada’s shirt had bunched at her waist. The exposed skin of her stomach was warm under your hands.  Her own hands started to caress your back under her soccer championship hoodie.  

“Flattery won’t get you anywhere, V '' but Vada knew she had won when she felt your hands tighten around her waist, pulling her closer. Her lips brushed over yours.  

“Oh I think it will” Her lips were soft and pillowy against yours when they finally met. Your hands left her hips to settle on her neck, tugging lightly on the hair there. Vada’s soft moan vibrated against your lips. You tugged again softly just to hear her moan against you again before you let go. Her dark hair cascaded over her shoulders as your fingers hooked around the tie holding it back.

The taste of weed still lingered on her lips when she finally pulled back to catch her breath. Her hair fell over her shoulders and tickled the side of your neck. Sunlight trickled in through a crack in your curtain. Sometimes when the light hit the brown in her eyes, it turned them almost golden. Like pools of honey. Now, with Vada’s knees on either side of your hips and hands roaming your body as you felt the sun hit your skin, you didn’t want to go to Nick’s party anymore.

You kissed for a while, Vada’s lips never leaving yours for more than a second to catch your breath. You could feel her getting impatient. The way she kept shifting, trying to get you to move your hands a little higher. The way her hands pushed your shirt up until it gathered at your chest. Her fingers played dangerously with the band of your sports bra, just begging you to take it off. And Vada did win as usual, your shirt hitting the floor with a soft thud.

Reality came crashing back to you like a freight train when Vada’s fingertips brushed over the healed gunshot wound on your thigh. A painful reminder of the first day you met Vada all those years ago. Though neither of you talked about it often, the incident left more than just physical scars on both of you. None of you deserve it, but that’s just how the world is now, cruel and unfair. But at least you had someone to weather the storm with.

You could practically hear Vada’s breathy laugh bring you back to the present ‘I can’t believe you just called it the incident’. You remembered the night Vada had told you all about her therapy sessions, including all of the hassle she had put that poor woman through. In this moment, you were thankful the weed allowed your mind to shift easily from the pain. A droopy smile fell on your face at the thought of Vada.

“What’s got you all smiley now” her breath tickled under your nose as her fingers carded through your hair.

“Just thinking about you” you whispered, seeking the side of her neck. Your lips left lazy kisses around her ear. Your body craved her, to feel her touch again.

“Now who’s pulling the flattery card” Vada snorted, her freckle-spotted nose wrinkling against the side of your face.

You too began to grow impatient, and It didn’t take long before Vada’s back hit your mattress. Your heartbeat thudded in your chest as you fumbled to get her stupid basketball shorts and boxers down. Her squirming settled when your hand found her wet heat, her eyes fluttering shut.

“God, you're so wet” you murmured against her lips, but you knew you wouldn't get a response. You never did, not when she was like this. All of her chatty energy and confidence disappeared when she was under you. A whine left her lips when you moved your hand away. But she was settled quickly when her sports bra joined your shirt on the floor

“Fuck” Vada moaned out breathlessly as your mouth closed around her nipple. You take your time there, kissing… and biting just to hear a soft gasp fall from her lips every time. It doesn’t take long before Vada grows tired of waiting. Her hips shifting under you in an attempt to draw your hands back to her. Eventually you did give in to her, and when you did, the moan that fell from her lip when you gently began rubbing her clit was so worth it.

Vada drew your lips back to hers, her hands wrapped in the hair at the base of your neck, tugging you back to her. Her kisses became sloppy, desperate little whines fell from her lips as she gripped tighter at your hair. Her movements became more and more frantic, her hips shifting and thrusting up to meet your fingers on her clit.

“What do you need, baby?” your movements slowed, and the whine that fell from her was almost pathetic. Her hands tugged harder on your hair, her lips brushing against your neck, anything to get you to continue. “You gotta use your words, baby” you prompted again.

“Your mouth” her voice was low as she tried to stop the moan that threatened to fall from her at your slow movements on her clit.

“Good girl” you wanted to tease her, you really did. But Vada’s arousal was almost dripping onto your mattress now, and you felt bad. The stubble of her thighs tickled your cheeks as you placed kisses there. Her hips shifted, she was getting impatient again. Your hand left her clit to hold her hips in place, and she whined at the loss of contact. But you didn’t leave her for long, your tongue soon replacing where your fingers had been. She hummed, finally satisfied with getting what she wanted.

“Jesus” she moaned out, not quite expecting your finger to press against her entrance. Vada’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment with how easily your finger slid in. Her head fell back and she no longer tried to stop her whimpers.  She was a mess under you now as you slipped in a second finger without losing your rhythm. You knew she wouldn’t last long like this. Not with your tongue lapping at her clit too.

Her nails dug into the back of your neck tugging again on the hair, as she tightened around your fingers, she was close now. You curled your fingers, as you sucked gently on her clit. Her thighs were shaking against the side of your head now. You entwined your fingers with hers as she came. Vada let out one more moan as her body went rigid under you.

The California heat combined with your recent activity left you sweating and trying to catch your breath as you rested your head on Vada’s thigh. Her thighs were still shaking under you, and her breaths coming out in pants, jostling you.

“Let's forget about Nick’s party” Vada’s breath was hot against your neck when she finally reached down and pulled you back up to her. But she didn’t have much to worry about, any thought of that party was long gone.

[storiesfromafan]

Benny x Reader Pt 3

A/N: not going to lie, this didnt turn out as good as I had hoped. But it helps progress the story haha.

Tag List (I forgot last part)

@mrsalwayswrite

If you want to be added to the tag list, just have to comment so.

“What was it like the first time you went to a Vandals picnic?” Danny asked, sitting at the counter in your kitchen, recorder resting before him.

You were cutting up vegetables for a stew you were cooking. “It was like a big family reunion. Good food, good drink, good fun”.

“Big family reunion, huh?” Danny chuckled.

You laughed. “Yeah. You have the men gathering together or small groups, drinking and talking shop. While the women gather and swap stories and looking after the little ones”.

“How did that day go for you?” Danny asked with genuine interest.

~~~

When Lilly had called you that morning to ask if you wanted to go to a Vandals picnic, you had been a tad hesitant. But after some reassurance and a few stories, along with mention of racing and Andy taking part, you gave in. So here you were, at a Vandals picnic. You’d dressed for the occasion, light three-quarter sleeved sweater, dark slacks and tennis shoes. From how muddy the location got; you thought best to not wear anything too good.

Getting out of Lilly’s car you noticed a group of women a few meters away. And then Lilly came over, linking arms pulling you over to them. She greeted them warmly and introduced you, to which they greeted back, as well as introduced themselves. Most of them seemed nice, while a few looked you up and down. None the less you fell into this group, talking and drinking, their little ones playing or running around you all.

You looked around, taking in the groups of men. Some were just drinking and talking, others were by some bikes checking them out, and a few were play jostling each other while laughing, no doubt on the drunk side. Watching two of them topple over each other, falling ungracefully onto the grass, you laughed at them with a few of the women.

Benny had noticed you as soon as you got out of Lilly’s car. He’d been anticipating you to show up, as Lilly never missed a picnic, and your brother was racing. So he figured you would show up. Benny thought you looked better then when he last saw you, though he had secretly hoped you’d worn another dress. He would have loved to see those bare legs again. Which then led him to some scandals thoughts, such as you in a dress and straddling his lap. But he could wait, there would be another time to see you in a cute dress.

You finally landed on Benny, who was standing around with Johnny and another man, beer in hand and his eyes on you. Like a moth to a flame. A look crossed his face when he realized you had noticed him staring, and it made your heart skip a beat. What was it about Benny that drew you in? Sure, he was good looking, looked amazing on a bike, and there was this air about it that was exciting but comforting.

Lilly nudged your side, a small smirk on her face. “You good?”

You turned from Benny, though could feel his eyes still on you. “Yeah, I’m good”.

“You sure?” She asked, still smirking but a little bigger. “You wouldn’t want to go over to some guys and chat?”

You shook your head, feeling your cheeks warm up.

“Come on” Lilly giggled, linking arms and dragging you over to the three men you’d just been looking at. And to one of them in particular.

All three males looked up when Lilly came bouncing over, you trying to dig your feet into the ground to stop her, failing terribly. If you weren’t sure how to act before, you didn’t know now. This time you would have to speak in front of him or to him, and he to you. What would he say? What would you say? Your heart felt like it was going to beat out of your chest, your mind running wild.

“Uncle Johnny, Brucie and Benny, I’d like you to meet my good friend (Y/N), well officially introduce you, Uncle Johnny and Benny” Lilly said letting go of your arm.

“Hello. Nice to officially meet ya” said Johnny with a small smile. “Was an interesting way to find out about ya the other week”.

You felt your face heat up in embarrassment, wishing you could forget how both men had seen you. “Ah, yeah...not how I usually make an entrance”.

Lilly laughed at your words.

“What entrance did you make?” Brucie asked confused on what he missed out on.

You were about to explain before someone beat you to it.

“Angel here was riding Andy’s racer before he fixed out the issues with it. She came flying towards Fred, Johnny and me, but managed to pull off a slide stop without crashing” came Benny’s gravelly voice. His baby blues – which you now know – trained on you, watching you closely.

How was this man even real? It should be illegal for him to look and sound the way he does. Benny was a walking, talking temptation.

Brucie whistled. “Guess you take after your brother”.

You turned back to Brucie. “I guess so, though we worked and rode bikes together when I was a teenager”.

Brucie nodded. “Of course. You looking forward to seeing him race?”

You smiled. “Yeah, I am”.

After that small talk was made, which put you at ease. Though Benny was still watching you, you could see him from the corner of your eye. Soon a few of the guys came walking past, telling you all that the races were starting. Upon hearing Andy’s name, you and Lilly took off to find a spot to watch the races. The distance you put between yourself and Benny allowed you to relax, the air returning to your lungs.

Picking to stand on a small hill that overlooked a quarter of the track, you and Lilly looked at each other before laughing with excitement. When the three riders lined up, you saw Andy was in the middle. Lilly called out ‘go Andy’, which he turned seeing you both and waved. With the drop of a bandanna they were off, you bouncing on the spot hoping and praying Andy won and was in one piece.

For most of the race you could only hear the bikes, but when they came back into view you and Lilly were chatting ‘come on!’ and holding on to each other’s arms. The last few turns were on the sloshy side, making it great to slide but also dangerous. But eventually Andy crossed the line first, you both cheering and jumping up and down. You both decided to hang around and watch more races. Over time more Vandals and women came to watch. Including the one person who had a way of putting you in a choke hold with a look: Benny.

Benny had finally got away from Johnny and Brucie, making his way over to the race area, and you. He didn’t hide anything, just casually walked up to where you both were standing. Smoke in hand, Benny took the place next to you. You didn’t notice till after the current race of a presences next to you. When you turned and looked at him, Benny watched as your eyes widened before turning back to the racetrack. He smiled to himself at your reaction.

Lilly, sensing a change in you, turned to find you both had a new companion. “Well, nice of you to join us” she said with a smile.

Benny nodded, taking a drag from his smoke, holding it for a few seconds before realizing it. He didn’t say anything, just stood there. He was watching the race that just started. But every now and then he’d look at you from the corner of his eye. He studied your profile; the slope of your cute nose and how your lips were slightly full. Every now and then you looked down before back up, no doubt your mind running with thoughts.

You felt nervous being so close to Benny. You were trying to not let his close proximity effect you. Taking a deep breath, you slowly released it, hoping it would calm your racing heart. It only worked a small bit, if even that. You lowered your eyes, looking to Benny from under eyelashes. He looked to be watching the race, but you had a feeling he was watching you. You felt like there were eyes on you. Looking back to the race you lift your gaze to watch the racers come into view before coming to the finish line.

“Hmm” mused Lilly, watching you and Benny. “I’m going to get a drink, you both want one?”

You shot her a look that said don’t leave me. But she just smiled at you. Benny just nodded his head. “Alright, I’ll get us drinks. Be back soon~” Lilly finished with a bit of a sing-song tone.

You watched her skip off toward the group of women, before turning your gaze back to the racetrack, moving to cross your arms over your chest. Now what? It was just you and Benny, who was once again looking at you. What could you say? Would he talk? Just then Benny finished his smoke, tossing it to the ground and stomping it out.

For Benny, he was trying to work out what to say. In this situation it was the females that would talk to him, but you were different. Maybe you both were similar like that, that silence spoke more then actual words. But how long could it go on for? He wanted to hear you speak, he wanted to hear your sweet voice.

“I gotta say...” Benny began, trying to choose his next words. “You can handle a racer pretty good”.

His gravelly voice hit your ears and sent a shiver down your spine. You didn’t expect him to break the silence. Words stuck in your throat, not being able to get out.

“It was like seeing an Angel on wheels” he added, hoping to get anything out of you.

That snapped you out of your silence. “Ha. The saying is Devil on wheels” you scoffed. Before feeling a little embarrassed by your brazen words.

Benny chuckled with that gravelly voice of his. “I know the sayin’ Angel” – Benny lent in towards you – “but when a gorgeous girl comes sliding on a bike before me, it was like seeing an Angel on wheels”, he then winked.

You could have swallowed your tongue. You could feel your face heating up, and no doubt your were going pink. The way he just complimented you set your stomach a flutter. No guy had ever said anything like that before. Sure a few small compliments, but mostly men told you – in various ways – a woman didn’t belong on a bike. You’d been cursed and ridiculed, shunned by some people too. Yet here was a biker giving you a compliment.

Finally you felt your tongue loosen, even with his heated gaze on you. “It was just a racer” you spoke softly, “nothing like your bike. It was light and easy to handle”.

Benny nodded. “That’s true, but you still handled it good. I know a few racers that would crack up in that situation”. Again he gave you praise, which only embarrassed you further, yet it also seemed to calm you.

“Maybe...” was all you reply with.

“If you want...I could teach you to ride my bike” He stated, feeling self-conscious, something that rarely happens to Benny. “It might be heavier but I think you could handle it”.

His words took a moment to sink in, when they did all you could do was slowly nod your head. After that silence fell between you too, while turning back to the racetrack and riders before you. Though every now and then you would steal glances at the other, seeming more comfortable after talking to each other.

A few minutes later Lilly came bouncing back, two beers and a pop in hand. She past you the pop before handing Benny a beer. He didn’t waste time taking a swig while looking at the riders on the track.

Lilly nudged your shoulder, leaning in to whisper, “what happened!?”

You hit her arm, glancing at Benny to make sure he hadn’t herd. And you didn’t think he did. “I’ll tell you later” you whispered back, which Lilly pouted at.

The rest of the afternoon you spent hanging out with the women and kids, talking and laughing. Benny was always with some of the guys, but would keep an eye on you, just like you would him. A few women noticed, making some comments that embarrassed you. One even tried to warn you about him, but Lilly said to not pay her any mind. Sure Benny wasn’t perfect, but he was a good guy.

As the sun began to set, that was when you and Lilly decided to make tracks. A few of the Vandals protested but Lilly said you both were expected back at hers for dinner with her parents. And her mum wasn’t a women to keep waiting. So off you both went. An eventful day that was the start of something to come.

~~~

“Over all it was a good day” you smiled to yourself.

Danny chuckled. “Seems like it. What happened next with you and Benny?”

You smiled wider at his question, knowing you’d tell him everything.

[dev1lm4n]

untold

pairing: post-outbreak!joel miller x brothel worker!reader

summary: fragments of memories during your gradual (and rather horrendous) infatuation towards your number one frequenter, joel miller.

word count: 3.8k

warnings: explicit (18+) mdni, oral f receiving, sorta dark undertones but honestly joel's a sweetheart

notes: do reblog or comment if u enjoyed it! don't be shy to hit my ask box as well ;)

Love is stupid.

It’s lawless and frankly, holds no value in the realm you’re familiar with. Love could only exist in a world of unsullied brilliance, orderly conversations, washed hands, clean clothes, and good manners. Untarnished by the hands of the wicked, of the seven deadly sins; where birds sing out morning hymns and festive lights strung out wintry nights. Only then can love flourish. To think that such an innocent tenderness could exist within your barely nine feet by six room would be utterly idiotic. 

“You gotta pack the cigs first.”

“Huh?”

“God, you’re helpless.”

You didn’t even realize he’s tucked in a crisp stick on the very corner of your lips. His brown eyes gentle on yours as he flicked his lighter on, effectively igniting the tobacco-filled end in a slow drawl. Inside Boston’s most popular brothel after the end of government and the start of flesh-eating monsters, it was never brighter than the gathering gloom of dusk. Even at midday. It was always bleak. The bed was a plank of wood on legs, thin quilts and a ragged blanket hardly helping you through winter. But with him, it’s always a warm furnace. 

