#even at a time or day that is only mildly dim

[ankylosaurusthesaurus]

guys i almost ran someone over today

[xxsabitoxx]

Confession | Kinktober

Priest Geto Suguru x AFAB Reader

Warnings: religion, sacrilege, fucking a priest, blow jobs, finger fucking, explicit language, squirting, pet names, mild gaslighting

A/N: Day three is here! This one may be offensive to anyone who is religious so please proceed with caution.

WORD COUNT: 3.6K

“Tell me, what have you come here for?” You squirmed a bit against the uncomfortable wooden chair. The box itself was pretty dim, only a small, uncovered lightbulb was illuminating the musty space. Through a mesh window on your left, the man spoke with a gentle tone. “I’ve come to confess my sins to you, father.” You couldn’t calm your racing heart, hands twisting tightly together as you mentally prepare yourself to receive his blessings. “Is that so? Please, my dear, tell me the things that haunt you.” Again, his tone was enough to make you shudder. Although it was gentle, it sparked something warm deep within your gut. 

“You see, father, I’ve been a terribly naughty girl.” You swallowed, eyes shutting slowly as you tried to focus on your own words. “Go on.” This time it was a little less gentle, a little more gruff. It made warmth flood your cheeks, your eyes blinking open in surprise. You knew what the priest looked like, having attended some of his masses before. You knew he was a devastatingly attractive man, one around your age, and one unfortunately sworn to celibacy. That, however, didn’t make you want him any less. “Father Suguru, I’ve done things I shouldn’t have… to myself.” You spoke in a low tone, listening to him hum softly before asking “Like what? What have you done to yourself?” he took the bait, your heart hammering in your chest. 

“I've touched myself, for my own pleasure.” You held your breath, vaguely certain that Father Suguru did too. After a moment of your confession hanging in the air, he spoke up. “Oh? How many times have you committed this sin?” his tone wasn’t as gentle now, rather it held a level of strain to it. You could hear him shifting in his seat on the other side of the small confessional wall. “Many times, father. I’ve lost count… which is why I’ve come to you. I want to be cleansed of my filthy acts, only your generous mercy can free my tainted soul.” You stroked his ego with each word, a devious grin plastering to your lips as you heard him clear his throat. 

“Sweet girl, by his grace I can cleanse you. But for it to truly work, I’m going to need you to be a little more specific. Tell me how you committed this act, recall one of the moments for me.” you could have choked on the little saliva that was in your mouth, heat pooling deep down as you recalled the last time you masturbated. “Oh well, last night I…” You stopped when you heard him inhale sharply, your teeth sinking into the side of your cheek before you asked “Father Suguru, are you alright?” You tried to sound innocent, praying your smirk wasn’t evident in your tone. “I-I’m alright, I was just taken by surprise. I didn’t think you’d be so bold as to touch yourself the night before coming to see me. But by all means…” his tone was mildly condescending “... go on.” 

Your thighs pressed together, alleviating the mild ache just a bit. You hadn’t even gotten into the details with him, yet you could feel your own arousal dampening your underwear. “Well, you see, I was laying in my bed all alone. I got bored, my mind wandered and I started to think about such sinful things, Father. They got the better of me and I found myself kicking off the sheets and using my hands to toy with my breasts.” You swallowed, one hand coming up to hold your breast as you spoke, as if needing a physical reminder for all the things you had done. “A-and that wasn’t enough. I felt so achy down there that I couldn’t help taking my panties off and spreading my legs…” You stopped again, letting it hang in the air as you tried to compose yourself. 

Beyond the confessional wall, Father Suguru was gritting his teeth, trying desperately to even his breathing as his cock started to strain against his pants. He wasn’t supposed to know who was sitting beside him, but your voice was recognizable. What a sinful girl you were, always attending his masses in such short sundresses. Your smile was addicting, just like the way your hips swayed as you walked up to him to chat after the mass was done. The thoughts you made him think, the things you made him feel… you must have been a temptation sent by the devil. But god dammit, it turns out he was a weak, weak man. He couldn’t resist the temptation of you for much longer he feared. Especially now. “And then what did you do?” he breathed out, quieter. 

“Father, is this really necessary?” you feigned innocence again, all the while you were slowly parting your legs. “Y-yes, go on. For your sins to be properly forgiven, you must tell me in detail.” You could hear his voice straining again, threatening to crack if you asked him something else. “Alright then…” you sighed, legs spreading enough for your hand to slip down and press on your aching cunt. You nearly whimpered, swallowing the noise by clearing your throat. “I used my hand to reach down there and play with myself.” You admitted with warm cheeks, the heat radiating from where your fingers were pressing was enough to make you squirm, the old wooden chair creaking as your hips  swivelled. Father Suguru was losing the battle, hand shakily holding his fully erect length and squeezing it roughly in hopes of helping the ache. 

“And?” he said again, as if working on autopilot. “I played with my pussy until I climaxed.” you stated boldly, using two fingers to press directly over your aching clit. You heard it loud and clear now, a deep rumbling groan from the priest beside you. “You know, such a sinful act needs more of a demonstration.” he spoke with a surprisingly level tone, letting go of his aching bulge to stand. You, on the other hand, had frozen in your seat. “A-a demonstration? Father Suguru, I just bore my soul to you by explaining verbally.” But you heard him click his tongue, “Nonsense girl, you’ve yet to bare your soul to me in any capacity.” You pushed your dress down, hand resting on your lap instead of your cunt as you straightened, Through the mesh window, you could see he was standing. “An intervention for a tainted soul like yours needs to happen face to face.” 

You couldn’t help but gasp, watching through the window as he pushed the door to the confessional open and stepped out. A moment later you were standing, shamelessly pushing the door open to stand in front of the clearly worked up priest. “Father Suguru…” you started innocently yet again, as if you weren’t the direct cause of his raging erection. His jaw was clenched tight, his hair out of its uniform bun and instead styled in a half up half down look. It only made you want him more, especially with the way his tanned cheeks were flushed red. His pupils were swallowing the pretty brown of his eyes, his fingers were tugging at the tight collar of his black clergy top. Your eyes zeroed in on the bulge in his pants before trailing back up. 

“You need to get on your knees and beg for forgiveness.” You blinked, eyes roaming the empty pews of the cathedral’s main room. His voice was echoing, sending a shiver down your spine as stain glass windows looked back at you. “Father Suguru I…” you swallowed, truly not anticipating the priest to go as far as he was. You hadn’t gotten this far in your daydreams, because you always convinced yourself the holy man wouldn’t give into temptation. Yet, you were taking a step forward, dropping to your knees before him on the cold marble floor. You felt like you should be ashamed of what you were about to do, not only in front of an altar, but with a priest… a man who swore his life to this work. 

“Don’t speak.” he commanded slowly, fixing you in place with a hard stare. Your lips closed again, any sort of reason leaving your mind as he started undoing his belt with one hand. The other came down to tuck some hair behind your ear, the motion far too gentle for the flames burning in his gaze. “Be a good girl for me, open your mouth and stick out your tongue.” You obeyed, Suguru’s eyes watched with dilated pupils as your pretty lips parted and your tongue appeared. He breathed out through his nose, leaning over you a little as his belt came undone. You flinched as he spit, saliva landing perfectly in your mouth. “Swallow it, sweet girl.” you did, eyes locking with his as you swallowed the contents in your mouth.

