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jellybonbons · 2 months

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Sweet Tooth or Sweet Cravings?

Kenji Sato x fem!reader

Summary: When a chocolate company sent Ken a PR package, he ate the chocolates without thoroughly inspecting them, and, well...things took an unexpected turn.

CW: 18+ (mdni), established relationship, aphrodisiac chocolates, implied panty sniffing, masturbation, fingering, squirting, creampie, unprotected sex, pet names.

Words: 1.5k

AN: this is just an excuse for me to write him like he's in heat :3

Today 4:12 PM

Ken <3: can you come home? its an emergency

The moment you saw his text, your heart skipped a beat. Without a second thought, you clocked out early and made a beeline for the parking lot. You had never driven so fast in your life, and you were sure you almost broke the gas pedal from how hard your heels were pressing on it.

The city streets blurred past you, your mind racing with worry and a thousand scenarios of what could have gone wrong. You barely noticed the honking horns or the changing traffic lights, and your focus was solely on getting to Ken as quickly as possible.

As you reached Ken's home, you punched in the code with shaking fingers, and the door swung open almost instantly. You dropped your bag near the entrance, not caring where it landed, and stumbled inside, quickly sliding off your heels as you hurried to find him.

Rounding the corner into the living room, you saw Ken from behind, his broad shoulders rising and falling with each laboured breath. "Ken, are you ok–" The sight caught you off guard. There he was, panting heavily, glistening with sweat, eyes half-closed as he stroked his cock. It stood proudly and flushed in a deep red colour. His other hand clutched your panty from this morning.

“Sweetheart, I’m sorry you have to–fuck,” the moment he saw you, his body tensed, and with a guttural moan, he finally came, his cum coating his hand and abdomen.

As he sprawled against the couch, you took a moment to look around the living room. Your eyes landed on a box of half-eaten chocolates on the coffee table. Curiosity piqued, you picked up the box and examined it closely. The label read "Aphrodisiac Chocolates" in a small, elegant script. Realisation dawned on you, and you couldn't help but let out a small, incredulous laugh. Ken had unknowingly consumed aphrodisiacs, and now the situation made a lot more sense.

You sat down next to him on the couch, eyes wide with concern. "Ken, what the hell? Are you okay?"

"I—I’m really sorry. I didn’t expect this... I think I overdid it with those chocolates."

"Those weren’t just chocolates, were they?"

"No, they were aphrodisiac chocolates. I didn’t check the label...clearly, I should have," he growled, frustration evident in his voice as he discarded your panty from his hand.

"Yeah, I can see that. It’s obvious they did more than just satisfy a sweet tooth," you smirked, leaning closer, your breath teasing against his ear.

"You’re not helping, you know." His eyes narrowed at you, a mix of frustration and desire burning within them.

Before you could respond, Ken, overwhelmed by the effects and your teasing, pulled you down onto him. He ground his hard-on between your thighs, his breath coming out in ragged bursts as he tried to find some relief.

"Ken, what—" You gasped, your voice filled with surprise.

"I need you. Right now. Please, help me." His voice was husky and urgent, his need unmistakable.

–

You lost track of time, the sky outside turning dark as the house became dimly lit. Your clothes were strewn everywhere, and he had taken you on every possible surface – from the coffee table to the expansive living room window overlooking the ocean, and now on his bed.

He didn't hesitate for a moment, his desire insatiable. Somehow, he even managed to feed you the aphrodisiac chocolates during heated kisses, deepening the intensity of your connection with each touch and taste that seemed impossible to quench.

"Baby," you moaned, your voice trembling with need. He had your hands pinned against the headboard, his grip firm and unyielding. His chest pressed against your back, warm and solid, as his fingers delved into your wet cunt, moving with a relentless rhythm that left you breathless.

The squelching sound filled the room, adding to the erotic symphony that drove him even harder. Your back arched with every expert stroke, each thrust of his fingers hitting the perfect spot over and over, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

“Ken, wait!” you gasped, feeling a strange pressure building within you. “I feel like I’m gonna pee.”

He didn’t falter for a second, his fingers maintaining their relentless rhythm. “Just let go, princess,” he murmured, his voice a mix of encouragement and command. “The sheets are already dirty anyway.”

His words and the relentless thrusting of his fingers broke down your resistance. With a cry of both pleasure and relief, you let go, your body trembling as you squirted, the sensation overwhelming. Ken’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he continued to work you through it, his fingers drenched in your release.

“Atta girl,” he murmured, his voice low and approving. “Just like that.”

As Ken finally released your hands, you let them slide down, resting them beside you—the dampness of the wet sheets clinging uncomfortably to your skin, causing you to grimace. You took a few deep breaths, trying to calm the rapid pace of your breathing, and allowed yourself a moment to regain composure.

Ken, still insatiable and eager, looked at you with a determined glint in his eyes. “It’s my turn now,” he said, his voice rough with need. You, sore and spent, protested weakly, “Baby, I’m so beat... I don’t know if I can handle much more.”

He silenced your concerns with a reassuring smile and a quick, decisive movement. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything,” he said, his tone filled with confidence. With a firm grip, he lifted you effortlessly and positioned you on his lap, your legs spread and held against your chest. He manoeuvred you into a perfect angle and guided his hard cock to your still-sensitive cunt.

“Fuck, Ken, too deep!” you cried out, your voice trembling as you struggled to adjust to the overwhelming sensation. Saliva dribbled from your lips, a testament to the intense pleasure and exhaustion.

Ken's voice was a low, teasing murmur against your ear. “But you love it when I go deep like this,” he cooed, his tone dripping with mockery. He squeezed you closer, his grip firm and possessive, restricting your movements and trapping you in place.

The way he moved, controlling every motion and maximising your pleasure, made you feel like nothing more than his personal plaything, his fleshlight. Each powerful thrust sent your breasts bouncing. Your head leaned back against him, the sensation overwhelming as his movements were both demanding and dominant, ensuring you felt every inch of him, leaving you breathless and helpless under his command.

Finally, with a guttural groan that reverberated through the room, Ken’s body tensed, and a shudder ran through him as he reached his peak. His hot cum spilling deeply inside you, a wave of warmth that filled you completely.

He collapsed against you, his breath coming in deep, shuddering gasps as he buried his face in your hair, staying fully inside you. As he caught his breath, he managed to joke through his ragged breaths, “I think I’ll have to give that chocolate company a review —'5 stars for effectiveness!'”

You weakly slapped his arms, a small, affectionate smile tugging at your lips despite the fatigue. “You’re impossible,” you murmured, barely able to muster the energy to respond.

He then gently shifted his position, moving his hand to cup your chin and guide your face towards his. His eyes, soft and tender, met yours as he leaned in to press a gentle, affectionate kiss to your lips.

Pulling back slightly, he whispered with a teasing smile, “But you love me.”

“Unfortunately.” You responded with a playful sigh.

–

You were scrolling through your phone during lunch, your thoughts drifting as you ate, when a familiar company caught your eye. You paused, intrigued by a screenshot of a review with the username Notkensato07. The review was under a popular chocolate company, and as you read the lines, you couldn’t help but groan.

Notkensato07: ★★★★★

"Absolutely incredible! I tried the aphrodisiac chocolates and they were so effective, my girlfriend’s still recovering. If you want a taste of heaven—and maybe a little bit of chaos—this is your go-to. 5 stars, but if I could give it more, I would!

⤷ 241 replies

g0urmetguru: More than 5, huh? That’s some serious praise. I’m curious, how long did the effects last? Asking for a friend 😉

sillysocks76: IS THIS KEN SATO?

ChefRemyDaRat: Wow, talk about a rave review! If it’s that good, I’m buying a box for sure 🔥

chocolateroses: LMAOOO! I hope your girlfriend’s recovery is going well, man!

SweetToothSteve: Wow, this sounds wild! I’ve heard aphrodisiac chocolates are hit-or-miss, but this sounds like a game-changer. Guess I’ll be adding these to my shopping list!

jellybonbons: Nah, that’s cap.

⤷ chikinuggie: You’re just salty because you got no hoes.

⤷jellybonbons: (comment removed for harassment)

⤷jellybonbons: Wtf? why is my comment removed n not chikin for bullying?!

⤷ chikinuggie: The truth hurts, doesn’t it?

⤷ SweetToothSteve: Alright, kids, play nice! 😂

–

Shocked by the boldness of his review, you yelled out his name in disbelief, “SATO!”

Ken, who had been skipping around the living room as part of his exercise routine, froze mid-skip. The sudden outburst made him lose his rhythm, causing him to trip over his own feet.

“Oh shit!”

Dividers by: @/chilumitos

#✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡ ˚#ken sato x reader #kenji sato x reader #ken sato smut #kenji sato smut #ken sato fanfic #kenji sato fanfic #ultraman rising fanfic #ultraman rising smut #ultraman rising x reader

2K notes · View notes

m0onlustre · 3 days

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Only a fool would bargain with the leader of Onychinus

ᯓPairing: Sylus x female reader (afab)

ᯓGenre: somewhat enemies to lovers, smut, porn with oc plot, angst

ᯓWord Count: 5,8k

ᯓ tags - WARNINGS: mdni, reader isn’t the lnds!mc, explicit sexual content, first time sex (not virginity loss) alterations to the main story, dr/y humping, thigh riding, b/egging, f!receiving oral, p in v, unprotected sex, creampies, squirting, dirty talking, use of pet names (kitten, sweetie, baby), violence, mentions of injuries.

ᯓ Notes: Some of you may have already read my fic, The Price of Desire, in which the reader’s evol is mentioned. If you have, you’ll notice that the evol is the same in this story; however, there is no connection between the two. The concept of a reader with this ability was too appealing for me to resist, and since it was briefly mentioned in the previous fic, I decided to explore it further in this one. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it! All likes and reblogs are appreciated. :3

Going on missions for Sylus was nothing new to you by now. You had spent years by his side since he first found you, a wild creature desperate for survival. Sometimes, you could still recall how close you had come to killing each other back then. You had been hunted by nearly every illegal underground group, all seeking your evol, and while on the run, you stumbled upon him like a scared and feral animal.

You had instinctively tried to attack him on sight; it was all you knew how to do, having fought for your freedom for as long as you could remember. You were no stranger to the danger he represented—the bloodthirsty leader of Onychinus. If other groups sought you as a mere experiment for your power, you could only imagine what Onychinus would do if they got their hands on you.

The moment you realized the person you had fallen headfirst into was the white-haired menace himself, you had attempted to fight him with everything you had. Sylus, of course, dodged every single one of your attacks effortlessly, but he was merely toying with you, for he possessed something you were unaware of; he could not be killed.

You had always been feared for your lethal evol—one touch from your bare fingers could send someone halfway to the other world. You were an extraordinary weapon, yet Sylus was not deterred; he was intrigued, even enamored by you.

With his energy manipulation, it was impossible for you to harm him, particularly when he thrived on high levels of adrenaline and excitement.

So, even as you forced yourself to keep trying to touch him, desperate to end the chaos, he reveled in your fierce determination. He loved witnessing the fire in your eyes as you believed you could take him down. When he finally grew tired of your little game and decided to put an end to it, he was blindsided by a fact he had overlooked.

While he had learned nearly everything there was to know about your evol and your abilities, he did not realize one important thing; you were immune to his mist.

No matter how fiercely the red and black tendrils curled around you, the moment your flesh made contact with them, they vanished into thin air.

Sylus had nearly salivated when he realized the challenge you presented. It had been far too long since he had encountered someone so intriguing, and he was determined that you wouldn’t walk out of that valley without becoming his.

That’s how you found yourself in his group now. Unlike everyone else, Sylus had made a promise that night: if you went home with him willingly, he would never force you to use your abilities for his research or personal gain. He needed you to choose to be there if you were going to help him.

His condition was simple: think of aiding him, and in return, you would gain his protection, a life free from fear and the constant need to run for your freedom.

You had taken a significant risk when you decided to go with him, but the white-haired man kept his word. It took you months to contemplate helping him instead of merely enjoying the luxury of his lifestyle, but he was patient. In time, you became not only his most valuable asset but also his right hand. Whenever he was out of town for deals or missions, you handled matters back home on his behalf.

Deep down, back then you knew he wasn’t just a kind-hearted man simply looking to help a struggling girl off the street. What he truly sought to protect was your evol because he believed you would eventually come around to assist him when he needed it most. So when you finally did, it was no surprise to him. He had merely given you a subtle nod and handed you the first files.

Now, two years later, you stood beside him at one of the many auctions taking place in the N109 Zone. He was after a particularly important and valuable protocore—one he had pursued for years—and today presented his chance to possess it.

Being next to him not only amplified his chances of leaving unscathed without extensive negotiation—after all, who was crazy enough to challenge the leader of Onychinus and his lethal right-hand woman?—but it also made it easier for him to operate, as you inevitably drew attention and distraction from other bidders.

His hand curled possessively around your waist as he proudly showcased you to the crowd. The dress you wore was as red as his eyes, hugging your every curve and accentuating your figure. Your hair was styled in a simple updo, revealing your back to the admiring gazes around you.

The less fabric you wore, the more difficult it was for his mist to approach you, and that was one thing you clung to. You knew he wouldn’t hurt you—he had come to not only depend on you but to trust you as well. Still, you maintained a small resistance, a defiance that you weren’t ready to surrender, no matter how much it irritated him.

Your gloves were snugly in place, allowing you to interact with him without draining his energy, thus enabling you to warn others of the imminent danger your touch posed. One slip of fabric, and whoever you touched would be lost forever.

“Mr. Sylus, I didn’t think you’d make it tonight,” a distant voice interrupted your thoughts, drawing both of your attention. A young man addressed your boss, his tone a mix of surprise and formality.

“Not happy to see me?” Sylus replied, his voice smooth as silk and sweet as honey, the smugness evident in his expression as he arched a white brow at the man.

“Of course, sir! I’m sorry, sir. I just thought you’d be out of town—”

“Change of plans." Sylus muttered, cutting him off with a tight smile before guiding you forward, his hand resting firmly on the small of your back.

As you walked toward the room where his meeting would take place, you tilted your face up to catch a glimpse of his profile. “He’s right, you know,” you began, curiosity lacing your words. “Weren’t you supposed to return next Tuesday?”

Sylus’s smirk deepened at your question. “If I had known you’d be so disappointed by my early arrival, sweetie, I would have made sure to come back yesterday.”

You scoffed at his remark, subtly flexing your back to shake his arm off, but his grip only tightened, keeping you glued to his side. “Be good now. You know how important tonight is,” He leaned in closer, his hot breath sending a shiver down your spine as it tickled your ear. “Don’t screw this up.”

You couldn’t shake the uneasiness that crawled up your spine from the subtle threat lacing his tone. Sylus had been under immense pressure lately, but you refused to let him take it out on you.

“Sylus.”

He let out an impatient huff as you halted him just outside the door of your final destination, but he turned his body to face you fully, his expression a mix of frustration and intensity.

“I’m not your enemy,” you asserted, holding his gaze with unwavering resolve. “Many people work for you, but aside from Luke and Kieran, no one stands by your side with the same loyalty I do. I know you’ve been struggling, but I’m the last person you want against you right now.”

“Oh, is that right, kitten?” His brows furrowed, drawing closer until your chests nearly touched. To an outsider, you might have appeared to be lovers, but the tension between you was palpable and lethal. “And why is that? Because you’re oh-so-dangerous?”

His provoking smirk ignited your anger, and while you couldn’t fathom what was going through his mind, you chose to avoid making a scene. Stepping away from him, you tried to regain your composure. “They’re waiting for us.”

Before you could take another step toward the door, you were abruptly lifted off the ground, hanging upside down over Sylus’s shoulder.

“What the hell are you doing?” you whispered-yelled, frantically scanning for prying eyes. Your surprise deepened when, from the shadows, Luke and Kieran rushed toward you, effortlessly pulling you from Sylus’s grip. “What—”

“Take her to the car and wait for me,” Sylus commanded sharply, his tone clipped and leaving no room for negotiation. As you were carried away from him and the room, you felt a pang of frustration.

“Let me down!” you practically shouted as the twins put distance between you and the auction building.

“Sorry, ma’am, no can do.”

“Yeah, ma’am, we’re sorry, but no one bypasses the boss's orders!”

Your heart thumped loudly in your ears as the events unfolded, anger and frustration boiling within you at how Sylus had treated you. It was the first time since you started working for him that he had dismissed you so callously, and you couldn’t ignore the pang of hurt that coiled deep in your stomach.

You sat in the backseat of the car while the twins chatted and bantered in the front, oblivious to your turmoil. It felt surreal, as if they were living in a different world. Maybe you were overthinking it—after all, you hadn’t expected him to disregard you like that, especially during an auction so crucial to him. You were valuable to him, weren’t you? He needed you by his side, didn’t he?

Your thoughts spiraled until they were abruptly shattered by a loud bang. Before you could process the sound, part of the building in front of you exploded in a fiery eruption. Wait—was that the floor where the auction was being held? The very floor Sylus was on?

Without a second thought, you threw open the car door, sprinting toward the burning building despite the twins’ frantic shouts urging you to stop. Your mind was consumed by one thought: Sylus. He couldn’t be hurt. He couldn’t die. Foolish girl, not even his evol could save him from an explosion of that magnitude.

Your breaths came in ragged gasps, sweat clung to your skin as you pushed your limits, charging up the stairs to the floor where you had been just forty minutes earlier. You stumbled multiple times, falling to your knees, but the thought of Sylus pushed you onward.

When you finally reached the floor, it was a scene of devastation. The area lay in ruins, engulfed in smoke and chaos, with scattered survivors struggling to breathe amidst the wreckage. You focused your eyes and ears, straining to find Sylus amidst the agonizing cries of others. Time blurred as you searched, exhaustion creeping in and threatening to overwhelm you.

Just when you thought you might pass out, you spotted it—silver locks, now dirty and disheveled, just a few feet away. Panic surged through you as you fell to your knees and crawled with the last remnants of strength you had left. When you finally reached him, your heart stopped. You had never seen Sylus so vulnerable, so exposed.

You reached out to touch his face, your irritation intensifying at the realization that you still had to keep your gloves on, unable to feel his soft, dirt-streaked skin. With the last remnants of your strength, you shook him gently, your voice coming out hoarse as you tried to call his name.

Slowly, his eyes peeled open, and you let out the breath you had been holding. Unfortunately, you had inhaled too much smoke, resulting in a violent cough that wracked your body.

Clutching your chest, you hunched over, trying to cough out the smoke while moving away from him. Just then, you felt his fingers wrap around your wrist, tugging you down to him. You attempted to focus on his face, searching for any injuries, but your eyes were tearing up, and your vision was blurred from the smoke-filled atmosphere.

Just as you thought you might lose consciousness, his voice broke through, shaky and hoarse but still as sharp as a knife. “What are you doing in here, kitten?” His eyes were half-lidded, and he groaned as he struggled to sit up. “Didn’t I tell you to wait for me outside?”

You tried to help him rise, but his heavy body only dragged you down, sending you sprawling onto the floor. As he noticed your condition, his eyes sharpened with concern, and his features turned serious. He began removing his coat, which was now dirty and full of holes.

“Sylus—you need to get out of here,” you urged, trying to push him away as he attempted to cover you completely with his coat.

“Don’t talk right now, sweetie.” His movements were urgent, almost desperate, as he made sure no part of your upper body was exposed. Your hands were now firmly pinned to your torso beneath his coat. “And don’t fight me.”

His fingers came to your face, squeezing gently until your lips formed a pout and your attention was solely on him. “Stubborn little kitten,” he muttered, his voice a mix of frustration and affection.

Just before you slipped into unconsciousness, you felt the tendrils of his red-black mist enveloping you, pushing through your evol’s resistance and carrying you away from the chaos.

When you finally opened your eyes, it took a moment for your surroundings to come into focus. The unmistakable scent of Sylus’s mattress enveloped you, grounding you in reality. You were back at the mansion.

Your limbs felt heavy, and a dull ache throbbed in your head. Every part of your body screamed for you to stay in bed, to drift back into sleep and forget everything that had happened before you lost consciousness. But your mind was fixated on one thing: Sylus.

With a groan, you attempted to sit up, quickly glancing over your body. To your relief, you realized you were freshly cleaned and dressed in one of your nightgowns, with no significant injuries aside from a few scratches on your skin.