His rough fingers were quick to snatch the worn-out box of Marlboro from your loose grip. Exquisitely, he proved his familiarity with the product by ‘packing’ the filter against his palm. You weren’t sure what the action provoked, but it still had you looking up at him with stars in your eyes - twinkling fondly as if he’d just pulled out a magical rabbit out of a top hat. He looked down at you with such reverence, a little too much respect for the common whore you were, though you undeniably basked in it like fresh summer air.

Joel Miller was your light at the end of the alley. Your beacon of hope. 

“Breathe, girl.”

He chuckled oh so lovingly.

“You’re strugglin’ like a damn rookie. Come on, girl. I know you got this,” he spurred on like a goddamn sports coach.

Ungracefully, you retched on the new stench entering your airway. The taste proved to be unsuited to yours as it left some sort of disgusting filament sheet over your taste buds, yet you struggled to keep it on the edge of your lips.

Whatever Joel gifted you needed to be preserved or consumed in the finest way possible; it was a rule consistent to every paying patron you’ve dealt with, though it’s a compulsory need to be met when it comes to him. He was so engrossed in the entire fiasco playing out that he failed to give you the next crucial step to smoking a cigarette - to inhale.

“It tastes like shit, Joel. This is worse than Johnny’s battery acid cum.”

“Yeah? What ‘bout mine?”

Without giving you a much needed warning, Joel let his fingers tentatively slide along your neck. He was moving with such expertise, as if he knew exactly where the windpipe is, where you’ve been struggling terribly to inhale. He dragged his forefinger down a straight line before finally cupping the base of your neck in a firm grip. Commonly, when a customer manages to get you in a situation that’s prone to escalate dangerously, you’d be quick to retaliate. With him, it was.. different. You felt at ease, even when he’s practically in the position to strangle you.

“You taste good.”

You grinned sheepishly. Joel’s eyes traveled from where red consumed the wilted edge of your cigarette to your heaving chest. Still bare with prominent buds making their grand appearances, though the sweat from your previous endeavors had finally dried down into a light sheen. You’re undeniably angelic in the midst of all the monstrosity occurring all around him, in a way that cleared his mind and freed him of his terrors, and it sparked a feeling of guilt deep within him. You didn’t deserve this. Any of this.

“Another go at it then?” 

“Joel!”

It was the fourteenth of February.

Not until Joel Miller came prancing around with a fucking bouquet. 

Valentine’s day used to be a big deal around Boston. You could still conjure up images of the old world; a symphony of vibrant colors. Streets were adorned with heart-shaped decorations and shops showcased a dazzling array of chocolates, obnoxious bouquets, and greeting cards. The smell of cocoa and vanilla was still vivid, embedded in the back of your head even after years of being exposed to the reeking stench of sex and sweat. Working in a brothel, you learned to exploit people’s needs for romance and affection, even so, no madman has ever gone out of their way to put some thought into romancing a whore.

“Mmph.. oh.. right- right there.”

“Please, Jo- Joel. My clit. It’s right- please, no.”

Your eyes fleeted down towards where he’s located - right between your trembling thighs. He nestled his tongue towards where your natural heat is radiating from, effectively lapping up every spurt of wetness that managed to escape from your twitching hole. His tall nose constantly nudged at your bundle of nerves, each time causing your back to arch and your pelvis angled directly to where his sloppy muscle is located. You’ve told him your worries; that you were a hooker for fuckssake, you fuck guys for a living and that’d instantly make you deem unworthy of being eaten out.

Joel didn’t care one bit. Not when you’re making such sweet noises at his ministrations.

“Gotta be patient, pretty girl.”

He’s making a show out of it and it drove you insane. You averted your gaze away from him, head lolling to the side to meet his handmade bouquet propped up loosely on the small bedside table. They were fresh, some open and others in bud; you’re a little bummed you’d never get to see the ones in bud flourish as your little room was equal to a jail cell, lacking natural light. A prudent shade of pink caressed each petal, yet the kind of color that feels confident, proud to bring a newfound radiance to the shabby furniture.

The flowers felt like a mockery, a tongue stuck out to your face, everybody knew he was a madman for bringing you such gestures.

“Pay attention.”

He demanded, a carnal need for more laced in every syllable that dribbled off his lips. Joel’s eyes stuck to yours and in that moment of truth, you’re both spellbound under each other’s magic. Times like these made your brain race into untouched territory; of whether he loved you beyond the messy sheets and hushed whispers, of whether you’d escape the brothel and strive for your own. He was quick to ground you as he caressed the sides of your vulva with his ring and pointer fingers, tickled the needy hole with his middle, and pressed his thumb along each and every groove as he sought for where you ached the most.

A gentle lick upwards initiated a sharp jolt that could only be described as electrical. He pressed the end of his tongue flat against it again, then twirled gentle circles around it, and all you could do was twist the worn bedsheets in a messy crumple, splay your legs out more, and submit to his wishes. This was your gateway to heaven. He brought you the only kind of heaven you’d beg on your knees for - not the ones of unadulterated truth and clarity, but the one that’s true to the shrill, sullen, and violent world you’re living in.

It was beautiful. A moment you’d like to snap and pin with a red magnet to the refrigerator door, but it’s fleeting nonetheless.

Fuck Joel Miller and the way he’s making you feel.

“Don’t stop. Please.. please.. oh, please.”

You pleaded with all your heart, body, and soul. Nirvana was near; you could see your salvation in front of your two frantic eyes, presented among the stars scattered everytime you closed your eyes, but he cut his little performance short.

“Not yet, sweet girl.”

“You’re just my kind of man.”

Stuffed inside a dimly lit alley, amid the patronizing starlight and the warm milky glow of the moon, you leaned idly against a chipped cobblestone wall. Your figure was clad in a worn-out dress, edges tattered and stitches pulled from extended use, that hinted at both vulnerability and resilience. The night air carried a symphony of whispered conversations, muffled laughter, and faint clinking of glasses from underground taverns. It was humiliating the way your hopeful eyes met fleeting glances of passerby, assessing each one for a spark of interest, but this was your way of living. Your way to survive.

A tug on your rod, a salt and pepper man approached you with hesitant steps. You recognized the look in his old wearied eyes easily: curiosity and guilt.

“You really are. I’m really good, you know, Cherie.”

With practiced ease, you mustered a welcoming smile and gestured him to come closer in a way that made it seem like you’re withholding the world’s biggest secret. You had a certain charm when it came to attracting patrons, choreographed mannerisms that portrayed you in the sweetest manner possible. A small shy shrug here and a gentle tug of your lacy sweetheart neckline, you became a femme fatale. A true enchantress on the prowl. 

It’s one of those nights where you’re eager to make a score. Joel Miller, your number one frequenter and main source of income hadn’t popped his nose in for a whole week, and despite your thriving loyalty to him, you’d rather stash up on credits than starve. The need didn’t necessarily sweep off the guilt. You felt wrong for scouting strangers from the street to offer your services, to cater to their curiosity and help them crush the weight of societal expectations, to return their diminished ego. It felt like you’re betraying him. Another stupid thought of yours that hit the curb as soon as the older man caressed your side, his grimy fingers dirtying the pure cotton.

You felt disgusted, but really, it’s just like every other day.

“Everybody says I’m pretty.. and all the other men like me.”

He’s falling. You could watch the exact moment in real time as he weighed out his options, making peace with his moral compass.

“Don’t you like me?”

“How much-”

Bingo! Bells dinged above your head. Jackpot.

“She’s mine for the night.”

What you saw first was his thick finger, dug upon the male’s shabby shirt, forceful enough that the fabric underneath crinkled in an uncomfortable manner. Dirt underneath his nails, fingertips coarse from all the physical work he’s exerted, and everlasting scabs decorating the ends of his knuckles. You knew who it was before he brought his face to light - onyx orbs oozing off disdain as he peered from your potential patron’s shoulder. Joel could kill a man from how tightly he’s eyeing you, up and down, side to side as if trying to reason with your misdemeanor.

You watched as your ‘Cherie’ scurried off into the dark, a slow whistle drawed out of your jutted lips.

It was pissing you off. His fucking audacity.

“I’m not yours for the night,” you chimed stubbornly.

“Yeah?” Joel closed any visible gap between the two of you, trapping you between the chilly wall and his heaving chest. Your eyebrows knitted with jeering derision and in return, he scooped up every last flaky ration card from his pocket and stuffed it in your balled hand. “Now you’re mine.”

“You’re always mine. Morning, day, and night. Fuckin’ remember that in your pretty little head,” his voice taunted each and every part of you as his scruff made sweet contact with your helix. You shuddered, rocked with adrenaline. “Can you do that for me, girl?”

“Yes.”

“What’s this from?”

You sat by Joel’s relaxed knees, prim behavior with your calves tucked underneath your thighs. Gentle eyes illuminated by the gentle sway of brilliant gold. By the flickering yellow the room is dark, the shapes of the furniture distinguishable but the colors were so muted that they are almost gray. It was a different kind of night; there was a prominent uneasiness in the way he’s studying you, the lines he’s provided as guidance slowly blurring away with each and every flicker of amber. He’s never done this before. Laying loose in front of you, letting you unbutton his flannel, having you set the pace - you weren’t sure what he’s trying to convey with the sudden acceptance.

Joel is a man of closed doors, and so the prospect of seeing what’s behind thrilled you.

You looked up at him. Eyes interlocked in some kind of mutual understanding as your hand extended, cold fingers ghosting over his bare skin, and only when he gave you a hesitant nod did you let it crane down. He jolted ever so slightly, a twitch in his hooded eyes. Your thumb ran over the expanse of his lightened scar. It felt odd. Not in a weird way - just in a different, intriguing way. In a way that kept you tuned to the intimate aspect of the exchange.

The most you’ve seen from him was his pelvis bone, the thick of his unshaven bush, and his cock. He’s always made sure it’s all about you, despite being the one paying. And you respected that, all the time. Though it’d be a lie if you said you didn’t want to tear at his clothes, tug at his remaining buttons, unbuckle his belt with both hands to see all of him.

You refrained nonetheless. It looked like it was taking all of him to be this open, you wouldn’t want to scare him off with your rashness.

“Got bitten by a very scary zombie.”

He lied, adorably, was he trying to make you smile?

“Joel.”

He’d die happy at the sight of you right now.

“I thought we’re tryin’ to make this fun?”

“Fun, sure. Not absurd!”

“Okay, okay, it’s uh.. I wasn’t careful with a knife.”

You hummed softly. Not entirely sure if it was more so a mundane kitchen injury or a mugged-in-the-street injury. Your eyes traced the contours of his chest, a canvas sculpted with strength and tenderness. With sweet delicateness, your fingers continued their journey; gliding ever so softly over his warm, smooth skin up to where his gallbladder is supposed to be. Speckles of gray and black coarse hair trickled over your adventure. Each sensation rippled through your fingertips, awakening your senses to the subtle textures. Every stroke was a personal exploration, an expression of gratitude. This was where you found your solace.

“This one?”

“A trip over to Vermont gone wrong.”

“Drugs?”

He hesitated. A beat of silence from the two of you emphasized the noises from beyond your thin walls: a myriad of moans, foul words, and skin slapping.

“Somethin’ like that.”

And so, your voyage proceeded, each movement a testament to the admiration you held towards him. You wondered if he felt the same way. If he’s ever thought of the fruitless hopes you held towards him. If he’d ever longed for your existence the way you did everytime he missed his scheduled visits. You need him in the most desperate way possible, beyond the way he buried himself inside you, beyond the amount his physical existence could give. Lost in your own thoughts, you let your fingers lower.

Lower.. lower.. and lower until it rested over his clothed cock.

“And what’s this from?”

“You.”

Joel Miller has an odd habit.

Every girl in your brothel knew that he’s a peculiar one; no man has ever been this dedicated to a hooker before, to the extent where you’ve had some curious questions, wondering if he’s proposed to you or do something of the sort. Men are greedy pigs who could only take and take, every whore has established that, so the sight of his reverence astonished them. He’s too good to be true. A once-in-a-lifetime abnormality. What they’ve yet to discover was of his equally peculiar habit.

Joel loved leaving a small reminder of him everytime he’s forced to leave in weird hours of the night. A small, brightly colored post-it that’s frequently left with a stack of ration cards - always insanely over the common charge - and a trinket of some sort if you’re lucky. What he wrote consisted of a broad variety. An extension of his intrinsic need to capture and remember fleeting thoughts, to show his deep fondness of you, to let you feel the parts he’s too afraid to reveal. You’ve always chalked it up to sympathy. A poor whorehouse girl like you needed pitying and he’s doing that to fix his torn morals. 

You’d rather die than commit to the thought of him being in love with you.

He couldn’t possibly be. He’s him and you’re you, the two of you have established that.

Out of the many he’s left in your shoebox-sized room, the first one will always be the most memorable one. You remembered that it was in the peak of summer, heat almost seared your skin off your bones as a group of cicadas screamed their hearts out. The establishment is finally quiet at four in the morning. Most guests have finally stopped their endeavors and spent the night holding their pretty whores or leaving satisfied, and so you finally have the time to yourself. To relish in the satisfying silence. You lit a new candle and saddled it in its special nook - a spot on your bedside table that’s garnished with remnants of wax.

Your eyes met your pay. A good stack that was equal to three days worth of food and a place in the brothel.

Satiated, you reach over to make a proper count. That was when you discovered the vibrant yellow square, greeting you with a mystifying aura. Scribbled with a smudged wet ink, you predicted he used some kind of ballpoint pen to write the remark. Your first thought was of how corny it is. A snort uncontrollably left your lips as you observed the object closely. Never in a million years would you expect a brothel visitor to leave behind a hearty “Thank you for being here tonight” note.

You used to consider them strange, but over time you found yourself looking forward to the trivial gesture.

“Stay safe” was a quick and easy one. 

“You reminded me that life is full of surprises” bore through your heart even when it made you cringe. 

“Smile for me, pretty girl” had you by the throat.

“Can’t wait to fuck you good” elicited warmth between your thighs. 

“I’m gonna miss you” made you long for him.

This morning was the same as every day. You rose from your slumber at exactly four in the morning, grumbled at the sharp sensation down your bad back, pulled your sheets at every edge, lit a lone candle, only then could you finally relish in the daunting silence. It was so quiet you could hear every beat of your heart, every time you inhaled coldness and exhaled warmth, every time your heart squeezed at the fact that he’s not here. Just like every other day, Joel Miller left you alone. In the dark.

Your line of vision moved from where your legs were planted on the freezing wooden board, to the very top of your bedside table. This was where he first broke the sacred routine, because there wasn’t a thing on top of the rotten wood. Your pay’s not there and moreover, his post-it notes were nowhere to be seen; it’s humiliating to admit you’re a lot more concerned about the latter.

Colors drained from your face. The pink from being so deeply enamored with his gentle affection, the red from being wrapped up in a lustful haze over him, the blue from being left in the dark when he knew just how much you despised it - each and every last emotion mingled into a puzzled mess. In frantic panic, you kneeled onto your knees to try and see if it dropped down underneath, but nothing met your hand other than a glob of dust and hair. Your hope slowly began to dwindle, tears welled up in your eyes at the thought of being swindled. He wouldn’t do that, would he? That was until you made the decision to pull at your drawers with a sharp tug.

What you saw was even more baffling.

Your tongue went dry.

There were stacks upon stacks of ration cards. Every single color available at your disposal: grass green, tan, olive, and faded salmon. You’ve never seen that many officially-issued ration cards in one place before. It exceeded the amount held by soldiers when giving out pay, exceeded the best tip you’ve received in the whole year  you’ve worked, exceeded foolish dreams you’ve had of it. You let your fingers run through each fold, instinctually counting the number in each band when you knew for a fact that it’s much more than you’ll ever need. There’s a catch to this. 

You continued to rummage through your drawer, searching for his note, anything that might give you a clue to what the sudden influx of pay may signify. What met your fingers next was something blunt. Hard, stiff, and cold so it must be a metal of some sort. You took hold of what you could only assume to be the handle. Lo and behold, you’ve just discovered a revolver, it’s metal surface tarnished with age. Your heart raced as you gingerly picked up the weapon, the weight of it unfamiliar and dangerous. Joel has always hated when you interfere with his world, of guns and drugs, of robbery and murders, so what’s with the change of heart?

Beneath where the revolver was hiding was the item you’re looking for.

His note.

“I’m heading West. Tommy needs me.”

He’s not coming back. He doesn’t have to say it word for word.

“Ration cards will last you three months at best.”

Droplets of salty tears started dirtying your cheek as you clutched onto the note. Your heart shattered with each and every word, his instructions painfully etched deep in your wounded soul. You need him, you breathe him.