“You must really want forgiveness.” He mused, quickly undoing the button and zipper of his black slacks. You nodded slowly, being mindful to remain quiet just as he had asked. “Surely, this is your ticket to salvation.” You held in a gasp as Suguru pulled out his cock. It was certainly bigger than you had anticipated, tanned and long with pretty veins running up the sides. “Father Suguru… please…” you rasped, mouth watering at the sight of his pretty cock. “Atta girl, beg for your forgiveness, you can speak now.” Your lips parted, eyes trained on the oozing tip as Suguru wrapped his hand around the middle of his shaft. He was taunting you with it, moving it side to side just to watch your eyes follow it wherever it went.

“F-father Suguru I… I want to be forgiven for my sins… I want you to cleanse my soul with your gracious hands… Father Suguru please…” you begged him, breathing turning laboured as you waited for him to stop the torture and give you what you wanted. Suguru held his breath for a moment, heart racing as each syllable fell from your lips. “Please… god please.” you were breathless, eyes watering as you looked up at him. “Yes…” Suguru whispered, squeezing his length tightly before taking a half step forward. He was in mouth’s reach now, making your hips wiggle as your lips parted for him. “Please…” you said again, shivering as his second whisper of yes reached your ears. You took initiative now that he gave you his permission. 

You kept your hands folded nearly on your lap, only using your mouth to take him. With Suguru’s guidance, the weeping head of his cock was slipping between your lips. You inhaled through your nose, jaw struggling to open wide enough to accommodate him as you pushed your head further down his length. You were determined to take the priest’s entire cock, you wanted to hear his pretty moans bouncing off the walls of the cathedral. You locked eyes with him, swallowing around him just to see his eyes nearly roll back. You had to wonder if this was the first time he had ever gotten head, maybe this would be the first time he ever got to touch a woman. The idea of the priest above you being a virgin made your cunt clench around nothing. 

Suguru’s lips were parted, letting go of his cock as you began to bob your head, hands obediently on your lap. “Such a good girl… such a good girl… so so good…” be babbled softly, hands coming to cup your cheeks and guide you as his cock slipped in and out of the wet cavern of your mouth. You got off on his praise, fingers itching to sink between your thighs and toy with your clit just as you had described to father Suguru moments earlier. “So good, you’re such a good girl for not touching yourself yet. Surely you’ll be forgiven…” he groaned, head tilting back as your nose brushed the dark mess of hair at the base of his cock before you pulled back again. Each pass over your tongue, each time your throat constricted around him, it was enough to send him into a blissful state of euphoria. It was enough to make him question his beliefs. 

Your mouth was too preoccupied to ask, but you desperately wanted to touch his balls. They were sitting there, taunting you, growing shiny as your saliva cascaded down his shaft. You moved one hand, eyes still locked on his neck and chin since he was tilting his head back, to test the waters. Suguru didn’t seem to notice as your fingers danced up his thigh, tongue still lavashing him as your head moved back and forth in a steady rhythm. You hesitated for only a moment before gingerly cupping him, watching as his head shot forward to look down at you with a shocked expression. They were warm and heavy with his cum, tightening as you massaged them between your fingers. “Oh… good girl…” he said again, voice a little more broken than before as he uttered the same praise for you. 

The repetitiveness of it wasn’t an issue for you, if anything it got you going more. Every time he uttered the phrase, you felt yourself grow wetter, you were certain your panties were absolutely destroyed at this point. “I-I’m going to cum if you keep doing that… is that what you want, sweet girl?” he cooed, regaining a little composure as he spoke to you. You hummed, sending vibrations straight through him and eliciting a moan from his lips. “You want my cum, don’t you sweet girl. You want me to shoot my load right down your throat, right?” you hummed again, moaning around his twitching length as you squeezed his balls a little harder. Suguru cursed, the sound coming from the priest were enough to have your nipples bubbling, brushing uncomfortably against the material of your bra. “Fuck…fuck…” he panted, cheeks flushing a dark shade of pink as his fingers buried in your hair, no longer gentle as he rutted his hips into your mouth. 

You gagged, fully unprepared for the priest to take over the way he had, the sound echoing and only fueling the fire in his gut. Tears welled in your eyes, spilling over and down your cheeks as you let him thrust into your mouth as he pleased, fingers fisting in your hair just as your free hand fisted in the material of your sundress. You inhaled through your nose, lightheaded as the priest abused your throat to his liking. “Gonna… fuck gonna cum… oh yes, fuck… gonna cum down that pretty throat.” you whined, eyes nearly shutting before he commanded you to keep them open. “Look at me, the only way you can be forgiven is if you look at me, sweet-ah-girl.” He gritted his teeth, the pleasure ebbing up the back of his spine was going to make his knees week. Dutifully, you kept your eyes on him, watching his jaw go slack before he finally came. 

You flinched, throat constricting at the extra intrusion but relaxing a moment later. You swallowed, mildly disappointed he had waited until he was nearly down your throat to cum. You didn’t get to taste much, not until he drew his hips back and the salty taste dragged over your tongue. Suguru was panting, watching you reach up to rub your aching jaw as he tried to even his breathing. “You’re on the road to forgiveness, sweet girl. But I don’t quite think you’re there yet.” You looked at him with mild hurt, you had thought you had done so good. “Be a doll and strip for me… sit on the pew and demonstrate your sins from last night.” the priest was tucking his now softened cock away, trying to act as if he weren’t flustered in the slightest. “Father Suguru…” you spoke, voice slightly raspy from his use. 

“Yes? I believe I made myself clear.” he watched as you stood to your full height again, pulling your sundress off with no shame. You held his gaze as you pulled your ruined panties down, making sure he could see how destroyed they were before dropping them on the cold marble and walking down the few steps to the first row of pews. “I would much rather instruct you, I think it only makes sense for your pure hands to cleanse me of my sins in the deepest way.” You sat on the cold, polished wood, looking up at him where he stood on the elevated stage. He seemed to ponder your implications, huffing out a laugh before responding. “I guess that makes the most sense, you’re quite a smart, sweet girl.” You smiled at him, spreading your legs and moving to plant your feet on the pew. You were fully spread, the position mildly uncomfortable but you couldn’t really think past that point as cool air met your slick, displayed cunt. 

“Father Suguru, please… I want to be pure.” you coaxed him down, watching as he took shaky footsteps before dropping to his knees before you. “Tell me, sweet girl. Tell me how you indulged yourself and tainted your soul… let me save you.” You shivered as his fingers trialed up the bare skin of your thighs, brown eyes observing your cunt dutifully. Your hands found their home pressed flat to either side of you, supporting you against the polished wood. “My clit… I played with it until I left a wet mark on my sheets… I didn’t let myself cum for a long while…” you breathed out, watching as he nodded, cheeks red and lips glossy as his tongue swiped across them. “I see…” he started, moving one calloused finger to swipe up your slick folds. “...like this? Gentle strokes and circles, right?” he used his thumb to press against your clit, rubbing it in circles until he felt you twitch. “Y-yeah…” you sighed, head falling back. 

Suguru smirked, not moving any quicker. Your pretty sounds began to fill the empty cathedral, your arousal dripping down to the polished bench below you. He was careful with his movements, slowing until he was barely moving when he noticed you clenching around nothing, trying to draw your orgasm closer. “Be a good girl and let it happen… don’t force your body to cum because you think I’ll leave you hanging, sweet girl.” you whined, releasing the breath you didn’t know you were holding until he said that. You forced your head back down, face warm as you realized he was still intently staring at you. Granted you had done the same to him as you got him off. “Tell me, is this how you were sinning last night?” Suguru waited until you were about to speak, using two fingers and slipping them straight into your slick core. “Y-yeah…” 

Your body tensed again at the intrusion, moaning loudly as he massaged your walls. “I promise you, sweet girl, I will cleanse you.” he cooed, eyes focusing solely on you as he gauged your reactions. He would find that one particular spot, he was sure of it. “Please Father Suguru… cleanse me…” you cried out as he brushed it, a smirk curling the ends of his lips as he pressed his fingers into the front of your walls, thumb still sloppily rubbing your clit while his other hand squeezed your thigh. “S-Su…Father Suguru…” you croaked, tears leaking down your cheeks as he abused that one spongy part of your cunt. You couldn’t think straight, mind blanking completely as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you. “Go on, sweet girl, cum on my fingers.” He encouraged, voice so gentle you would have never guessed he was knuckle deep in your cunt. 