You took a moment to steady yourself, ensuring your vision wouldn’t fade to black before you attempted to walk across the room toward the door. Sylus’s office was just down the hallway, and as you stepped outside, you could faintly hear Luke and Kieran’s voices drifting from inside. You paused, heart pounding, and when you heard Sylus’s gruff tone, a wave of relief washed over you. He was okay.

After a brief moment, you knocked once before turning the doorknob and peeking through the small opening. Sylus’s gaze met yours immediately, and the twins turned to regard you with their rare smiles. It wasn’t often they dropped their masks, even in the mansion, but now their boyish features shone through. Their red hair was pulled back into matching messy ponytails, and a hint of blush colored their cheeks as they took in your appearance in the gown.

Sylus coughed discreetly, and the twins exchanged glances before standing up to give you two some privacy.

As they made their way to the door, Kieran paused to ruffle your hair playfully, leaning down to whisper in your ear, “You gave us a scare there, little crow.”

You regarded both twins with a small, apologetic smile before turning your full attention to the white-haired man seated behind his desk. He still wore his torn shirt, which left his muscular frame fully exposed. With a languid movement, he rolled his chair away from the desk and beckoned you with a finger.

Taking slow, deliberate steps toward him, you felt a wave of self-consciousness wash over you as his intense gaze roamed over your form. Despite the butterflies in your stomach, you approached and stood before him, his legs slightly apart, causing your knees to brush against the inside of his thighs as he looked up at you.

Your eyes fell to his toned chest, now marred with scratches and bruises—evidence the damage inflicted, perhaps a sign that he was running low on evol energy and unable to heal completely.

“Are you okay?” Your voice emerged as a barely audible whisper, still tinged with hoarseness. You clasped your hands behind your back, fidgeting awkwardly.

You weren’t quite sure what had come over you; you had never before found yourself in a situation where you needed to actively express your concern for Sylus until tonight, and you hoped he wouldn’t recall too much of what had transpired in that building.

“Worried, kitten?” he asked, a small smirk curling at the corners of his lips as his gaze swept over your body. His fingers twitched with the urge to reach out and touch you, yet he seemed equally torn, grappling with the worry that had gripped him when you had passed out in his arms.

You sniffled softly, your eyes darting anywhere but to him, your body tense and rigid as if your bones were locking into place. Instead of answering his question, you opted to redirect the conversation. “Do we know what caused the explosion?”

His expression was unreadable, and you noticed his jaw tick slightly as he processed your words. After a moment, he exhaled slowly, raising his hand to brush his knuckles gently across your arm. A shiver coursed through you at the contact, and you could see the corners of his lips curl slightly at your reaction. This time, he didn’t bother to hide himself from you.

“I did.”

“What?” Your voice came out louder than intended, earning a deep, rumbling chuckle from Sylus. He relaxed further into his chair, locking his carmine eyes onto yours with an intensity that sent your heart racing.

“What are you talking about, Sylus? When I came in there…” It was becoming increasingly difficult to mask the emotion in your voice. “When I came in, you had fainted. What would have happened to you if I hadn’t found you in time?”

Amusement danced freely in his eyes at your small outburst. You truly were exquisite in your concern. “You underestimate me too much, sweetie.”

“You’re the one underestimating your enemies, Sylus!” You raised your voice, your hands gesturing in disbelief. “Just because you’re the leader of Onychinus doesn’t mean they can’t get to you if you’re unconscious.”

“Burnt men can’t walk, kitten.”

A small gasp escaped your lips at the speed and bluntness of his response. His smugness only fueled your anger at his reckless behavior. Leaning down, you gripped the arms of his chair, effectively caging him in. You were about to respond when you suddenly realized the position you had put yourself in. It gave him a full view of your breasts, the fabric of your nightgown flowing away from your skin and leaving little to the imagination.

Your ears and cheeks burned a deep crimson as you tried to pull away just as quickly as you'd leaned down. However, Sylus’s arm had already wrapped around your waist, anchoring you in place and pulling you impossibly closer. Your breath hitched when you noticed the way his pupils had dilated, his lips parting slightly as he fixated on your slowly hardening nipples.

“Sylus…” Your voice was barely a whisper now, heat pooling in your core under his intense gaze.

Finally, Sylus’s eyes met yours, and he began to stroke your back slowly, his tone low as if he feared shattering the delicate bubble that enveloped you both. “The explosion; It was my plan all along. Why else would I want you out and away from the building, sweetie?”

A frown crossed your face at his admission. Despite your initial shock, your body grew more compliant under his gentle strokes as he pulled you in, guiding you to straddle his thigh. His red irises darkened just a bit when your pulsing core made contact with his jeans and you felt a rush of heat flood your cheeks at the realization that he could probably feel just how wet you were.

Yet, he continued speaking, his voice smooth and steady. “Tonight had no other way of going. It was necessary and inevitable.”

“But why?” Your eyes had softened since you’d first entered his room, and you found yourself relaxing more beneath his touch as he explained the events of the night.

“Because, kitten, tonight’s transaction was off the table the moment it was proposed by the other side, a few days back when I was still away."

By now, confusion began to cloud your understanding of Sylus’s motives. “But…” Your gaze drifted to his desk, where numerous files lay scattered. “Is this why you came back earlier? Tonight’s transaction was for that protocore you needed, Sylus. I thought nothing could screw this up for you. Weren’t you after it for years?”

Sylus let out a small scoff, his lips pressing into a thin line as he studied your face intently. “You never asked me what the price of that protocore was, kitten.”

Curiosity piqued, you looked up at him again, instinctively leaning closer. Your breasts brushed against his chest, heightening the tension between you as if his answer were a secret he needed to share. “And what was the price?”

“You.”

Your eyes widened in shock, and a dark cloud crossed his features as he spoke. His grip on your waist tightened slightly, causing you to squirm on his thigh, which elicited a low grunt from him.

Your emotions were a chaotic mess, thoughts swirling together and leaving you breathless as you tried to process what he was implying. “So what you’re saying is…”

“The deal was off the table the moment they thought you were for sale.” Sylus’s leg bounced suddenly, and you couldn’t suppress the moan that escaped your lips. Your hands instinctively flew out to clutch the fabric of his open shirt for stability. “I came back because I had to send a message.”

His voice dripped with malice as he continued to move his leg, sending shockwaves of sensation through your core as it ground against his thigh.

The pleasure mixed with confusion made you feel light-headed; even if you wanted to resist, your body had already betrayed you. There was no stopping your hips from chasing the friction, no way to quell the whimpers that escaped your lips. Sylus’s fingers curled tighter around the fabric of your nightgown at the sound.

As you continued to grind against him, he spoke with a dark intensity. “They had to know, kitten; Nobody lives to say they tried to bargain with what belongs to me.”

“I—I don’t belong to you,” you breathed out, unsure whether you were trying to lie to him or to yourself.

“Is this why you’re drenching my thigh, sweetie?” As if to emphasize his point, he bounced his knee again, causing it to press against your sensitive nerves with a force that made you moan involuntarily, your head falling to rest on his shoulder.

“You poor thing,” he cooed in your ear, his hand sliding to your lower back, urging you to grind down against him.

“Tonight—you put yourself in danger, Sylus.” You struggled to form coherent thoughts as you chased your orgasm on his thigh, your mind slowly turning to mush. “That was so stupid, even for you.” You finished your sentence with a moan, and Sylus groaned, instinctively moving his hips upward, his own hard-on seeking friction.

“Were you worried about me, kitten?” He dipped his head to your neck, his lips leaving open-mouthed kisses as he awaited your response, which never came. Sensing your hesitation to voice your concern, his hand slipped between your bodies, his fingertip pressing onto your throbbing clit, making you cry out. “Answer me.”

“I—yes. Yes, I was s'worried.” Your head fell back in bliss, granting him access to suck and nibble on your throat as your hips moved faster and harder. The tight coil in your belly was only a few movements away from bursting. “I thought I’d—”

“Go on.” Sylus urged, his fingers dancing over your clit as he bounced his knee in sync with your movements, relishing the way you were making a mess on him, your whole body heating under his touch.

“I thought I’d lost you.” The words escaped your lips just as your orgasm washed over you, making your vision go black and your entire body shake with its intensity. Sylus’s arms wrapped around you, caging you against his chest as he let you ride it out, offering the small comfort you sought after your confession.

When you finally came down from your high, you were breathless, panting, and a few tears had escaped your eyes. But he was there, holding you gently and running his fingers through your hair. “I’m not that easy to get rid of, sweetie.”

You pushed your head off his chest, your eyes meeting his soft red ones. Without thinking clearly, you reached out to cradle his face. The moment your fingertips made contact with his skin, his whole body visibly flinched, and just like his heartbeat, it felt like time had stopped.

Horrified and regretful, you realized you had let your emotions get the best of you and forgotten about your evol. You stood up from his lap, pressing your hands tightly against your chest, the sound of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears.

Just a few seconds. Just a few seconds, and he’ll wake up, like he always does, right? Doubts gnawed at you; he was so weak after tonight, but his evol would heal him. It had to.

Just when you were about to scream for help, Sylus’s chest began to rise and fall again. His eyes fluttered open, and relief flooded your entire being. Your shoulders slumped, and your body shook, even though he was alright. How could you have been so careless?

“Sweetie.” His voice was soft as he stood from his chair, towering over you. “Look at me.”

You tilted your head up hesitantly, your regrets gnawing at you for what you had just done. You tried to open your mouth to apologize, but no words came out; instead, his lips found yours, silencing any sound you might have made. He threaded his fingers through your hair, pulling gently to angle your head to the side and deepen the kiss until you thought you might faint from lack of breath.

This time, you made sure to keep your hands glued to your sides, not daring to touch him again. When he finally pulled away, you were both panting. He rested his forehead against yours and moved his hand to the back pocket of his pants, retrieving something.

You tilted your head to watch him unfold two pieces of leather gloves. He carefully took your wrist, drawing it toward him before placing the glove on your hand, then moved to the other to do the same. It was a temporary solution, one that frustrated you to no end, but you wouldn’t jeopardize his life just for a touch of his soft skin.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your thoughts crashing over you like a tsunami of negativity at the prospect of harming him. Your frustration only fueled your desperation, and you found yourself clawing at the remnants of his shirt, trying to pull him closer. “I need you, please, Sylus, ’m so sorry.”

Sylus groaned as he felt you tugging him nearer, his own hands finding refuge on your body, touching and caressing anywhere he could reach. “Are you sure, kitten? Once we start, I don’t know if I can hold back.” His voice was low and controlled, while your legs trembled with desire and need.

“Then don’t hold back. Give me everything you have. I can take it, Sylus.” You pressed kisses all over his exposed chest, making him gasp and thin his patience. In one swift motion, you found yourself lifted off the floor, your body cradled in one of his arms as he carried you toward his desk.

“You really know how to bring a man to his knees, sweetie.” He placed you gently on top of the desk, taking his position between your legs. Your lips connected again as his hands deftly worked to rid you of your clothes.

Once you were bare before him, he stepped back, his gaze roaming over your body like a starving man taking in a feast. “Breathtaking.”

He fell to his knees in front of you, throwing your legs over his shoulders with a force that sent you backward, your elbows bracing against the desk for balance. He was too impatient to tease; he dived right in, his tongue lapping at your folds with urgent fervor.

Your back arched immediately, moans and whimpers spilling from your lips as he worked his mouth on your cunt, devouring you as if you were his last meal. Your legs tightened around his head, the pleasure overwhelming, which only made him groan and feast on you harder.

His tongue plunged into your tight hole, sending shockwaves of sensation coursing through your body. You thought you could hold on a little longer, but when his large hand spread across your tummy, pressing down, you exploded in his mouth. Your vision went white as you drenched him, your thighs shaking violently around his head.

The realization of what you had done hit you when he pulled away, his chin and exposed chest glistening with droplets of your release. You shot your gloved hand to cover your mouth, your legs instinctively closing in embarrassment.

Yet, he looked even more exhilarated, his hands gripping your thighs and spreading them apart as he positioned himself between them, his lips finding yours once more. “You’re going to do this again. And this time, you’re going to do it on my cock.”

He pushed you back, a firm hand on your chest as you lay spread out on top of his desk. Your eyes focused on his hands as they deftly undid his pants, pushing them down along with his briefs. The moment you saw his girthy cock—veiny and the tip angry and red for you—your mouth went dry.

You craved to satisfy him as he had satisfied you, but when you tried to sit up, his hand pressed you back down against the desk.

“Not tonight, sweetie. Right now, I just need to be inside you.”

Even though he spoke, he made no move to get on you, waiting for your consent first. You nodded, your eyes clouded with lust.

“Use your words, kitten. I need to hear you.” He was pumping his cock with his hand, his fingers barely wrapping around it. Standing before you in all his naked glory, he resembled a Greek statue, and your chest tightened at how wickedly beautiful he looked.

“Yes. Please, Sy, need you inside me.” Your voice came out breathless, and that was all the confirmation he needed. He wrapped an arm around your thigh, pulling you to the edge of the desk and throwing one of your legs over his shoulder to spread you open exactly as he desired.

He pushed the tip in at first, making you clench around him instinctively, as if trying to suck him deeper. An unsteady breath escaped him, and his body stuttered momentarily. You were killing him in the sweetest way. “So goddamn tight.”

Your eyes rolled back in pleasure as he pushed further inside you, his grip on your thigh tightening the moment he was fully buried in you, his pelvis pressing against yours. You could feel him all the way up into your stomach, and your legs began to shake, even though he remained still.

His breathing had turned erratic, and the moment your hips squirmed forward, his other hand came down to keep you in place. “Shit, baby, don’t move. Give me a moment.”

You were a whimpering mess, sweat beading on your forehead from the anticipation. But the instant he started moving, your whole body unlocked, turning to pudding under his thrusts. He began with a slow, deliberate pace, his lips parting as small grunts escaped him, each thrust igniting the fire building within you.

The more you clenched down on his cock, the faster he moved, until the desk scraped against the marble floor. “Fuck, kitten. You’re squeezing me so tightly.” His voice was thick with lust, and the sound of skin slapping against skin only intensified the fire burning deep in your core. “Do you love my cock that much?”

Your mind had turned to mush, thoughts consumed by how he stretched you and filled you to the brim. You nodded uncontrollably, crying out every time his cock brushed against your sweet spot. “Yes! I love it so much, Sy.”

“Good girl.” Sylus’s thrusts quickened as he heard your pretty sounds, the way your walls sucked him in making his thighs tremble slightly as he felt his release drawing near. “Such a good girl, so cock-hungry for me.”

“Ah— fuck.” Stars began to form behind your eyelids, your whole body rocking on the desk. If it weren’t for Sylus’s hands gripping your thighs, you would have slid right off and ended up on the floor from his relentless force. The desk shook violently from his pounding, and you were certain the whole house could hear you.

Sylus’s hand reached for your face, his thumb brushing against your lower lip before slipping past it to press down on your tongue, making you clench around his cock instinctively. “That’s it, sweetie,” he breathed, his eyes closing and his head tilting back in pleasure as your cunt hugged him tightly. “Give it to me; I can feel how close you are.”

You were indeed on the brink, your whole body burning and trembling under Sylus’s powerful thrusts. But what sent you over the edge was a sudden knock on the door, followed by Luke’s voice calling out to see if everything was alright.

The moment you realized you had been caught, and Luke could turn the doorknob at any second to find you spread for Sylus, his cock pressing against your cervix, you exploded. Your loud moans were partly muffled by the white-haired man's finger in your mouth. The pressure you applied around his cock as you climaxed made Sylus falter, his own orgasm crashing over him with a force he hadn’t anticipated.

His hot seed coated your walls, filling you to the brim and spilling out of you, trickling down your thighs as he continued to thrust, ensuring every last drop found its way inside. You were a crying, spent mess on his desk, while he tried to catch his breath, slowly lowering your leg back down from his shoulder.

Luke was long gone from outside the door, having heard enough to realize what was happening between you and Sylus.

You could only look up at him with a small shared chuckle before he leaned down to kiss your lips, his newfound gentleness contrasting sharply with the intensity of the moment. “I believe they received a lesson about eavesdropping now,” he murmured, a knowing smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

ps; this story has the potential to delve into other parts, either of Sylus and reader in the future or of their shared past from the moment he found her. You can always comment and let me know if you'd like to see something more from this fic:))

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dekariosclan · 11 months

Text

NSFW Gale Headcanons (18+)

Some (soft and sexy) thoughts about being loved by the Wizard of Waterdeep…

Gale doesn’t “dabble” in things. He has no interest in being a Jack of All Trades. No, Gale wants to master things. He wants to be the best at things: Magic, the Weave, Wizardly knowledge, etc. For him, true joy isn’t in trying something different, but in becoming an expert in his favorite subject. And guess what? His new (and permanent!) favorite subject is YOU.

Gale, while waxing poetic, has often compared himself to a book: “I require only your gentle hands to turn my pages.” And this is true of how he thinks of you, as well. You are his most treasured Tome, one that he intends to study thoroughly again and again, delighting at finding new passages that he may have overlooked, or finding new meaning in a sentence he’s read a thousand times before. And like a beloved novel written by a favorite author, he will never grow tired of reading you.

But he wants more than to just understand you. He wants to know how to captivate you, the way that you’ve captivated him, body and soul. He loves you more than anyone, and he wants to show you, in more ways than just words and professions of love will allow.

He wants to know exactly how to pull you into an embrace and where to place his lips on your neck to make you shiver. What words to whisper into your ear to make your knees go weak. He wants to know what secret fantasies you have, no matter how outlandish they may seem, because aren’t you clever? You’ve gone and made a wizard fall in love with you, and nothing is impossible for a man who can craft illusions with his hands—nevermind what he can do with his tongue.

And Gale wants to indulge you. He wants to please you, because he will never grow tired of seeing the endless depths of love and adoration in your eyes when you look at him. Something he never saw, no matter how hard he looked, or how long he looked, into Mystra’s eyes.

One important note: Gale is a monogamous lover. He is not a boring lover.

He wants to know how to make you cum the fastest. How to make you cum the hardest. He wants to make you scream his name so loudly that the Gods can hear it. He loves to taste you, after a grueling trek, after a cleansing bath, in the night or in the morning. He’s made it his personal mission to worship your body in every way possible.

Gale will run his fingers (and lips) gently over your scars. He doesn’t find them to be imperfections. They are key chapters in the story of you, and all the more precious because they make you real. A real human with real flaws, just like him.

Lingerie will be met with an appreciative rumble from Gale, (he always enjoys discussing what’s on your hind—ah, MIND…) but he honestly finds you gorgeous in all states: Dirty or clean. In or out of your armor. Naked or clothed.

He rather likes it when you tease him, especially on the battlefield, when his eyes are already drawn to you like a moth to a flame. The way you position yourself a certain way to allow him to see a hint of your naked thigh under your armor is always…appreciated.

But if you really want to drive him wild? Buy him a book detailing some new positions for lovemaking that you think he would be interested in (and that you haven’t tried yet) then watch as his eyes roll back in his head with pure lust. And if it’s a first edition copy? He might actually pass out as all the blood leaves his head for…another part of his body.

After you both have worn yourselves out reenacting the positions described, and often (at your insistence) more than once, he’ll lie awake thinking about how much he adores you until you both drift off to sleep.

And then…at other times…

…he’ll lie awake and stare up into the cosmos, his arm around you as you sleep with your head on his chest, and he’ll think of how he once dreamed of becoming a God. And how it was you, and the thought of losing you, that stopped his foolishness, and allowed him to rewrite his story. To prevent it from becoming a tragedy.

Then he’ll press a kiss into your hair, softly, so as not to wake you, and thank all the Gods above that he’s not one of them.

He couldn’t imagine how unbearable eternity would have been, if it meant he couldn’t have you.

#baldur's gate 3 #gale dekarios #gale x tav #gale x reader #gale of waterdeep #bg3

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directdogman · 5 months

Text

Each Dialtown cast member shares their favourite Muppet!

Idea: Characters from the cast of Dialtown are asked to share their favourite characters from The Muppets, in order to get the Muppets fandom on board with DT, which winds up being a largely fruitless ordeal.