“Gun’s loaded. Use it to keep you safe.”

The words on the paper, though seemingly innocent and void of any emotions, held a sanction of finality.

“Leave the brothel. Find some place safe.”

Time seemed to stand still as you retreated further into yourself. This was your way out, yet it stung like shards of glass.

“I lo-”

Your eyes glazed upon the tear on the very edge of his note. A sign of cowardice. You knew what he meant to say, you knew what he tore off the page better than anyone else.

Fuck Joel Miller and the way he made you feel.

[canthavetoomuchchaos]

Angry Wolf

platonic! Darlin + David

Tw: yelling, cursing, punches are thrown, bad anger management, Christian.

Set at a pack meeting where Christian says something that pisses off Darlin, a few punches are thrown and David gets involved. Just what did Christian say?

its a pack meeting. That's all it is, there no need to have anxiety, Sam will be waiting at home after, and they can just watch a movie with him. There's no need to have anxiety right now.

David is stood by the door, they give him a small nod in greeting, beelining to the back wall of the den where they usually hide for pack meetings. David doesn't mind, as long as they're present. Darlin let's out a small breath and pulls out their phone, looking through their few pictures of Sam that they have to make themselves look busy.

They tense as Christian makes his way toward them, they don't want to deal with him right now, all that will come out of it is a fight with how their anxiety is right now.

"Still talking to that leech are you?" He sneers. They ignore him and continue to scroll through their pictures.

"I guess you didn't learn from the last one did you? They're all the same Wallflower, he probably works for that Quinn guy, getting close to you for Intel? Have you thought that maybe, just maybe he's no different-" he's cut off by a sharp punch to his nose. Darlin's phone is now on the floor, the room silent as they seeth, eyes practically on fire with the anger raging inside them.

"He is NOTHING like Quinn, and you'd do well to get that through your thick fucking skull Chrissy..." They can see as he thinks for a moment, then decides to take the stupid route.

"did you fucking PUNCH me?! What the hell Tank?!" He grunts, nursing his bloody nose with a gentle hand, his eyes now glaring back as he throws a punch straight to their gut. They grunt and swing, hitting him in the temple. He falls to the ground, a yelp falling from his lips. The expression Darlin is making at him is a mix of angry and annoyed.

Christian snickers as he stands again, wiping his nose as it continues to drip.

"or maybe you just like being a fucking chew toy? Maybe you like it when those leeches give you attention. That's what you want right? You don't love this new one. You love the attention he gives you, isn't that right?" Darlin growls and straps forward, their fist flying straight into his gut, knocking him down again. They follow.

As the two of them fall to the ground Asher rushes over, attempting to pull Tank off of Christian, failing as he can't get around their flying hands. He huffs as he gets an elbow to the stomach as collateral of being so close.

David walks over, no hesitation, picking Tank up by their waist and throwing them over his shoulder. Enduring the painful punches they give to his back as they scream. He brings them to a separate room, one to the side of the main room of the den and puts them down. They plop ungracefully onto their butt. They quickly stand back up taking deep breaths as they try to reign themself in.

"you can yell Tank. I know you need to. " They blink and let it all out.

"FUCKING CHRISSY. WHO THE HELL DOES HE THINK HE IS?!" They pace around the room, staying a safe distance from David, who is blocking the door. "He doesn't know ANYTHING about me- he just- how could he just-" they take quick, deep breaths, they're trying to keep themself from crying. David frowns, they've never done this before after a fight.

"I'm trying! I really am! I'm better now-! I- I ask for help now! I DONT- I don't run off, I don't go and get in random fights! I'm doing better! Right? " They turn to David, their hands shaking, voice trembling as their eyes full with tears.

"....right...? I am getting better right..? I'm really trying David.." they drop to their knees, still trying to gather their breaths. David walks slowly to them.

"Tank....im not good with words, you know that, so this is going to sound like shit..." He huffs at himself

"you are. You are getting better. I know you're trying, I can see it, everyone can. All that work you've put into bettering yourself is not for nothing. I promise. Christian is just....an asshole."

They huffs a small laugh, now fully crying as they curl into themself.

"I just want to be accepted David. That's all I want...I'm really trying this time. I- I just want Sam..." They hate being this vulnerable, they want their mate.

"I'll call him to come, I don't want him to take you home just yet, okay?" David steps out of the room to go call Sam as Darlin stays curled on the floor. Someone walks in and they pull themselves tighter together, they don't know who it is and they don't want whoever it is to know they're crying.

"Hey Tanker....David doesn't really do hugs, and I know you don't either sometimes, but I think one would help right now.....can I hug you? Please?" It's Asher, he is speaking low, his voice quiet as he kneels about a foot away from them waiting for confirmation. They nod and he scoots forward, carefully curling his body around their curled one. They stay like that for a few minutes.

There's muffled speaking outside the door as Sam finally arrives, they can hear as David explains what happened to him and Sam asks where they are. He's let in and is by their side in seconds.

"Darlin..."

_________

[catboxcoffin]

Battler/Kinzo/Projection

Battler’s narrative assault & sexualization is pretty interesting to me as an inversion of sexed roles, so I’ve decided to refine and paste some of my thoughts on it, beginning with Yasu-trice. Battler repeatedly has Kinzo’s (amatory) role projected onto him, both by Piece-Beatrice directly and Yasu’s authorial insinuations. (I won’t incorporate Meta-Beatrice into this analysis for a few reasons, the main being that I don’t think she is Yasu in the same sense as the others; secondarily that she is so gratuitous in her assaults and references that it would be nonsensical to lend any nuance to it. Plus, her indiscriminate performance in the earlier episodes is what sets up such a divergence later on)

I. Episode 4

Gameboard events are a requisite to understanding the skeleton of the stories that we’re actually being shown. Given the nebulous nature of the Meta and what it represents, a tale created and decorated in-universe in an attempt to communicate is generally more useful in viewing its subjects. On that note, the end of Episode 4 is a scarce instance where we are given a physical interaction between Piece-Beatrice and Battler. As Battler stands before the balcony denying her riddles and threatening her, Beatrice doubles down on her stern insistence regarding ‘testing’ him as the Successor, yet engages in innuendo the second he attempts to physically approach her. This presents a noticeable incongruence between Beatrice’s projected mythos and Piece-Beatrice as played by Yasu. She is physically distant, reading as almost shy. She’s stepped down from being an active harasser, instead functioning passively and reactively, ungracefully shifting between goals for the conversation. She is clearly very alienated from an autonomous sense of eroticism, which is why she instead endeavors to lure it out of him (despite her performative disdain). Her drunken sexuality is framed in relation to what she thinks hides ‘within’ Battler; her musings are based on the assumptions regarding <The Head>. She arrogantly asserts that her superficial form is his type, making sure to paint it as a shallow preference she’s pinpointed. (However even this is something she already knows as a fact, erasing any chance of the ‘unpredictable roulette’ she seems to exalt. She has little real confidence in her desirability, and even less in her ability to make him remember his sin)

She continues her attempt at testing his resolve, presenting herself for her ‘new master’ to own her flesh and soul as furniture, victimize her into surrender, and, crucially, remind her of Kinzo. Because that’s what Battler is to her: a reincarnation of Kinzo, carrying his spirit and blood most strongly. And how could he be anything else? Yasu is ‘Beatrice’ incarnate, her predecessors being both swept away and brutally betrayed by Kinzo, and by virtue of Battler’s failed promise, he has done the same. Her conflict arises here: her love for Battler meshing with her repulsion towards Kinzo, and her inability to reconcile them as full people. The same assumptions about Kinzo’s relationship to preceding Beatrices that traumatize her into hatred are simultaneously twisted into a romanticized ideal, and she is continually unable to conceive of her relationships without paralleling these identities and dynamics she’s latched onto. She is an ancestral fatalist, resigning not only autonomy within her own life but puppeting her relatives’ souls as her own. They cannot sleep peacefully as themselves, and neither can an unadulterated Battler. Beatrice indirectly castigates Battler (or her idea of him blurred into Kinzo) through her earlier ramblings on the nature of love-as-lust and the cage of flesh, but later turns around and flirts with the ideas, even going as far as writing her piece to romance Kinzo directly, despite knowing she’s caricaturing her own mother’s harrowing circumstances.

II. Message-Bottle Furniture

Lovelessly—or, perhaps, in a twisted abundance of love—Yasu’s message bottles distort Battler’s entire character into something alien in his six-year absence. This is what it means for new truths to triumph over old truths. Battler, the boy who left his own family due to his indignation over infidelity and who sought the heart in every story, is suddenly a perverted beast. He is a vapid womanizer like his father and an exploiter of status and naïveté like his grandfather. Beyond his will, parodied projections of his profanity are exposed within the message bottles, existing to cement his sin as irredeemable. I believe this is both a semi-conscious self-justification on Yasu’s part (cutting out the moral ambiguity of him simply forgetting) and a way to cope with her own undesirability (by manufacturing a more ‘active’ sin, one that would require Battler to care in the first place).

(…Side Note: I like how the attempted grope of Shannon in EP1 encompasses both this hostile projection and a dance around the desire to be discovered… [Fake breasts]. It adds another layer of selfish assumption to her narrative: he was always a piece. He doesn’t solve the epitaph and he doesn’t remember her because he never had the chance.)

To reiterate, his character is degraded and he is manipulated as a plot device within the message bottles. The narrative hinges on his existence, yet he has little room to move—In fact, his actual presence is hardly necessary. He committed a sin that permanently scarred someone, and he cannot apologize. The victim no longer exists. Battler, as a concept, constitutes a motive for murder. In his absence, he is a myth.

Remind you of anyone else?

III. Kuwatrice-Kinzo / Chick Beatrice-BATTLER

This parallel creates an interesting issue. The line of descendant/reincarnation is blurred and there’s an explicitly incestuous tone, but it quickly becomes more of a foil than a mirror. Kinzo’s idea of reincarnation is pure delusion, Battler rejects it despite it being true; Kinzo is affectionately dominating, Battler is cold; Kinzo rejects his status as a father, Battler grows to accept it.

So, Kinzo’s role is subverted. This should be a good thing, right?

It isn’t. At least, not to the judge of sin.

Chick-Beatrice is not a new creation; this is a glimpse of the Beatrice that first adopted Shannon’s bud of love for Battler six years prior. At this point, ‘Beatrice’ was still individuated. She wasn’t yet mutated by the legend of the witch, the solving of the epitaph, or, arguably, her Battler-desirability complex. This, I assert, is the closest we see to a pure ‘Yasu’ in later years, as the remainder of her true self that resided in Shannon had already been compartmentalized by that point. This is why Dawn is so tragic. Battler has allegedly solved her heart, yet even in his ‘enlightenment’ he is dismissive of her. To the first-time viewer, this rejection is bittersweet: he is waiting for the ‘real’ her to return. Issue is, that is the real her. This is the ‘Shannon’ he knew, before she was twisted into a sadistic amalgam of escapist fantasies dressed up with his desires. By all rights, Chick should align much more with the ‘Shannon’ that loved Battler. The dutiful “blindness of a girl in love,” willing to wait a century to be noticed. But he doesn’t understand that, bemoaning being too late while literally being thrusted another chance to do it right. Of course this chance doesn’t apply to reality, but it never did. He was already facing a postmortem trial for his failure in life, and the end of Meta-Beatrice marks his failure in death.

Battler is fated to only ever have a paternalistic, sympathetic affection towards Chick. Even after learning the truth, it will always be Beatrice that he loves. As much is clear in his Twilight gameboard. He recognizes Yasu as a vessel, but she’s virtually indistinguishable from Piece-Beato, an actor serving as the means for the illusion and providing a sympathetic backstory. Ange was right—there’s no point in having someone love in your place.

Regardless, Battler is himself. If he’d only inherited enough of Kinzo’s blood, maybe he could have loved all ‘iterations’ passionately and indiscriminately. Kinzo fabricated connections out of nothing, he ‘understood’ the reincarnated soul, and he was willing to die before he let her escape. His overbearing, cloying affection had a certainty that I believe Yasu envied, in a way. To be kidnapped and caged forever would be morbidly romantic, to her at least. How tragically ironic that the fatalist who desired to be carried away ended up having to orchestrate the game of love&communication herself…

IV. The Head

Aside from what I’ve mentioned, Yasu has a final, strikingly obvious reason to project Kinzo onto Battler: deflection.

Yasu is a disastrous parallel to Kinzo. They share the disturbing quality of willpower exceeding their body, a flippancy regarding life and death, living in spite of frailty. They are born with and die with nothing. She too dances with the magic of the roulette, staking fate on a miracle. She too ‘met’ Beatrice as an attempt at severing her regrets in life; she too summoned the Golden Witch and received a fortune at the cost of her soul; she too felt blessed and mocked by the myth of Beatrice, after wandering half-dead in a life that was not her own. A life in which she had been suddenly given power as a prank of fate, with the included (mis)fortune of polydactyly. They were each forced to endure Endlessness, awaiting the revival of love that may never come, desperately discarding their dignity for the sake of resurrection. The epitaph chooses both Kinzo’s and Beatrice’s successor. To ‘see’ is to answer the riddle. Just as Kinzo did to ‘Beatrice,’ Yasu has sewn the Ushiromiyas’ souls onto the island with magic, allowing them neither power nor form. Both are vulnerable kings protected by their own castles, refusing to speak the truth. Their massive wealth will be distributed, but the secret tales die with them.

Yasu was afforded unbelievable power by solving the epitaph, but it ended up destroying her with knowledge she did not want. She was given the reasoning that kills love. Upon the horrific discovery that her romantic feelings not only couldn’t be consummated but were incestuous as well, it is almost certain that she would feel the same repulsion towards herself as Kinzo. From that moment, she too was lying about the true nature of her relationships with the ones she loved. She too could not curb her affection or fear in time to tell the truth. There is no path she can make for herself, as she cannot live independently of projected roles. Incapable of individuating herself from Kinzo with self-identity, the logical conclusion is to invert the roles and make herself Beatrice, and more importantly, Battler Kinzo. Then, she must pray for the miracle that someone would come and solve the epitaph, taking back the role she was so haunted by and carrying her to a better life…

[pink-sparkly-witch]

Girls Night

Summary: Jensen’s girlfriend comes home a bit drunk after a girls night and tries to seduce him.

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Female Reader

Warnings: Fluff, implied sexy times to come.

Words: 0.7k

A/N: I’m so proud that I set out to drabble and succeeded! 🥳 I’m a wordy bitch, so usually, when I set out to drabble, I fail epically 😅 All mistakes are my own.

Consider reblogging to spread this far and wide around this Hellsite or leaving a comment. It really does fuel a creative’s muse. If you’re too shy or too cool for people to know you read fanfic and don’t want it showing on your blog, you can submit an anonymous ask or drop me a DM. 💖

My Masterlist     AO3    Ko-Fi

“It’s been far too long since we last did this!” you declare, slamming another empty shot glass onto the wooden table.

“I know! And we say this every time, but we shouldn’t leave it so long next time,” Fiona shivers violently at the aftertaste of the tequila.

“Well,” Robin smirks, “if y’all put hoes before bros every now and then, we’d see each other a lot more often!”

“Excuse you,” you feign outrage. “If I remember right, you,” you point your finger for good measure, “are the one who didn’t come last time so you could ‘Netflix and Chill’ with Scott. I hadn’t seen Jensen in six weeks, and I came!”

“Oh, I came, alright!” Robin grins when you and your closest friends descend into laughter.

The familiar intro of Lionel Richie’s “Dancing on the Ceiling” begins, and you and the girls quickly make your way onto the dance floor. 

You spend the rest of the night cutting your best moves, singing at the top of your lungs and drinking tequila.

Walking into the hallway with your heels in your hand, you try to be as quiet as possible. Jensen has been working hard at the brewery and had been learning a script for a movie that starts shooting next week, so you knew he was likely sleeping at this late hour.

You carefully hold onto the handrail and climb the stairs, shushing your shoes every time the heel hits the wooden rail. 

Once at the top of the stairs, you frown when you see the bedroom light still on. You walk with heavy feet towards the door, peeking your head through the gap.

“Hey, baby,” Jensen smiles as he looks up at you. “Did you have a good time?”

“It was the best! We drank and talked and danced and drank. Did I already say that part? I think I already said that part. Anyway, we danced and sang. My throat will hurt tomorrow,” you stumble over to the bathroom and drop your shoes haphazardly on the floor. “But it was worth it,” you giggle.

“I’m glad,” Jensen grins. He always says you’re adorable when you’re drunk. Always so happy and carefree.

“What are you doing still up?” you ask.