Suguru could feel it of course, your walls fluttering and twitching around his fingers as more and more of your slick arousal slipped out of you and down to the pew. “I’m gonna cum… Fa-ahh” you couldn’t get the rest out, hip jerking as your orgasm hit you before you could truly prepare. You cried out, the noise bouncing off of the cathedral walls as the priest continued to finger your cunt and circle your clit with his thumb. “S-Stop oh fuck s-stop…” you wheezed out, an unfamiliar feeling building in your gut as he continued to abuse that one spot with his fingers. “No, this is what you need, sweet girl, let it happen.” he encouraged, lips parted as he watched where his fingers had disappeared inside of you very intently. Your eyes screwed shut, trying to fight off the feeling but it was useless, the priest was unrelenting in his movements. 

Shockwaves of your orgasm turned into a full blown tsunami, your head falling back as a gush of fluid sprayed out of you and onto the bench and marble floor below. You cried out, his name mixed somewhere in the jumble of your babbling, utterly embarrassed. Finally, Father Suguru stopped, withdrawing from your body entirely and getting off his knees. “Sweet girl, what a mess.” he scolded you, a devious grin on his face still as he looked your wrecked frame over. “You’ve been cleansed, pretty. But I would argue that we should double… or even triple check to make sure it’s really working.” Your body felt heavy, eyes lidded as you merely nodded, cunt still fluttering at the thought of getting more of the priest before you. 

“I’ll make sure you are pure, my sweet girl.”  

[writella]

Screwed Up and Brilliant

Synopsis: Negan is ready for you. Daryl isn’t; and maybe he’ll never be. Negan makes that clear to you tonight.

Details: Negan Smith x fem!reader, Daryl Dixon x fem!reader (mentioned), Negan is a bad guy but there is nuance— at least I hope I accomplished doing so, angst, guilt, forbidden love, probably super stereotypical, reader at the Sanctuary, moral dilemma reader (but you got to understand, they’re both so fine!!), I feel like I need more cws but I can’t think of them and of course, smut, 18+: consensual, unprotected, vague dacryphilia, soft? dom!Negan, lite daddy kink, fingerings, riding, and basically just Negan blowing your brains out… but not in the walker way— the good way, the way we like. Amen.

A/N: Could you believe I started writing this in October or something? This is my first time writing Negan and I’m scared I may not have gotten it right so definitely feel free to give notes! This is set during season 7/8, I’m picturing Negan at the end of 8 and later seasons but there’s something about him older that gives me heart eyes everywhere, but whatever you prefer makes me happy. Anyway, from my heart, and maybe somewhere a little lower, to yours; with love from writella. ♡

You’re screwed up and brilliant, look like a million-dollar man; so why is my heart broke?

—— LDR, Million Dollar Man

The space was clean; minimal. The kind that let out no secrets of the owner that inhabited its insides. And of course there were the little things that let out some slight details: the ashtray on the nightstand— a smoking habit; a ring, a metal chain, another of black rope— an unsuspected, albeit small, interest in jewelry; the bottom nightstand closed by a lock—mysterious and cautious, though that was to be expected. It was only reasonable he’d have something he wanted hide. But other than that, Negan’s bedroom was quite unreadable; almost purposefully mundane.

There was a fireplace, a window at the corner, and a bed at the center. It had a dark, brass, rusted headboard that leaned against the wall. Two pillows at either side. The sheets were white, and the large blanket was of fur, a tan or medium brown, it was thick and heavy. Probably unnecessary for the approaching spring heat, but it adored the bed end well; matching the other bronze, or brown, wooden and darker aspects of the room. Even the light from the small fire, though you could see clearly, made everything mildly dim— the Sanctuary wasn’t known for its brightness after all.

And truly, nothing in this bedroom, or in this fortress of a place could be described as anything close to bright. Unless you counted the sun outside in the courtyard, or the largest fireplace that blazed in the main hall, or Negan’s piercing, priceless smile— so pristinely white, so wide it almost looked painful to perform. There was an eeriness to it as well. That was at the forefront, and everyone saw it. With the way he maintained their cleanliness, it was something that could look so pure, so put-together on any other; but on him, its power could scare you into worthlessness. It’s the one he used when he told someone what to do even if they hated it; it’s the one he used when killing someone’s best friend.

It’s also the one he used on the first day he ever spoke to you. The first time that truly mattered, really.

It was during Negan’s first supply gathering at Alexandria.

You still remember it well.

Your faces filled with desolation, but chins held high; you were strong— good at hiding the pain, the fear— only straight, pokered eyes and mouths allowed as everyone silently agreed with you. You had told Negan that Maggie was dead.

The Widow, he had coined her. The wife of your good friend that he killed— so generous a man was Glenn, even when he wasn’t trying to be. And she’s your friend too, brave Maggie. That’s the one he wanted, but as far as he knew, she was gone.

Thank God, you thought, Thank God, yes, indeed, until—

Negan’s eyes glazed over your frame for just a moment too long.

You weren’t speaking anymore. You kept it short enough. He should have turned his attention back to Rick but he didn’t.

Where there was sly roguery in Negan’s eyes, anxiety weld in the looks of all others: Rick’s throat tensed and tightened uneasily, sweat trailing down his curls and onto his forehead; Rosita’s jaw clenched with bitterness, brows furrowing under her green khaki cap with anger; and then there was Gabriel: his eyes turned from solemnity and pretend peacefulness to wide bewilderment. The plan you two exchanged had worked: you would tell Negan of Maggie’s passing, as per your idea, and Gabriel would swiftly solidified your lie by saying he was the one who officiated the short funeral. But then, another problem arose; one where he could be nothing else but helpless in aiding you. What was he, or anyone to do? It was easy to help Maggie, she was more than twenty miles away. But you, you were here. Right in front of him.

“Wait a minute…” Negan’s pointer shakes lightly by his temple, his mind turning curiously. “You.” He said, shooting his finger in the direction of your chest.

His smile, mischievous as ever, only grew wider as a moment passed and he made his realization: “You’re the one with that- tight- grip!” He balled his raised hand into a fist as he said it. A slight snicker came after, proud of his entendre. “My men were tryna put Daryl in the trunk and you latched onto his foot like it was your dying- act- which—” you attempt to lessen the startle in your eyes at his upward hitch in tone, “—it most certainly could have been.”

Negan comes closer now, his face nearing your own, “But you know better now, right?”

Obviously, you did not.

Or you would have stayed home, not given him the chance to remember you as he said he would after your nails could no longer claw into Daryl’s ankle. He was thrashing too much and Negan’s men pushed you away; they were too strong together against the two of you. They kicked dirt in your face for it, held a gun to your head until Negan told them to stop. His point was made with your two friends he had killed, no need for another— especially not one who amused him like you had just done.

‘DAYUM. She is surprisingly strong!’ He had yelled, ignoring the weeping faces of you and the group kneeling in a line on the ground; sweat, blood, and tears dripping everywhere. ‘And I do like ‘em loyal…’ He had given you a once over while telling his men, ‘Hands off, gentlemen,’ and before returning his attention back to Rick, he added, ‘I’ll keep my eye on you.’

And he did.

You made an impression.