Gingi insists that Grover and Oscar the Grouch from Sesame Street are Muppets when asked, and takes it badly when Gingi is instead asked to name a character FROM The Muppet Show. The ensuing discussion that follows is much too rancid to be published online, making the time spent trying to calm Gingi down entirely in vain.

Karen's comments are not published as she refuses to do ANYTHING other than vent frustrations about Kermit the Frog, making her comments unusable as they would undoubtedly piss off a large section of the Muppets fandom, who largely venerate Kermit the Frog.

Randy tries to make an argument for Scooter being the 'best one', feeling that he, himself, is the scooter of the Dialtown cast, and thus, must stick up for one of his ilk. This answer is NOT published because the internet would tear him to shreds for playing devil's advocate for the worst Muppet.

Randy is then given another opportunity to pick a favourite Muppet, provided he selects a different Muppet. Randy picks Pepe the Prawn. When asked why Pepe is his favourite, tears well on his screen and he asks if he can leave to get a glass of water. Upon leaving the room, Randy never comes back. The answer isn't included in the article, as it's impossible to discern whether Randy feels that Pepe the Prawn is truly a kindred soul or if he was simply put on the spot and felt pressured to simply name the first Muppet he thought of.

Oliver answers by explaining Gonzo is his favourite but every time he's given an opportunity to explain why, his explanation inevitably transitions into a rambling endorsement of anarchism. Each time, after he's been given an opportunity to explain himself, Oliver is asked to rephrase his answer to be less political and he accepts, apologizing for his mistake and swearing that he understands what the blog is looking for now. Oliver then proceeds to somehow transition back into an endorsement of anarchism until the interviewer gives up and decides to leave him out of the article.

We're not actually sure who Norm likes the best from the Muppets cast because before we could get to Norm, Gingi (irate that Grover/Oscar the Grouch were rejected as its answer) told Norm about Big Bird dying in the Challenger explosion (which happened in DT's timeline), prompting Norm to get really upset and leave before his turn came up. Norm's favourite character is PROBABLY Sam Eagle, but now, we'll never get to know for sure. Thanks, Gingi.

Mingus, when asked, declined to answer out of sheer disinterest. Upon being shown a photo of the extended Muppet cast, she arbitrarily pointed to Robin the Frog and said "That one, I guess." Upon being asked why she would pick Kermit's nephew of all characters, her response was: "It's no business of mine who this frog is related to. Nobody is well-connected enough to ensure they'll live if I deem them a threat to my success." After being reminded that Robin is canonically a child, Mingus retorted by pointing out that Robin is, in fact, a fictional frog puppet. Not sure what to do with this answer, but we certainly can't include it.

Stabby + Shooty are asked for their favourites and they pick Statler and Waldorf respectively. When asked why, they explain it's because they're cool, wear suits, deliver CUTTING jabs, and each hang out with their best bro all day, not unlike themselves. The blog operator remarks: "Oh. I figured it was because, like you guys, they're kinda interchangeable and are pretty much overlooked by everyone", causing Stabby to angrily flip a table and storm out of the room. Shooty apologies meekly for his outburst and leaves to calm his companion down. The answer is not published as the interviewer had no clue which was Stabby and which was Shooty, thus being unable to accurately attribute the answers to either of them.

Bigfoot's favourite character turns out to be Animal, and this is the only answer that ends up being published.

Here's the finished article:

DIALTOWN ARTICLE, EACH OF THE CAST'S FAVOURITE MUPPETS: BIGFOOT'S IS ANIMAL.

The article only gets 3 likes.

#dialtown #the muppets #muppets #kermit the frog

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talesofesther · 11 months

Text

what once was mine | ch 4

Loki x Reader

Series Summary: When watching what once was supposed to be the rest of his life, in an empty room in the TVA, Loki sees someone he can't recognize; a girl who's all tenderness and loose smiles, and most importantly, she was smiling at him.

A/N: Not sure if I'm completely happy with how this chapter came out, but I hope you still enjoy it.

Masterlist | Read ch 3 here

Loki had watched through a checkered screen how you held onto his hand as if he were your whole world. He had watched the love in your eyes and the smile on your lips, all directed at him. And now, he watched as you, in flesh and bone right in front of him, walked away.

There was a foreign feeling consuming his heart the more you distanced yourself from him. It was akin to loss, but how could he lose something that wasn't even his?

He was about to make the mistake of going after you when Mobius finally returned from the storage room he had been talking to you in.

"What happened?" Loki asked with a hint of urgency, his brows furrowed.

Mobius took in a long breath and then let it go past his lips. "She said she wants nothing to do with you."

Loki's frown only deepened, his eyes shifting between Mobius and the place you had disappeared into. If anything, he looked slightly offended. "Why?"

"Well, it's pretty obvious that she watched her Loki die, right?" Mobius gestured around, sounding a little fed up with all of this. "So it's a delicate subject, give her time, don't get on her face, don't be obnoxious, and she'll likely come around and be willing to answer whatever it is you wanna ask."

Loki blinked at the words, chewing at the inside of his cheek. "I'm not obnoxious."

─── ·❆· ───

"Stop looking at me like a lost puppy," you grumbled with a scowl on your features, gripping tightly onto your food tray.

Loki, who stood right beside you, scoffed. "I am not. I'm looking at the rice you're standing right in front of."

You breathed in, slowly, holding yourself back from rolling your eyes. It's been three weeks since Mobius tried to reintroduce you two, and for the past two weeks, you've gained a new shadow. He doesn't talk much; or interacts much with you at all for that matter. But he's always there.

TVA's cafeteria was usually bustling with people this time of day, which was exactly why you always came by at least an hour earlier; but today you got caught up with work and there was no other option than to brave the crowds, otherwise, you'd stay without lunch.

When you'd picked up everything you wanted to eat, you turned around and surveyed the spacious room for any vacant tables. By the corner and near the railings that overlooked the city—or, what you would call a city here in the TVA, because to be honest, you still weren't sure what to name most of the things in this place—stood the only vacant table left, small and round, with two lonely chairs.

You closed your eyes and mumbled a curse under your breath. You made a beeline for the table, and you didn't have to look behind you to know that Loki was following your steps.

You settled into a chair and a few seconds later Loki made himself comfortable beside you. It was… strange, having him around. The racing of your heart every time he was near you was inevitable, but you were doing the impossible to dissociate any feelings from it. He was just another variant, that was it, nothing more. You just wished you knew what his obsession with you was all about, so what if he saw his would-be future with you? That was not yours or his life anymore.

"Your food is gonna get cold."

Loki's voice caught your attention, you glanced toward him with a frown, only now realizing that you'd been poking your food around with your fork for a while, lost in thought. For a heartbeat, you held his gaze, you allowed yourself to drown in those ever-familiar bright eyes that you'd missed so much. But before you could lose yourself in the ocean, you swam back up. This wasn't your Loki, no; you had to remind yourself of it, time and time again. For your own sake, you had to believe in that lie.

For the last couple of weeks that he'd been following you around, more and more you noticed the same glint in Loki's eyes, a mix between expectant and lost. You wondered if even he knew what exactly he wanted from you.

The only answer you gave to him was a low hum.

─── ·❆· ───

The days inside the TVA blend together easily, that was something you learned in your first few weeks here. In all fairness, it's what one would expect for a place out of time. Sometimes the day they captured you as just another variant felt like ages ago. Sometimes, it felt like just yesterday.

It had been difficult when you first arrived here, nearly unbearably so. In the blink of an eye, you had lost your entire life, everyone you still loved and held dear became unreachable. It was either starting a new life here, or ending your life altogether. For some reason, you still felt like living.

The TVA kept you busy then, enough for you to not succumb to panic. As days went by, it became easier; as time passed, or as Mobius would tell you, as time passed differently, you became almost numb to what you'd lost. Almost.

A sigh went past your lips as you ran your fingertips over the paper. Mobius usually had you go over each file reporting a possible new Loki variant. Finding patterns and creating connections they otherwise wouldn't have noticed. You tried not to dwell too much on the fact that you had to use your connection to the person you once loved as a form of work.

Your desk stood by the edge of the library, away from too much commotion, a cozy little space you'd given your own personal touch to over the time you'd been here. A few books here, a small cassette player there, a snack drawer, a sketchbook, a purple desk lamp; small things to remind yourself you were still human.

As much as you could, you made a new home here.

A shadow suddenly appeared over the paper in your hands, you straightened your posture on your chair before looking up.

Loki stood before you, in his dress shirt and dark jacket with the word variant on the back—you'd worn one of those too on your first days here, now that you recall. He held a fresh stack of papers in his hands that already had you internally groaning.

"Mobius sends his regards," Loki smirked as he dropped the papers on your desk.

"Great," you mumbled, sarcasm dripping from your words, "it's not like I wanted to sleep tonight anyway."

A beat passed and you could feel Loki's gaze still lingering on you. From the corner of your eyes you watched as his fingers nervously tapped the wood of your desk. You hated that you knew this habit of his oh so well.

"Maybe I could assist you." Loki pulled a chair from the empty table to your left, setting it on the edge of your desk so he could sit down. But before he did so, he said, "If you'd like."

He was giving you an out from spending time with him, even if that was clearly what he wanted. You nearly took it. Your lips hung open, ready to say something like; I work better alone, or go bother someone else. But your eyes suddenly had a faint burn behind them, your chest squeezing tight around your heart—the heart that still bled and missed him every day. "Knock yourself out," you found yourself saying, without looking up from your paperwork.

Loki sat down on his chair beside you, took a few of the papers in his hands, and for a good few minutes, the silence that lingered between you was, surprisingly, somewhat comfortable.

Stealing glances at you was inevitable. As Loki read the files in his hands, the words started to blur together, and he found his gaze drifting to you. He observed the way you'd frown slightly as you read over the lines, sometimes scoffing or mumbling something to yourself.

You were quite annoying, Loki had to agree with Mobius on that. Stubborn, closed off, and hard to read. If it were anyone else, Loki wouldn't even consider losing his time of day, but each time he saw you, his heart jumped and stumbled inside his chest, he grew short of breath, cold hands turning clammy. It was inevitable. His body acting against his will, as if his soul ached to touch yours.

He had to know why.

"May I ask," Loki began, hints of hesitance in his words.

Your eyebrow perked up a little, but you still refused to look at him.

Loki pursed his lips before speaking, "Mobius mentioned you've been here a while, that he found you could be useful. But he never went into detail." He let go of the papers in his hands, "how did you get here? Why didn't they prune you?"

You visibly tensed. Jaw setting tightly into place as you took in a short breath through your nose. For several moments, you kept quiet, eyes fixed on the same words in the file you held as you considered whether to humor him or not. You weren't sure why you answered, the words simply rolled off your tongue; a subconscious reaction to the sound of his voice.

"It was my fault, I tried to travel through time when I knew I shouldn't. They caught me pretty much immediately." You chuckled humorlessly, stealing a glance toward Loki only to find his eyes already focused on you. You nearly drowned again. "They kept me around because…" You hesitated, and then merely gestured to the scattered papers on your desk; "I know a lot about Lokis," you shrugged, "and they needed help with that."

A small frown came to Loki's features as he weighed your words. He twirled one of your pencils between his fingers. "Why would you travel through time if you knew you shouldn't?"

Immediately, Loki knew he'd touched a nerve. Your whole demeanor changed, it almost felt like a curtain had fallen over you and a whole new person sat beside him. What little you had began to open up, was back under lock and key.

You didn't raise your voice, you didn't lash out. You simply cleared your throat, turned away from him, and said; "I thought you wanted to stay to help me work. So either do that, or leave me be."

Loki's lips hovered, ready to retaliate with a quip of his own, but he bit back any words he might want to say. Give her time.

He nodded to no one in particular, and indeed went back to work.

Later at night, when the TVA was strangely quiet, and most people had already turned in for the night. Loki glanced beside him only to find you drifting into sleep; one hand holding your cheek and the other loosely holding a pencil that had scratched a weird, faint line into the file on your desk.

It felt unexpectedly intimate. Loki glanced from one side of the dim-lit library to the other, as if looking for a clue on what he should do.

Carefully, almost comically so, he took the pencil from your delicate hold and stacked the file you had with the small pile he'd created.

The desk lamp right beside you cast a faint glow over your features, shaping your cheekbones, nose, and lips. Loki couldn't help but notice, that the light also shaped a thin but rather deep scar running from your forehead to the beginning of your left eyebrow; from the look of it, it appeared to have been there for a while now.

Without giving himself too much room to overthink, Loki reached out and gave a single push to your shoulder. His fingers tingled from your warmth.

You stirred awake, gasping softly as soon as you opened your eyes. You blinked several times, willing your mind to focus back on reality.

"I suppose we're done," Loki told you, keeping his voice just an octave lower as he turned his gaze to the small stack of papers. "If you're quick, you can still grab a few hours of sleep before the new day starts."

"Right," you breathed, running a hand through your hair. Eyebrows still furrowed as you processed what was happening.

You tidied your desk in silence, and Loki put the chair he had borrowed back in its place. He turned to you then, half expecting you to simply turn around and walk away. You didn't, and maybe it was a trick of the light, or the fact that he could visibly notice your eyes dropping from tiredness, but your features were the softest he had ever seen them be. A quick glimpse of the girl he'd first seen from the life he was supposed to have.

Loki held his breath. He wasn't sure why, but he did.

"Thank you for the help," you gave him a tight-lipped smile, refusing to hold his gaze for more than a second, "see you around."

With that, you turned around and left. Loki's heartbeat kept the same rushed pace until he reached his own small bedroom.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Read ch 5 here

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fangswbenefits · 10 months

Text

The Arrangement (8) - Revelations

Chapter summary: You finally confront Ava, but the conversation takes an unexpected turn.

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: Innuendo. Mentions of abuse and trauma.

Word count: 5.3k

Series Masterlist

You found him by the edge of a cliff overlooking Baldur's Gate.

The first rays of light began to spill into the morning sky in hues of yellow fused with orange. You would never tire of watching the city you called home being engulfed in such beauty.

“Enjoying the view?”

Astarion was holding a somewhat mellow smile on his lips as he turned to face you.

“I hadn't seen this much colour bathing the city in over two hundred years.”

You stopped next to him, looping an arm around his and resting your face against his shoulder.

“It's beautiful, isn't it?”

He sighed. “I do not want to get too attached to it. In case things go awry, that is.”

‘Awry’ meaning that he wouldn't be able to ascend…

It always made your heart clench to think about how much Astarion still held on to that.

But you didn't want to think about such things for now.

For now, you were more than content to share this moment with him.

“The sun looks beautiful on you,” you said truthfully.

It wasn't exactly a challenge, but you adored praising and stroking his ego.

A soft chuckle rumbled in his chest. “As most things do, darling."

"That is true.”

He then placed his cold hand atop yours. “As you once did.”

His words hit you with such force that you felt your chest too heavy all of a sudden.

You glanced up at him, meeting his soft crimson eyes. “Astarion…”

Would he ever move on?

Would he ever move on from you?

He offered a defeated smile. “I know, I know. Just friends, right?”

You nodded. “Yes.”

He didn't utter another word as he looked on ahead.

You kept your grip around him, enjoying his firmness and how he made you feel so safe and comfortable.

Deep down, you were just thankful he couldn't see the single tear that streamed down your face.

The cold and wet trail brought you back to witness the sight of the sun emerging on the horizon line.

You pulled your legs up so you could rest your chin on your knees, hugging yourself as the breathtaking view filled your vision.

How you wished you could share this with him like many times before.

As lovers.

As friends.

You wiped the tear away with the back of your hand as sadness spread inside you.

There was no point in dwelling in the impossible. At least until you found a way for him to experience all the colour the world had to offer with no limitations.

Sleep hadn't come to you this night and it wasn't because of nightmares or the fact that Astarion had left you painfully yearning for his touch.

Your mind was just all over the place, trying to make sense of how things felt with him after that conversation.

Truth be told, you were more than happy with the occasional intimacy and giving him space.

But his taunting words still lingered in your mind.

You were certain he craved more than a friendship, but how much of that spread beyond carnal lust was something you weren't sure about.

Maybe even Astarion didn't know.

As much as you longed for more, you still wanted to mend your friendship first and bridge the distance that had come between you two.

As you pushed yourself from the bed and slipped into your robe, you took a quick glance at the mirror in front of you.

Eyes puffy and reddened paired with deep eyebags.

Wonderful.

You heaved a deep sigh as you exited the room, heading towards the kitchen area to brew some tea.

The door to his room was firmly shut and you hurried past it with bare feet.

The entire house was still swallowed in silence and darkness.

You quickly lit up a few candles before reigniting the fireplace and putting the kettle on.

The familiar squeak of the door to his room filled your ears.

As the water came to a boil, you poured a few herbs inside the cup as you poured the scalding liquid.

You heard him call out your name and your stomach immediately fluttered as he came into view, slowly pacing towards you.

“How did you know it was me?”

Astarion's lips curled into a smile. “I know the sound of your footsteps by heart.”

There was no trace of deceit in his remark.

His voice rang true and not as a mere attempt at flustering you with honeyed words.

He meant it and you felt the warm embrace of his presence tightly enveloping you.

Astarion had learned the way to your heart like no one else had ever tried to.

He could crawl under your skin and have you yearn for him like no one else could.

And he did all of this effortlessly and like second nature.

You returned a warm smile, feeling the addictive embrace of his presence.

He felt like the home you longed to come back to.

As you moved to sit on the sofa nearby, enjoying the warmth that radiated from the cup in your hands, he eventually sat next to you, crimson eyes meeting yours and, for a moment, you held your breath.

He was your home.

“You look horrible.”

A snarky one.

You chuckled at his bluntness, taking a sip. “Didn't get much sleep.”

“Nightmares again?”

“No. My mind was just busy…”

He slowly nodded. “Was it too much? What we did?”

You glared at him in surprise. “What? No. What about you?”

His eyes narrowed. “I wanted more.”

“That doesn't answer my question.”

He crossed his legs, adjusting his elegant shirt. “It wasn't nearly enough.”

“You were the one to stop it…”

“Because I had to. Gods know how long it took to… calm down, so to speak.”

The implication that dangled from his words wasn't particularly subtle.

Oh.

Your cheeks flared up. “I… didn't hear you…”

Astarion flashed a teasing smile. “I know how to avoid being heard, unlike a certain someone.”

Bad timing had you nearly choking on your tea.

“Careful, darling. You'll get all wet… again.”

The nerve!

You shot him murderous glare, wiping your chin.

Then the two fell into a comfortable silence.

You melted into the backrest of the sofa, cradling the cup in your hands, humming a tune that you had almost forgotten about.

“I find myself missing our journey, you know?” he said after a while.

“Even having to play the hero?”

He tapped his chin pensively. “Even that, as surprising as it sounds. I could have done without all your ridiculous acts of heroism, but I grew to enjoy indulging in some of them.”

Your heart thudded happily at his honesty.

“Who would have thought that you’d find joy in being selfless,” you teased with a smile.

He lifted one finger. “Do not misunderstand. I still come first. I spent too many centuries not being able to and I won't give that up now.”

You nodded, fully understanding his line of thinking.

In the meantime, your hand had dropped in between you two and you felt coldness reach your fingers.

You looked down, startled, only to be met with his fingers gently brushing against yours.

And just like clockwork, your heart sped up.

Astarion had his eyes fixed on the swirling flames that emanated from the fireplace.

Little by little, his fingers began to intertwine with yours until his hand gripped you tightly.

Your mind blanked for a moment at how unexpected this was.

In time, his cold skin began to warm up against yours.

And then it dawned on you that he had never held your hand this way.

He had helped you up on your feet more times than you could count.

He had gripped your hand in his as both of you hurried along collapsing halls and while being chased by the most vicious of creatures.

But he had never held your hand as if seeking for silent comfort.

You shifted so you could rest your head on his shoulder.

He tensed slightly under your touch, but eventually relaxed and you seized the opportunity to melt into his side, enjoying the familiar scent of bergamot and rosemary.

Home.

You weren't sure how much time had passed, but the tear in your cup had gone tepid and you began to feel guilty.

You had considered not telling him about confronting Ava.

But you didn't want to lie and hide anything from him, especially if it concerned him in the first place.

You pulled slightly away from him and he met your gaze.

“I'm going to meet Ava tonight.”