“Gotta learn this script, baby. I’ve put it off too long,” he rubs at his tired eyes and smiles wide as you leave the bathroom in your underwear. “What are you doing, sweetheart?”

You climb on the bed—surprisingly gracefully, given your drunken state—and crawl up Jensen’s body. Straddling his waist, you run your hands under his shirt and up his stomach and grin as you feel his muscles twitch under your touch.

“Been thinking about you all night, Jensen. How much I wanted to be here with you, how you make me feel. I want you so bad, baby.”

“As much as I wanna say yes, baby girl, you’re too drunk,” Jensen says as his hands slide up your thighs.

“I’m not that drunk,” you pout more than complain.

“Even so, I think it’s best we just cuddle,” Jensen soothes.

“Ugh, fine!” you huff, throwing yourself off his lap and onto the bed. “But I want your A-game tomorrow!”

“When have I ever not brought my A-game?” Jensen laughs as you pull at the bed covers and ungracefully try to get into bed.

“Uhm, when I wore that dress to the 300th episode party? You barely lasted ten seconds!” you laugh.

“Excuse me! You looked really fucking hot that night! You knew I’d been ready for you since you’d stepped out of the hotel bathroom wearing that thing! And I made it up to you!”

“Yeah, you did!” you giggle. “Alright,” you say as you finally tuck yourself under the duvet. “What about the thirty second fumble on Jared’s boat?”

“Really? You really want me to explain to you how incredibly sexy it was rubbing sun tan lotion all over you and the idea that anyone could have seen me fucking you that day?”

“Okay, I’ll give you that one too,” you yawn and lie down, shuffling into his side and twisting your legs around his. “Just promise me you’ll bring you’re A-game in the morning.”

Snuggling further into him, you lay your head on his chest and your hand on his collarbone. Jensen wraps an arm around your shoulders and pushes the script he was reading to the floor.

“I promise. Good night, baby, I love you,” he chuckles softly as the heavy breathing tells him you’ve fallen asleep.

“Not that drunk, my ass!” he whispers as he kisses your head and turns out the bedside lamp.

Tags: @akshi8278 @ashbatz @candy-coated-misery0731 @chriszgirl92 @deans-baby-momma @deans-spinster-witch @deansbbyx @deanwanddamons @duncanhillscoffeecups @foxyjwls007 @giggles1026 @globetrotter28 @hobby27 @hoboal87 @impala67rollingthroughtown @iprobablyshipit91 @jackles010378 @jamerlynn @jc-winchester @k-slla @kazsrm67 @kmc1989 @lacilou @ladysparkles78 @leigh70 @lyarr24 @michecolegate @mrsjenniferwinchester @nancymcl @negans-lucille-tblr @perpetualabsurdity @roseblue373 @sandlee44 @sexyvixen7 @snackles87 @spnwoman @stixnstripesworld @stoneyggirl2 @suckitands33 @synmorite @tristanrosspada-ackles  @twinkleinadiamondsky @waters-2567 @winchestergirl1720

[genshxn]

✤ 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐫𝐜: 𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐝

part 2 of Looking After the Sick

written pre-3.3 • 3.2 archon quest spoiler warning technically still applies

author drivel. WROTE THIS WHILE I'M STILL RIDING THE SCARAMOUCHE WAVE THAT I HAVE FOR LIKE NO FUCKING REASON I DON'T KNOW WHY THIS IS HAPPENING TO ME WHAT IS GOING ON THIS FUCKER HAS ME IN A CHOKEHOLD HELP. right yeah anyway- every time i write fanfiction there is always a non-zero chance that someone is going to get slammed into a wall. take that as you will.

synopsis. you're not sick anymore, so you finally take matters into your own hands after he basically irl ghosted you for a few days.

contents. scaramouche can't deal with himself so he doesn't want to deal with you, he gets shoved into a wall, you tell him how you feel, plus a suggestive comment if you squint.

w.c. 2.4k words omg help me

taglist. @frissy

You looked down at It was about time to get Kunikuzushi back to his own room. Luckily, due to his inorganic composition, he’s quite light, so you don’t have much trouble hauling him around in various positions… when you’re not sick. With your lack of strength and shitty breathing, it was quite the slog trying to get the unconscious puppet back to his room, but you did manage it in the end. You laid him down on his bed somewhat ungracefully. After straightening out his messy limbs, you took one last look at his ’sleeping’ face. He’s quite beautiful when he’s this quiet. If only he had an ounce more of that calmness when he was conscious. With that final thought, you shuffled back to your room, collapsing onto the bed with a prolonged sigh (and cough).

30 minutes later, you swear you heard his faint scream from the other side of the Sanctuary. 

The whole reason you went to such an effort to try and get him back to his own room was because you assumed that he would want to be alone once he finally rebooted. And you were right—he still brought your food like he was ordered to by Nahida, but every time he entered the room, he wouldn’t say anything to you, let alone even look at you. He would enter the room without a word, place the tray of food next to you and then rush out again. If you were lucky, he’d maybe throw a fresh blanket at you. Without fail, you’d get nailed square in the face with it every time. 

In the time you were alone, which was about 99% of your waking hours, Kunikuzushi’s words ruminated in your mind. You were "making [him] feel all this shit…" and "toying with [his] already shattered heart like [a] plaything…". You wanted to roll your eyes at how painfully on-brand the wording is, but it seems like he’s gone and developed feelings for you. If all he did was say those things to you, there was more room for doubt in his words, but paired with his actions, there was no mistaking it. Kunikuzushi had developed feelings for you at some point. Looking down at the empty hand he held, you reminisced on the feeling of his soft hand in yours. It was so tender compared to the front he usually put up. You close your fist with a determined look on your face—once you’re better, you’re going to confront him about it. 

By the fourth morning after making up your mind, you finally felt human again. You woke up  with the sunlight hitting your eyes… But when that happens at this time of year, that means it’s already mid to late morning. So you’ve managed to sleep in even more than normal. With a sigh, you roll over to get out of bed but notice the food tray in the regular spot. On it sits a lonely cup of tea. Upon feeling the mug, you realize it must have been sitting there for a while, because it was only lukewarm—it must have been brought in while you were asleep. You go to gulp it down so it doesn’t go to waste, but the familiar taste hits you immediately. It was just like the tea in the chazuke that Kunikuzushi made you a few days ago. He must have made the tea. Whether it was his own idea or Nahida’s, you appreciate that he brought it to you either way. Right as you’re about to place the mug back down, you notice a tiny, plain notecard that must have been sitting beneath the cup. 

The Radish wants you to hurry up and stop being bedridden. 

Jokes on him, you’re feeling 100% better and are about to hunt his ass down. After getting changed out of your pyjamas and into some semi-presentable clothes, you set out on your quest of looking for the emotional wreck of a puppet. 

You exit out into the hallway, not quite sure where to begin. You begin to think of some possible places he may be, but your thoughts are cut off by a little radish-coloured child wandering into view—it’s Nahida.

"Oh hello, (Y/N)! I’m glad to see you up and about. How are you feeling?" The young god marches up to you with a cheery look on her face. She only comes up to at most your waist. 

"Normal, finally. I’m completely better now. Ku took good care of me… for a few days." You bit the inside of your cheek remembering the event from four days ago. 

"Ah yes, something happened between the two of you, didn’t it? I wanted to see if he would talk about it, but it seems he’s gone back to bottling things up. Can I ask what happened?" 

"Yeah, he’s doing it to me too… You wouldn’t happen to know where he is, would you? I’m gonna try talking to him." 

Nahida puffs her cheeks. "Ooh, that’s going to be tricky… Well, I believe I last saw him come out of his room a few minutes ago. He didn’t have his hat on, so I don’t think he’s planning on leaving any time soon." 

"Thank you so much. You’ll probably be able to tell later on if things go well! Please excuse me now," With a little bow and wave to the god, she sees you off with a returned smile and wave, continuing on her way down the hallway. 

Now to find that Kunikuzushi. It doesn’t take too long to get to the general area of his room. He couldn’t have gone far if he didn’t have his hat on. He never leaves without the thing. 

You can feel yourself beginning to get fidgety. As much of the fearless ex-Fatui Harbinger tamer you are, you’re still just a person with your own nervous feelings to consider. You’re not the one that has the potential to be met with humiliating rejection… right? Judging that you’re dealing with Kunikuzushi, everything could easily be flipped on its head in a matter of seconds. Your eyes turn downcast, mindlessly watching the floor in front of you as you walk. So of course you’re not watching where you’re going because you knock into something—or maybe something walks into you. Either way, it makes an incredibly familiar screech. Your head whips up to see what it is and you come face to face with just the person you were looking for. 

"Kuni—" 

"W-watch where you’re going!" He stammers, moving to hide his face behind his arm. He looks down at you with either contemptuous or embarrassed eyes—you only saw them for a split second before he turns tail and tries to run off. 

"Wait, I need to talk to you!"

"No you don’t!" He calls back, looking over his shoulder.

You run up behind him and try to catch his wrist again, and you do manage to briefly get a grip on it it… until he leaps into the air in a blast of air, yanking himself from your grip. 

You’re left reeling from the sudden gust of wind to your face while Kunikuzushi lands back down and sprints off. He turns to face you one last time and calls out "Leave me alone!" Hey, that’s the most eye-contact he’s made with you in the past four days. 

"Kunikuzushi, you get your ass back here right now!" You begin to sprint after him down the hallway. "Being alone will fix none of this, and you still have to consider how I feel!" 

He makes a shocked cry and almost trips over his own feet. There’s your chance—it’s now or never to catch up to him. Before he can escape away from you again, you manage to corner him against the wall with both hands hovering near either of his shoulders. He’s pressed up against the wall as much as humanly possible, face horrified and tomato red. "LET ME GO." 

"No. Kunikuzushi, listen to me. You can’t just avoid me for the rest of your life." 

"What, a-are you projecting on me or something? You wanna… you wanna be with me so bad you can’t even go four days without talking to me." His 'smug smile' seems more like an embarrassed frown. 

"You interpreted the statement like that. I think you’re the one projecting, Ku," You sigh at his pathetic attempt at deflection. "Which is exactly why I need to talk to you."

"Ngh…" He grunts out while looking off down the hall, hiding his mouth behind his wrist. "This is about… that night, isn’t it? What do you even want?" He frowns, glaring at you. Even when he’s this much of a hot mess, he still has a beauty to behold. 

"That’s the thing… I’m not really sure." You sigh, eyes casting off to the side. "But I would like to go somewhere a bit more private, if possible." 

"HUH? B-but—" His face heats up even further. 

"Would you rather the two of us be caught like this here in the hallway?" 

"No." He avoids your gaze again. "Ugh, c’mon, let’s just go to my room or something It’s right there." 

You let go of your cage around him and he walks stiffly to his bedroom. Once you’re in, he closes the door behind you. His room is neat and simple, not too different from your’s. A few random belongings and pieces of clothes strewn about suggest that he’s begun to feel more comfortable which makes you happy to see. But Kunikuzushi’s not in the mood for that right now. 

"So?" He asks impatiently. "What do you have to say that about… that?" He crosses his arms and shifts his weight to one leg. 

You take a step to approach him, which makes him instinctually back up a step. His expression falters with nervousness. “Well. Your confusing feelings are most likely a crush." You say. 

“Argh, I know that! I wasn’t born yesterday, you know.” He folds his arms across his chest crankily, looking off to the side. “It’s just… been so long. B-but anyway! What do you even…” he gestures around wildly with his hands, struggling to articulate. “…think of all that?!” 

“That’s the thing… I’m not fully sure,” You reply. Mind you, you do have some idea, but you want to put it to the test first. 

"Wh-what?!" He sputters in disbelief. "How can you—! Ugh, I’m right, aren’t I? All you want to do is pl—" He begins on a pessimistic rant, and you’re not having it. 

"But…" You cut him off. Despite your hammering heart rising in your chest, you grab him by both sides of his collar and yank him closer to you, placing your lips on his half-parted ones. Kunikuzushi’s eyes open as wide as can be. You can feel your a warmth and almost giddiness radiate inside you. The kiss itself is a slightly awkward one, thanks to how stiff Kunikuzushi is the whole time, but you can feel yourself melting against him. 

Eventually, you have to let him go. You take note of the fact that you don’t want to, but breathing is still somewhat important. The stunned Kunikuzushi steps back against the wall, eyes and pupils blown wide. Nothing seems to go through his head for a brief second. 

“Hello?” You wave in front of his face. “Don’t fucking tell me you’re short-circuiting again..." Your warm feeling quickly suspends at the looming threat that he may pass out again. If he does, at least his bed is literally right there, and you’re ready to catch him if necessary.

He wordlessly brings a hand to his lip, evidently still computing what just happened. Looks like you just temporarily tanked his processing speed instead. You watch in real time as his face flushes even deeper. 

"WHWHWHWH—" In an instant, his expression morphs to one of shock. Looks like he’s finally back with reality. 

"You know, I missed the feeling of your hand." Now it was your turn to pick up his hand and interlace your fingers with his. You hold it up between the two of you and it give a little squeeze. Kunikuzushi stares at them with wide eyes. "I think it helped me figure out how I feel about you.’ 

"...Wh-which is?" 

"I mean, it should be obvious since I just kissed you on the lips like that, but I think I like you t—“ 

Now it was Kunikuzushi’s turn to cut you off. With his free hand, he holds your face by the jaw and leans in to kiss you back. You’re stunned by his new found confidence. This time, he actually moves against your lips with far more experienced at this than you would have thought—then again, he has been alive several hundred years longer than you have, so what do you know? You can feel the emotion behind it—tender but with an unmistakable fervour. He lets go of your still-joint hand and brings you closer against him with his hand around the small of your back. Your arms find themselves wrapping around his shoulders. A few moments later. you pull back with a gasp of air and a hammering heart. It was also your turn to be left reeling. Kunikuzushi on the other hand, appears quite pleased with himself. 

“Hah, you drank the tea I left you this morning, didn’t you?” He still holds your face with his hand. You watch as he swipes his tongue over his lips with a smug grin. 

“AHEM.” Your face heats at his comment. “Yes, I did. The Radish wanted me to stop being bedridden after all… On another note, you look quite happy,” You say with a smile.  

“‘Cause I am, stupid,” He laughs softly. “You do my head in with all the shit you make me feel, but right now, this isn’t so bad.” 

“Oh yeah, you mentioned that you went to Nahida about your confusing feelings?” 

“…I did. What of it?” He looks at you with a slightly confused expression, rather contrary to the smug one he had before. 

“She’s probably the last person you want to go to for human emotions. She says she really doesn’t understand them since she’s been stuck alone for 500 years." 

“…So she really does have the same understanding of emotions as a radish.” He muses, looking off in some random direction. 

“Wait, KUNIKUZUSHI, WHAT DID YOU SAY TO HER?” 

 In response, he just pokes his tongue out. 

[diejager]

End of Scene Cw: DARKFIC, DUB-CON/NON-CON, murder, death, blood and gore, sadism, Dark!reader, dark!Ghost, stabbing, stalking, Ghostface!reader, home invasion,

Part 4

Slinking from shadow to shadow, you stalked the backdrop of a familiar house, eyes wandering over it’s baby blue walls and curtainless, wide windows, showing the world their private life. Every argument, every fit and every smile were on show, none hidden from prying eyes or dangerous attention. It was practically calling your name, asking - no - it was begging you to do something about it, to give this obnoxious and arrogant neighbourhood something to fear and watch out for. It was waiting for someone to humble this so-called “safest neighbourhood in the world”, no security camera and no patrolling police. It was just taunting you, especially when you hated the owner of this house. 

Abigail; sweet, sweet Abigail was tonight’s squealing pig. She was so whiny, always complaining about how her life was so hard when she lived off her parent’s money, in the richest part of the city and could afford whatever she wanted. She was a spoiled brat, spoiled rotten to the core from what you’d come to learn through a long month of observation. You didn’t liked brats, much less spoiled ones, Simon taught you to hate them, he whispered to you at night about how he would beat them to a pulp. You learned to learned to put them in their place.

And she was so easy —too easy. She followed the same routine, her nights spent drinking until all she could do was waddle to her bed, trying and sometimes failing to reach her bed and just laying on her floor. Abigail was at her weakest in a drunken stupor, bumbling and stammering as she spoke when you called, watching as your raspy voice confused her, but the best moment was meeting her in the morning, her paranoid glances around her and awkward gait from her pounding hangover. While she was fun to spook, you were growing tired of watching the same thing over and over again, she wasn’t what you were looking for anymore and soon, you’d have to move on, find another obsession. It was time to end this story. 