Now you’ll pay.

Rick should have told you why he wanted you to stay with Judith. He remembered what Negan said too. He remembered what Negan said to everyone. He couldn’t forget. But maybe it didn’t matter. It was only the start of Negan’s day here. Maybe he would have found you anyway.

Rick would feel it was all his fault nonetheless, but all you could think about is how truly, it was your own, and no one’s at all.

The sun allows glints of wickedness to sparkle in the whites of Negan’s teeth as he continues imparts his demand, “From now on, don’t stop me when I’m giving an order, okay?” It’s like you can hear him underlining his words just with his darkened voice. Turning his waist, he extends his hand to everyone as he finishes, “And that goes for all of you.”

You force your face to remain leveled as he meets your eyes again, that cheshire look returning directly toward you. He curls his head to the side, whispering near your profile, “So… you’re his girl, huh?”

Your mouth becomes slightly agape. You don’t even realize it before you can try to close it. He asked the question of aversion, or at least that’s what you assumed it was to Daryl.

You knew it was just his way, that speaking about things like this might have not been his strong suit. Besides, there were more things to worry about almost all the time, but it still hurt to know that when asked, the only complete and honest answer there could be was no.

Your eyes trail down slowly, desperate to avoid his, and Daryl’s face— a few feet away from you— turning to the side, looking at nothing. He could not hear what was being asked, but maybe Rick did, Rosita and Gabriel too. It was unclear, but their eyes prodded with more tension, more worry, Daryl could register that, and even more so, he could not stand Negan’s face that close to yours; he was probably trying to make an advance on you, scare you, or both. He pretends not to care, but ultimately it’s useless. Negan detects your expression and turns to look at Daryl’s; he notices both failing attempts at impassivity.

“Oh,” he muses, voice returning to its normal volume, “or not, my bad…. I guess that does make more sense though.” He speaks louder now, casually, like he’s a close friend consoling you about your boy troubles, “I personally haven’t been able to hold a conversation with the guy either, and I’m just tryna be friends.”

Daryl was right. Negan was weaseling his way in. He snarls because of it.

Only Dwight hears this and sends him a warning glare.

You feel the sweat beading from your hairline to the nape of your neck. The danger felt from Negan’s presence was as thick as the sun’s heat that shone directly on the cemetery grove. It’s hard to look up and especially to look at him directly for that long as if he truly was the fire in the sky, so you look down again.

Negan pats your shoulder sympathetically, his hand then going to hold up your chin, his thumb tracing your jaw softly.

It makes Daryl’s arms twitch and his stance jerks forward, but he’s pushed back, Dwight beating him on the chest. It’s only once but you can hear it, everyone heard it.

It only makes Negan’s grin become more sly because— there it is— a reaction; an answer. It makes what he’s about to do that much more sweet: “Fuck, darlin’. I’m sorry. Idiot,” he tisks. Then more quietly he adds, “I’m not one though.”

This time it’s for sure: Rick caught that, and Rosita too. They give each other an alarming look as Negan continues to trail over your dispirited form, like a wilted flower. His hand lowers back down to your shoulder, then trails to your arm, to the elbow, and then off of you entirely.

Despite the feeling of Lucille under his grasp telling him he shouldn’t, Rick urges himself to speak before Negan says what they all know is coming. “Negan,” he starts, swallowing the slight shake in his voice, “would you like to see the pantry—”

“Did I ask you to speak, Rick?” Negan states, his frame still positioned in front of you. “I’m thinkin’ here… I’m thinkin’… particularly, that you should come with me.”

Daryl makes a sound that you couldn’t hear, for Dwight was already barking a “Shut up,” at him. Only the swat he gives to Daryl’s shoulder is what is once again heard by all.

You almost choke on your gasp, but you hold it in. Only letting out the faintest sound as you ask, “What?”

“You heard me,” he plainly says. “I mean, what do you even do here anyway?”

You almost felt embarrassed to answer.

“No, I’m askin’. Seriously. Does Rick actually utilize you?”

As you begin, your voice is still quiet, “I… I work in the garden, with the produce… I help tutor the kids… I go on runs, gather supplies. I cook. Help with weapons maintenance, I—” you stop, realizing your grocery list of jobs probably sounds pathetic to him, you’re like a chore boy, “— I do a lot. But everyone does.”

“Hm,” Negan responds, playing with his nails nonchalantly. Your thoughts come to fruition with his next words, “So you’re just everyone’s helper?”

He noticed the sad offense emanating from your eyes, so he raised his hands, “And those are important things to do, I mean it. It must mean you know quite a bit from everyone, that’s smart, and there’s no trouble in it. But… I saw you. I think you can do more.”

“How?” You can still only gasp out your words. “I’m not Maggie. And she’s not here.”

“No.” He brings up one finger, “But you’re clever,” you look at him confused as he brings up his middle finger to join the first, “and quick on your feet, that I now know.” A third and fourth finger comes up, “You’re strong, you’re loyal— things I’ve stated before.” Then the fifth he says with a smug smile, “And you’re a looker, I must admit.” He moves his hand to one side of his mouth, pretending to secretly tell you, “But that’s just a plus,” he winks. “And more importantly, it seems to me that just like most people in Prick’s community, you are undervalued and not paid attention to whereas I see potential.” He says it all so simply, he truly believes he’s offering you so much better that he finally ends by saying: “Hm. Yeah. I think you’ll be much better off with me.”

And so, with no true goodbyes said, in a van you went after Negan’s visit was done. A different one from Daryl’s, of course. Taken away from the first home you had in ages.

Before the trunk door closed, Negan gave you parting words: “You see?” He had said, “I told you I’d remember you, didn’t I?”

The words rang in your ears for the entire ride as they still do now, even more or less than two months later as you sit in his room.

Your heartbeat started to rise little by little as time went on and he hadn’t arrived. With the window allowing you to escape into thought, you were left to think about the last couple of days, and specifically, the last time you were in here:

You were sitting with him on his bed. You had asked if you could talk about anything other than the world you two lived in now, and surprisingly, he obliged. It was nice. Sometime later, he had finally opened that locked drawer.

You heard him suck his teeth, what he was getting seemed lost, which allowed you to take a closer peek inside.

There was a picture of a woman. The first wife? The only real one? You couldn’t tell and you wouldn’t ask, it would have been too much. You didn’t even get a good look at the woman anyway— part of her face was covered and he was fast. But he saw your eyes, so you decided to take note of the books you caught a glimpse of, pretending it was the only thing you saw. You try to think of something to say… It did make sense he was a reader, at least even mildly if that was all it was. The way he describes his ideals, his persuasiveness, his diction— it impressed you, even if you disagreed with a lot of it. It was almost ironic that the only cover you saw was of a dictionary, the more valuable ones probably hidden under. “Is that where you get all your big boy words from?” You asked.

“Some of them,” he joked back, composing himself.

It was strange to almost catch him off guard. It was so unlike him to allow it, but what happened next felt even more surprising.

Whatever he got from the drawer was enclosed in his hand. He put the free one on top of the other as he started, “Now… I don’t want you thinking I’m growing soft on you. I just thought you deserve it because—” and then his voice fades. Even Negan, the ever curse-filled wordsmith, was finding it hard to describe in any other way that he was pleased with something as absurd as you not trying to escape anymore. He knew you would probably think that was the only reason for a gift, but then he opted for something that even you couldn’t help but know was equally true, “You don’t seem to proactively hate me anymore. You’re here. I appreciate it, so I wanted to,” he says sincerely. “That’s all.”

Negan opened his hand, resting the piece in your palm— it was a locket; lovely and rusted floral engravings all over it.