You expected an angry outburst of indignation from him, but were met with an inquisitive glare instead.

“Why doesn't that surprise me at all?”

That was it?

“Wait… you are not going to talk me out of it?”

At this, he faintly chuckled, still firmly gripping your hand in his.

“Honestly, darling, when has that ever worked?”

Point taken.

He knew of your stubbornness all too well.

“Besides, do you intend on killing her?”

You widened your eyes. “I – no? I don't think so?”

Though you couldn't swear on this until you were actually absolutely sure she was as harmless as he claimed her to be.

“Then, you have my blessing.”

You then narrowed your eyes suspiciously at him. “You don't even want to go with me?”

“Do you want me to?”

“It's not necessary.”

He shrugged. “Then I won't.”

Astarion was acting uncharacteristically accepting of your intrusion, and that rang a plethora of alarm bells in your head.

It was as if he knew you'd have no reason to harm her.

“Why are you so… calm about this?”

His eyes met yours. “I am well aware you can turn Ava into a pile of dust should she cross your path. But I don't believe you will do such a thing.”

“Why not? I don't trust her.”

His grip around your fingers eased slightly. “I don't expect you to, but you do trust me, don't you?”

“Yes.”

You didn't hesitate for a second. After all, you had trusted Astarion through things that most people would have staked him for. The two of you were way past the uncertainty of not trusting each other's intentions.

It was more evident that the glaring issue that plagued your relationship was rooted in miscommunication and not mistrust.

“And I trust her.”

That ground on your nerves. “But why?”

“Because I have to.”

You immediately dropped his hand, turning in your seat to fully face him, already feeling the familiar irritation that came with him not being fully open with you at times.

“Astarion, you need to start telling me why you hold her in such high regards,” you said, pinching the bridge of your nose. “You can also trust me. Whatever it is… just tell me.”

He glared at you with a faint scowl. “She is taking my blood with the intention of lessening some vampirism weaknesses.”

Oh?

“Such as?”

“Well, the insatiable hunger is the main focus.”

You stared at him in silence, not quite sure what to make of this.

The Wish Spell could grant him the ability to walk in the sun again, but this seemed even more ambitious.

And dangerous.

“Obviously, this is all rather theoretical, but it seemed like a sound prospect,” he went on, sinking into the sofa with an exasperated sigh. “As selfish as I am, I also considered how this could be helpful to the spawn in the Underdark.”

His words took you quite aback.

“This… seems too good to be true,” you said hesitantly.

“Oh, I'm aware. That is why I am keeping my expectations in check.”

You really, really wanted to hate Ava.

But if her motifs were truly this altruistic, then you were going to have a hard justifying that feeling, which provided another added layer of anger altogether.

“So, if you want to talk to her, you are free to do so. Seeing is believing or so they say,” he said with a witty grin.

You sighed.

Astarion was a bad planner.

No. He was a terrible planner.

He could identify the end goal, but would have no clue how to get there and would merely make adjustments as he went along, hoping for the best.

Luck had been on his side as of late, but you lacked that optimism.

And he obviously saw that splattered across your face.

“Oh, please. I know that look – just say it,” he scoffed.

You weren't even sure what you wanted to say.

Deep down, you felt extremely protective of him and didn't appreciate that she was exchanging lessons in intimacy for his blood.

It all seemed very one-sided and the promise of also helping him – and by extension, the spawn in the underdark – still seemed unrealistically… convenient.

“Are you even sure any of this will work? Has she made any progress with your blood?”

“Some progress. Not enough to keep me too hopeful, but I will take anything these days.”

You could sympathise with the sentiment, but…

“I still think there is something off about her.”

Astarion just looked as amused as ever. “No jealousy?”

You rolled your eyes. “No.”

“Well, she would have nothing to gain from sending us both to prison,” he said. “She knows I exclusively feed on you and that I do need to feed regularly.”

The nonchalant way in which he uttered those words, brought a wave of heat to your face, as the events from a few hours earlier resurfaced in your mind.

There was a hint of intimacy in the act itself, but also in the aftermath. Astarion's senses would be sharpened as your blood coursed through his body.

“Seems like I broke your concentration, darling,” he said teasingly, effectively snapping you from your thoughts.

You jolted briefly and then scowled, annoyed that he could see right through you so easily.

“Don't flatter yourself.”

He gave you a devious smile. “I don't have to. Not when your body provides the finest flattery there is.”

Gods.

You wished you could turn off the effect his honeyed words always had on you.

Clearing your throat, you straightened up in your seat. “Very well, then. I am willing to be enlightened.”

A teasing smile tugged faintly at his lips. “Good girl.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

He knew exactly what he was doing.

Regaining your composure, you said, “Wyll is going there with me tonight.”

Astarion drew a sleazy grin this time. “Oh, so that was what the two of you were plotting yesterday.”

You rolled your eyes.

“And here I thought sweet Wyll had finally mustered the courage to take you out on a lavish date,” he said with a dramatic and forceful pout. “Seems like romance is dead, after all.”

For some odd reason, Astarion was under the impression that Wyll harboured feelings for you that surpassed friendship.

But what Astarion didn't know was that your heart was too full of him to allow room for anyone else.

His taunting words created the perfect opening for you to return the gesture.

“No jealousy?”

His smile only grew wider. “Do you want me to be jealous?”

You were entering his territory, and should tread lightly.

“Maybe you should be jealous,” you whispered.

He shifted closer to you and you held your breath.

“And why is that? Why should I be jealous of your friendship with him?”

Gods, he was good .

Your heart drummed faster in your chest as his face drew near.

He was a master at disarming you with carefully laid out traps whilst using his words as alluring bait.

“He's very… friendly.”

You inwardly cringed at your ridiculous remark, which earned a chuckle from Astarion.

At this point, he was so close you almost feel his cool lips on yours.

“Well, hopefully not this friendly.”

That was it.

He was going to kiss you and you couldn't give a damn about it.

But before he could do so, the faint rhythmic thud of footsteps pulled you out of immersion, and the two of you pulled apart at once.

Lae'zel.

She reached the bottom of the staircase, eyeing both of you like she had just run into the most disappointing event of her life.

“The sun has yet to fully rise, and the two of you are already at it again,” she said with a scowl. “Wasn't the coupling from last night enough?”

Your jaw dropped open in sheer mortification.

Surely she hadn't… heard anything… right?

“Where is your sense of decorum, Lae'zel?” Astarion clicked his tongue, leaning back against the sofa once more.

She gave him a stern glare. “You wouldn't know decorum if it hit you in that pale face of yours, Astarion.”

He chuckled. “My, my… someone is feisty today.”

“The sounds you two made could raise the dead from their graves,” she said, moving swiftly towards the front door with her sword keeping her company. “I am not sure how much more of this torture I can take.”

You stood up at once, feeling embarrassment take over. “Oh! We… uh… Astarion was just feeding and–”

She held a hand up. “Spare me the grotesque details. I'll be going out on a hunt. Don't expect me for lunch.”

And without a further exchange, she slipped through the door.

Astarion was now on his feet and heading towards the staircase.

Somehow, you couldn't help but feel a tad of disappointment as he left your side.

His company was something you reckoned you'd never tire from.

“See you later, darling. And do fix that lovely face of yours,” he teased dramatically. “Rose water works like a charm.”

And you couldn't hold back an endearing smile.

The night came quicker than you had hoped.

Confronting Ava made you feel truly uneasy, especially after learning some more about her.

As promised, Wyll had come to you, escorted by two Fists. The mage slayer stationed outside, quickly joined the four of you, and you felt the magic within you dip dangerously low from her presence.

The journey to The Blushing Mermaid proved to be rather uneventful and you were more than thankful for it.

“Does Astarion know about this?”

You nodded. “He has also told me the reason why she's taking his blood.”

Wyll's eyes met yours and you could see the tension on his face. “Whatever could be the reason?”

Fortunately, the two Fists walked far behind the two of you to preserve some privacy.

“She wants to lessen the effects of vampiric hunger.”

He arched an eyebrow and you approached the familiar tavern.

“That sounds too convenient .”

You almost pulled Wyll into a kiss as he unknowingly validated your concerns.

“Exactly. Maybe I am overthinking it, but I need to make sure nonetheless.”

He nodded firmly.

Those crowding the entrance immediately made way for you to walk inside, and you heard a few salutes as others inside bowed to Wyll.

Bork approached the counter with a tilted smile on his face. “Duke of Ravengard. To what do we owe the pleasure? Hope we are not in trouble?”

A few drunkards nearby erupted in laughter.

“Unless you have indeed done something unlawful, I wouldn't worry too much, Bork.”

He offered Wyll a forced smile, which he didn't return.

“We are looking for Ava,” you chimed in impatiently.

His face instantly dropped. “Ava? Is she in trouble?"

Honestly, what was with everyone and this woman? Was she some goddess in disguise?

“We just wish to talk to her,” Wyll answered.

Bork hesitated at first, but glared at the two Fists flanking you. “First floor. Third room to your left.”

You nodded and swiftly made your way upstairs, feeling your heart hammering fast in your chest as you paced along the corridor.

Wyll knocked thrice on the large door.

It swung open almost immediately, and Ava came into view, holding a knowing smile.

“I was expecting you.”

A swirl of nausea settled in your stomach.

She extended one hand, standing to the side so you could walk in.

“As pleased as I am to be visited by our Duke, I shall ask for you not to enter.”

You immediately turned to see Wyll scowl deeply. “Tonight I'm no Duke – I'm her friend and you shall let me enter.”

Ava tapped on the door lightly. “These are my quarters, and unless I am being charged with wrongdoing, I have the right to decide who to invite inside, Duke .”

The two Fists were gripping the handle of their swords, ready to draw them.

Wyll motioned for the to be at ease and turned his head to you. “I will be waiting outside.”

Ava wiggled her fingers dismissively, further gnawing at your nerves.

“Do not try anything witty, hunter,” Wyll said in a tone you hadn't heard since he last faced Mizora.

She chuckled. “I have abandoned those ways. You may simply call me Ava.”

But before he could reply, she pushed the door closed in one swing and glanced at you with an excessively sweet smile.

“So? I don't believe you came all the way here to simply gawk at me.”

You cleared your throat. “I have a few things I need to discuss with you.”

“Of course. I would be surprised if you didn't.”

Your patience was running thin.

“It concerns Astarion.”

“Still not surprised,” she said with a tilted smile. “I'm all ears.”

“He's told me about you.”

“Hopefully not everything, but do go on.”

She moved to a table and poured a red liquid into a goblet. “Can I tempt you with some red wine?”

You scowled and she laughed. “It is not poisoned, though I do understand your hesitation.” She then took a long sip.

Glancing around the room, you realised it could easily pass off as the inside of an apothecary store. There were endless rows of shelves and cupboards that housed countless vials of glass with suspicious content.

There was a small fire burning by the window with a large flask set right above, the flames barely reaching the bottom as a deep dark red liquid gurgled.

Ava sat on a lavish armchair, holding the goblet to her lips.

“I know you're taking his blood for some experiment in regards to vampirism,” you began, keeping your voice steady. “Even to supposedly help the vampire spawn in the Underdark.”

Her pleasant face wavered momentarily. “He's offering it to me. Freely.”

“You are taking advantage of him.”

“I am not taking advantage of anything. It's a mere transaction that we have both agreed upon.”

“Blood for intimacy?”

“That seems rather… crass.”

“You are taking advantage of his… wounds…”

“Why are you so hellsbent on accusing me of being the one taking advantage of him? He also has much to win from this arrangement.”

“Because you have the upper hand here. The price for a chance at healing from his wounds seems rather unbalanced,” you said, feeling heat flare throughout your entire body. “You get his blood, which is a sure thing, and he gets a ‘perhaps’ on all fronts: intimacy and that hunger “cure” you're promising.”

Ava glared at you with eyes slightly narrowed, chin resting on the back of her hand.

“There are wounds that take time to heal. Some never heal at all, my dear.”

“I'm aware.”

��Are you? Are you, really?” Ava said with a scoff. “I am not the enemy here. Your vitriol against me is rooted in something primal.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Primal?”

“Is it jealousy, I wonder?”

You clenched your fists. “It is not. Whatever bond you think you share with him is superficial and frail. There's nothing to be jealous of.”

“Actually, I do believe your words… it is not jealousy, indeed,” she said, tapping a long nail on her chin. “But rather… protectiveness.”

You remained silent.

“I dare say that protectiveness can blind even the wisest.”

“I am not blinded. I can see there is something unsettling about you.”

“You look, but you do not see,” she said as she took a sip of her wine. “Your attachment to him is your weakness.”

“Caring for others isn't a weakness.”

“You taught him that, did you?”

The faint mockery wasn't lost on you, and it made your nails dig further into your palms, regning in your temper as best as you could.

“He doesn't need to be taught anything. Astarion may need some guidance, as we all do from time to time.”

Ava merely chuckled. “May I see your neck?”

What?

Her words caught you off guard, but you did not move an inch to comply with her request.

“Ah… your reluctance is answer enough,” she tutted. “He has fed on you recently, hasn't he?”

Now, that immediately had your stomach turn in revulsion, realising just how transparent she truly was.

“So this is what it's all about – you just want him to feed on you instead.”

Ava rolled her eyes with a forced yawn. “On the contrary. Of course, I have vaguely wondered what it feels like, but Astarion is far too devoted to your blood to even entertain the idea.”

“Then why did you complain to me about him not feeding on you?”

She crossed her legs elegantly under her emerald green dress. “I was merely taunting you. Again, his devotion gets in the way.”

“I wouldn't necessarily call it ‘devotion’.”

“Oh, but I would. See, Astarion's bond to you is exquisite and much welcome… to say the least.”

Her flowery words were really testing your patience now.

“Elaborate.”

“The last time he fed on you and gave me his blood was right when you left The Blushing Mermaid. A few days later, I tried his blood on some spawn in the city outskirts that have taken to living underground in search of a cure.” She paused briefly to take yet another sip from the goblet. “The results were vastly different from my previous experiments.”

“Can you just get straight to the point for once?”

“Oh, you really are a feisty one…” Ava said with a teasing smile. “As I was saying, the results were rather interesting and unexpected. The spawn reported feeling sated much quicker than before, but the effect wore off in the first hour, which was a disappointment.”

You froze instantly. “You're… using my blood?”

“Well, yes… and no,” she said in a casual tone. “Your blood mixed with his, that is. Before that day, I had never tried his blood after he fed on you.”

You felt as though you might be sick as your stomach lurched violently.

“This is… I – does he know?”

“Well, I haven't been given the chance, considering how the two of you got thrown into prison,” she said with a shrug. “And I am fully aware you think I am somehow responsible for it.”

You were still so taken aback by her earlier revelation, that you had momentarily forgotten about that detail.

“Now, what would I gain from setting you two up, especially after I just told you this.”

She did have a point.

Seemingly.

“You mentioned other spawn – why not use their blood instead? Why his?”

“Oh, darling… ”

The way that word rolled out of her tongue grated on your nerves, and you realised only one person could masterfully use it without provoking a visceral reaction.

“Astarion isn't really your regular spawn, is he? Even when he was under Cazador Szarr's influence, he would still rebel against his commands while his siblings cowered in fear of defying their master.”

An overwhelming sense of dread took over at once.

Astarion has revealed how Cazador had kept him buried alive for a whole year as punishment for letting a potential victim go.

He had clawed his hands raw from despair as he wished for death to just take him.

Even remembering this vaguely, made your heart hurt for him.

“How do you know that?”

Ava rose to her full height, brushing her long and dark curls from her shoulders.

She paced towards a desk and began ruffling through pieces of parchment.

“I was a monster hunter for over twenty years and my group kept a close eye on Cazador and his spawn,” she said, not lifting her eyes. “Astarion had been on our radar for a while, but he was quite experienced in slipping through the cracks whenever we tried to go after him.”

You swallowed.

“Imagine our surprise when he suddenly goes missing. My partners were dumbfounded beyond belief. No vampire spawn is able to resist the compell of their master for that long.”

She then moved back to the armchair, flipping through a couple of scrolls.

“We thought he had met his demise somehow, so imagine my surprise when I find out that he's back in Baldur's Gate. Walking in the sunlight and next to… you.”

You weren't sure where this conversation was headed and you weren't sure you wanted to know.

Ava took your silence as encouragement. “Cazador was attempting to become the Vampire Ascendant and we were set on stopping him, but were instead met with his manor bathed in blood and corpses littering the place.”

So they had gotten there after your group stopped the ritual and prevented the rite from taking place.

“So now you're suddenly an alchemist who wants to help vampire spawn? Why the change of heart?”

Ava met your eyes and her face was void of any amusement. “Astarion and I connect in more ways than you think.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms and waiting to hear some circus clown reasoning.

“I wasn't a monster hunter by choice,” she said sternly. “I was born into it and molded into their ways.”

Your defensive demeanour wavered momentarily.

“I shall not go into details, but all you need to know is that once Cazador Szarr was gone, I was driven by curiosity and sought Astarion out so I could learn more about what makes him so different from all the other spawn I've come across.”

You narrowed your eyes at her. “So you just left your group? Just like that?”

She snickered. “They were killed.”

“What? By whom?”

She snickered as she took another sip. “By me.”

You were left speechless.

“I thought that if a vampire spawn could break the chains from his master and embrace freedom again, so could I.”

She let out a chuckle, emptying the goblet in one sip.

“So, I offered to help him as he's helped me. No more, no less.”

You really wanted to hate her.

You wanted her to give you a solid reason to be suspicious of her intentions.

But…

“So you genuinely care for him?”

She nodded. “I do. And if Astarion were to walk through that door and ask for us to part ways, I would accept it. It would essentially kill my research until I found someone remotely adequate, but I would make peace with it.”

This conversation had not taken the turn you expected.

At all.

“I can see the confusion in your eyes. You truly believed I am out to get you when I'm probably your best option right now.”

“Best option? In regards to what?”

She extended her arm towards a chair in front of her. “Take a seat.”

You did so, reluctantly, never letting your guard down and her out of your sight.

“Cazador Szarr had many enemies, but he also had many allies. People who were not pleased with his death.”

She now had your undivided attention and you felt your palms sweat.

There wad actually someone going after you? After Astarion?

“I have ways to find who they are.”

“Then what are you waiting for?” you immediately asked, feeling rather unsettled by her words.

She clicked her tongue. “I need assurances first, and I have a proposition to make.”

You saw the flash of a knife emerging from her sleeve and a tall glass container being placed on the table by her side.

TBC

Ao3

Series Masterlist

#astarion smut #astarion x tav #astarion x female reader #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion x female tav #astarion x f!tav

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tojismain · 2 months

Text

first kiss, hundredth hesitation

requested by anon ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝

you refuse to kiss toji and he refuses to let it go

The rain was incessant against the windshield and your cheeks were cold from the ice cream and the constant smiles. You and Toji were out on your sixth date and it was perfect. He parked his car so it overlooked the ocean underneath you. It was the end of the date, the sky was dark, and your fingers were frozen against your cold cup.

You were rambling about something you saw earlier today and he didn’t interrupt you once. Toji wasn’t much of a talker, but he enjoyed watching and hearing you talk more than anything else. Your eyes were darting between him and the water as you ranted expressively—the ice cream spoon pulling against your lips.

Toji’s gaze was everywhere on you but especially your lips. He tried to kiss you on the third date, and on the fourth, and the fifth, but you were making it hard on him. Anytime he tried slotting his lips against yours, you’d turn your face, acting clueless, or you’d step back and tell him to have a goodnight with the sweetest smile. He brushed it off as innocence and gullibility, but it was getting harder to not know what it’s like to kiss you, and he was desperate—frustratingly desperate to know.

“Sweetheart.” Toji cuts off your speech with the pet name. You turn your head towards him, your cheeks already turning red, worried you were talking too much.

“Yeah?” You answer, breathlessly.

“Come here.” He orders softly, looking at you.

You look at him dumbfounded, waiting for him to elaborate. He chuckles at your expression. When you still don’t move, he reaches over and places his hand under your jaw to move your head downwards. His other hand taps against his thigh.

You were definitely red now. Impossibly hot in your cheeks, your nose, your ears—everywhere. But, regardless, you put your hand in his as you move yourself over the console to sit on his lap. You looked down, too scared to look at his face, finding his black shirt a perfect distraction.