You crouched outside her window, licking your lips in anticipation, you waited for her to stumble into the kitchen, searching for her new bottle of aged wine that you caught her buy for over two hundred. Seeing you moment, you crawled through the open window that she always left open for better air circulation, stalking past the kitchen entrance and hiding away in her closet. You had to bite your tongue to keep your excited giggle from slipping, enjoying her ambling through the small gap in the door, she placed her wine glass and bottle, and ungracefully dropped down on her couch, hissing about her back pain. 

You stared with bated breath, gazing at her while she took sip after sip, throwing herself deeper in the ground with how fast the alcohol was getting to her head. You huffed, pushing open the closet door without a sound and sliding behind her. She was too drunk to be aware of her immediate surrounding, a sloppy and annoying person that you were about to… bring to the limelight with your art. Knife in hand, you swiped at her neck with your free hand, gripping her throat to pull her back, throwing her to the ground with little care while she wailed and begged. 

“Please! Please! What do you want?! I’ll give you anything! Anything!!”

You straddled the back of her thighs, ignoring her tearful screams in favour of admiring her helpless figure, too weak to fight you off and too drunk to do anything. 

“Anything I want, yeah?” You cackled, watching her nod and gurgle out weeps, “I want your life then.”

Raising your knife, a clean and well-kept buck knife that Simon got you, you took a shuddering breath, scenting her terror before you swung down, sinking it deep into her back. You appreciated her choked scream and the wet squelch of your stab, blood pooled from her wound when you pulled out, spraying you in red when you stabbed her once more. You killed with passion, a final act of acknowledgment to a person you grew to know, an integral part of your stories. You sunk your knife into her again, and again, and again, flicking blood all over you and around you, staining the furniture and walls with flakes of red and the cashmere carpet of hers with a pool of blood. 

You listened to her choke on her blood, her chin painted a bright red and eyes blinking slowly, you sat back on your haunches, head lolling back with a heavy, but satisfied sigh. Slowly reaching into your jacket, you pulled out your camera and switched it on, quickly admiring the previous pictures you took with prior actors. Sliding the knife back into it’s sheath, you kneeled forward, gloved hand harshly grasping at the roots of her bleached hair and propped her up for a selfie, her body still warm under you and mouth dripping blood. Smiling behind the mask, you took a few pictures, the shutter clicking loudly in your ears with the bright and blinding flash of the lights, and dropped Abigail, her head slamming roughly with a wet splash on the carpet. 

You flipped through the shots, admiring your bloody work with a proud hum, unbothered by her dying rasp and last wheeze. You secured your camera in the pocket you sewed in your jacket and stared at your piggy one last time before you’d leave the closing scene of your story to reporters and authorities to write and critique. You hummed a small lullaby, looking over the dirtied walls and smeared floor, you turned to the window you crawled in from. Then your phone shook, vibrating in your coat, and in a moment of curiosity, too happy to be mad that you were interrupted in your moment you looked at the caller name. It was Simon!

“Hi, Si,” you grinned, a higher pitch in your tone despite the modulator’s incapability of catching it.

“ ‘ello, kit,” his reply was slow, lazy in a way, unlike your giddy one, “Where are you?”

You looked around the room and open hallway, it’d be useless to lie to him when you answered him with the voice changer on, and lying to him would disappoint him. You hated disappointing Simon, how that small, but warm gleam in his eyes would turn cold and blank, showing how much he was displeased with your acts and decision. 

“Abigail’s, just finished.”

You caught a proud rumble - more so a growl - from his side and clothes shifting as he moved from, what you presumed, his bed. 

“At piggy’s? Sloppy, kit, what if there are cameras?”

You laughed, a loud, boisterous and belly chuckle.

“You know me, Si. You didn’t teach me to be sloppy, I know what I’m doing.”

“Good, do me proud and I’ll fuck you good when ’m home, yeah?”

Part6

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @danielle143 @dont-mind-me-just-existing-sadly @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @aldis-nuts @randominstake @cassiecasluciluce @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @@cod-z @sweetnanah @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami

[missroro]

*Neytiri and Y/N doing that one scene where they’re free falling and sliding down on leaves flawlessly with gracefulness.*

* Jake doing it and still miserably falls ungracefully face first to the ground*

*Young Y/N crounching beside him worried and rub his shoulder comfortingly*

Y/N : “you okay there, daddy? You fall harder than before this time.”

*Jake lying on the forest floor groaning and wincing*

Jake :“gimme.. gimme a second, sweetheart.”

*a very unimpressed and disappointed Neytiri looking down at her husband, kicked him*

Neytiri: “Get up, Skaxwng! You should be ashamed.. Your daughter is better than you.”

Time skipped

*Neytiri, older Y/n, and Neteyam jumping down and sliding flawlessly*

*Jake who slipped on his feet, wobbles while trying to find something to grab.*

*And that something is Lo’ak whose taking deep breaths, preparing to jump flawlessly, because he’s been practicing this with Y/n.*

*failed because Jake falls and drags Lo’ak with him, so they went down tumbling as usual*

“Neteyam wincing because they fell hard*

Neteyam : are you guys okay? That must have hurts..

*Lo’ak and Jake laying beside one another catching their breath because that falls HURTS*

Lo’ak : “damn.. i think i broke something-“

Jake : “me too..”

*Neytiri and Y/n still in disbelief because they’re have been…and still training to do that*

Neytiri : “please give me strength great mother-“

Y/n : “noooo Lo’ak you’ve been doing so well-“

Neteyam : “like son, like father”

*lo’ak still laying on the floor, heard neteyam*

*falling didn’t stop anything to him*

Lo’ak : “you put it backwards, bro. It’s like father like son”

*Jake laying beside him and agreed*

Jake : yeah he’s rig-

Neteyam, Neytiri, Y/N: Shut up.

[secretlyaraven]

Little Sounds of Pain

That tadpole had been your bittersweet salvation. Cursed for a bargain not of your own doing, damned by those you called family, and doomed with the knowledge that one day, each and every one of the vessels in your body would rupture. Your life forfeit at the hands of those you once cared so dear.

Spawn Astarion x Tav (Gender Neutral Reader)

w/c: 12.5k . ao3 . song . 18+ only . nsfw Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

a/n: Not my first bg3 fic but certainly my longest, this will be three parts split across the acts. Updates may be slow as I've a busy couple of months ahead, and this has been in the works for about 5 months? I hope you enjoy!

tags: canon typical violence, blood drinking, angst, hurt and little comfort (later chapters), cursed tav/reader, death

One morning you woke to your nose bleeding. Blood coagulating in your throat as you retched up the sticky mass.

With a resigned sigh, you had slumped at the foot of your bed; staring blankly at the ceiling as a gentle trickle seeped into your mouth.

This occurred for a week, each day brought a more violent bleed and new symptoms.

The next had been the bruises, dark purple welts developing in the soft of your flesh; painless, but a reminder that this body was not to last.

On the seventh day you finally glanced in the mirror, at first you did not recognise yourself; skin pallid, spiderlike blooms of red spread across your cheeks, the once white sclera now a deep crimson.

“I don’t suit red”, you laughed almost bitterly.

On what you felt to be your final day, you left the small room you called home; locking the door behind you as you pulled your cloak tighter around yourself; shielded from the would be stares of passerby’s.

What a lovely day it was, if not for the obvious.

The gentle warming your skin. The sound of vendors setting up their stalls for the day. One of the many local children shouting headlines from the Gazette.

It was perfect.

Yet that almost tranquillity was shattered like a club to bone.

A looming shadow.

Piercing screams.

The distant thunder of the belltower.

Your feet carried you as fast as they could, lungs burning like a wildfire as you stumbled to the ground. Chest tight, you gripped at your shirt as you gasped; a familiar copper taste filling your mouth.

That shadow grew larger.

Darker.

Then there was nothing but darkness.

You remember the parasite, the way it screeched at you, tendrils reaching towards your eye; the way it gripped and slithered over the globe, leaving an uncomfortable cold ache as it nestled behind your optic nerve.

Things were a blur, the nautiloid was attacked, you had dug your hands into an elf’s skull to free a brain; you’ll never forget how supple the flesh was, the squelch as fingers met tissue.

You made unlikely allies, a githyanki fighter, and a reticent cleric; an odd pairing for sure.

You should be dead, why do you care.

Yet here you were, traversing Avernus and ready to crash at any moment.

Honestly, the curse should have hurried up if this were to now be your fate.

Time moved impossibly fast, instinct kicked in as you hurtled towards the transponder, as your allies battled with imps and hellbeasts; creatures you never thought you’d see in your wildest dreams.

Grabbing hold of the fleshy nerves, you felt the spark between them and the jolt as the nautiloid warped itself through time and space. Weightless as your body failed to stay steady with the speed of the ship.

It was nauseating.

Without warning you were thrown out into cool nighttime air.

No longer did the smell of sulphur clog your nose, flames no longer licked at your skin.

But you were falling.

Rapidly.

Dizzying thoughts raced through your mind.

Is this the end? Has your fate finally caught up with you after your little excursion? Is this perhaps crueller? Why couldn’t things have been simple?

The impact did not come, but you did land rather ungracefully.

Woken by a throbbing behind your eye and a scream caught in your throat, you breathed in salt air, the feeling of fine sand and pebbles under your fingers, the gentle sound of the ebb and flow of waves.

You were alive, that’s for certain, but everything else? Unsure. You were a day past your death date and that fact sat uncomfortably in the pit of your stomach.

The earth was owed a body.

Bad things happen when debts are left unpaid.

You found the cleric from the nautiloid, a strange metal artefact lay next her; you heeded it no attention as you shook her awake.

“You look terrible.” She remarked, “and in desperate need of healing.”

You shook off her concern.

“It’ll pass.” You lied easily, she looked unconvinced.

Two tadpole infected heads were better than one the pair of you had decided, your new charge; to rid yourselves of the parasite.

Thus began your new borrowed life.

The next tadpole host you met was a pale elf with a suspicious disposition, a dagger to the throat was not your usual greeting; yet here you were once again rolling in the dirt. His sharp laugh when you informed him the tadpole would turn you all into mindflayers had you raising an eyebrow.

His smile was too easy, and his gaze was hardened like stone; you recognised it for a lie.

Well, another companion to your merry band didn’t sound like a terrible idea. Liar or not.

“You look like you’re at death’s door.” The elf commented as the three of you set off in search for a healer.

“I’ve seen better days.”

“Clearly.”

Just how many people were infected with these parasites? A wizard with a kind gaze and a strained smile stuck in an ancient sigil, the githyanki from the nautiloid trapped by tieflings in a cage; a few persuasive words soon freed her.

A warlock known as the Blade of Frontiers, voice like honey and an uneasiness simmering under his skin. His kindness towards the tiefling children made something bitter twist within you. Few had shown you a kindness when your affliction started to dig its talons into your body.

You turned away, a scowl on your face.

“You look positively murderous.” Astarion tittered, wearing an all too amused smirk. “The bloodied eyes don’t help.”

You rolled said eyes, stepping in the direction where this supposed healer called Nettie was meant to be.

“A discerning feature of mine, I’m sure.”

Now, whilst Wyll’s kindness to the tiefling children had riled you, you couldn’t stand by and let a power drunk druid sentence a child to death; your own death sentence hung heavy over your head as you demanded the child be let go – perhaps to the ire of said druid.

Guilt would have eaten you alive had she died. The relief from her parents upon her return was palpable and soothed an open sore that had stung for years.

A small kindness in the world.

Nettie did not fill you with hope in the slightest, instead had you swear that should you start showing symptoms of ceremorphosis that you would poison yourself with wyvern toxin. You saw how Astarion physically recoiled in distaste at the suggestion, even Shadowheart wore a grimace. There was one ray of hope, Halsin, the missing Archdruid; squirreled away by goblins no doubt.

The search went on.

Murmurings of an upstart god called the Absolute were common conversation at camp, goblins having order amongst their ranks and acting on the orders of three leaders. These were strange times indeed, and stranger yet that with each elapsed day you still drew breath. Even the angry red of your sclera began to calm down, the bruises that had bloomed on your body had become smaller and there were no new instances of violent nosebleeds.

Your curse was in stasis, and you could only attribute it to the tadpole.

However, talk of removing it made you uneasy, you knew, should it be removed, you would succumb immediately; but nor did you want to become a mindflayer.

What was worse? Every single vessel rupturing, your nerves on fire as the world turns dark? Or to watch your body twist and warp into something unrecognisable, your soul lost forever and a pale imitation takes your place?

Your mood turned pensive, deciding to turn in early for the night. Your companions watched, some with mild concern as you dipped into your tent, bringing the flap down making it clear you did not wish to be disturbed.

A certain elf decided to ignore the clear sign, standing outside your tent as he gazed at his nails with practiced boredom.

“I must say, I didn’t think you’d be so upset about getting rid of our stowaways.”

“Who said I was upset?” You shot back, perhaps a tad too forcefully. You could hear the grin in Astarion’s voice.

“Darling, it was obvious.”

You peered out of your tent up at him, brows pinched.

“Care to elaborate?”

“I don’t think I will. But I will say this, something more going on with you, isn’t there?” His stare was scrutinising, head cocked to one side brow raised; gone was his usual arrogance, replaced with a curiosity that you weren’t sure came out of malice or a place of concern.

You regarded him for a moment, holding his stare.

“Goodnight Astarion.” You said as you retreated back into your tent.

“Urgh, really?” Came his petulant response, but he did leave soon after; you assume to join back with the others.

Another day, another infected. This time a tiefling burning hot as the hells; you remember her. On the frontlines of the Blood War, slicing and dicing through demons, a fierce rage in her screams. She was desperate. Her gaze held an indescribable hurt, but there was a softness to her that endeared you.

It was certainly no issue to you if a trio of “paladins” went missing, you had become awfully adroit with a dagger as of late.

As Karlach raged and burned hotter than imaginable, you wiped the blood from your dagger onto your trouser leg; a dash more wasn’t going to make a difference to the already saturated fabric.

“I’m in need of a bath.” You muttered, sheathing your dagger before you began to rummage through bags and sacks, a little bit of soap would be lovely whilst you grappled with the novelty of camp life.

“Aren’t we all.” Astarion lamented, idly picking at a lock; helping himself to the spoils inside. “I miss my oils; nothing like a nice smelling bath at the end of the day.”

“Aren’t you fancy.” You teased, stashing the bars of soap you had found into your pack; they didn’t smell particularly strongly of anything, but you couldn’t complain; simple pleasures and all.

“It’s the small luxuries in life, darling.”

An ex-sanguinated boar left brazenly in your path was not on the list of things you had expected to see. The poor thing had been completely drained, as you knelt next to the creature you eyed two neat puncture marks in its neck.

“Strange, not many creatures can completely drain a carcass.”

Astarion shifted uncomfortably, huffing as you examined the boar.

“The pig’s dead my friend. Staring at it won’t bring it back.”

You glanced back at him, eyes narrowing.

“Come on. We’ll never fix these brainworms if we stop and gawk at every piece of carrion you find.”

“Give me a moment.” You said, taking a closer look at its neck. There was barely any blood surrounding the wound, just a light bit of bloodied matted fur.

“And? Is it dead enough for you.” You could hear the simmering frustration in Astarion’s voice, the way his eyes fixated on the boar and suddenly drifted when you locked onto him.

“You know something? Don’t you?” Your tone accusatory, your other companions’ gazes flitted between you and Astarion, you saw the way his eyes momentarily widened, his lips parting before that hardened stare crashed back down.

“I…” He hesitated, “it’s been drained of blood with wounds in its neck. It’s been killed by a vampire.” He glanced towards the boar before back at you. “I didn’t want to say anything because I… didn’t want to worry you. They’re ferocious creatures.”

Liar

“But don’t worry, I’ll keep watch tonight.” He assured. “We won’t have to worry about nocturnal visitors. Now please, let’s go.” That last part was said a little too quickly for your liking, he was trying to hurry you along, distract you.

You weren’t sure what he was hiding, but everyone has secrets; even you. It’d be hypocritical of you to judge; even if you didn’t trust whatever secret he kept tucked away.

Nocturnal visitors.

It would be almost funny if you didn’t have fangs inches away from your neck.

As Astarion swore and backed away, you rushed to your feet; glaring angrily at him.

“So it *was *you!” You hissed, “you snacked on that bloody boar we found.”

“It’s not what it looks like! I swear.” His body swayed, unbalanced, his expression a picture of guilt and embarrassment.

Under normal circumstances you might have enjoyed putting him on the spot.

But there was something deeply uncomfortable about this.

An element of desperation lingered in the air; you could almost taste it.

“I wasn’t going to hurt you! I just needed – well, blood.”

In the dim firelight you caught a glimpse of two small protruding fangs, glinting in the light. The crimson of his eyes reflecting his sanguine nature.