You felt sad that you thought it was beautiful, and even worse for knowing the reasons why he was giving it to you. No wonder his voice had faltered.

You remember the soft shock and awe on your face, how you said thank you and how your face felt so hot when you said it, how he asked you to turn, and how you looked at him from behind you after he put the piece on. He was so close and it felt like he was coming closer. You don’t remember if that part was real, but you can see it so clearly that it must have been. Unfortunately, the only thing you remember for certain is that knock at the door that sent Negan away to handle whatever was going on downstairs.

Had you almost let him kiss you? Would you have liked it? Are you the most deplorable person for even thinking that while Daryl was somewhere else locked up at the time?

“I see they delivered my message.”

You return from your daze, your startle leaving as soon as it comes.

It was just him. There Negan finally was.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to just come in. The door was unlocked.”

“I knew the meeting was gonna go longer than expected; thought you might as well make yourself comfortable.” He gestures to you, “which I see you did, and no—“ you were getting up from his bed, “it’s fine.” Negan sets Lucille near the door. He walks over to you, sitting down on the edge of his bed as well. There is a bit of distance between you two.

“You know, I came back the other day,” he informs, “I was actually going to talk to you last night, but then I heard you tried to leave. Again.” His eyebrows furrow, “We still on that?” He asks. “Thought we had a breakthrough the other night.”

“But after Carl—“

“—Carl,” he interjects, “came here all by his badass self, and for that, I did not lay even my pinky fuckin’ finger on him.” His hand goes to his chest, “I even took him home like a gentleman. And after I got here and found out they put you in a cell without supper, I had you back in your bed before midnight yesterday, so I’d say I’m doing pretty well.”

“Seriously?” Your incredulity is hidden under the softness of your voice as you say it, but it’s cracking.

“As a heart attack. It’s your ex-people who don’t listen. At least I was nice this time.”

You sigh heavily, docility officially fading. You shake your head with a slight chuckle, “That’s hard to believe. Especially if you were gone for most of the day. I know what that means. You had whatever the fuck your version of fun is.”

He grits his teeth, holding his words back. You’ve gotten a little too comfortable with the back talk, and you especially shouldn’t be saying anything after the night you had yesterday, but he allows it.

This time.

Of course, he didn’t like you leaving, but he rather that it was Daryl who escaped than you. And based on the bruises: one on the side of your head, one high on your shoulder— he imagines you might have gotten pushed against a wall— and the light ones that littered in a couple of spots on both your arms— he could tell his men must have been rough with you as they brought you back. He didn’t like that; therefore, he lets you quip. Someone would be getting their own bruises for it some time later anyway. He would take your smartass mouth out on them to cover for it.

“Maybe,” he finally says. “Nothing was undeserved though.”

You breathe in, the back and forth was no use. “What happened yesterday?” You asked, losing the sarcasm. Your eyes peered into his for honesty, hoping to skip the sly replies and get to the truth. “Just tell me what happened at home.”

Home. You knew better than to use that word. In fact, you have just stopped using that word. He let out an exasperated laugh, but skipped the lecture. “You want the truth? Or just the SparkNotes?”

You roll your eyes lightly. You probably don’t even notice you did it. Despite the situation being discussed, it makes Negan’s head turn endearingly— your tone of voice, the things you say, the way you react to him… you still don’t realize how fresh you’ve gotten with him, how comfortable. But he sees it.

“Alright. Well, Spencer’s gone.” He reveals offhandedly, replying to your silence.

Your eyes do not widen, you know what gone means. You simply nod and try to not think about how the now-cleaned bat most likely looked before.

“And don’t tell me that you care,” he says, pretending to interject to your continuing silence. “You gotta know he was a small dick nepo-prick, right?”

You bite the inside of your lip, shaking your head slightly. You won’t give in to a cheap joke even if it was pretty accurate, so he beckons you by name, “C’mon, that was funny.”

Still, you give him nothing.

He sighs; taking off his leather; and sits near you on the bed, his hands cupping the ledge. “Thought we were finally over this quiet thing.”

“A lot has happened this week.”

“Like…” he prodes. He would only talk about it if you brought it up.

Your eyes shut tightly before opening again. You didn’t want to say it, but you had to. “You know what. Daryl.”

He states the fact plainly, “Daryl left you.”

“Are you kidding me?” Your voice is fierce now. You can’t believe it. You won’t. “He’s not that kind of person and this isn’t an easy place to get out of— I obviously know that— he wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I know,” he jeers, “but he did and he didn’t bring you with him. Even though you were found trying to find his cell. That’s some real idiotic bullshit right there, isn’t it? From both of you.”

You glared at him hotly, you wouldn’t give it up, but unfortunately you had no rebuttal. Both of you would just continue on with the same argument, the conversation going nowhere. And not because either side knew they were completely right; in truth, neither of you actually knew what happened the other day. But in this regard, you felt there was no other choice: you believed in Daryl fully.

Because he wouldn’t.

He couldn’t.

Right?

You continue shaking your head, trying to find something to say in retaliation as you feel your sureness withering. Separating you two was the smartest tactic. You now have nothing to hold onto. “He wouldn’t,” you repeat pathetically, “I don’t believe you.” Unfortunately it’s not quite enough, so he continues with a rant you know all too well.

“You don’t believe me?” He cups the ends of the bed more tightly, positioning himself closer to you. “When I’m the one who gave you the safest roof? Secure food, clean water, access to all these pretty dresses, which, I know you’ve become accustomed to—” and here it comes— “I saved you!”

Saviors and their “saving,” you sneered at it. What bullshit. “You didn’t save me.”

“But I gave you someone to talk to… Huh?” He taunts, waiting for your response but nothing comes. He uses it to his advantage, “You’re quiet cause you know it’s true.”

But you know something too. He says it before you can.

“Or fuck, maybe I just gave myself someone to talk to.”

You pretend you can’t hear the earnesty in it. “Stop,” you scoff. “Don’t treat me like I’m special. I was the second choice.”

“I think with my dick sometimes. You’re the only choice.”

You start to shake your head, your face is flushed; scared, hot, and a little bit of something else that you refuse to let out. Then the tears come— the room feels so big and you two are so close and there are so many feelings you’re trying to push down. “It doesn’t matter,” you say wearily, “You took me. And you took him. You hurt him, I saw his face.” Your voice begins to tremble, almost in unison with the tears that peak out on your eyelids. “And that outfit you put him in. He didn’t even look me in the eye.”

“Stop,” he warns.

“You didn’t even let me see him.”

“He doesn’t notice you.”

“You don’t know us.”

“I know you.”

“You don’t know him.”

“I know you’re not happy… What about the other night?”

You ignore him, shaking your head: “You hurt my friends.”

“What about the other night?” He persists, his voice slowly growing louder. “What about every time I let you sit in on my meetings? What about how you have your own room? What about how I actually talk to you?”

“You let him get hurt—” the tears start to fall, there is a quiver in your voice but you still match his near shout, “And you almost killed Carl—”

“Shut up.”

“And you killed Abraham—”

He warns you by name.

“And Glenn! Maggie’s husband—”

“SHUT. UP.”

“The baby won’t have a father, Negan!”

His voice is low and grim as he demands you to “Stop. Now.” Negan grabs the sides of your neck as he says his next line, it comes out brisk and harsh and heavy like his touch as his hand wraps around your neck. “I knew you lied to me.”

Your voice is hushed, feeling his lightly pressed thumbs on the front of your throat as you speak shakily, “I’ve never lied to you.”

“Maybe not since you’ve been here, but did you hear yourself right now?” He pauses, allowing you a second to let it sink in. “You just fucking proved it.”

Your eyes widen at the realization. The baby, you had said. Fuck.