“Y/n.” He whispers, and you think about staying perfectly still. Still enough to disappear, because he made your heart race incredibly fast and you weren’t sure how fast a heart could beat before it stops.

Again, he slots his hand under your face, but this time, he brings your gaze upward. His thumb brushes back and forth against your jawline and cheek. Eventually, he places his thumb against your bottom lip and he drags the finger against it.

A few quiet seconds go by before he says, “Why won’t you let me?”

“W-what?” You reply, heart still beating quickly.

“You won’t let me kiss you.” He insists, and you swallow, feeling nervous.

You let out a breath and drop your gaze again, feeling his hand slip away from your face.

As much as he wants to kiss you, he wants to know if you like him even more. Toji was aware of his appearance, big and scary, pointed at by everyone. He wasn’t sure he could be soft enough for you, but he had somehow hoped so because you made his heart beat exactly the way he made yours rush. He had never felt that feeling, but he wanted to feel it all the time, especially if it meant he could keep looking at you.

You press your hands against his abdomen and fiddle with his shirt before feeling stupid and letting the cloth go. “I-”, you let out a breath as you try to align the thoughts in your head. “I don’t want to be a bad experience.”

One beat, a second, “A bad experience.” He repeats.

You nod and realize that you have to explain.

“I’ve never kissed anyone before.” You look up to see his reaction but he just looks at you, his hands placed on your waist.

“I’ve never kissed anyone before, and I don’t know how to and you’re old-” Your eyes widen and you stutter before you elaborate, “n-not old, like old-er, and you probably have a lot of experience and I don’t- I mean I wouldn’t know how-” His chuckle interrupts your rant and you stop to look at him, puffing out your cheeks for a moment.

“It’s not funny! I swear I wouldn’t know how to-” Your cheeks were on fire.

“Sweetheart.” He calls out and you stop talking. His hands find their place on the sides of your face again and his thumbs brush against you once more—he slowly brings you closer.

His eyebrows furrow for a second. “You could never be a bad experience.” He says softly and you look up at him like he hung the moon.

You could never be a bad experience. You had no idea what good deeds you’ve done to end up next to him, but you would do them a million times over if that meant you could keep looking at him.

“Do you want me to kiss you?” He asks. And although your face burns crimson, you answer back, “Yes.”

You both look at each other for a moment longer before leaning in. You could feel how warm his skin was, right before he pushed his lips onto yours. Tingles rush up your face and you breathe in suddenly, not expecting a kiss to feel like that. His lips fit against yours perfectly. It felt perfect. His lips were warm against your ice-cream-cold ones, and your heart beat even faster. You grip his shirt in your palm as he moves against you.

Earlier than you’d like, he pulls away, not wanting to overwhelm you, and you look at him with that dumbfounded expression again. He smiles, leaning his forehead against your own. Your breaths clash for a few moments.

“Was that a bad experience?” You ask, shyly smiling—half sarcastic, half expectant.

He laughs and leans his face into your neck, pressing a kiss under your ear. “Definitely not.”

You wrap your arms around his head and let him stay there—you should’ve kissed him sooner.

aurelia

#toji fluff #toji x reader #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #toji comfort #toji fushiguro x reader #toji x you #soft toji #toji fushiguro #jujutsu kaisen #tojismain౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹#tojismain

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cheynovak · 4 months

Text

Echoes and Shadows

Soldier Boy x F/Reader Y/N

Warnings: Fights, gunshots, mentioning of child abuse, ...

Side note: English isn’t my first language

Words: 3800

Cursive are memories

*Does not follow the boys storyline *

Autumn of 1950, Soldier Boy, the embodiment of rugged heroism and Vought-American's premier supe, was summoned to a high-rise office overlooking New York City. The meeting was brief, direct, and left a bitter taste in his mouth.

His new assignment: train a young girl named Y/N, a fresh supe with a "girl next door" persona. To Soldier Boy, it felt like a waste of time. Why did he had to train her, there had to be other tasks for the world’s greatest hero!

When they first met, Y/N stood in stark contrast to the grizzled Soldier Boy. She had an optimistic gleam in her eyes and a smile that seemed permanently etched on her face. She was eager to learn, but Soldier Boy couldn’t stand her naivety.

“Listen up, kid,” he grumbled during their first training session. “Being a supe isn’t about smiles and handshakes. It’s about getting the job done. And sometimes, it gets messy. I don’t think you can handle that."

Y/N shook her head, determination shining in her eyes. “I can handle it. I want to help people, no matter what it takes.” Soldier Boy sneered. “We’ll see about that.” He was relentless in his training.

Every day, he pushed her to her limits, both physically and mentally. Gruelling obstacle courses, intense combat drills, and brutal sparring sessions became her new routine. Whenever she stumbled, he was there with a cutting remark.

“Come on, sweetheart, is that the best you’ve got?” he’d taunt. “Real heroes don’t get tired. Real heroes don’t complain.” Despite his harshness, Y/N refused to give up. She endured his gruelling regimen with a quiet resilience that began to chip away at Soldier Boy’s disdain.

She didn’t just want to be a hero; she wanted to prove herself, and her perseverance was impossible to ignore. One day, during a particularly brutal training exercise, Soldier Boy pushed her to the edge.

She was exhausted, her body bruised and battered, but she stood her ground. “Why do you keep doing this?” he demanded, his voice a mix of frustration and curiosity. “Why don’t you just quit? You’re too soft for this job.”

Y/N met his gaze, her eyes unwavering. “Because I believe in doing the right thing. Because I believe in helping people, no matter how hard it gets. And because I know I can be a hero, even if you don’t believe it.” He rolled his eyes "Sure sweetheart."

Months passed, and Y/N grew stronger, more skilled, and more confident, and as her confidence grew so did her abilities. Y/N seemed to be able to put up a defence barrier, holding back bullets, if she concentrated good enough, she could even use it as an extra force to her punches. Besides that, she healed quick and what time would tell, didn’t age.

She always kept that kindness in her eyes, but it was now tempered with a steely resolve. She had become everything Soldier Boy had initially doubted she could be. One evening, after a particularly grueling session, Soldier Boy handed Y/N a cold beer.

It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes. She stared at it for a moment, hesitating. "I'm only 18," she said softly, a flicker of doubt crossing her face. Soldier Boy scoffed, rolling his eyes.

"Stop being such an uptight bitch all the time. It's just a beer." Y/N took the bottle reluctantly, the cool glass against her palm feeling unfamiliar and slightly intimidating. She hesitated, then took a small sip.

The bitterness of the beer mirrored the bitter moments she had faced during training, the relentless drills, and Soldier Boy’s cutting remarks. They sat in silence for a while, the city’s night sounds filtering in through the open window.

Y/N glanced at Soldier Boy, trying to decipher the man behind the harsh exterior. “Why did you agree to train me?” she asked quietly. Soldier Boy took a long swig from his own bottle before answering.

“Didn’t have much of a choice. Vought’s orders.” He paused, his gaze distant. “But you’re not as hopeless as I thought." Y/N felt a small swell of pride at his words. Coming from Soldier Boy, it was high praise indeed.

She took another sip, the beer tasting a little less bitter now. “Thanks,” she said with a little smile, proud of the first compliment her childhood hero gave her. Soldier Boy grunted in response.

Present day

Y/N had left the noise and chaos of the city far behind, finding solace in the peaceful rhythm of farm life. The fields stretched out in a patchwork of greens and browns, and the farmhouse, with its weathered wood and creaking floors, stood as a testament to a simpler, quieter existence.

She was tending to her garden when she saw them approaching: a group of men, rough around the edges and clearly out of place in the tranquil countryside. Her guard went up immediately.

Butcher, with his perpetual scowl, led the way, his intense gaze locking onto her. Hughie followed, looking slightly out of his element but determined. Frenchie and Kimiko were close behind, each with their own brand of intensity.

But it was M.M., standing a bit apart from the rest, who caught her attention. There was a steadiness in his eyes, a calm that seemed at odds with the chaos that surrounded the group.

Y/N straightened up, wiping her hands on her apron as they came to a stop in front of her. "What do you want?" she asked, her voice cold and wary. Butcher stepped forward, but M.M. gently placed a hand on his shoulder, signalling him to let M.M. handle it.

Butcher hesitated, then nodded, stepping back with a reluctant grunt. “Miss Y/N, my name is MM, I, no we, need your help. Taking down Homelander.” Y/N crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing. "And why would I help you? I retired to the countryside for peace. "

M.M. nodded, as if he understood. "I get it. Believe me, I do. But this isn’t just about revenge or taking down supes for the sake of it. We found out about a weapon, something that could kill Soldier Boy. If it can kill him, it can kill Homelander. And... it could probably kill you too. I presume you want to keep living?"

She flinched at that, the reality of her vulnerability striking a chord she didn’t want to acknowledge. "Why should I trust you?" she asked, her voice softer but still laced with suspicion. "Because we’re trying to do the right thing," M.M. said simply.

"We’re trying to protect people. And I think, deep down, that’s what you’ve always wanted to do too. You’ve got no reason to trust us, but we don’t have any reason to lie to you either. We need your help to find this weapon. If it exists, it’s our best shot at stopping Homelander. And if we don’t, a lot of innocent people are going to die."

There was a long silence as Y/N weighed his words. She glanced at the other members of The Boys, reading the desperation and determination etched into their faces. Finally, she looked back at M.M., seeing in him a glimmer of the same hope and resolve that had once driven her.

"Alright," she said at last, her voice steady. "I’ll help you. But only because I believe someone needs to stop Homelander. And if you’re lying to me, I’ll make sure you regret it." M.M. smiled, a genuine warmth in his expression.

"Fair enough. We’re grateful for your help, Y/N." As they began to discuss their plan, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a pang of nostalgia. She had tried to leave her past behind, but it seemed the fight for justice had found her once again. And this time, she was determined to see it through to the end.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the farm, Y/N found herself alone for a moment, she agreed they could stay at her place for the night. She leaned against the porch railing, enjoying the cool breeze.

Her mind wandered back to her time as a supe, a life that seemed so distant now. Hughie approached hesitantly, his hands stuffed in his pockets. He had a look of curiosity mixed with apprehension.

"Hey," he started, a bit awkwardly. "Mind if I ask you something?" Y/N glanced at him, her guard momentarily lowered. "Sure, go ahead." Hughie shifted his weight from one foot to the other, looking around the porch.

"I noticed there aren’t many pictures of you. Almost none, actually. W-why is that?" She laughed, a sound tinged with both amusement and bitterness. "Vought made sure the world would forget about me," she explained.

"When I left, they erased almost every trace of my existence. Photos, records, everything. They didn’t want anyone to remember a supe who walked away from it all." Hughie nodded, taking in her words. "That's... harsh. But I guess I shouldn't be surprised, considering Vought."

Y/N sighed, her eyes distant. "Yeah, that's Vought. Controlling the narrative, always." There was a pause, then Hughie asked another question that had been on his mind. "What was Soldier Boy like?" Y/N's expression softened, a mix of nostalgia and sadness crossing her face.

"He was... complicated. A real hard-ass, tough as nails, and absolutely relentless. He could be a real jerk, too, always pushing people to their limits, addict... you name it.” A little pause, she added more a reminder to herself than to him, “But underneath all that, he was just... human."

Hughie listened intently, sensing there was more to the story. "Did you ever get along with him?" She smiled faintly. "Eventually, yes. It took a while." Hughie looked thoughtful. "Do you think he would have been able to help us with Homelander, if he was still around?"

Y/N shrugged, a hint of sadness in her eyes. "It's hard to say. Soldier Boy was powerful, but he had his own flaws and demons. He might have helped, or he might have made things worse. We'll never know."

The next day they left for Russia

The private plane hummed steadily as it cut through the night sky, its cabin dimly lit. The Boys were scattered around, each lost in their thoughts or quietly discussing their plan. Y/N sat by a window, staring out into the inky blackness.

Butcher had a lead on the weapon that supposedly killed Soldier Boy, and they were heading to Russia to find it. As the drone of the engines filled her ears, Y/N felt herself slipping into a memory, a flashback to a mission that had happened decades ago in Russia, during her time with Soldier Boy.

The mission was critical, a high-stakes operation deep in enemy territory. Y/N and Soldier Boy were tasked with infiltrating a heavily fortified facility to retrieve vital intelligence. The plan was simple: she would create a distraction as he got the job done.

They had worked out the details meticulously, but plans rarely survived first contact with the enemy. Y/N had managed to draw the guards’ attention, using her powers to create enough chaos to give Soldier Boy the opening he needed. It worked, until she got shot multiple times.

She found herself cornered in a narrow hallway, the walls lined with steel and concrete. There was no way out. Gunfire echoed around her, the sharp sound of bullets ricocheting off the walls. She took cover behind a weak force shield, her heart pounding.

She could hear the guards closing in, their footsteps growing louder. As one hand shield her the other pushed down on her leg to stop the bleeding. "I’m trapped!" she shouted into her comm.

"There’s no way out!" For a few agonizing moments, there was only static in response. Then, his voice crackled through. "Hold on, kid." The minutes stretched into what felt like hours as she waited, the sound of gunfire and shouting closing in.

She fought off the guards as best she could, using her powers as offence instead to keep them at bay, but she knew she couldn't hold out much longer. Just when she thought it was over, an explosion rocked the hallway. The steel door at the end of the corridor burst open, and there he was.

Soldier Boy, a look of fierce determination on his face. He tore through the guards with brutal efficiency, clearing a path to her. "Let’s go!" he shouted, grabbing her arm and pulling her to her feet. Together, they fought their way out of the facility, Soldier Boy covering her as they made their escape.

When they finally reached the extraction point, she collapsed onto the ground, breathing heavily grabbing her leg. "You okay?" he asked, kneeling beside her, his voice uncharacteristically gentle as he tied on of his belts around her leg. She nodded, looking up at him with a mix of gratitude and exhaustion. "Thanks for coming back for me."

He shrugged, but there was a softness in his eyes.

The memory faded, and Y/N found herself back on the plane, the steady hum of the engines replacing the echoes of the past. She glanced around at the faces of The Boys, each one focused on the mission ahead. She felt a renewed sense of purpose, a reminder of why she had joined them.

M.M. caught her eye from across the cabin, giving her a reassuring nod. She returned it with a small smile. The private plane landed in a secluded airstrip in Russia under the cover of night.

The Boys, along with Y/N, moved swiftly through the dense forest surrounding the remote facility where they believed the weapon that killed Soldier Boy was hidden. The facility loomed ahead, a monolithic structure guarded by heavily armed soldiers and state-of-the-art security systems.

Butcher led the way, his eyes sharp and focused. "Alright, stay close and keep it quiet. We don’t want to alert the whole damn place." They approached the facility’s perimeter, M.M. disabling the security cameras and motion sensors with expert precision.

They slipped inside, navigating the labyrinthine corridors with a mix of stealth and speed. But their luck didn’t hold for long. As they rounded a corner, they came face-to-face with a squad of Russian soldiers. For a moment, time seemed to freeze.

Then, chaos erupted. Butcher was the first to react, launching himself at the nearest soldier with a fierce battle cry. His fists connected with brutal efficiency, taking the soldier down before he could raise his weapon.

The sound of gunfire exploded around them as the rest of the squad sprang into action. Y/N used her powers to create a force field, deflecting bullets and giving The Boys a chance to take cover. She felt the familiar rush of adrenaline, her senses sharpening as the fight intensified.

Frenchie and Kimiko moved as a deadly pair, Frenchie’s precise gunfire complemented by Kimiko’s lethal hand-to-hand combat skills. Hughie, still relatively new to the chaos of battle, ducked behind a crate, his heart pounding.

He peeked out, firing his weapon at the soldiers, hitting one in the leg and causing him to drop his gun. M.M. took advantage of the opening, charging forward and disarming the soldier with a swift, practiced move. He turned, his eyes scanning the room for the next threat.

"Y/N, cover us!" Butcher shouted, taking down another soldier with a vicious uppercut. Y/N nodded, focusing her energy to create a larger shield, pushing back the advancing soldiers. She could feel the strain, but she held her ground, giving The Boys the chance to regroup and counterattack.

As the fight raged on, they moved deeper into the facility. The corridors echoed with the sounds of battle, gunfire, shouts, and the clash of metal. They fought their way through waves of soldiers, each skirmish bringing them closer to their goal.

Finally, they reached a heavily reinforced door at the heart of the facility. Butcher and M.M. worked quickly to breach the door, using a combination of explosives and brute force. The door blew open with a deafening blast, revealing a dark, cold chamber beyond.

They stepped inside, weapons raised, ready for anything. The room was dimly lit, the walls lined with strange, high-tech equipment. In the centre a large, metal cryogenic chamber, Butcher ripped the door off.

"Bloody hell," Butcher muttered, lowering his weapon slightly.

Y/N stepped forward, her eyes wide with a mix of shock and recognition. She froze for a second, unable to believe her eyes. There he was...Soldier Boy encased in the cryogenic chamber.

The gas began to dissipate, and the machinery hissed as he torn the bands that had its grip on him. Ben’s eyes fluttered open, and he tumbled out of the container, gasping for air. "Ben!" Y/N shouted, rushing forward to catch him before he hit the ground.

She knelt beside him, her arms around his shoulders, steadying him as he struggled to regain his balance. For a brief moment, their eyes met. She saw confusion and recognition flicker in his eyes, but it quickly turned to something darker rage.

His expression twisted with fury, and his body began to glow. "Ben, it’s me, Y/N," she pleaded, her voice filled with desperation. But her words didn’t seem to reach him. The radiation started to build, the air around him crackling with energy.

Before Y/N could react, Kimiko lunged forward, pushing her aside just as a blast of radiation erupted from Ben’s body. The force of the blast sent through the wall. The smoke and debris settled slightly, revealing Ben staggering through the chaos, his steps heavy and disoriented.

His chest still glowed with residual energy, and he seemed to be in a daze, not fully aware of his surroundings. Ben, stop!" Y/N cried, her voice breaking with emotion. She took a step forward, her heart aching at the sight of him in such a state. but he walked away.

As they returned to America, Y/N's mind was filled with a tumult of emotions. They had narrowly escaped Russia, but Kimiko's injuries weighed heavily on her. She watched as Butcher spoke to the team, his tone gruff and dismissive.

"Soldier Boy isn't our problem," he said, his words cutting through the air. Y/N felt a surge of anger and frustration rise, she wanted to stay and find him. But she understood Kimiko needed help. “Why would he do that?” Hughie asked.

Y/N’s mind drifted away.

It was a late night, the night before the announcement of Payback as Soldier Boy's new team. Y/N had returned home after a long day of training, only to find Ben sitting on her couch, a bottle of whiskey in hand and a weary expression on his face.

She couldn’t help but be annoyed at the sight of him. "What on earth are you doing here?" she asked, her voice mingled with concern. Ben shrugged, taking a swig from the bottle. "Figured you owed me one since I saved that pretty little ass of yours."

Y/N rolled her eyes, "Fine. What's wrong?" As she settled onto the couch beside him, she couldn’t help but notice the sadness in his eyes, the weight of the world on his shoulders. "What’s eating you, Ben?" she asked, her tone gentle.

Ben sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I'm a fucking disappointment" he said, his voice tinged with bitterness. “What?” Y/N asked before she listened as he opened up about his father’s abuse, the years of torment and neglect.

Ben's father was a formidable presence in his life, but not in the way a father should be. He was a hard man, cold and unyielding, his words like knives cutting into Ben's fragile sense of self-worth.

From a young age, Ben was subjected to his father's wrath, enduring physical and emotional abuse that left scars both seen and unseen. His father's beatings were brutal and frequent, leaving Ben battered and bruised, his spirit broken.

But it was the words that cut the deepest, the constant reminders of his perceived failures, the insults hurled at him like daggers. He was called weak, a disappointment, a disgrace to the family name.

For years, Ben internalized his father's harsh judgments, believing himself to be unworthy of love or respect. He built walls around his heart, his rough exterior a shield against the pain and rejection he had endured for so long.

He learned to bury his emotions deep, to keep people at arm's length, lest they see the vulnerability he tried so desperately to hide.

Y/N had seen glimpses of Ben's pain before, but it wasn't until that night, when he had opened up to her about his father, that she truly understood the depth of his suffering. She saw the scars, both physical and emotional, that his father had left behind.