“How long as it been since you last killed someone? How can I trust you not to kill any of us?” You shot back at him.

“I’ve never killed anyone!”

As Astarion regaled you of his usual feeding habits, a cool feeling washed over your mind; a momentary connection – his mind slipping over yours, half-truths revealed. You felt the nerves twinge and delved deeper, plucking at the fractured and errant memories.

The feeling of matted fur and congealed blood sat heavy on your tongue, you wanted to retch; all the while a commanding voice ordered you to feed.

“You – you fed on animals because you were forced to.” A sick feeling pooled in your stomach, unsure whether it was from the memory or from the invasiveness of what just transpired.

Astarion’s stare became cold, his frown deepened.

“Yes, I ate whatever disgusting vermin my master picked. So you can see why I’m slow to trust you, besides…“ his tone took a lighter, more mischievous nature, “the connection goes both ways, darling. I’m not the only one with a secret.”

Paralysed to the spot, a deer caught in in the hunter’s trap. You could feel you heart thrumming in your ears; that rush of blood threatening to drown out every living sound.

“Come now, hardly seems fair that I have to spill out my guts meanwhile you get to keep whatever your sordid little secret is.”

He was toying with you, like one would play with their food.

It made your blood boil.

“Why should I divulge my secret? Why should I trust you?”

“Because I trust you. And you can trust me.” It was hard to discern if he was being genuine or just trying to placate you, he could taste your fear just as much as you could taste his, perhaps there was an element of truth to his words.

“That hardly seems like a reason…”

“It’s up to you my dear, but the fact you haven’t staked me yet is enough of a reason for me to trust you at the moment.”

“I…” you hesitated, “whatever you saw; I’d be grateful if you kept it quiet.”

Astarion wore an expression you couldn’t quite decipher. Understanding? Concern? Whatever it was, it was a far cry from his usual cocky demeanour.

“Alright, then perhaps I could ask for a favour? In… exchange.” He looked like he loathed to say the word.

Tilting your head a little, you look at him curiously.

“What do you need?”

“I feel… weak. If I just had a little blood, I could think clearer, fight better. I only need a taste, I swear.”

Perhaps what little charm Astarion had was working on you, or perhaps you felt for his plight. Concern dropped like a stone, what if your curse was passed to him? Could you live with that knowledge? What implications did it have for you? Would his actions be the catalyst to your unavoidable fate?

“And if my blood is… tainted?”

Astarion huffed a laugh.

“You have a habit of getting bloodied up, if there were anything wrong with it, I would have known by now.”

Well.

That was a comfort at least.

You think.

“Alright, but not a drop more.”

“Really? I- of course, not a drop more.” His momentary shock soon patched back up, his easy smile and courteous demeanour once again falling back into place. “Let’s make ourselves comfortable, shall we?” He gestured to your bedroll, a silent invitation.

You eased yourself back down onto your bedroll, trepidation and uneasiness swirling in the pit of your stomach, your hands felt clammy as you heard your heart thrumming in your ears once more.

Astarion loomed over you, his eyes locked onto your throat. It all happened so fast, that ice sharp pain as he bit down; a gentle warmth spread through your body as your heart hammered harder. You whimpered as Astarion bit deeper, reaching out to grasp the front of his shirt in panic as he cradled your head.

A cool numbness began to spread, dark splotches creeping in on your vision whilst the world began to drown by a ringing in your ears.

“Ast-Astarion,” you gasped, “no more, please.” Trying to push at him, arms like lead.

In an instant he pulled back, catching his breath.

“Ah- apologies… that was… incredible.” He wiped at his mouth with a finger, licking off the smudge of blood. Breathless with euphoria. “I feel good, strong, happy.”

You placed a hand over the tender wound, hot to touch, your neck aching. You let out a small groan as you winced.

“I look forward to seeing you fight. I hope this was worth it.”

Astarion merely grinned.

“Shouldn’t take long, so many people need killing.” Giving a mock courtesy he continued, “now if you’ll excuse me, you’re invigorating, but I need something more filling.”

Unsteady and slightly breathless, you stared as he stalked towards the woods. He paused for a moment, glancing back at you. Sincerity tinged his voice.

“This is a gift, you know. I won’t forget it.”

You watched as he faded into the darkness of the woods, confident, and poised to hunt.

Gods help the poor beast that was to become his prey.

Morning was interesting to say the least.

Your neck throbbed each time you turned, and the pounding in your head was reminiscent of the early stages of your curse.

But you still drew breath.

And your heart beat steadily in your chest.

The dizziness you could do without, along with the overwhelming feeling of fatigue that settled in deep in your bones; each movement like wading through mud.

Astarion certainly looked rejuvenated, as you walked over to him you saw how his eyes were brighter, his complexion slightly less deathly, and a new thrum of confidence you hadn’t seen in him before.

“Good morning. How do you feel?”

The look on your face said it all, as his eyes lit up and that damned smirk graced his features once more.

“Oh dear, a little woozy, are we?”

“I’m sure it’ll pass. My neck bloody hurts though.” You waved him off, bringing your hand back to the puncture site to try and alleviate some of the throbbing.

“Be grateful I’m not a ‘true’ vampire then, one bite from them and you may wake up as a vampire spawn, like my good self.”

You questioned Astarion on his vampiric nature, querying his ability to stand in the sun. Most knew of vampires and their fatal relationship with the sun, to have one stood before you was certainly a novelty.

Yet, Astarion’s voice was filled with a childlike wonder, the perfectly mundane privileges of everyday life now once again available to him – albeit the vampiric hunger, but the question on how he was going to be kept fed was for a later date.

Presently, your companions had edged their way over, a mixture of curiosity and disdain at having a vampire amidst them. Had they been anyone else you’re certain the pitchforks would have already been drawn and a stake sharpened ready. You caught a glimpse of Astarion’s hesitation and worry, a sadness panged within you. His secret had been revealed, but at what cost?

“A vampire? Well, that explains the pallor.” Shadowheart remarked, perhaps a little bit too amused by the revelation. You were starting to peg her as an odd one. “I just better not wake in the night to find fangs at my throat.”

Wyll was almost mirthful in his approach, or perhaps that was a cover for the utter contempt he felt at the prospect of travelling with a vampire.

“Hunting with vampires. Never thought I’d see the day.” He regarded Astarion with a serious gaze, however his tone still took on a light note. “No wisecracks about having us for supper.”

Astarion did nothing to hide his eye roll. You stifled a laugh. All things considered this was likely the best outcome for your toothsome friend. Even if he was taut like a bowstring, tension working in his jaw whilst his hands twitched; ever eager to reach for his dagger and shed a little blood.

Goblins.

Wretched creatures at the best of times, more so when united by a new god. Yet, easily influenced. As the tadpole burrowed deeper into your brain, you could feel its wriggles of excitement – it wanted you to command. To exert authority.

You could command these goblins to let you pass into their camp, you’ll learn little else if they’re all dead, and you didn’t fancy wiping shit on your face either.

A bright blistering spark of power shot through your nerves, the tadpole shrieked in delight as it connected to the minds of the goblins; commanding them to stand down.

Your party passed with ease, bewildered, if not unsettled by the tadpole’s power.

But as you walked, a familiar warmth trickled down your face.

You blinked, stopping in your tracks as you tried to stem the bleeding. A bubbling panic welling up inside of you. Breath caught in your throat, heart quickening.

“What a waste.” Astarion tutted, “perhaps leave the parasitic powers to us, hm?”

You nodded in absent agreement.

The rest of your companions eyed you with concern. Shadowheart gave you an assessing look, bringing her hands close to examine you. You side-stepped hastily, avoiding the contact.

“It’s just a nosebleed. I’ll be fine.”

She didn’t believe you.

Goblin revelry was certainly… something.

The writer you had previously encountered at the Druid’s Grove looked incredibly uncomfortable as he sang accolades about someone called Dror Ragzlin – one of the three leaders no doubt. Stuttering and stumbling over attempts to ingratiate himself with the goblins.

So much for trying to get a first-hand account.

Your presence had him fumbling more, quick as a whippet he was dragged away for his failure of a show.

You supposed you now had someone else to search for, as much as the writer grated on your last nerve with his exaggerated truths and unwillingness to listen, a certain guilt bloomed at the prospect of leaving him in the hands of the goblins.

As you wandered the courtyard you found yourself roped into a game, chicken chasing the goblin lady had called it; although that was no chicken you were chasing, instead it was a terrified owlbear cub. His high-pitched chirps a signal of fear.

After a light bit of persuasion to keep him, you slowly approached him; holding out your hand.

An invitation to find you later.

The owlbear ran, undoubtedly finding somewhere to hide until it was safe to leave.

Dubious meats and ale ran aplenty, goblins filling their tankards with alarming frequency. You pondered on how inebriated they were, but you didn’t doubt that they could still put up a decent fight; especially in groups. Your eyes drifted over to where a goblin was filling at least his fifth tankard since you’ve been there.

“Why don’t we liven up this party?” A hushed voice said behind you.

Startled, you whipped round to see Astarion wearing a devious grin, twirling a potion in his hand; you recognised it to be an invisibility potion you had pilfered from a particularly annoying druid.

“How did you-“

“Now, now, let’s not draw attention to ourselves.” He purred, “I just need you to provide a distraction.”

“And how am I meant to do that?” You raised an eyebrow at him, “I don’t know if you’ve failed to notice, but this place is crawling with goblins; I’m not about to become the next Volo.”

Astarion merely chuckled.

“A little drop of poison in the barrel, and these goblins won’t know what’s hit them. Although they will look for someone to blame.”

You stared at him incredulously, mouth agape.

“I’m sorry, you *want *me to take the fall for your nefarious little plan?”

He just shrugged.

“You aren’t the one poisoning them. Feign innocence, whatever need be; but let’s not get our blades out just yet.”

Reluctantly you agreed to his plan, as he slipped out of sight you situated yourself next to the roasting meats; stomach turning, something smelled disgustingly off. You watched as the goblins gulped down tankard after tankard, your eyes flitting to the barrel, you wondered if Astarion had poisoned it yet; a shifting to your side and a satisfied hum told you all you needed to know.

A goblin trudged over to you, thrusting an overflowing tankard in your hand. Its contents sloshing and spilling.

“Uh… thanks.”

“C’mon, a toast! Gather round you lot, this one ere’s gonna make a toast.”

Astarion barely suppressed a giggle.

“… to your good health? And everlasting tyranny.” You raised your tankard in the air, shouts and cheers echoed round you in celebration.

“Oh please.” Astarion muttered under his breath. He glanced to you, raising an eyebrow, waiting for your next move. The goblins were waiting for you to drink, bringing the jug to your mouth you pretended to empty its contents. More cheers of jubilation rippled through the crowd as they began to down their own poisoned brew.

One by one goblins began to drop to the ground.

As panic began to rise you tipped out what remained in your jug into the sizzling fire behind you. You couldn’t help but feel a twinge of amusement at the chaos, your amusement was short lived. The goblin who encouraged your toast looked furious, pointing an accusing finger at you.

“You poisoned us!”

You scoffed.

“If I had poisoned you, would I still be standing here? Your companions were weak.”

She scrutinised you for a moment, features relaxing as she shrugged.

“S’pose you’re right.”

Astarion couldn’t keep his enjoyment to himself as your party entered the now long since desecrated temple. Shaowheart scolded him on being so obvious, he refuted her claims.

“It was a little fun though, wasn’t it? Don’t lie.”

You had little connection to the gods, but seeing a once splendorous temple now in ruin sat uncomfortably with you. Statues of Selune in ruin, walls crumbling; marked with blood in strange symbols you couldn’t decipher. The further you entered, the greater the uneasiness built.

A mockery of a priestess making proclamations of the Absolute as she branded new followers caught your attention, and you caught hers.

“The Absolute has touched you, hasn’t She? Priestess Gut needs to touch you too.”

You recoiled from her grasp.

“I’d rather not be branded, thank you.”

She looked dismayed at your refusal, but unsurprised. Instead, under your suggestion you retreated to her private chapel to “talk.”

You had no intention of letting her live.

As the door came to a gentle close, you fiddled with a bottle of alchemist’s fire behind your back, lightly tapping the glass as Gut rattled on. Your companions looked just as eager, practically itching to draw their weapons and end the twisted priestess’ life.

The fight couldn’t have gone more wrong, the bottle had shattered at her feet but she narrowly missed the hit; shouting for reinforcements. You were all overwhelmed.

Goblin after goblin after goblin swarmed the chapel.

You’re not sure how many times you were hit, only that a searing pain ripped through your side, forcing you to the ground. Vision a blur, you could vaguely make out someone or something running towards you ready to strike.

The world became red, blood splattered on your face as a body slumped next to you.

“Get up darling, of all the places.” You felt yourself being hauled to your feet, you had little time to steady yourself as you evaded another attack.

You had never seen so much blood before.

Footsteps splashing in the sticky substance, you surveyed the room littered with bodies. The pang of guilt was soon swallowed whole, you were dealing with a cult; a dangerous one at that, and still two more leaders drew breath.

Your body ached, bones screaming for rest, but you couldn’t stop now.

One leader was down, how long until someone noticed?

And how long before they came for your head?

Fortunately for you, finding the other two was hardly a challenge.

Dror Ragzlin’s booming assertions were difficult to miss, goblins cheered and shouted at each decree of The Absolute’s will.

“He’ll be difficult to take down.” Wyll commented, eyeing the rafters. “Let’s leave him until last, and use height to our advantage.”

“Agreed, I don’t fancy becoming spider food.” Shadowheart murmured.

The drow, now she was secluded away from the rabble, instead inspecting what looked like a map whilst berating the incompetency of the goblin in her presence. You overheard mentions of the grove, how no one had breached it yet, scouting groups failing to return.

She was frustrated.

Perhaps that could play in your favour.

You saw Astarion ready his bow in the shadows, you placed your hand atop to halt him.

“I’m not sure we should kill her…”

“Are you actually insane?” He hissed, “she’s a drow, she will not hesitate to kill us as soon as she finds out we’ve been picking off leaders.”

“Look, it’s just a feeling.”

He rolled his eyes, huffing.

“*Fine. *But if this gets us killed, I’m blaming you.”

Without warning he fired an arrow at the goblin with such precision the creature was dead before it hit the ground.

You could have smacked him.

In an instant you were dragged into another fight, Astarion rashly pinning you against a wall out of sight.

“It was your idea to spare her, then you can figure out exactly how you’re going to do that.” With that he released you, slipping further into shadows to hunt.

The drow did not take kindly to be assailed.

Unsurprisingly.

She was ferocious and mighty, highly skilled and a trained fighter. One hit could very well be your last.

You could laugh.

Here you were still living on borrowed time, yet you were worried about being killed?

You should have been dead days ago.

Whittling down the drow’s energy was your plan, you didn’t have a backup; if absolutely necessary you knew you had to kill her, but still, something stirred within you. Your tadpole longed to reach out to hers feeling that faint crackle psionic energy.

Her mind was shuttered to your interference.

Shadowheart seemed particularly intent on bludgeoning her.

Wyll and Astarion kept back, picking off any goblins that came your way.

Your lungs were starting to burn. There were only so many near misses you could take, thighs burning and arms aching.

She could feel your exhaustion just as much as you could feel hers.

Blood red eyes flickering with resolve, a cold calculating stare gauging your next move, but as you anticipated her actions you could see that hairline crack starting to develop.

Fear.

As Shadowheart took a swing at her, you took the opportunity to rush her, far too close for comfort; she could gut you on the spot should you fail. Swallowing down the fear, you pommelled her, weapon connecting with skull, a sickening crack that left her off kilter. With staggered steps she backed away before collapsing to the cold stone floor.

Hesitantly, you stepped towards her, quickly checking for a pulse. A slow thrum confirmed all you need to know.

“So, you saved her just to give her brain damage.” Astarion criticised, cleaning off his blade, vague annoyance pinched in his brows. “Can we go now?”

“A moment.” You breathed, pinching the bridge of your nose. Fatigue creeping into your senses like spiders crawling in the dark.

“I’m not certain we have a moment.” Wyll hedged, “who knows how long we have until she wakes up, not to mention there is one more leader we need to take down.”

“I’m inclined to agree.” Shadowheart added, “we can’t rest. Not yet.”

All things considered, your party weren’t faring terribly, the odd bruise here and there, a couple of scratches; nothing a couple of potions couldn’t sort out. You pilfered a few healing potions from the drow, knocking them back as if you were parched; the carmine liquid trickling down your chin.

You felt lighter.

Relived almost.

A temporary stay, you knew you’d be paying for it later.

Looking towards each other, you nodded silently.

Time to finish what you started.