“See? Told you, you were smart.”

And he did. Brave Maggie. Clever you. That was his reason number one.

“You have to get why.”

His voice remains eerily calm. “I do.”

Another tear falls and his thumb presses its pad under your eye, spreading a tear on your face as the next one comes down.

“Negan…” you say. It’s a mix of a warning and a plea but you can’t tell for what, both fear and fire mix together because of his proximity. His touch and stare was dangerous, you wouldn’t be surprised if he was pleased he caught your slip up, thrilled to see you cry, but there was also something about it— his touch, his eyes— that was equally intoxicating. There was something more tender there as well, something you didn’t want to turn away from, he wasn’t as rough as you thought. Nonetheless, your answer to these conflicting feelings are ones of neglect, you stay your course. “You’re a bad person,” you tell him.

“Please,” he whispers back, “just stop.”

His eyes glaze over your features with an intent look you’ve only seen once before, it was that other night in fact. It’s almost gentle, but maybe it’s just pity, so you don’t let it stop you. “But you are.”

“Stop,” he pleads, then it’s hushed, “just stop…” he says, “just stop.” Then he starts coming closer. “Tell me to stop.”

And you know you should get up.

You should, you should, you should, you know it but— you don’t.

You breathe into it.

His lips latch onto yours; your heads tilt; you lock perfectly.

Everything after happens fast, the instantaneous mess of it all: he waited and waited, and of course he would. He was waiting for you to see it, to feel it. He thought the other night was the breakthrough, but no, it was tonight, it was how you didn’t back away just now.

His hand goes lower on your leg, nearing your knees so he can get under your dress, trailing up your thigh, reaching the inner side that’s pressed up to the other one.

His hand on your neck brings you in closer, traveling up to under your chin and jaw, holding you so tight, but so sweetly. All you felt was surprise. He slips his tongue in, it's deep and intense. He brings a velvet warmth that you’d never expect from him. It was paradoxical; a fiery heaven of a feeling.

He starts rubbing your clit over your panties, kissing his way up to your ear as he does so to ask, “When’s the last time someone’s fucked you?”

Your lips are parted, but you cannot speak, so he continues.

“Daryl never did, did he?” He asks in a muffle, continuing to kiss and kiss. “Who was before him?”

Again, no verbal response, but your breath does hitch at his touches. He continues to draw circles, your wetness now slowly dampening the material, making it easier for his finger to place itself between your folds, so he dips his hand under the band. That and his whispering makes you feel a kind of spark that shoots all the way down to where his fingers are touching. The first press of his thumb without any material in between forces a sudden heat to rise that instantly causes a flush of liquid to slip down your hole, it feels messier than it actually is until his fingers go lower spreading it everywhere. You were much wetter than you thought, and you can’t help how good it feels, how easily you’re responding to it.

Negan calls your name, holding in every cocky reply he wanted to give about how wet you are— he needed an answer to his question first. So he looks you in the face, making sure he has your full attention, “You’re fuckin’ with me, right?” His words are meant more genuinely than his tone implies. “Not at all during any of this?”

You shake your head small and slowly. No.

He laughs pitifully, he doesn’t mean it rudely, but he just can’t help it. A touch-starved baby at the mercy of his fingertips? “Well, god-damn.”

He felt like a rich man.

He begins to kiss your lips again, now pumping his fingers into you. Your walls tighten. It’s only two, but they’re his. It’s new and exciting. His kiss makes you lean into the bed, the force of his head and tongue going deeper into your mouth guiding you to lay flat as his fingers still play.

“I hope you know how fucking soaked you are,” he finally says. “You need it so bad that it feels this damn good with me only touching you like this?” You can’t help the way your body jerks up and he can’t help but be smug about it. “Can’t say I’m surprised.”

Your eyes grow vicious at his grin, you almost want to hit him, but you can’t. All you can do is suppress your moan into a quiet whine. He’s so magnetic— his touch feels forbidden but so right; his voice so alluring; and his midas touch pulls you deeper and deeper into a trance, you might as well be turning into gold. Other than the involuntary reactions your body makes as his fingers continue going into your hole, now slowly going in and out as his eye gloss over your body in your favorite dress that you wore the most, you’re left paralyzed; subjected to following his lead. Wherever he wanted to go next, you’d let him.

He takes his fingers from inside of you and you look up quickly. You made sure not to whine at the loss of contact but your eyes couldn’t hide your dismay. All he did was smile and quickly lick away the wetness.

“Just takin’ this off,” he tells you as his hands cross over to the ends of his white t-shirt, slipping it off and onto the ground, one of those small rope chains hitting his chin as he does so.

It was only his shirt but you’re struck by him: to see more of his ever present sun-kissed skin felt almost godly. He was pretty lean, not too lanky like his stature, but not too broad either. Light curves of muscles adorned his chest and shoulders and arms. His chest and abdomen were slightly hairy, a tattoo placed on the upper right side and you finally saw the other tattoos placed on his upper arms more clearly. They looked nice on him. He was so handsome. You felt more wetness peeking out from down below. He looked so big above you.

“Like what you see, beautiful?” That typical snark still laced his voice, but there was a genuinity to it as well. He wanted you to like what you saw; to like him.

His words make your face hot, eyes casting off to the side. It was easier to talk to him when you were mad at him, when it was about home, even just small talk about the Sanctuary; this felt… different. Just like the other night.

You had almost already forgotten that his charm worked this way too; in a kinder way— when his eyes are wide, when his smile is soft, when he calls you sweet names without the irreverent, quip-filled pretenses.

It made you have all the words on the tip your tongue: how handsome and sexy you could say he is, how much you liked his tattoos, even all the greys that littered his hair and beard l, or how, if you had to admit it, you liked that dumb shit-eating grin of his, but all you can do is lightly smile, a quiet laugh escaping your lips at your bashfulness. You finally nod. “Yes,” you say, rolling your eyes, “maybe.”

He starts undoing his belt with a laugh of his own, “Oh I know you’re a fuckin liar if you think I’m a maybe.”

As his pants drop to the floor he takes each hand and places them over your shoulders on the bed to ask, “May I take off the lady’s dress?”

Your eyes widened, your open mouth only letting out a sweet, surprised, and whispered, “Huh?”

“What? Didn’t expect me to be a gentleman?”

You try to compose yourself, calm the fire you feel all throughout your body, and pretend you haven’t already given in completely right when he kissed you. “I just didn’t expect it would be all this slow.”

He laughs inwardly, glad to see the personality he came to know come back after all that happened these past two days. “Just give me a moment,” he jokes back. “You think I’m gonna waste seeing the reaction of you watching my cock spring out just so I can shove it in fast? ” He comes closer, his voice lowers now, “Believe it or not, I don’t think you’re just some doll or a fuck-piece.” The groundedness of his voice is something you’ve never heard before. “I’m pretty sure I’ve already stated that I see you. And truly, I think you’re damn gorgeous.”

Your eyes are stars. How can you even react? He thinks you’re gorgeous and you’re taken aback. “Thank you,” is all you can quietly say.

“You’re welcome.” He responds with eyes that have never looked so honest, so soft. You get lost in them and he has to pull you back, returning to his question, “May I?”

You nod, quick and excitedly, “You can take it off, Negan.”

He grabs your hands and stands you up. You look up at his face and his fingers move to the ends of your dress, pulling it over your head.

The tips of his fingers trace your chest and stomach lightly, delicately touching your skin as if it’s porcelain. He grabs your waist and travels up to take off your bra, then pushes down your wet underwear.

Negan’s cock stirs at the sight, you’re so pretty and so ready for him. “And I didn’t even need to see it to know I was right.” Just like he said, you’re gorgeous.