She saw the pain etched into his features, the vulnerability he rarely showed to anyone else. And in that moment, she understood him in a way she hadn’t before. "Why did you put up with it?" she asked, her voice soft.

Ben shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping him. "It’s not that simple, Y/N. You don’t just walk away from family, no matter how screwed up they are." Y/N reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"You’ve got people who care about you, you know that right?" As their eyes met, and Y/N saw something flicker in Ben's gaze, a mix of emotions surged within her.

But before she could fully process them, Ben leaned in, his intention clear. His lips moved towards hers, seeking solace in the warmth of the moment. Y/N's heart raced, her instincts conflicting with her emotions. As his lips hovered inches from hers, her fingers landed gently on his lips, halting his advance.

"Ben," she murmured softly, her voice tinged with regret. "This isn't a good idea." She had thought about this moment before, wondered what it would be like to be with him. But now, with him drunk and high on who knows what, she couldn't bring herself to take advantage of him in this vulnerable state.

It wouldn't be fair to either of them. Ben's expression shifted from longing to confusion, then to frustration. He pulled away abruptly, his eyes clouded with anger and hurt. "Fine," he muttered, his voice thick with emotion. "Your loss."

Y/N watched him go, her heart heavy with regret. She knew she had made the right choice, but that didn't make it any easier to see him walk away. She never wanted to hurt him.

As she heard MM talking to Frenchie and Kimiko she looked over. Seeing how badly Kimiko was hurt.

Knowing she needed to find Ben ASAP before he hurts anymore people.

To be continued...