As you crept up ladders and across the rafters, you all spotted goblins carrying barrels.

“What do you suppose is in the barrels?” You whispered.

“If I were to guess, I’d say smokepowder.” A wily smile spread across Astarion’s face, “now wouldn’t that be fun.” Slipping a hand into your pack, he retrieved another bottle of alchemist’s fire.

You stared at him in disbelief.

“What? You’re closest.”

You rolled your eyes, turning your attention back to the goblins below.

Dror Ragzlin sat on a crude throne, a mindflayer corpse in front of him; must have been one from the nautiloid wreckage, you felt little sympathy for it. As Ragzlin delivered his sermon and edicts, pairs of goblins carried the heavy barrels behind him. Astarion spotted them too his grin growing wider, as they began to pile the barrels next to a store; fumbling with keys.

You watched as he launched the bottle. That deadly glow fading away.

A thunderous explosion had you shielding your face.

Shrieks and screams filled the sanctum, bodies flung into the air.

Ragzlin knocked to the ground, his shouts furious as he scanned the room for the offenders.

You knew smokepowder was no joke, but even you were surprised at how many goblins it had taken out; even the humans amongst the crowd didn’t stand a chance. A handful of wounded goblins, including Ragzlin were left.

Easy pickings.

Whilst you had managed to avoid being punted off a rafter, and narrowly evaded the odd ice spell, the effects of those potions you drank earlier were beginning to wear off.

You were exhausted.

Your chest felt tight and your legs threatened to give way. You felt yourself sway, teetering far too close to the edge.

Wyll pulled you against his chest, steadying you.

“Careful. It’s quite the fall.”

You gripped onto his arm like a vice, vision swimming as another headache threatened to swallow your senses.

“We need to leave. The leaders are down and we’re sitting ducks.” Shadowheart said, watching as goblins began to frenzy, spats breaking out between groups as panic began to fill the air; their leaders gone, orders abandoned – it was chaos.

“We still haven’t found the druid.” You tried to argue.

“Druid be damned, I’m not losing my hide, and you’re in no state either.” Astarion countered.

“For once I agree with the vampire.” Shadowheart responded, an almost disgusted look on her face which had Astarion sneering.

You looked to Wyll, concerned, but he merely shook his head. Still steadying you, he spoke gently.

“Have faith. The goblins are in disarray, if there were an opportune moment to escape; it would be now.”

“We don’t even know if he’s alive.”

Wyll, ever the optimist, and painfully pragmatic had an answer for that too.

“He’s no use to them dead.”

You decided to trust his judgement.

You were tired.

So, so, tired.

You’re unsure how you made it back to camp, a vague blur of red and screams flitted through your mind, body moving on its own accord as if strings were attached to a puppeteer.

And now, those string had been cut.

The world faded to darkness once more.

Your dreams flitted from one memory to the next, spinning and swirling nauseating colours filling your vision. The voices of your companions echoing in the vast nothingness. You dreamt of your childhood, summers in the Gate paddling in the shallows of the Chionthar; fish circling your ankles.

The riverbanks dissolved into your childhood home, barely an adult, you spied your parents talking to a cloaked figure, the way they glanced towards you unsettled you. Hands clasped; a deal struck.

A flash of red.

A searing pain.

You lurched awake, gripping the thin material of your bedroll, heart pounding as you gulped down air as if it were too thin. Your vision swam, pressing your fingers into your eyes you took a steadying breath.

You listened to the world around you.

You were in your tent, your companions were talking outside, you could hear a gentle breeze rustling the leaves in the trees above, long grasses swaying and birds singing.

It was peaceful.

With a groan you shuffled towards the flap of your tent, wincing as you pulled back the fabric and light filtered in. For a moment you watched as your companions busied themselves. Gale appeared to be cooking something, the faint scent of cooked meats filled the air; you were a little bit hungry.

Pulled by the enticing scent, you wandered over, sitting on a log near the campfire. Gale greeted you warmly, handing you a warm bowl of what you think was soup? A roll of bread and some cuts of the meats that had been roasting.

“How are you feeling?” He asked, joining you on the log, a needed break for tired hands.

“Confused.” You admitted as you slurped from the bowl, “I don’t remember getting here.”

“Oh! Now that’s a story to tell.”

His words filled you with little confidence.

“You were a bit out of sorts. Barely standing from what I could see. If not for our talented cleric I’m unsure if you’d even be awake right now.”

“That bad?” You sounded simultaneously unsurprised and mortified, whilst the fatal effects of your curse were currently held at bay, some of the more minor inconveniences certainly liked to make themselves known. Ringing in your ears, unpredictable nosebleeds, hazy memory – these were all things you had become accustomed to.

Your companions on the other hand, well, you wondered at what point they’ll finally decide you’re a liability.

Gale’s voice wrested you from your thoughts.

“An overindulgence of potions will certainly do that to you. Do take care in the future. Now, eat up, we have a party to plan.”

You blinked owlishly at him.

“A… party?”

“Of course! You weren’t awake for the details. A few of us returned to the Grove to inform Zevlor that the goblin leaders had been -ah, *indisposed. *A night of revelry before the tieflings journey forth!”

A party. Certainly a welcome distraction from the horrors you face. What’s one night to relax and forget your problems? Good company, and potentially good wine would make for a merry night. It’s nice to be recognised for something good for a change.

Nightfall came, and the camp teemed with life. Wine flowed freely as people chatted, sang, and danced with abandon. From your little alcove of peace you watched on, tiefling children chasing each other; Mol squirrelling away a couple of bottles, no doubt to extort people later. You saw Rolan putting on a show for his siblings, colourful sparks of magic bursting into existence before shimmering away.

Wyll had secluded himself away by the lake, but you saw how Karlach approached him, a spring in her step and a smile on her face; she may not be able to touch, but you were confident that by the end of the night she would have plucked a laugh or two from him.

Shadowheart and Lae’zel kept to their own corners of camp, after their spat the other night, you’ve been wary about the pair being in close proximity. The hatchet may very well be buried, but that doesn’t mean someone won’t go and dig it back up. Perhaps best for now they enjoy their own company.

Gale appeared to be entertaining a group of tieflings, or perhaps that was a grimace you saw on their faces? Whilst Gale was regaling them of tales from Waterdeep, Scratch intently eyed a rather tasty looking link of sausages; you saw him creep over to where they were roasting, tentatively nibbling before yanking the lot and darting into the bushes. The tieflings laughed whilst Gale yelled at the dog.

You ought to make rounds, mingle, show your face to those eager to thank you.

As you surveyed the festivities, your eyes caught sight of an abnormally large elf with deep scars that bisected his face; despite the rugged appearance, his eyes held a gentleness to them. He greeted you warmly when you approached him, introducing himself as Halsin.

“I must thank you for your help with the Grove, I would have done so sooner but I understand you were resting.”

“That’s putting it mildly.” You murmured, wincing at your tone. “I’m glad we could help, although I must ask, how did you escape the goblins? We hadn’t even found you… apologies.”

Halsin merely laughed, no hint of anger or malice in his voice.

“It appears your indisposing of the leaders caused quite a stir; I was able to use the opportunity to escape.”

You briefly mentioned the tadpole behind your eye, which Halsin responded to gently; telling you that it was no ordinary tadpole and that removing it would almost certainly kill you. He did not miss the way your expression shifted, a resigned sigh leaving your lips. Seems that no matter what happens; you’re destined to die.

His voice brought you back to the present, warm and jovial.

“Go on now. Don’t waste your night talking to me. We’ll discuss your problem tomorrow.”

“Why don’t you take your own advice? Go on – mingle a little.”

“Later, perhaps. Don’t worry about me. A night under the stars amidst nature’s creation is just what I need after being locked up in the goblins’ dungeon.” Halsin looked to the very stars he mentioned, gesturing to the world around him as a certain peace settled on his features. He smiled at you, motioning to the various bottles of wine that threatened to run out soon.

“Go on, enjoy yourself. Seek out some wine before it runs dry – there are a lot of thirsty people around here.”

You bade him a good night.

Bottle in hand, you wandered the camp; the taste of the liquid sweet and fruity on your tongue, by far one of the better beverages you’ve had recently. Although the same could not be said for your vampire companion. Astarion positively grimaced with every swig of the bottle.

“That bad?” You asked as you walked over to him.

He sighed dramatically.

“I would have liked more for my trouble than a pat on the head and vinegar for wine.”

“Tastes fine to me.” You remarked.

“You’ve clearly never tasted finer things in life.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, taking another sip from your bottle. Swirling the contents and watching it whirl.

“These days I’ll take what I can get. Never know when it’ll be my last.”

“Hm, I’m inclined to agree with you.” He looked to his own bottle disdainfully before his eyes met yours, a spark of cunning flashed behind them. “All I want is a little fun. Is that so much to ask?”

“Knowing you?” You raised a brow at him, “probably, or it could mean you want to kill something. It’s hard to tell at times.”

He flashed a sinister grin.

“What’s life without a little danger? A little death, so to speak” His expression shifted to something more intimate, his tone suggestive as he closed in on the space around you. “We could create our own entertainment, get to experience each other’s *full portfolio of talents, *if you catch my meaning.”

You knew exactly what he meant.

But you wanted to hear it from him directly.

“And what would your meaning be?”

He knew you were teasing, by the glint in your eye and barely suppressed smirk. He responded in kind, with exasperation and a roll of his eyes. Leaning in close.

“By the hells. Sex, my dear. A night of passion.”

He leant back, a more relaxed smile in place; he looked almost pleased with himself.

“Let’s wait until things quieten down. Once the others are asleep, we’ll find each other.”

You couldn’t remember the last time you were intimate with someone, perhaps not long after you were burdened with your curse, before its talons had fully embedded themselves into your flesh.

What harm could one night bring?

As the party had settled down and your companions slept soundly in their bedrolls, you pulled back the fabric of your tent; it was almost eerie how silence fell over the camp like a blanket muffling the sound. Only the gentle crackle of the fire could be heard, its embers floating up into the sky.

You caught glimpse of Astarion slipping out of his tent, he knew you had seen him, overconfident; without even turning to look at you he stalked towards the forest.

You huffed at his arrogance, but followed nonetheless. Steps quiet as a mouse until you were sure no one could hear you.

The forest was still, but not silent; a gentle rustle of leaves and the call of nightly birds filled the air. Moonlight filtering through the leaves as an evening mist settled like a shroud. As you took in your surroundings you were aware of a presence slipping out from the copse of trees.

Astarion looked beautiful in moonlight.

The way the light shone through his hair like a halo, the shadows that sculpted his face.

You were staring, the telltale smirk on his face told you he’d caught you.

“There you are.” He purred, “I’ve been waiting. Waiting since the moment I set eyes on you.”

He stepped closer to you.

“Waiting to have you.”

You regarded him for a moment, these were honeyed words to charm you.

It would be a lie to say they weren’t working.

But you’re a stubborn kind, and do rather enjoy teasing.

You huffed a laugh.

“You held a dagger to my throat when you set eyes on me.”

“Darling, don’t ruin the mood.” He chastised lightly. “Besides, you’re here, aren’t you? And I don’t think you want to talk.”

Caressing the air in front of you he continued, his voice dipping.

“I think you want to be known. To be tasted.”

You tilted your head; he certainly had a way with words, but there was a certain tenseness to him you couldn’t place. He was too put together, too poised.

“And what do you want?”

He faltered for a moment, a glimmer of surprise and uncertainty flashed across his features before his clever tongue picked up the pieces.

“What do any of us want? Pleasure. Yours. Mine. Our collective ecstasy.”

That uncertainty returned not a moment later, his eyes searching yours for an answer to a question only he knew. Hesitancy creeping into his voice.

“That’s what you want, isn’t it? To lose yourself in me.”

That last part sounded more like a statement.

“I want us both to have fun.” You breathed.

Astarion looked unsurprised.

“I thought so.”

A cold hand took your wrist, pulling you closer as cool lips closed over yours. Gentle, eager, too soon he was pulling away, merely grinning at you. Barely a heartbeat later his lips were back on yours, teasing and playful, he pressed you roughly against a tree; its bark digging into your skin.

You gasped, heat flooding through your body as you held him close like a lifeline.

He pulled away once more, gone was his hesitancy from before; replaced by the overbearing confidence of a practiced dancer.

How many times had he danced to this particular tune?

An element of mischief bubbled up inside you, with newfound confidence you pushed Astarion down onto the ground, straddling him with a mischievous grin; head tilted exposing your neck, your intention clear. He gazed up at you, eyes wide, a faint surprised smile on his lips, sweat beading in his hairline.

Playfully he rolled you beneath him, a ghost of a kiss against your throat before that ice sharp sting took over. You moaned, instinctually pulling him closer as he lapped at your neck; warmth trickling down it.

Breaths mingled.

Bloodied kisses.

Your senses overwhelmed, Astarion was everywhere; lavishing attention upon you in reverence. Skin tingling at his every touch as he explored every expanse of your body. When he wasn’t whispering sweet nothings in your ear, his clever tongue had you gasping out his name like a prayer.

If his intention was for you to be quiet, then he was doing awfully, but the way your cries seemed to spur him on told you otherwise.

Head full of dizzying pleasure, you trembled in his arms; you could hear him speaking; soothing even, it made little sense to you.

A telltale warmth, an almost repressed groan and Astarion relaxing told you everything.

Breathless, sticky, your heart hammering in your chest. You lay in each other’s arms, no words passed between you, only the ragged breaths of two people who bared all to each other.

You were exhausted.

The gentle lull of sleep claimed you when the shadows began to dance in your vision.

If you thought Astarion looked beautiful in the moonlight, then he was positively radiant in the sun. Gentle dappling of sunlight glittered against his skin, gone was his deathly pallid tone; replaced by a warmth simmering under his skin – the throbbing in your neck was almost worth the sight.

Despite his devastating beauty, your eyes wandered over a large scar so crudely carved into his back. The sharp, complex, and almost methodical nature of his scars stirred a memory within you. You had seen similar markings before, not on flesh, but they were unmistakable – Infernal, language of the Hells.

You groaned, pushing yourself to your feet.

“You sleep light. I thought you’d be exhausted.” Astarion teased, glancing back at you as he continued basking in the sun.

“I am. But I can’t spend all day on the floor now, can I?” You quipped, “as much as that may delight you.”

“Darling, I’m hurt.” As he was about to turn back to the sun, he caught how your gaze slipped to his back, an unreadable expression on your face. His own tone soured. “You’re staring. What is it?”

You shook your head.

“Sorry… your scars, do you know what it is?”

“No, I don’t.” Astarion said condescendingly, “it’s not like I can look at it in a mirror.”

With a pained sigh, he told you with little detail how he fell into Cazador’s clutches, how his flesh had been carved and revised over the course of a night; the unspoken told you enough.

“Why did he write in Infernal?”

“Infernal?” Astarion looked shocked, blinking almost owlishly at you before his usual frown fell back into place, “who knows? The bastard was insane. Anyway, enough pillow talk. Let’s go before the tieflings drag us into another mess.”

With a huff you gathered your strewn clothing, whilst you were almost certain the rest of camp were aware of your late-night tryst, you preferred to not be so obvious about it.

Morning brought discussion of shadow cursed lands and a lead to your tadpole problem. Moonrise Towers, not a place that rung a bell in your memory but a place that offered a potential cure to your affliction – and certain death if it were to be true.

Halsin warned of the dangers of travelling overland, and whilst he loathed to say it, suggested the Underdark be a safer passage.

Speak of Dark Justiciars perked Shadowheart’s ears, for better or for worse.

Your camp of misfits packed their belongings, readying for their next part of adventure. You were going to miss this particular camp, so much had transpired in such a short time and the prospect of moving on brought a sickening feeling of dread. What other chaos was to be thrown your way? How many more bodies must you step over to preserve your own safety?

Lae’zel had become quite vocal in her interest of locating the Githyanki creche; perhaps less out of interest and more necessity, whilst the thought of wandering into a Gith stronghold with Illithid parasites burrowing deeper into your grey matter didn’t fill you with joy, a part of you was curious about their supposed “cure”. Either it cured you of your parasite and you perish, or it backfires terribly and you still perish; truly nothing to lose in that case.

“Fine, let’s find this creche. But after that we travel the Underdark.”

The mountainous trek was arduous and your legs burned with fatigue, the scenery however, now that was quite breathtaking. The odd grumble parsed between your companions about the trek, Shadowheart wished you all had horses to which Astarion countered that they were temperamental beasts and bite.

“We keep you around, don’t we?” She responded, a short laugh left your throat, Astarion glaring at you as you tried to cover it with a cough.

It appears people have a habit of repurposing places of worship.