Negan pushes down his boxers. Cock springing up. Big and veiny with a red tip. He was itching to get inside of you.

And there you were, eyes and mouth open wide, scared and excited all at once. You were intimidated but surprisingly not scared if it would fit or not. You would let him do anything to get himself inside of you, even if it hurt.

“There it is,” he says, pleased with your reaction. He comes closer to your ear now, pushing you down by the hips against the bed once more. “And trust me, if you like that, you won’t fucking believe how I’ll feel inside of you. Just wait.”

“I…” He wanted to make you feel good, you’re almost speechless. “I’m ready.”

“Good.” He says, and then he places himself above you, admiring your glistening folds as he spreads your legs. He already lines himself up, he could look at you forever but he is in no desire to wait any longer. He pushes in. It’s a bit fast, a tight fit, it must have hurt you, but he’s too excited, he can’t help it. He lets out a hum and then a groan at the feeling of your walls enclosing him, and he hears you gasp at his size. He starts to pump into you immediately.

His face hovers over yours. His eyes study your features and he realizes he’s never been this close. Of course he hasn’t, he’s never fucked you, made love to you. He’s just now noticing the way your eyelashes curl, what birthmarks adorn your upper body or not, and how many earrings you may have, but most importantly, he’s noticing the way you react to him: the way your eyebrows might scrunch, or what elicits more pants and squirmings, the way your lips tug tightly against each other or open into ovals and circles depending on what he does, how he thrusts, where he touches, how he moves.

It all makes him slowly speed up. He can’t take it anymore. He kisses your neck and jaw— some kisses sweet, then others that are rough and he begins to pump and pump. Faster and faster.

“Oh,” you choke out before moaning, “ah.”

He continues, loving every facial expression you make until he finally speaks. “Alright. I gave you a break— now tell me how it feels?”

All you can do is whine incoherently.

“Excuse me?” He says more sternly. You know what he wants.

“Negan,” you whine again.

He stops. “Yes?” He asks all too knowingly. “Gonna use your words and tell me how it feels?”

You sigh, taking the hand placed on your hip and moving up toward the ends of your stomach, all the way up to your left breast. You let his hand rest there, feeling the heat and your quickened heartbeat radiating from the area. “You… you feel so good.” Your eyes are watery, “Amazing.”

You got him there, and he almost can’t help but start hammering it in, but then he remembers… he doesn’t have to help it. He could do whatever he wanted, so he does. He squeezes your breast, grinning wildly as he gives you one hard thrust. “Damn right,” he tells you, hearing your yelp before pounding fast.

You had always been quiet but he never quite saw you at a loss for words as you are now. Your mouth is completely open, your eyes threatening to roll back further, making sounds he’s sure you’ve never heard from yourself before. Have you even had it this fast? This big? This great? He knows it couldn’t be. And he’s the one who gets to show you. His eyes gloss over you with pride at the thought.

He grabs your chin to get you to look at him, “Who’s fucking you this good?”

You moan. You weren’t used to this. Your eyes roll back completely as he pounds into you with eye contact.

It makes him groan loudly, his jerks into you, letting out his own moan from the sight. “Oh fuck, baby. Don’t play with me.”

You give in, force yourself to speak, you can’t let this end. “You, Negan!”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes!” It’s so hard to speak, it comes out so pathetically.

“Who's making you feel like no one else?”

“You, Negan, it’s you!” Your moan turns into a pant, “It’s you, only you.”

He comes closer, his nose touches yours. His movements slow, but they don’t stop. He’s rocking into you now. “Only me?”

You don’t even think, “Who else? It's only you.”

His teeth sparkle, “Only me.”

“Only you, daddy.”

He laughs cockily, “So Daddy’s making you feel this good?”

“Yes, daddy. So good.”

You feel the groan he makes travel right to your clit, making it throb.

He kisses you, the corners of your lips to your cheek and neck and collarbones and back up again.

He restarts his pumping into you but his head remains close to yours. You decide to wrap one of your arms around his neck, pulling his hair, and the other hand travels down his back, holding him close.

Negan breathes you in, his head near the crux of your neck, hearing every little sweet sound you make that he’s never heard before. It all drives him wild, but then his eyes open. A question comes out that surprises you both: “Am I ruining your life right now?” He quietly asks.

“That doesn’t matter,” you say, breathing heavily from his touches, your eyes are still closed.

“I think it does.”

“You make me feel like no one ever has…” The bliss you feel from his current soft strokes and touches making it hard to speak, your voice is so light. “At least I got to experience it.” You open your eyes now, fingers tracing the cross drawn into his arm, “At least I got to see the real you.”

Your eyes say more than your words do. There’s a yearning and a sadness, an answer to what feels right in this moment, but an insight that there are doubts that could creep up later the more that you think about it.

“Just keep going,” you tell him, “I want to see you.”

You want to see him, you do see him. His head connects with yours again, and you moan into each other's mouths as he keeps pumping. Your legs come up to his hips and you’re not afraid to be loud anymore, to tell him how good it feels, how much you like him.

He takes your hands and places them over your head, crossing his fingers with your. It’s so pure, so lovely even when he’s going so hard down below. You hear your breaths heavy and your bodies slapping and the bed shaking.

You think about his skin, and his scratchy beard against yours, and the way you hate how he can make you smile by making the most ridiculous and raunchy jokes, and the way you love his voice, the way you can’t help but to like the way he cares for you.

“Negan,” you say weakly.

“Yes,” he responds intently.

“I’m gonna come,” you tell him. “I think I can.”

“Come for me,” he encourages, moving one of his hands down to rub your clit. “C’mon.”

“I’m gonna come,” you repeat, edging yourself on. Bucking up at his thrusts and his fingers.

“You can do it. Be a good girl. Do it for me.”

You swear the fireplace blazes louder and bigger, lighting up the whole room as you yell out, moaning once more as you orgasm.

Negan finally breaths out after, holding in for so long, and comes after you. His hands place themselves flat on the bed and he pushes in fast, riding out the high.

He scoops you up immediately, holding you in his arms. He doesn’t want to let go.

You two stay there for a moment until you look up. His hand caresses your face, “What is it?”

“I…” you were embarrassed to admit that you weren’t ready for it to all be over yet. “Can I ride you?”

A wiley smile appears on his face. He has to admit, he’s a little shocked you’re ready to go again, but he’d never turn it down. “Well, of course you can, babygirl.”

He flips you over, completely ready, but instantly, you become hesitant, almost overwhelmed. He was the world, not you, yet you were now above him. All the allowance to touch him anywhere you want at your disposal.

He puts his hands under his head, arms flexing. An ever wide smile present as he waits for you to begin. “You asked for it. Don’t get shy on me now.”

Your eyes grow excited again, deciding not to hold back, and you start to rock against him. You place you hands on his chest, feeling him up, touching his biceps, hands going over his tattoos— you could stare at them, at him, for hours. You honestly think you’d lick his whole body if he’d let you. And of course he probably would. To feel big and proud and irresistible while you look like a little desperate freak? You wouldn’t even have to ask him twice. Thinking about it and about how full his cock is making you feel, stretching and reaching all the right places, makes you moan and whine. You bucked your hips wildly, humming and giving him “mmms” because of how yummy it feels. You could do this forever.

“Ah- uh- Negan,” you moan and your stomach caves as you whine again and you hurl forward, continuing to rock but your pace is faltering. It’s becoming too hard and Negan can tell so he takes you by the hips, helping you move. First continuing to let your grind and then pushing you up and down his shaft so you can bounce on him. You push yourself up again, hand on his chest, pushing against it and you bounce along with his help. This was fun. You try to go faster and faster. It felt like being a kid on a playground.