------

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177 notes · View notes

justporo · 4 months

Text

By candlelight

A/N: Ah yes, you know the drill by now. I play barbies with @velnna's Staeve. And quite often so lately. If you followed me for Astarion, guys, I'm so sorry - but at least he's always in here as well! So this was inspired by something @reijenhere said, namely something along the lines of: what if Astarion notices Staeve has grown first grey hairs. So here we are, thanks again @velnna for letting me play with your son and @reijenhere for the inspo, mwa!

~~~

Astarion woke up in the middle of the night - shaken by nightmares like he sometimes still was. No matter how many years had passed.

The candle on the nightstand hadn’t fully burned down to its butt yet. So warm light still spilled from it, drawing long shadows on the pale elf as he slowly sat up with a silent moan leaving his lips, trying to not wake his partner beside him.

Staeve was sleeping peacefully on his stomach, one arm absentmindedly wrapped around Astarion’s waist, even in his dreams. As if he had felt that his love might need an anchor tonight.

The vampire felt the comforting weight of it as he pressed the balls of his hands to his eyes, leaning his head back against the wooden headboard. With deep breaths, he tried to let the unsettling memories and fear be washed away - piece by piece with every wave of air. Unknowingly adjusting to the calm rhythm of Staeve’s body rising and falling beside him.

And when his tension had eased enough to feel rooted in the present once more, he lifted his hands from his eyes and let them rest gently on Staeve’s arms. One wandered up over it, fingers tapping over the hairs and freckles softly before they wandered further over his shoulder and neck, then his jawline and one pointy ear before they lightly curled in dark green hair.

Astarion observed how the softly flickering light from the candle painted his lover’s skin and added a warm orange sheen to his hair. How it reflected on their matching pair of silver bands on their fingers.

He kept caressing his unaware lover, counted some freckles on his arm while feeling the fine hairs there beneath his fingertips, with his other hand curling strands of silky moss green around his fingers. Astarion’s shoulders slowly relaxed, the steep wrinkle between his drawn together brows flattened as crimson eyes kept wandering over the form of the resting half-drow, along with pale, light fingers.

Then all at once his eyes and hands came to a stop.

The vampire’s eyes were suddenly trained on a single strand of Staeve’s hair twirled around his fingers.

Something there wasn’t catching the light quite like the rest.

In fact, now that he had spotted it, it was blatantly obvious: a single hair that shone brightly in a sea of green. Silver, like the wedding rings on their hands.

Astarion stared at it, eyes wide, his whole body right back to being as tense as it had been moments ago, the wrinkle between his brows deeper than before.

It was hard to spot, even for a vampire and his heightened senses, barely more than a needle in a haystack. Staeve probably hadn’t even noticed.

But once noticed it was impossible for Astarion to overlook.

When he finally dared to let his eyes move further he quickly spotted more: single, painfully light hairs peeking through; on his arm too.

As another kind of dread than before slowly rose up within him, Astarion’s gaze jumped to his lover’s face. And he saw it there too, now that he was aware of it: how the lines around those lips and eyes had become a little deeper, more threatening to be drawn soon.

Staeve was inevitably growing older. While Astarion was doomed to never change.

Thankfully, at this moment the candle died out as it reached its end. It left the room in merciful darkness, forcing the vampire to lose sight of this harsh truth.

He sat there in darkness for a few more moments longer with his mind racing.

Then, void of anything else to do, Astarion softly took Staeve’s arm as he laid down beside him again. Unconsciously in his sleep, Staeve groaned lightly, turned to his side and drew his partner in closer with his arm looped around him until they were neatly cuddled up on their sides.

Astarion was left with his thoughts running through his head.

But he felt the steady rhythm of Staeve’s heartbeat and his warmth slowly sleeping in, his smell and the reassuring weight of the arm wrapped around his waist.

Despite himself Astarion noticed how he was softly pulled back to hopefully more pleasant dreams, his body slowly falling victim to his lover’s calming presence.

Something that, despite anything else, hadn’t changed yet.

#astarion #baldur's gate 3 #astarion ancunin #bg3 spoilers #fanfiction #astarion x tav #staeve #astarion x staeve #drabble #bg3 #staevstarion

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ickadori · 9 months

Note

Cough cough- I’m gonna need some more yandere Geto- (thank you your fics have kept me alive😭)

[cws] yandere. gn reader -> reader was turned into a curse. mahito being his usual self. took some creative liberties w/getou’s absorbing technique thingamajig.

[an] let’s pretend that kenjaku never possessed getou’s body, okay? okay!

“Why is Getou the only one with a pet?”

“Because you always end up killing yours the moment you get bored.”

Your skin prickles as the attention in the room shifts to you, and you hug your knees tighter to your chest, eyes gazing out at the crashing waves of the beach. Impossible. This should all be impossible - this apartment, these people, these creatures.

It didn’t make any sense, but you had learned to overlook it, somewhat. You had been in Getou’s grasp for years now, and when he had slaughtered the people of your village, that’s when you had first been given a look of the once thought impossible. Monsters —curses, he always corrected— had run rampant through the village, some big and some small, some with razor sharp teeth and some with gums that were coated in some vile acid, some with humanoid bodies and others with bodies so deformed it didn’t seem right to call it a body in the first place.

Your parents and younger siblings had been killed in front of you. Their pained and horrified screams had nearly burst your eardrums, and the way they had reached out for you in their last moments had broken your heart, and then you had died right alongside them.

A curse had sunken its teeth into your throat, and the pain had been like you had never felt before. It had been hot, searing, throbbing, agonizing, and you hadn’t even been able to make a sound besides a bloody gurgle. You had died full of fear, despair, terror, and that’s all you had felt since you had been born again.

Getou called you a ‘curse’, explained the basics to you with a patient smile on his face and an oddly admiring gleam in his eye. He had killed you that night, and the whirlwind of negative emotions you had felt at the moment of your death had regretfully brought you back.

The sound of footsteps approaching you makes your head lift, and you suck in a low breath when you see Mahito’s mismatch eyes peering into your own.

“Hello~” He sings, one hand reaching out to pat the top of your head, and when he gets a giddy look on his face, you know that he’s thinking about using his technique on you, the same technique that you had seen mutilate countless humans. “Getou won’t be back for a while…do you want to have a little fun with me while we wait?”

“Knock it off, Mahito.” A burning hot sphere flies inches from your nose, and you jerk back with a yelp, hand immediately raising to rub to where it had singed your skin. “It’s off limits.” You don’t bristle at the way Jogo refers to you, you had grown used to it over the years. Besides, you preferred a dehumanizing ‘it’ (but you weren’t human anymore, were you?) rather than the pet names that Getou called you. Those are what still got a reaction out of you; a grimace when it was tossed your way in greeting, a shudder when it was accompanied with a touch of his fingers against your skin, and a choked sob when it was breathed into your ear in the dead of night.

“I’m not gonna kill it,” Mahito rolls his eyes, and a pathetic sound leaves you when his fingers curl into your hair and shake your head around. “I’m just gonna play with it — I’m bored, Jogo.”

You find yourself wishing that Getou would come back, despite his suffocating presence whenever he was near, and if the world was finally in your favor, the creak of the front door is heard.

The tight grip that Mahito had on you loosens, and you wince as he pats at your sore scalp, his eyes going over your shoulder. “Getou. You’re back.”

“You sound disappointed, Mahito.” Getou nears, and despite yourself, a wave of relief washes over you, your body slowly inching away from Mahito. You’d prefer Getou over the kill-hungry curse any day, choosing the softer evil over the crueler one. “Were you planning to do something to them in my absence?”

“Nothing permanent.” He giggles, and you finally stand up, half of your body shielded behind Getou as you grip at his robes with shaking hands. You notice that his hair smells nice, as if freshly washed, and your brows furrow when you recognize the scent as one you used to frequently use on yourself. “Just something to entertain me. It’s so boring in here, Getou. Jogo is such a stiff, and Choso only ever talks about his weird brothers.”

Mahito’s voice is whining as he complains, and you watch him with weary eyes, silently urging Getou to hurry and brush him off. The curse was unsettling, always making his interest to cause you harm blatantly clear. You were aware that Getou was the only thing keeping him from you, and as much as it made you sick to do so, you desperately clung onto him whenever Mahito was in the vicinity.

Seeking protection in the man that had slaughtered your entire village, your family. How ironic.

“And this one isn’t boring to you?” Getou’s hand closes around your wrist and then he’s tugging you in front of him, his other hand splaying itself over your stomach as he keeps you still.

“Quite the opposite,” Mahito grins, and you cower back into Getou’s chest when he leans in closer. “I think they’re the cutest, funniest thing—aha, look at their face!” His finger pushes into your cheek.

“Getou,” you’re on the verge of sobbing, and you feel his chest vibrate against your back as he lowly chuckles.

“Getou?” He questions, and when Mahito starts ‘walking’ his fingers down the slope of your neck, his eyes trained on the way your chest rises and falls with your frenzied breaths, your hands fly to where Getou is touching your stomach through your clothing.

“Suguru, please.”

“Such a sweet, powerless thing.” He coos, and then darkness is enveloping your vision as he hunches over you, ink black hair cascading around you and blocking out Mahito. His hand leaves you next, and you tilt your head up, Getou’s eyes meeting your own as he smiles.

His arms tighten around you, the solid muscles hidden behind baggy clothing keeping you pinned against him, and you don’t struggle as he pulls you into him. The process of merging with Getou isn’t a pleasant one, but you find yourself pushing harder against him, Mahito’s voice a distant echo as you become one with the origin of all your griefs.

“I’ll shield you for as long as you need me to.”

#getou x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #yandere jjk

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crystalskiesandcherrywine · 6 months

Text

The sound of the waves collide // Part Four

So it is time for the last part.... I still cannot believe that I managed to write something and look forward to post more

This chapter is very explicit - for my taste at least.

Song for the chapter - Alkaline by Sleeptoken

English is not my first language

_____________

Na Baron Feyd Rautha x Atreides!Reader

shameless smut

FxM

All feedback is welcome <3

Part One // Part Two // Part Three

1.695 words

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The encounter with Feyd leaves you so shaken that, come morning, you avoid seeing anyone. It feels childish and less dignified, your mind circling around the memories of the evening like vultures. It's as if he doesn't even need to touch you to make you forget years of training and let your emotions get the best of you. And he visibly enjoys it, your pain and humiliation making it even more luxurious for him. Frustrated and unable to concentrate, you put Irulan's gift away and lie down in a lounge chair on the balcony overlooking the small garden. The sun's rays are softened by the huge trees and reflected in the pond below. Its crystal clear waters appear like a mirror - calm and serene, a painful contrast to your mental state. You close your eyes and try to ground yourself in the moment, repeating the mantra „I am alive in stillness“, but to no avail. The fever that has been ignited within you consumes your mind and body. Your hands seem to develop a life of their own and, as if guided by a puppet master, they find their way to the small band of your tunic. The warm air touches your skin and you close your eyes, letting your fingers slide over your breasts, caressing the nipples that instantly stiffen under your touch. Your hand continues to slide down as your eyes flutter shut. It is almost as if you are picking up where he left off. The heat concentrates under your fingers, and letting your intuition guide you, you move your fingers in circles, dipping in and out of your cunt. The orgasm is so intense that for a second you forget where you are. You can't stop yourself from moaning his name and you feel like coming up for air.

Two days later it is time to say goodbye. Your father kisses you on the forehead and your mother seems to think the same as you - "I will not fear". Letting go of Paul's embrace seems almost impossible, but when all is said and done, you make your way to the Baron's ship. His gigantic form floats in front of you, while your betrothed follows at the same level as you.

Even if he doesn't look at you, you can't help but feel his presence. Each step seems to be part of a well-orchestrated choreography and reminds you of a wild animal, ready to reveal its murderous nature at any moment. At the last glance, you turn your head to see your mothers signing "Good luck" to you with a small flick of her wrist. The connection to what was familiar is tethered and you are not sure of the tumultuous feeling your gut that the now empty space in your soul is son tobe filled with a new home. The change is almost tangible, as if when you pay close enough attention, it glow like a dark halo around you.

Once on the ship, you are left to your own devices. You can call upon servants at any time, but they seem to anticipate your wishes before you know them. Food and drink are brought to you, as well as an army of new clothes. Your favourite is the black dress with heavy beading around the bodice, covering your torso like a shield. Paired with a translucent black veil and a small gold chain around your neck, connected to your torso, it feels appropriate to take your first steps on the planet you will call home.

Your unease is heightened when, upon your arrival, neither Feyd nor the Baron are to be seen. A tall, slender man who introduces himself as Piter de Vries escorts you to the Feeds chambers. You immediately recognise the characteristic traces of spice in his eyes, the only thing that seems to have any colour in this world. Shielded from the harsh black sun, you reach Na Baron's quarters, only to find an army of monochrome grey, white and black surroundings. The palace seems to be the essence of the Harkonnens, with hard, clear lines, yet graceful and spacious.

"If you need anything, there are always two servants at the door," says Piter. The servants resemble guards, but you decide not to share this observation. Piter's eyes linger on the glass box with the fir tree. "Do you want to have a closer look?" You ask. "Only if you don't mind. I have never seen anything like it". "It was a parting gift from my father. On Caladan, fir trees grow as tall as these walls, more of them than you can count. You may take it with you if you promise to return it in one piece tomorrow." Pieter seems to understand your bid for connection and bows his head „I am indebted to you, Na Baroness“ Its the first time some one dresses you with your new title and you barely suppress a shiver. And as if the title was a spell, Feyd Rautha appears in the doorway. Piter bows and leaves at once, holding the precious piece of your home in his hands. He moves so siletly, that you begin to wonder if the planet is not only devoid of color but also of sound. Blood seems to rush to your cheeks as you meet Feyd's gaze. "Is everything to your satisfaction?" His voice echoes. "Yes, thank you, Baron." His arms are behind his back and before you realise why, you see droplets of thick, almost black liquid collecting on the floor behind him. Slowly he unclasps his hands, drops to one knee and holds out a slim silver knife to you, covered in more of the same substance. "Is… is it blood?" You don't know why you question it. "Yes, it is. Please accept this as a token of my devotion to you. It is…" his blue eyes find yours, "the proof that my body will be yours alone. No other being shall touch it."

"Your pets…" you feel almost dizzy as the understanding dawns on you.

"No more pets," he says, still on his knee.

You slowly take the knife and place it on the white table beside you. Some of the blood gets on your wrist. He grabs it and licks it off. While a part of your brain screams that you should be afraid, your body seems to find the spark he struck on Kaitain again. His tongue flicks across the sensitive skin as he rises and begins to undo the buttons on your shoulders, the need to touch him overwhelming you and you reach out with your palm to his cheek. He leans into your touch with more tenderness than you ever expected. But as soon as your dress falls to the floor, pure hunger returns to his eyes. He presses into you and you feel as if your insides have melted on the spot. You try to feel his length through the fabric of his tunic. „So needy, Na Baroness?“ He purrs, enjoying the dominance he has over you. With a swimming motion, he pushes you onto the bed, holding your arms above your head. His tongue descends to your collarbone, moving deeper as he takes one breast in his mouth, sucking the tender flesh. You moan under him, already feeling washed away from any security of a shore into a whirl of need. His tongue continues to drive you mad as he bites you, the pain searing and glorious at the same time. Your hand reaches for him again, but he holds your wrists down as his tongue continues to run between your legs. He looks up at you, and it is the last thing to break the tiny shreds of your resolve. But he doesn't let you go, his tongue still swirling between your folds, drinking in your sweetness. Suddenly your hands are connected and a split second later you realise why: he uses his left hand, with slender, graceful fingers, to push your thighs further apart. You feel wanton and still needy, and as one of his finders curls inside you, you moan his name. "Feyd, Feyd, Feyd." Your own voice seems alien to you, high-pitched and desperate.

"My Na Baroness seems to want more," he smiles devilishly and inserts two more fingers at once. You whimper and throw your head back into the pillows. It feels like the stars are exploding behind you and feel the second orgasm coming as he stops and pulls away from you. You can barely hold back a frustrated squeal. Your body feels hot, the only antidote to this madness his skin on yours. You try to concentrate on his form, seeing him remove his tonic first, then his trousers, leaving nothing to the imagination. His body is pure perfection, not a mark on his porcelain skin, he kneels on the bed again and moves towards you. The tip of his shaft is already pink and covered with pearls of pre-cum. It touches your clit lightly as it settles between your legs. "You'll have to learn to control yourself. So responsive to my touch, so desperate…" he hisses as the black of his pupils replaces the blue, making them almost invisible. His tip touches your entrance and then disappears completely inside you. You feel torn apart and put together at the same time, pain and pleasure mixed into something new, a delicious cocktail of discovery that leaves you drunk and breathless. You want to close your eyes, but he says "Look at me" you hear him murmur and you are lost again. With every movement of his hips, your whole being seems to refragment and reassemble like a kaleidoscope. Your walls convulse around him, his name like a sacred chant. Your nails dig into his back and he lets himself fall, speeding up and thrusting into you with even more abandon. You feel his use of you, your name on his lips. For a few seconds you are speechless, your shallow breaths filling the room. He holds your hips as he lies down behind you, still inside you to the hilt. „Welcome to being my wife, dear Na Baroness“

#dune part ii #feyd rautha #feyd rautha imagine #feyd smut #feyd x reader #feyd x you #dune movie #paul atreides #dune part two #harkonnen #austin butler #cannon divergence #arranged marriage #shameless smut #smut

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m1ssunderstanding · 7 months

Text

Understanding Lennon McCartney Rewatch Part 1.3

Okay can anyone explain the “false hotel registration” thing to me? Does it mean they registered under a false name? So Paul registered under a false name so he could go fuck a girl in his room without getting in trouble with the press? I'm confused. Didn't they bring girls to their rooms all the time without getting in trouble? It doesn't make sense. Why did he feel the need to register under a different name?

Paul, talking about American conservatism, “So many organizations over here that are nuts anyway.” John, “Yeah, they're so far right they just–” tape ends. They really were brave, though. To say what they thought and risk losing what they'd only just got. I wonder who cut the recording.

Journalist: Paul, are you planning to marry Jane Asher? John: scream ‘no.’ Go on. Lol John certainly says what he feels doesn't he?

Paul making fun of the racist question. Good job bud.

The whole “Yesterday” thing is crazy. Like, what a feat, first of all. I think we forget how unbelievably successful the song was.

Second of all, I know John's reaction was childish and mean, but his feelings were valid if you just look at the treatment and reception of “Ticket to Ride” (John's dead mum song). Like objectively yesterday is a better song, but still.

Oh, John. Poor thing.

If “Girl” is secretly about Paul . . . yeesh. It's so obsessive and adoring and simultaneously so disappointed and disparaging. John always has such impossible standards for Paul. “She promises the earth to me and I believe her, after all this time I don't know why.” Um… maybe because he literally did give you the world? At so many points I find myself asking, “what more could Paul possibly have given John?”

People always take this quote as a sexuality thing, but couldn't it also be a conscience thing? Revulsion at taking advantage of the fact that all these women are fans? At the scale of his infidelity? I don't know, am I giving him too much credit?

The thing about Paul, John – and though it drives you insane, it's a big factor in why you love him -- is he's not going to be bullied into anything. If he decides to take LSD it's going to be on his own terms. And I know you think it'll bring you two closer, and you're right, but peer pressure just doesn't work on him. There's no point. You know that.

I LOVE Paul and the Indica. Designing the wrapping paper in secret up in his little attic room, covering over the shop windows so he can do his handyman work building shelves and painting in peace. It's Linda's Paul pre Linda, you know?

John is so good at PR as in making something sound as beautiful and important and powerful as possible. Which is something Paul absolutely relied on John to do and clearly could not do on his own after the break up. Look how John makes them almost into prophets here.

"I really wanted to live in London but I wouldn't risk it." Another thing to make John envious of Paul and resentful of Cynthia. I really wish those two had just never got married.

“I don't object to people having a lot of money, I never did. But I do object to people being stony broke and starving.” RIP John, you would've loved the American “left” of today. But you can't have the former without the latter, sorry.

This picture always gets me. It's ridiculous. Pattie and George. Mo and Ringo. John and Paul. With Cynthia awkwardly by herself. It's funny. It's adorable. It's crushing. And with that quote? It's impossible.

I think Tara Browne is overlooked. Paul brought him home for Christmas. That's a big deal. And John hated him enough to laugh when he read about his death. That's also a big deal. Paul and his messed up social climbing obsession. I do think it's worth pointing out, though, the difference between Paul’s LSD trip with Tara and his trip with John. More on that later.

I really do think they were all staunchly anti-racist for their time, you know, besides John's racist jokes and drawings… but Paul particularly. And I have to wonder where that came from. Did he have empathy for people being judged on appearance and background? Was it partially due to his idolization of black artists? Did Little Richard maybe say something to him about racism in America? Anyone have any thoughts?

Actually, same, John.

Okay and I have to share my hot take on the whole Jesus scandal. It's this: the American right doesn't actually care about Jesus. They care about protecting their hegemony. They didn't like that the Beatles were openly and stubbornly integrationist. They didn't like Paul's comment about their inhumane racism. But they couldn't openly counter that without showing their hand. So they used the Jesus comment as an excuse. If they play the religious persecution card, they get to paint themselves as the victims and therefore the good guys while they take down anyone who challenges the status quo that keeps them in money and power (aka the Beatles).

Maybe I should've had a “poor baby” tally because the number of times I've said that about John in these comments has got to be tally-worthy. I would've driven around in a gorilla suit with you, honey!

It is actually amazing that there hasn't been more speculation on Paul's sexuality with all these serious boyfriends.

Paul tells a story about a time he flew a plane, and how much better he liked it than being a passenger. First off. Imagine being a pilot and just being like “oh, you've never touched a joystick in your life, but you're Paul McCartney? Sure, go ahead. Fly the plane.” But also. His control issues and his confidence are both off unreal. No one in their right mind would feel more safe flying a plane – as someone with a complete lack of experience – than when a licensed pilot is flying it.

Okay I literally JUST learned that Here There and Everywhere says, “how good it can be” not could. Can. And it's one of those in my "for sure this was about John" folder. Okay then. Wow.

The thing is they really did compliment each other's songs a lot more than modern Paul makes it seem like. So I wonder what it was about the “Here There and Everywhere” compliment that made it so special to Paul?

This footage where John is hiding behind McCharmley. I love protective Paul and how different he is to protective John and how much they needed each other.

Hall of Fame quote: “what composer do you respect the most?” “I dunno really. John Lennon.” “Paul McCartney.”

#Sorry this one got pretty political hopefully everyone survived #paul mccartney #the beatles #john lennon #mclennon #ringo starr #george harrison #understanding lennon mccartney #ulm

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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 11 months

Text

Like Real People Do

Pairing: Abraham (Grantchester) x f!reader Warnings: Allusions to smut, mild angst, mentions of pregnancy. Word count: ~2.5k

Summary: Her and Abraham have been seeing each other on the sly for the last six months. Some unexpected news makes her worry she's ruined everything between them. Based on this request.

Author's note: For @bbyaemond. No tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

She gasps as she feels Cora’s hands gently squeeze her breasts through her blouse.

“Sorry, love,” the dark haired, older woman smiles at her apologetically, “it’s one of the only ways I can know for certain. Might be worth you seeing a doctor though, just to be sure.”

“No!” She shakes her head vehemently. “No doctors. If mum finds out she’ll kill me.”

“Seems to me you’re not far along, but give it another month or two and you’re gonna start to show. You can’t hide it forever,” Cora tells her softly. “Does Abraham know?”

Feeling tears prickle at her eyes, she lowers her head, inhaling shakily. “N-no,” she replies, her voice wobbling. “God, Cora, what am I gonna do? Please don’t say anything.”

Cora sighs, stepping forward and pulling her into a tight hug. “I’ll pop some water on to boil and we’ll have a nice cup of tea. That always makes everything better.”

The Romani people had arrived into Grantchester six months ago, setting up camp on Mr. Ruskin’s land. They’d kept to themselves and caused no trouble, so there had been no rush from the farmer to move them on, especially when they were paying him good money to make use of his stables for their horses.

She had been enamoured with Abraham from the moment she’d laid eyes upon him. His intense blue stare and the way it had dragged slowly down her form from top to bottom then back up again had made her skin feel hot.

He felt impossibly tell as he’d approached her and introduced himself, a lopsided smirk upon his sharp, handsome features. From the way her heart raced as she’d told him her name she’d known instantly she was in trouble. She was going to fall hard for this man, and she had.

It was a warm summer’s evening, the sun hanging low and vibrantly orange on the horizon as they’d walked to the top of the grassy hill that overlooked the village, settling down onto its grassy bank.

“I like it up here,” she’d told him, “I come here when I’m feeling sad or worried. Nice to pull my head out of the clouds by being close to ‘em, y’know?”

He’d raised an eyebrow at her, that trademark smirk reappearing and she’d felt for certain he was going to make fun of her, until she’d felt the weight of his arm around her shoulder. It had made excitement flutter in her stomach.

“Pretty girl like you shouldn’t ever feel sad or worried,” he’d told her, pulling a brown glass bottle from his inner jacket pocket and holding it up to her, “Pal’s ginger wine, fancy a swig?”

She’d giggled, accepting the bottle from him and uncorking it before taking a drink. It had burned the back of her throat as she’d swallowed, making her eyes go wide as she’d covered her mouth with the back of her hand, coughing and spluttering.

Abraham had laughed, taking the bottle back off of her and rubbing her back. “Yeah, it’s a bit on the strong side. Go easy with it.”

They had shared their first kiss that evening, and the ginger wine tasted so much sweeter upon his lips than it had from the bottle. His lips pressed against hers firmly, yet felt soft against her own as he’d threaded his fingers into her hair, their breaths heavy as his tongue had slipped against her own.

Every night after that had been filled with his presence, his large hands wandering over her curves as their mouths had moved together.

When he’d pressed inside of her for the first time, as they’d laid against a blanket on the hay, she’d winced slightly, tensing up at the uncomfortable sting. He moved with such self assuredness that she couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy, acrid and bitter in her chest. How many girls had there been before her?

Her worries were immediately pacified the moment he’d sensed her discomfort and pulled back slightly to look her in the eye, his palm cupping her cheek. “Is this your first time?” He’d asked quietly.

She nodded, embarrassment heating her skin, and averted her gaze with shame.

Abraham had grasped her chin between thumb and forefinger, brushing the tip of her nose with his. “Good,” he’d whispered, “that means you’re mine.”

He had kissed her passionately, his movements inside of her slow and gentle.

God, I love you, she’d thought, and every day since then the feeling had intensified.

It had been half a year of bliss, and she had been too wrapped up in her whirlwind romance with her handsome traveller to take any notice when she’d missed her monthly bleed the first time. However, when a second month had passed without any sign of it she had noticed and grown worried. Her breasts felt tender and she was more tired than usual.

The thought of telling her parents she might be pregnant had terrified her, she was sure they’d disown her. Cora was a kind, motherly figure of the Romani people’s camp and had always been welcoming to her, she had felt like the safest option.

Now as she sits opposite her, her hands cradling the comforting warmth of a cup of tea, she knows she’s made the right choice.

“I can’t tell Abe,” says quietly, figures stroking against the delicate china of her tea cup. “We’ve never even said I love you. He won’t want a baby with me, I was just a bit of fun until you all move on again.”

Cora tuts, pushing a plate of biscuits towards her. “You do both of you a disservice. That boy loves the bones of you, anyone can see that. Tell him.”

“What if he finishes with me?” She asks worriedly, her eyes big as she stares across the table at her.

“Then I’ll give him a bloody good clip round the ear,” Cora quips, snatching up a custard cream from the plate.

She feels lighter as she steps out of the caravan, more prepared to deal with the burden she has to bear. Filled with courage from Cora’s words, she makes her way towards the stables, knowing that’s where she’s most likely to find Abraham at this time of day.

Hearing voices as she gets closer, she pauses, listening intently to the conversation, keeping herself out of sight.

“So you’ll be ready for us to make a move once this thoroughbred’s sold then?” She hears Pal ask.

“Yeah,” comes Abraham’s response, “she’s fast, so she’ll sell quick.”

“And what about your missus, is she alright with all of this?”

“She’s a good girl,” Abraham says, “easy going, she’ll give us no trouble.”

Her heart lurches in her chest, her throat feeling tight and she turns and walks quickly away in the direction of home.

She’s a good girl, easy going, she’ll give us no trouble.

The words play on a loop in her mind. Abraham’s easy summer fling, one that will give him no hassle when it comes time for him to abandon her and move on to the next town, the next girl. Is that really all she is to him?

Hot, fat tears roll down her cheeks as she bows her head, wrapping her arms around herself, willing her feet to move faster, so she can fall apart in private. The thought that she is carrying the child of the man who plans to leave her is more than she can handle.

She shuts herself away in her bedroom for the next couple of days, feigning illness to her parents. It’s not a complete lie, the morning sickness has begun in earnest, though she is displeased to find it doesn’t have the courtesy to restrict itself simply to that time of day, and waves of nausea have her crouching over the porcelain at all hours.

This is the longest she has gone without seeing Abraham since they met, and in spite of the fact she knows their relationship is doomed to fail, she can’t help but miss him. When she’s not vomiting up the tea and toast she’s fought to keep down, she’s curled beneath her duvet, fear and sadness gnawing at her. What will she do without him? What will she do with a baby?