Rosymorn Monastery, a once glittering jewel nestled in the mountains that basked in the Morninglord’s splendour.

Rather ironic that death now paints its walls.

Lae’zel’s demands thankfully granted you access to safe passage, for now. Still, you couldn’t help but feel as though this fragile peace would soon shatter. Eyes bore into your skulls, your every movement tracked and calculated for weakness – how easy would it be to overwhelm you all? How many flaws had already been detected?

Well, you were somewhat free to roam; may as well make use of it. A trade here, a barter there; you soon realised that the Gith were receptive to the odd coin. Whilst a few brows were raised at just how many healing potions you had bought it was brushed off as your kind being much weaker, fragile bones and all.

Whatever works.

That tentative peace did not last long.

The Gith’s insane purification device backfired spectacularly, shattering into shards of metal and chunks of flesh. Lae’zel gripping her head, screaming just as your mind splintered apart. You could taste the blood at the back of your throat, swallowing thickly, grimacing as you willed the ache and taste away.

Astarion gave you a sidelong glance but remained silent.

You had hoped to have avoided a fight; however, your deception had much left to be desired and the Ghustil did not take kindly to blatant lies. Lae’zel agitated, she had not wanted to fight against her people but their patience had limits, and your wandering with an Illithid parasite buried in your skull left you all with little choice.

Lae’zel wiped the blood from her eyes.

“Come. We must inform the Inquisitor there is a hshar’lak in our midst.”

“And also tell him we just butchered a load of gith too?” Shadowheart raised a brow, “I’m certain that’ll go well.”

“Chk. Their misguided pursuit is what lead to their downfall. I will not be held responsible for the faults of others.”

“Let’s just get going.” You hedged, “I don’t relish staying here a moment longer.”

Abysmal.

That was the only word that came to mind as you recounted the events within the Creche. You had met with the Inquisitor, and in turn had an audience with Vlaakith herself.

You were far from the pious type, and her domineering presence partnered with Lae’zel’s undying devotion made something twist sickly in your stomach. Even still, you found yourself listening to Vlaakith’s request come order, descending into the astral prism to confront the person who has protected you this entire time. They had appeared in your dreams, told you of their own desire and plight, how they protected you and would continue to do so. Their presence was soothing, to kill them was suicide.

You did not want to kill them.

You couldn’t.

Decision made, your return to the creche was a bloody one. Vlaakith be damned, she had no intention of letting any of you live.

Yet still, Lae’zel remained devoted to her.

You wanted to scream at her, tell her to open her eyes – you knew it was fruitless.

Leaving the creche was an even bloodier mess.

Venturing further into the depths of the monastery, disarming one trap after the next, your party entered a dimly lit cavern; a glittering jewel at its centre. This must be the blood of Lathander you had heard whispers of.

With no clear route forward you had yanked the mace from its resting space, the cavern sprung to life, whirring and clunking, lights dazzling you as you shielded your eyes.

Then you were levitating.

“What in the hells-“

Everything was doomed for destruction, and that place was set to be your grave unless you acted.

“Get me out of this thing before the whole building collapses!” You had screamed.

“I’ll get them free – you get out of here!” Astarion had yelled to the others, you looked at him in surprise as the others bolted towards the exit.

Turns out scrolls can be very useful in a pinch, and once free the pair of you had ran as if hellhounds were at your ankles. The very stone beneath your feet cracking and collapsing, deafening rumbles as stones crashed to the canyons below, the earth swallowing it whole. With a leap you made it to safety, back to the ground as to stared up at the sky, the cacophony of destruction echoing still.

You caught your ragged breath rolling onto your stomach, gazing over the rubble of the monastery, head pounding as the urge to vomit rose, a metallic taste stuck in the back of your throat. You glanced to Astarion who appeared to be in marginally better shape, the adrenaline wearing off as he sagged against a tree.

“Why did you help me?” You said between breaths, easing yourself up.

“Most people say thank you when rescued from mortal peril.” Astarion huffed, “No matter, I’ll take it.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Astarion narrowed his eyes before rolling his shoulders, levelling you with an unreadable stare.

“Being crushed to death is hardly pleasant. I’m sure we could have asked that withered skeleton to bring you back, but I’d rather not waste the gold.”

You scoffed, pushing yourself off the rock you were resting against, moving your way past Astarion, his hand against you shoulder stopping you in your tracks, eyes narrowed.

“I can smell the blood in your mouth.”

You paused, glancing at him, muttering derisively.

“Worried? Or enticed?”

“Neither.” He frowned, “but I am curious.”

“Curiosity killed the cat.”

“Oh, but I’m already dead. It hardly matters anymore.”

You shrugged him off, your bedroll was calling and your weary bones needed the rest.

You tossed and turned in fitful sleep, nightmares a plague behind your eyes, heart hammering in your chest. Sinew and muscle warped and torn, the pressure behind your eyes building and building until the vessels burst and your vision distorts. Your teeth felt loose, rocking in their sockets as blood began to fill your mouth.

You were destined to die.

To choke on your own blood until your gurgling was silenced.

Cold hands shook you awake, with a sharp gasp you sat up suddenly, world spinning around you. You pressed your palms into your eyes trying to relieve the pressure behind them.

“Quite the nightmare you were having.”

Astarion’s voice was soothing, gone was his usual mocking cadence, replaced with a mild concern that seemed almost odd on him. You stared at him for a moment, reorienting yourself with the world.

“Are you quite alright? You look worse than when I first met you; and that’s saying something.”

You groaned, wiping at your face and pulling away when you felt a sticky substance against your clammy skin.

“You could smell the blood.”

“No late-night surprises from me, I assure you; however, it is hard to ignore when someone spontaneously bleeds in their sleep.”

If your head weren’t currently splitting apart you may have found humour in his statement.

“I know what I saw in your head. None of it good.” Of course, he was going to remind you of the half-truths you let slip, he had that over you – could use it for the smallest bit of leverage should he wish to damn you further, yet, his expression spoke not of deceit, but that of understanding. With a grimace he handed you a cloth, lips pressed into a thin line as he watched you mop up the blood that still flowed freely.

“If I didn’t know better, I would say you’re dying.”

You glanced away; cloth pressed firmly to your nose as you gathered your thoughts. You could lie, a small lie, inconsequential in the grand scheme of things but just enough to sate his curiosity. Or… you could be truthful, sate his curiosity and tear open the wound that had barely begun to heal once again.

“You’re closer to the truth than you realise.” You sighed.

A deep frown settled on his features, his gaze flicking from your face to the bloodied cloth that now sat in your lap.

“I’m definitely missing something here.”

A wry smile tugged at your lips.

“It’s a long story. Let’s just say I was the unfortunate bastard caught in a bargain not of my own making. Fey are tricky creatures.”

“Deals with devils rarely go well, look at dear Wyll – Pride of the Gate with a devil on his tail. But Fey? They’re just as cunning and twice as cruel.” He paused, regarding you for a moment. “How in the hells did you manage that?”

“Oh! Believe me, this was not my choice, let’s just say my doting family felt that I had more use to them as a conduit. Why waste precious resources, just another mouth to feed after all.” Bitterness laced your words like an acrid poison, any love you once held for your family had long since been eaten by the gnawing void in your chest. “They knew the cost, there was little point in the fey dressing up their words into a neatly packaged riddle – ‘a drop of blood to keep you flushed, a skipped beat for added time.’”

Fists balled, crescent moons digging into your flesh, you took a shuddering breath as your temper rose. How long had you dampened your feelings? Accepted your fate and made peace with it? When had you ever spoken of your plight to another soul? The rage you had felt the day you were betrayed came surging back in a violent flurry that flashed red behind your eyes.

“The day I was captured by the Mindflayers was the day I was meant to die. To complete the deal, and grant those who I once held dear a life free of disease, of aging, but not immortality – no, they couldn’t afford that price, but they got close to it.”

You threw the rag into the corner of your tent in fury.

“I hope they rot.”

You refused to let tears spill, your family were not worth it, instead you gritted your teeth, voice thick.

“If we remove these parasites, I will succumb to my own personal oblivion, but I don’t want to become a mindflayer either. I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t.”

A tense silence fell upon your tent, your pulse quickened as the urge to empty the contents of your stomach increased. This was a mistake; you shouldn’t have told him; not only is he now privy to your secret but now he shares the burden of keeping that secret. Cat out the bag, it was only a matter of time before the others found out. You stared down at your hands, when had they gripped the hem of your shirt? Little jolts of nerves rattled through your body; you were shaking.

Then the tears fell.

“Gods damn it.” You hissed, furiously wiping at your eyes.

Astarion said nothing, but that look, was that sympathy? His eyes flitted to the side before resting back on you, clearly, he wasn’t used to this sort of vulnerability. As his throat bobbed in hesitance, you filled the silence.

“Sorry… this is a lot. I’ll be fine… eventually.”

Astarion sighed, finally breaking his silence.

“You’ve truly been dealt a vile hand. I suppose we’re more alike than I first thought.”

You barked a harsh laugh.

“I suppose we are. At least there’s a future for you.”

It was Astarion’s turn to laugh, terse and cold.

“My future is meaningless if I fall back into Cazador’s clutches.” He gestured to his own head, “these brain worms are the only thing protecting me, I’ll be damned to return to the life I knew.”

“Providing we don’t turn into mindflayers and I don’t suddenly keel over, you won’t need to.” There was a peculiar confidence to your tone, not quite a promise, but an assurance. Your future may be limited, but Astarion’s needn’t be, you felt a strange affection for the man; neither love nor friendship, a curious solidarity.

Astarion laughed once again, softly, a tentative warmth in his voice.

“Don’t make promises darling.”

“I’m doing no such thing. Only a fool makes promises.”

“Indeed... Well, seeing as you’re not going to die on me at any moment, I shall take my leave.” He held his hand up to silence you, anticipating your request for privacy. “I won’t tell the others, but… at some point you will have to.”

That day was only going to creep closer.

Neither of you spoke of what happened the next morning, instead packed for your trek to the Underdark as if it were a normal day with a parasite wriggling in your brain. You had burned the evidence of the previous night’s bleed, no need to be concerning the others; there’s more pressing issues at hand.

Truthfully, you just wanted to press on, the less you had to think about your own situation, the better.

“So, the Underdark.” Astarion started, “I wonder what manner of terrifying foes we’ll meet there.”

“Well, I dare say we may come across a bulette or two, and I hear it’s a fantastic place for myconids.” Gale answered, “I for one am intrigued if not a little apprehensive.” With glee he regaled of the various creatures he had read about, Astarion look to you; unimpressed. You merely grinned at him before continuing to pack.

The Underdark felt like it was a realm away, deep caverns with jagged rocks, steep edges and sheer drops; one misstep into gnawing nothingness. Glowing mushrooms illuminated the way, some exploded, others… well let’s say hearing your companions lose their minds with laughter was both hilarious and terrifying. Curiosity was no friend of yours here.

Violence always found your merry band of misfits, one way or another. Be it in the form of defending yourself from a bulette – Gale was very smug about that one. Or by venturing into a blistering forge to decapitate a drow; a truly awful experience, to feel how muscle and tendon went taut against your blade, still warm blood dripping onto your hands and down your arm, the cracking and crushing of bone; why this particular task was left to you was beyond your understanding. You were sorely tempted to throw the head at one of your companions.

“My, my, don’t you look dashing covered in blood.” Astarion teased, his eyes lit up in delight as you scowled.

“And here I thought you’d be eager to do the deed yourself. I distinctly remember you saying decapitation was a ‘fine way to go’.”

“Did I say that?” He feigned innocence, “well, I’m sure another opportunity will arise.”

“I’ll make sure to volunteer you for it then.”

“Certainly.”

Absently he reached out, smudging a drop of blood on your cheek before licking at the crimson on his thumb. Blinking owlishly, you could feel the heat rush to your cheeks.

“Are you always this off-putting in public?” You could barely contain your distaste, scrunching your nose and looking away, almost ashamed at the interaction. “Can your hunger not wait for later?”

Astarion merely chuckled, relishing in your discomfort and the apparent discomfort of your companions, all of whom suddenly found interest in their nails or a “new” speck of dirt on their clothing.

“I suppose it could wait.”

It was impossible to tell if it were daytime or nighttime, although as the hours waned on your body certainly let you know. Lounging against a particularly sturdy mushroom, you watched as your companions setup their tents and prepared for the night ahead. Scratch and the owlbear cub chased each other playfully, tussling and tumbling; a playful nip here and there. At least someone was having fun.

Halsin had made himself comfortable and adapted well to camp life, he sat by the fire whittling whilst Gale prepared a meal with whatever resources had been procured. Wyll chatted with Karlach who lounged in her open tent. Even Shadowheart and Lae’zel appeared amicable, comparing weapons and discussing tactics.

Your vampire friend was nowhere to be seen.

Surely, he hadn’t gone hunting here? Of all the places, the Underdark was probably the most dangerous, there was a distinct lack of boars and bears and you shuddered at the thought of what would be considered close.

Dubious of Astarion’s whereabouts, you elected to wander the camp, inspecting all manner of secluded areas; noting some for when you wanted your own privacy. It didn’t take long for you to find Astarion, although you weren’t expecting to see him in a manner of undress. His fingertips grazing at the scars on his back, red angry marks where he had repeatedly traced particular areas.

“Bloody Infernal, how is anyone meant to read this garbage?” He hissed, attempting to contort his arm more than it naturally could.

“And I thought you didn’t care for what Cazador wrote on your back?” You said, arms folded as Astarion turned in surprise, eyes wide as if he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

“Ah! There you are. I admit, I got curious.” His little smirk gave way to a frown, a sombre expression, gesturing to his back as he spoke. “I’ve been tracing the scars on my back with my fingers, trying to read them by touch, but I can’t.”

“Want me to take another look?” You offered, watching as he considered; almost as quickly as that sliver of vulnerability peaked through, the walls were up again like a fortress.

“I – This isn’t your problem you know.”

“It’s your choice. I may not be able to read your scars, but at the very least I can draw them.”

“I…” Astarion pursed his lips, regarding you for a moment; unsure if this was trickery under a guise, unwilling to be so open once again. He gave a resigned sigh. “I’d… appreciate that.”

Turning around, you once again bore witness to the swirling patterns hacked into his flesh; how crudely it had been carved. You could see where the deepest scars took the longest to heal, raised and purple; just how long did it take him to recover? There were signs where wounds had healed and reopened, skin barely knitting together, now thick and tough. With a deft hand you scribed into the soft soil below, mirroring each terror inflicting mark to completion.

“There…” You murmured, “you can turn around now.”

A scowl etched into Astarion’s features as he laid eyes upon the sigil, centuries of wondering what secrets his scars held only to be met with more questions.

“What in the Hells… What did he do to me?”

You grimaced.

“Any idea what it says?”

“I have absolutely no idea. But it’s no poem.” His voice wavered slightly, “two centuries carrying this, and I can finally see it.”

A strained silence fell between you, Astarion staring down at the sigil, eyes flitting from one etching to the next, the rage simmering under his skin was palpable.

“Disappointed? Or...” You began.

“Perplexed.” Astarion interrupted. “This was a surprise, and Cazador’s surprises are never good.” He shifted slightly, body still taut like a bowstring, but voice minorly relaxed, inquisitive even. “Then again, even he couldn’t know I’d be kidnapped. Whatever he had planned, it’s gone wrong. Which gives us an advantage.” He kicked at the dirt, marring his reflected scar into obscurity. “Whatever I’ve ran off with, he’ll be furious.”

He looked to you; expression softened faintly.

“Thank you, by the way. This is… well, it’s something.”

“I would say make sure it doesn’t get us killed, but…” You gestured to yourself.

Astarion smirked.

“Hells forbid.”

You didn’t sleep well that night, whilst your body was exhausted your mind was awake and racing; as one thought appeared it was devoured by another. Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you pondered on what lay ahead, tomorrow you will continue to Moonrise Towers; a desolate place shrouded in shadow if Halsin’s warnings were anything to go by. Perhaps you’ll find out more about your wriggling friends, or maybe you’ll succumb to whatever lay in wait.

How were you meant to protect yourself against a curse that threatened to swallow every light and living being whole?

You squeezed your eyes shut, shifting onto your side, bringing the covers of your bedroll up to your ears; you felt… cold.

With a heavy sigh you stared into the dark of your tent, the snores and mumbles of your companions brought little comfort. Astarion’s words from the other day swam in your mind. Guilt washed over you like a wave, they all had their own horrors to deal with, all of which they had confided in you; yet here you were, squirrelling away your secrets. Did you not trust them? Or was it the pity you were scared of? To be known, to be seen.

If you made it through the shadows alive, then you’ll tell them.

A promise to yourself.

You fool.