It’s early afternoon, and her dad is at work, her mum out running errands, when she sees the small pebble sail towards her bedroom window, dinging loudly off of the glass as it makes contact before falling away again.

She feels a rush of excitement as she looks out to see Abraham standing on the path below, looking up at her. Despite everything she cannot help what she feels for him, can’t deny the effect he has on her. He gestures for her to come down, brow furrowed slightly in concern.

Dread forms a hollow pit in her belly. Has he come to tell her he’s moving on, to end things? She is not sure her heart can take hearing him say the words to her, yet she slips on her shoes and goes outside anyway.

Abraham moves to embrace her, but pauses, stepping back as she hovers by the front door. “Your mum and dad in?”

She shakes her head and he visibly relaxes, posture becoming less rigid as he reaches out and takes her hand.

“Not seen you for a few days,” he tells her, “everything alright?”

She stares at where their hands join together, then up at his face and suddenly it feels as though she can’t breathe. She doesn’t want this to be her final memory of his touch, the clasp of his hand in hers as he breaks her heart.

Snatching her arm back, she swallows thickly, ignoring the way his eyes widen and his lips part slightly in apparent shock. “No. No, I’m not alright,” she says, voice wobbling.

Tell him.

She can’t. She doesn’t want the reason he stays to be because she has trapped him by falling pregnant. She wants to be enough for him, but the fact that he has her and wants to leave anyway tells all she needs to know; she isn’t.

She presses on, not giving him the chance to interrupt her. “I heard you and Pal in the stables the other day. I know you’re leaving, I just wish you’d had the decency to tell me sooner. So, if you’ve come here to finish with me, I don’t wanna hear it. I know. Spare me.”

Her breathing is laboured by the time she finishes speaking and she’s crying once more.

Abraham steps forward, his own eyes watery as he reaches for her. “Please, I–”

“Don’t,” she chokes out, before spotting her mum coming from the end of the lane.

Abraham follows her line of sight and stuffs his hands into his pockets, walking quickly away in the opposite direction, as she steps back into the house. She slams the front door and runs up the stairs to muffle her tears into her pillow. She doesn’t emerge for the rest of the day, falling into an uneasy sleep.

It has been four days since she overheard Abraham and Pal’s conversation, three days since she left the house, and the walls are beginning to feel as though they’re closing in on her. She is desperate to get outside, to breathe in fresh air and clear her mind and body of the heartache that plagues her.

She heads for her favourite hill. The climb feeling more tiring than it usually does, a side effect of her being pregnant she supposes. She wonders if she will have to stop coming here altogether as she gets bigger. The thought makes her sad. She is losing everything she loves.

The tickle of the grass against the backs of her legs as she sits down, coupled with the gentle breeze on her skin, has her closing her eyes, turning her face up towards the sun, enjoying its gentle warmth.

Staying like that for a few moments, she smiles to herself, savouring the first time her mind has been quiet since Cora confirmed her suspicions about her current condition.

She senses the sunlight darken through her eyelids and slowly opens them to see Abraham standing over her.

Her mouth turns downwards, her heart sinking.

He’s come to finish what he started.

“Alright?” He says, long limbs folding as he settles beside her on the grass.

She sighs. “Why’d you follow me here? I’ve said all I’ve gotta say.”

“Good for you,” he says, narrowing his eyes, “but I haven’t, so you’ll listen for once. I’m not leaving you. What you overheard the other day was Pal asking about me planning to bring you with us, you misunderstood.”

Tell him.

“I’m pregnant,” she blurts, acting on Cora’s advice before she has the chance to talk herself out of it.

Abraham’s eyebrows raise, his baby blues widening as he stares at her wordlessly for a moment. Time feels as though it stretches for an eternity, and she worries he’ll simply get up and walk away, but then he smiles, a wide grin that crinkles the corners of his eyes and makes them twinkle.

“Just as well I’m taking you with me when we go then,” he says, placing a hand on her knee and squeezing gently.

She sighs, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms around her middle. “You aren’t obligated to me just because you got me up the duff.”

“I know that,” he says, his hand never leaving her thigh, “but I meant what I said, I won’t leave you, baby or no baby. Look–”

He reaches into his jacket pocket, pulling out a delicate gold wedding band, and she gasps.

“This was me nanna’s. Mam held onto it, wanted to give it to her daughter. Unlucky for her, she had all boys, so she said whichever of us got married first could have it. Been carrying it round since we first kissed, I’ve always known I wanted to ask you.”

“You were gonna ask me to marry you?” She asks in disbelief.

Abraham nods. “I still am. Figured you wouldn’t wanna come with me if I didn’t make an honest woman outta you, and well…I love you.”

She sniffles, resting her head against his shoulder and he wraps his arm around her, pulling her close. “You’re not angry that I’m pregnant?” She wonders aloud.

“Not at all. It’s not happened in the order I thought it would, but that’s life, I s’pose. Just means you might look a bit fat in your wedding dress.”

She huffs a laugh, swatting at him playfully and he grins.

“So, we’re doing this then?” He asks.

“Yeah, looks like we are,” she smiles up at him.

“Good, ‘cause I wouldn’t leave without you.”

#abraham x reader #abraham x y/n #abraham x you #abraham imagine #abraham smut #abraham angst #abraham grantchester #ewan mitchell #abraham fan fiction #abraham fanfiction #abraham fan fic #abraham fanfic #grantchester #grantchester abraham #grantchester fan fiction #grantchester fanfiction #grantchester fan fic #grantchester fanfic

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brunchable · 2 months

Text

We Can’t Be Friends || Doctor Strange x F!Reader.

Genre: Angst(?) || Song MV inspired

Pairings: Stephen Strange x F!Reader

Word Count: 5.2K

Quick Summary: Your relationship with Stephen Strange has been strained to the breaking point by his constant absences and mystical duties. Despite Stephen's attempts to mend your fractured bond, you decide to seek a more permanent solution.

A/N: Lisssteeen, this is not proof read lol. I haven't written in a while, I am feeling rusty so please be forgiving hehe. Every nice interactions are most valued <3

Stephen had been gone for a month for the third time, with no word, no warnings. You had spent countless nights worrying, wondering if he was safe, if he would ever return. And now, as the sparkle of the portal opened and caught your attention, Stephen stepped out, looking weary and worn from his latest mission.

You were waiting for him in the living room, feeling a mixture of anger and frustration, yet your expressions show otherwise. You had been rehearsing what you would say, but now that he was here, the words felt heavy on your tongue.

“You're back. Where in the seven hells have you been this time?” You began, your voice firm but calm, you had that motherly tone when a teen returns home from sneaking out.

“Seven hells pretty much sums it up… can we do this later? I just got back,” Stephen chuckled, rubbing his temples, the tone of your voice grating and adding up to his headache, “I’m exhausted.”

“No, I think we should address this, now,” You insisted, pointing to the ground for emphasis.

Stephen sighed, sensing the confrontation he so wanted to avoid. “Alright, I’m listening.”

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “Stephen, you’ve been gone for a month. No warnings, no pass the message from Wong. . . What is going on?”

“Y/N, you know what my responsibilities are. The world needs me. I can’t just ignore that,” Stephen said defensively.

“A heads up would be nice. Like how you were before. It feels like I’m nothing more than a distraction to you,” You shot back, your eyes narrowing.

Stephen’s expression hardened with irritation. “You knew what you were getting into from the start. My work–my duty is important. Do I need to explain myself every single time?”

“Why are you so defensive? Is it wrong of me to at least know where you are? So I don't worry all the time? At least still show me that I matter to you. Right now, it feels like you and your missions are all that matter,” you replied, rolling your eyes.

“This is ridiculous, Y/N. Clea and I are working to protect this world. It’s not like I’m off on a vacation. I’m trying to keep everyone safe, including you.”

It was impossible to overlook the single name that slipped from Stephen's lips. The air seemed to thicken even more with tension. Your face transformed dramatically; what had been a mask of frustration quickly crumbled, replaced by a deep, probing suspicion. Your eyes narrowed, searching Stephen's face for any hint of deceit, and your heart pounded in your chest, echoing the name that now hung heavily between you.

“Who’s Clea?” you asked, making sure to stress the name you didn't want to say, your voice tinged of disdain.

“Fuck,” Stephen muttered under his breath. A wave of regret washed over him as he realized he should have told you who he was teaming up with sooner. He wondered why he had left out such an important detail, knowing it would have made a difference in your reaction. . . or make it worse?

“Clea is from the dark dimension, I have caused an incursion in reality and I had to go with her and fix it, okay?” Stephen explained it for what it is. . . to him at least.

“So, you were with her every time you vanished without a trace?” you replied, your voice dripping with sarcasm and a barely concealed resentment that felt like a knife twist in your chest.

“Like I said, I had to fix the incursion I caused,” he responded, his tone distant, as if the gravity of his words could shield him from the emotional storm brewing between you.

You stared at him, not caring what he even meant by 'incursion'. Your mind was a whirlwind, fixated on the crushing weight of this new revelation, which felt like an earthquake shattering the foundation of everything you thought you knew.

The man who once made you feel safe and cherished now stood before you, a stranger entwined in secrets and sacrifices you couldn't begin to fathom.

Stephen ran a hand through his hair, clearly exasperated. “I don’t have time for this. If you can’t understand that my work is important, then maybe we do need to rethink this relationship.”

You were stunned into silence for a moment, the weight of his words hitting you like a physical blow. Your throat stings badly as you fight to prevent any tears from falling. “So, that’s it? You’re willing to throw everything away because I worry about you?”

“I’m not throwing anything away, Y/N. All I do is try to save the world. If you can’t see that, then maybe we need to reconsider,” Stephen replied coldly.

“Okay. . .so you find a new partner in crime and the first thing you could think of is to ‘reconsider’,” You nodded, a little laugh might've escaped from you and it triggered something in Stephen.

“Do you hear yourself? You’re acting like I’m choosing Clea over you. This isn’t some petty love triangle, Y/N. This is about life and death, about the safety of the entire world!” Stephen’s voice was now raised.

“Oh my god! Enough about saving the world already! You belong to the world! Alright, I get it! But don't expect me to be nonchalant when you've spent your time ‘saving the world’ with her. Meanwhile I rot in my apartment worried sick if you're even still alive because I only want to belong to you.” Your voice was sharp, cutting through the air, firmly jabbing his chest with your finger

Stephen clenched his fist tightly, the knuckles turning white, as he took a deliberate step closer. His presence loomed over you, casting a shadow that seemed to amplify the tension in the air, “You think it’s easy for me? You think I don’t miss you? I have responsibilities that go beyond us—"

“If you're thinking I am asking you to abandon your responsibilities, I am not. I didn’t think you’d understand me.” You replied, striving to maintain your composure under his unwavering presence and the intense gaze fixated on your face.

Stephen shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “I never hid what my life was about, but you knew what signed up for when you said yes to me.”

“I did but I didn't sign up to be treated like an afterthought,” Y/N said, your voice softening slightly but still firm.

Stephen sighed and was silent for a moment, “So, what then? What do you want me to do? It is so hard to find balance with all this shit happening around us.”

“I don't know. . . whatever I may want, it'll be impossible for you to do,” You said, your voice resigned as you crossed your arms, a gesture of both self-protection and defiance.

Stephen’s eyes narrowed. “And what’s your solution? To just walk away?”

“That was your suggestion first, wasn't it?” You responded, a low, mirthless chuckle escaping your lips.

Stephen looked down, his silence speaking volumes. The decision crystallized in your mind. You turned away, grabbed your keys from the table, and headed toward the door, needing to cool off and get your head straight. The sound of the door closing behind you echoed through the Sanctum, a final punctuation to your heated exchange.

× × × × ×

You gripped the steering wheel tightly as you drove through the darkened streets of New York City. The familiar hum of the engine and the blur of passing lights did little to calm your racing heart. Your eyes were red from preventing a single tear to shed, but the tears came after being alone, blurring your vision and forcing you to blink them away repeatedly.

Your mind was a whirlwind of emotions—anger, sadness, confusion, and a deep, aching sense of betrayal. The argument with Stephen played on a relentless loop in your head, each word echoing with painful clarity.

"Maybe we do need to rethink this relationship."

"Maybe we shouldn’t be together."

You shook your head, trying to dispel the hurtful words, but they clung to you like a stubborn shadow. How did it come to this? How did your love, once so vibrant and full of promise, deteriorated into something so cold and distant?

Your thoughts drifted to the early days of your relationship. The way Stephen's eyes would light up when he saw you, the warmth of his touch, the way both of you would laugh and talk for hours about everything and nothing. You remembered the adventures you shared, the quiet moments of intimacy, and the feeling of safety and love that enveloped you whenever you were with him.

But those memories felt like they belonged to another life, another couple. Now, Stephen was always preoccupied, always focused on his missions with Clea. You couldn’t shake the feeling of being an afterthought, a secondary priority in his life. The loneliness you felt was suffocating, and tonight’s argument had only confirmed your deepest fears.

You pulled over to a quiet spot by the Hudson River, the soft glow of the city lights reflecting off the water. You turned off the engine and sat there in silence, the sound of your own breathing loud in the stillness of the night.

You leaned your head back against the seat and closed your eyes, taking a deep, shuddering breath. You felt a crushing weight on your chest, the sense of impending loss almost too much to bear. You loved Stephen with all your heart, but you couldn’t keep living like this—constantly feeling like you were competing for his attention, always coming second to his duties as a sorcerer.

A part of you understood the importance of Stephen's work. You admired his dedication, his unwavering commitment to protecting the world from mystical threats. But at the same time, you couldn’t ignore your own needs, your own desire for a partner who was present, who made you feel valued and loved.

The idea asking Wong to use the Runes of Kof-Kol had come to you in a moment of clarity during your drive. It was a drastic measure, but it felt like the only way to save yourself from the inevitable heartbreak of this deteriorating relationship. If you both forgot each other, if you became strangers once more, maybe then you could find peace.

You opened your eyes and gazed out at the river, the dark waters flowing steadily under the moonlit sky. You felt a strange sense of calm wash over you as you made your decision. It wouldn’t be easy, and it would hurt like hell, but it was the only way you could move forward without the constant pain of their fractured love.

As you started the car and drove back towards the Sanctum, you knew what you had to do, and you hoped that in forgetting, you could both find a way to heal. The city lights blurred once more as fresh tears welled up in your eyes, but this time, they were tears of acceptance. You were ready to let go, ready to find yourself again, even if it meant losing the man you had loved with all your heart.

× × × ×

After driving aimlessly for hours, you finally pull up in front of the Sanctum Sanctorum. The building looms before you, its ancient architecture shrouded in an almost foreboding silence. You sit in the car for a few moments, gathering your strength, knowing the decision you have made is final. The city is quieter now, the hustle and bustle having died down to a gentle hum in the background.

You take a deep breath and step out of the car, your legs feeling like lead. You walk up to the front door and pause for a moment, your hand resting on the cold brass handle. Memories of happier times flash before your eyes—moments of laughter, love, and a bond that once felt unbreakable. But those memories are now overshadowed by the reality of your fractured relationship.

Pushing the door open, you step inside. The familiar scent of incense and ancient books fills your nostrils, but instead of comfort, it brings a pang of sadness. The Sanctum feels emptier than ever, a reflection of the void that has grown between you and Stephen.

As you walk into the living room, you see Stephen sitting on the couch, his head in his hands. He looks up as you enter, his eyes filled with the weariness which mirrors your own.

“Y/N, you're back,” Stephen says softly, standing up. “I was worried about you.”

You nod, your face devoid of emotion. “I needed some time to think.”

Stephen takes a few careful steps, “I know I haven’t been around much. And I know tonight's argument was... I didn’t handle it well. I’m sorry for that.”

You feel a flicker of acknowledgment at his words, you look into his eyes, the eyes you once found so much solace in, and feel a deep sense of finality, “I need to see Wong,” you say, your voice steady and cold, “Is he here?”

Stephen steps closer, his gaze searching your face for any hint of what you might be feeling. “Are you okay now? About earlier. . .”

“I'm fine, Stephen. Really,” you say with a forced smile. “I just need to speak to Wong.”

“Wong? Sure, I'll summon him for you.” Stephen's eyes narrow slightly, sensing something is off. He didn’t think he’d get out of trouble that easily.

A few moments later, Wong enters the room, his expression pondering about what you might need him for. “Y/N, Stephen said you wanted to speak with me. What’s going on?”

You took a deep breath and glanced at Stephen who remained curious about why you needed Wong.

“Are we able to chat somewhere private?” You asked, your eyes flickering towards Stephen which Wong took notice of.

Wong turned his head towards Stephen and then you, “Of course. Follow me.” He headed towards the door to Kamar-Taj.

He led you to the empty library, ensuring no one else was around, and gestured for you to sit across the table from him.

“How can I help?” He asked.

“I hope this isn't too much to ask. . . but can you please cast the Runes of Kof-Kol on me?”

Wong's expression shifts to one of alarm. “The Runes of Kof-Kol? Those spells are dangerous, Y/N. What could possibly make you consider using them?”

You explained the situation, trying your best to keep your voice from breaking, “Stephen and I... we’re not working anymore. It’s too painful. I need to forget him. I want to move on quickly. I don't want to spend months wallowing in heartbreak.”

Wong listens quietly, his expression softening with understanding. “I see. But you know the risks, don’t you? The Runes of Kof-Kol only erases memories, not feelings.”

“I know,” you say firmly.

Wong nods slowly, his gaze thoughtful. “I understand your pain, Y/N. But this is a decision that cannot be undone. I urge you to think about it very carefully. Take some time to reflect on whether this is truly what you want.”

You shake your head, your decision unwavering. “I've already thought about it, Wong. I’ve thought about nothing else. This is what needs to be done.”

Wong sighs, his expression resigned yet compassionate. “Still, I urge you to give it a few more days. I suggest you stay here at Kamar-Taj. Meditate, reflect, and if you still feel the same, we will discuss it again.”

You nod slowly, appreciating his concern. “Alright. I’ll stay and think about it.”

× × × × ×

After you left the library, Wong stood silently, his thoughts troubled by your request. He knew the depth of the pain you were feeling, but the Runes of Kof-Kol were not to be taken lightly. As he pondered the situation, he sensed a presence lingering near the bookshelves. Turning his head slightly, he caught sight of Stephen, partially hidden in the shadows, clearly eavesdropping.

“Strange,” Wong called out, his tone firm but not unkind. “You can come out. I know you've been listening.”

Stephen stepped out, a mixture of guilt and concern etched on his face. “I didn't mean to intrude. I just… needed to know what she was thinking.”

Wong crossed his arms, looking at Stephen with a mixture of disappointment and empathy. “You heard what she said. She's feeling hurt. . . more than I think you realize.”

Stephen sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. “I know. I know I've been neglecting her, but my responsibilities... the missions... They demand so much of me. I never wanted her to feel like this.”

Wong nodded, his expression softening slightly. “Your duties are important, Stephen. But so are your personal relationships. Y/N came to you because she believed in you, trusted you. But right now, she feels like she's lost in your shadow.”

Stephen's eyes glistened with unshed tears, a rare display of vulnerability. “I don't know what to do. I don't want to lose her, but I also can't abandon my duties.”

Wong walked over to Stephen, placing a hand on his shoulder. “The balance between your responsibilities and personal life is delicate, but not impossible to achieve. You need to make her feel valued and prioritize your time better. She asked about the Runes of Kof-Kol, so she's considering erasing her memories of you. Right now, though, she needs space to think.”

Stephen's breath hitched, the gravity of Wong's words hitting him hard. “She wants to forget me completely.”

Wong nodded solemnly. “She believes it's the only way to move on from the pain. I advised her to stay here for a few days, to meditate and reflect before making such a drastic decision.”

“I can't let her do this. I need to talk to her, to make her understand that I can change, that I can be better.” Stephen closed his eyes, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. He was about to walk away to find you but Wong stopped him.

“Right now, she needs time. Barging in and trying to convince her otherwise might only push her further away. Give her the space she asked for. If she decides to go through with it, we'll deal with it then. But for now, respect her wishes.” Wong shook his head gently.

Stephen glanced in your direction with a sigh, shrugged off Wong's hand, and returned to the New York Sanctum. That night, sleep eluded him despite his restless tossing and turning. No position felt comfortable, not when your scent lingered on his pillowcases.

Anxiety ate him up, twisting his stomach into knots as he replayed the argument repeatedly in his mind. Each harsh word and dismissive gesture haunted him, intensifying his regret.

He had always prided himself on his composure and control, but now he felt them slipping away. The weight of his mistakes pressed heavily on his chest, making it difficult to breathe.

“I should have been more understanding, I should have put myself in her shoes,” he thought, his mind consumed by remorse.

The thought of your hurt expression cut him deeply, more than any physical pain he had ever endured. He realized how much he valued your presence, your support, and the warmth you brought into his life. The fear of losing you was a constant ache, gnawing at the edges of his consciousness.

He was ashamed of how he had dismissed your feelings, how he had let his pride overshadow the love and respect he had for you.

Desperation clawed at him as he searched for a way to make things right, to prove that he could be the partner you deserved. In the silence of the night, he vowed to himself that he would do better, that he would learn from his mistakes and show you how much you meant to him. That is if it’s not too late.

× × × × ×

Two days later, the peaceful atmosphere of Kamar-Taj had failed to ease the unrest in your heart. Despite your attempts at meditation and introspection, the serenity of the surroundings could not calm the storm of emotions within you. Your resolve remains the same. You knew what needed to be done, and it was time to inform Wong of your decision.

You found Wong in the courtyard, meticulously tending to a small garden. The scent of blooming flowers mixed with the crisp mountain air, creating a serene environment that contrasted sharply with your inner conflict.

“Wong,” you called softly, approaching him.

Wong looked up from his work, his expression calm but observant. “Y/N, have you made your decision?”

You nodded, taking a deep breath. “I have. I still want to use the Runes of Kof-Kol.”

Wong sighed, setting aside his tools. “I was hoping you might reconsider, but I respect your decision. . .” he trailed off, noticing Stephen walk towards you, “Give me a moment? I'll back.”

As Wong turned to leave, Stephen entered the courtyard with his presence of authority. He had been waiting for this moment, fully aware that your decision was imminent.

With careful, deliberate steps, he approached you. The air was thick with unspoken emotions, and each passing second felt like an eternity as he stood there gathering the right words to say.

“Y/N,” Stephen began, his voice calm but carrying a hint of vulnerability, his eyes intensely scanning your face for any hint of doubt or hesitation. “Is this truly what you want?”

You jumped slightly, startled by his sudden appearance behind you. “Stephen,” you exclaimed, “What are you doing here?”

“I came to—I just wanted to apologize... that it has led to this. I was wrong…” Stephen began, but his voice seemed to fade into the background as you stared at his face intently, trying to memorize every detail.

As Stephen spoke, the reality of the moment hit you hard. You felt an overwhelming need to imprint his features in your memory: the way his brow furrowed with concern, the earnestness in his eyes, and the subtle lines that hinted at the weight he carried.

Time seemed to slow down, and every second stretched into an eternity. You noticed the slight quiver of his lips, the way his hair framed his face, and even the small scar on his cheek that you had always found endearing.

Your heart ached with the knowledge that this might be the last time you saw him like this, so close and vulnerable. Each detail became precious, a fragment of a moment you desperately wanted to hold onto.

The intensity of your emotions made it hard to breathe, and you felt a lump forming in your throat. Even though Stephen's voice was a distant echo, the look in his eyes told you everything—you were both struggling with the same pain, the pain of letting this story die.

“. . . I love you, Y/N—but if this will save you from the hurt I’ve caused you then so be it. I will cast the spell on you.”

You were taken aback, surprise flickering across your face. “You would do that?”

Stephen stepped closer, his eyes earnest. “Yes. If this is what it takes for you to find peace, then I’ll do it.”

Stephen leads you back in the New York Sanctum, heading towards the ritual chamber in the Undercroft. Each step you took echoed with the weight of what was about to happen. Stephen’s mind was a whirlwind of memories and emotions.

He glanced at you walking beside him, your face a mask of calm determination. Opposite to the storm he knew must be raging inside you. He wished he could reach out, take your hand, and pull you back from the edge of this irreversible decision. But he knew he had no right to, not after everything.

As you descended the final set of steps into the Undercroft, Stephen’s heart ached with regret. He had always prided himself on his ability to solve problems, to find solutions where others saw only obstacles. But here, in this most personal of battles, he had failed. He had failed to protect what mattered most.

Every step felt heavier than the last. Stephen’s mind raced with unspoken words, a torrent of emotions he struggled to contain.

He remembered the early days of your relationship, the way your laughter had filled the Sanctum with warmth, the quiet moments of understanding, and shared dreams. Those memories now felt like shards of glass, cutting into him with each step he took.

He glanced at you again, your determined stride a painful reminder of the distance that had grown between you. He wanted to tell you how much he loved you, how sorry he was for every time he had put his duties before you, for every missed moment, every broken promise. But he knew that words would not change the course you had set for yourself. Actions had spoken louder, and they had driven you to this point.

You reached the entrance to the ritual chamber, Stephen paused, taking a deep breath. The room beyond was prepared, the symbols drawn, the components ready. It was a place of power, of ancient magic, but today it felt like a tomb for the love you had shared.

“Y/N,” Stephen began, his voice soft but heavy with regret. “I want you to know that this isn’t easy for me. I never wanted to hurt you. If I could turn back time and make different choices, I would. But I respect your decision. I hope you find the peace you’re looking for.”

You looked at him with eyes glistening of unshed tears, “Thank you, Stephen. . . I hope you find happiness, I really do.”

With that, you stepped into the center of the circle, and Stephen moved to the edge, his heart pounding in his chest. He began to chant the incantation, his voice strong and unwavering despite the storm of emotions inside him. The symbols around you began to glow, the magic swirling in the air like a tangible presence. You felt a strange sensation, a mix of warmth and cold as the spell took hold.

As Stephen chanted, your mind drifted to the memories you were about to lose. The first time you met flashed vividly in your mind—the way Stephen had looked at you with those piercing blue eyes that seemed to see right through you. You remembered feeling an instant connection, a spark that ignited something deep within you. You had been fascinated by his intellect, his confidence, and the way he carried himself with such purpose.

The mornings you woke up wrapped in each other’s arms, sunlight streaming through the curtains, casting a warm glow on your intertwined bodies. The way he would brush a strand of hair from your face and kiss your forehead, making you feel like the most cherished person in the world. You remembered the laughter, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled, the sound of his voice when he whispered sweet nothings into your ear.

As the incantation reached its peak, a bright light enveloped you, and you felt a sudden rush of memories and emotions being pulled away. The love, the pain, the shared moments—all of it faded into a distant, forgotten dream. Your vision blurred, the light intensifying until it was all-consuming.

Then, everything went dark. You felt your knees give way, the world tilting as you lost consciousness. The last thing you heard was Stephen’s voice, calling your name out of concern as you slipped into oblivion.

When you finally stirred, you found yourself lying on the familiar softness of your own bed, the morning light filtering through the curtains. The familiar hum of the city outside your window grounded you, your arms reaching on the other side of the bed and it was empty. You shook it off, chuckling to yourself.

You sat up slowly, looking around your apartment. Everything was in its place—the books on the shelf, the photos on the wall—now mostly of you by yourself, the cozy blanket draped over the armchair. Nothing out of the ordinary and yet you feel disorientated.

You made yourself a cup of tea, the warm liquid offering a small comfort. As you sipped it, you stared out of the window at the bustling city below. The people, the cars, the rhythm of daily life—it all seemed so normal, so unremarkable. Yet, there was an inexplicable void within you, a sadness that lingered just beneath the surface but you try not to dwell on it.

Days turned into weeks, and while the feeling of emptiness persisted, you found ways to move on. You immersed yourself in work, reconnected with old friends, and took up new hobbies. Slowly, you began to carve out a new life for yourself, one that was no longer defined by the shadows of forgotten memories.

× × × × ×

Stephen sat alone in the Sanctum Sanctorum's library, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows on the ancient tomes that lined the walls. The room, once a place of solace and knowledge, now felt suffocatingly empty. He absentmindedly traced the spine of a book he had read countless times, but the words blurred together, unable to hold his attention. His mind was elsewhere, lost in thoughts of you.

He stood up and walked to the window, looking out over the city. The lights twinkled in the distance, a stark contrast to the darkness he felt inside. He remembered how you used to stand there with him, your hand in his, both of you silently watching the world below. Those moments had been a rare reprieve from his responsibilities, a time when he could just be Stephen, not the Master of the New York Sanctum.

The silence of the Sanctum was interrupted only by the distant hum of the city's nightlife, but it felt louder than ever. Every corner of the room seemed to echo with memories of you—the laughter you shared, the quiet conversations late into the night, the way you used to tease him about his incessant need to organize his magical artifacts. Now, those echoes were all he had left, but he guesses that he at least deserved to go through this heartbreak alone.

Wong quietly stood with him, the silence heavy between them. After a moment, he cleared his throat, “Keeping yourself busy?”

Stephen nodded, his response short and clipped. “Yep.”

“She did brighten up the place, didn't she?” Wong glanced around the room, taking in the emptiness that seemed more pronounced now.

Stephen's eyes followed Wong's gaze, a hint of a sad smile touching his lips. “Yep.”

Wong shifted slightly, turning his head to look at Stephen with curiosity and concern. "So, what's next for you?"

Stephen sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly as he contemplated the question. The thought of waiting was both a comfort and a torment, a reminder of what he had lost and what he still yearned for.

“I don't know... Wait for her, I guess. Wait until our paths cross again, wait until she loves me again.”

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