“Open your eyes,” he demands. “Look at who you’re fucking, sweetheart.”

So you do, and moan at the sight of him, “Ohmygod,” you say. “You’re so handsome, Negan.”

He's so proud of you. Enjoying your actions, enjoying your noises. He groans as he sees your breast bounce and it makes you squeeze against him.

“Good girl,” he coos, “finally listening when you’re spoken to, about to make yourself come on daddy’s cock again.”

He starts to rub your clit again and you continue to bounce. It almost hurts because of how overstimulated you’ve become but you don’t tell him to stop. Your hands come to reach the headboard, helping you bounce harder. He tells you again how much of a good girl you are, how he loves that you’re not stopping, then he tells you how dirty and desperate you are for wanting him again after he already made you come. But he’s obsessed. This is all he’s ever wanted since the day he brought you here. His hands trail up from your hips to your waist and breast and back down again. There is nothing more he wants than to fuck you or for you fuck him.

You look down. You both notice your necklace still wrapped around your neck, almost nearing between your breasts, bouncing along with all of you. It reminds you of why you're here, why he gave it to you. It makes you have the realization he had… Was he ruining your life? Were you ruining your own? But how could you be when it all feels this good? It was completely screwed up, but everything felt so magnificently brilliant. His touch is everything, his voice is everything, his body is everything. It makes your hips stutter, it makes you moan, and at last, it makes you come again. You ride your high, going and going and going until you fall into his chest. His hands come to hold you tight thereafter.

Unthinkable bliss is all that is felt for a long moment… then… your head turns to the window. You remember what is out there and what isn’t in here.

A tear falls down your cheek and he realizes what’s happening when it falls onto his shoulder.

It hurts him now. To see you cry. It’s not fun anymore. You feel it, yes. You see what he saw, it’s true. But you aren’t really his wife. You’re nothing that is his at all. You both know that as well.

It takes you a long time to speak, you have to force yourself, but you do. “You have to let me go now.” You say it sternly but there is a sadness to it; a small part of you wants to not mean it even though you completely do, even though you do wish to stay here, to be enveloped by his embrace— you simply cannot forget.

“Mm,” he shakes his head, remaining leveled, “you know too much.”

“I barely know anything,” you say. “And not that anything I do know matters. Knowing the way around the Sanctuary isn’t going to help anyone when I know there is no way we could actually get in…. And what’s more important anyway is that I’m not changing my mind and you’re not either.”

“I’m not.”

“And I can’t. I wouldn’t. And they’re not going to. Never…. And if some of them die…” A whimper almost leaves you but you manage to swallow it, “I have to be by their side, Negan. I can’t only hear about it. I… I can’t see it next to you.”

His lips are pressed firm, his jaw is fixed and tight, almost like he’s grinding down on his teeth. The breath he takes through his nose could be a heavy sigh if he opened his mouth, but he doesn’t. He keeps it all in.

You words and their weight hang in the air for a moment before he finally speaks: “One of my guys that watches the armory doors has a shift that ends at 6:00 am… but at 5:50 I’m going to come up to him and tell him he gets off 10 minutes early that day, that I’ll wait for the next person to come.” He lets his words hang in the air for a moment, your confusion spirals before he keeps going. “It’ll be fucking weird, but he’ll look dumb as shit if he questions me, so he won’t. Then when he’s out of sight, I’ll leave. The next person is coming right at 6. That’s all you get. 10 minutes. A little less really.”

Your eyes round slowly as the stun continues to sink in. He’s… letting you leave.

“You take one gun and one knife. Just one. Don’t make it noticeable. I’m going to check. Then you go out of the back door that’s inside.” He didn’t have to tell you the way. “It should be easy, I know you’ve tried it before.”

You look down, taking in all he says, but then he turns you face to meet his, “If anyone sees you, I’m gonna have to make a show of it when they bring you back. Not what I want. But if I get there before you get out, maybe 5:58, just cause I’m an asshole, just to see you one last time… And if I do, I’m gonna turn you around and you’re stayin’. Fair?”

You nod. It’s small and light. You don’t question any of it, you can’t. “8 minutes.” You respond.

“8 minutes.” His voice is neutral, but underneath there was a tinge of solemnity to it. “8 minutes,” he says under his breath.

“What about now?”

“Now?” He asks. He didn’t think about it. He assumed you would want to go after this, after you got what you wanted. “Well,” he turns to his nightstand, “right now it’s half past 10.” He stares at you for a moment, you can’t tell what he’s thinking. This whole moment has felt so quiet, both eerie and gentle. You still weren’t used to the latter from him, even after what just happened. “You can go if you want. Sleep in your bed for one more night, or…” he stops, “You can stay with me, if you’d like.” His sigh is short and whispered but you both hear it, you feel its weight. “It’s your choice.”

You stare at each other for a moment. Your eyes trail all of his face and the arm that is still holding your own, adorned with all the tattoos and skin you had just fallen for. You wanted to study them and hold onto him forever. And his eyes: they said so much— there were so many little inflections, ones that you had finally read, and so many others you’ve yet to decipher. You desired to know him, but you had to go, so all you decided to do was to hold him. For now, you chose to stay, and hoped that your embrace would transfer the fact that the only reason it would be hard to leave is because of him and only him. You would remember this forever. “8 hours till 8.”

“8 hours till 8, kid.”

You close your eyes tight and nuzzle into his chest, A peace you had never known in the Sanctuary finally subsumed you. You feel free to finally tell him, “Thank you. I really do miss home.”

Home. There it is again. There was no malice in the way you said it, but there was still a pang from your melancholy words that made his heart throb. You missed home. And as peaceful as you looked, and as safely as you held onto him, your words reaffirmed that home was not here and it was not with him— no matter how you looked, and no matter the fact that you were allowing him to hold you for the night, to call you his. In the end, you were not.

He had to finally accept it.

“8 hours till 8,” are your last words until you finally drift to sleep. This would be your last and most tranquil night here. To you, it felt right, almost harmonious, albeit sad. This is how it was and how it was meant to be. You needed it.

But to him, it’s shattering. He doesn’t repeat the phrase back this time because, for once, he has nothing to say. The fire glow of the night has now withered into darkness.

You won.

He lost.

But both your hearts broke.

[pinkberrytea]

Killing you was the sinful culmination of his undying love, and breathing new life into you, a dowry bestowed upon you out of unconditional devotion.

Memento mori—Remember you must die. Enveloped in memories of her death, the Vampire Ascendant watches his darling consort as she slumbers, lost in dreams of blood and mist. Life is short, and shortly it will end; death comes quickly and respects no one. To death we are hastening, let us refrain from sinning.

An exploration of Astarion’s character and his relationship with his Dark Consort following the ascension, from a softer perspective.

Ascended Astarion x Spawn Tav (F!Reader)

w/c: 6.2k words . ao3 . spotify playlist . 18+ only . nsfw . dividers

a/n: thank you for reading! this is my first time dabbling in creative writing, and of course my first attempt at smut fiction, but still, I hope it is at least somewhat enjoyable. I would like to dedicate this work to the lovely @locallegume, who was a huge source of inspiration, and also to hismostbelovedspawn over on reddit, for being always so incredibly kind and supportive. I love you guys!

tags: blood drinking; cunnilingus; body worship; light dom/sub; vaginal fingering; mildly dubious consent; creampie; fluff & angst; emotional sex; dry humping; possessive behavior; somnophilia; orgasm edging; piv sex

The beginning of the morning twilight is Astarion’s favorite time of the day, for it feels at once ephemeral and infinite. The wistful silence, broken only by the still timid chirping of the waking birds; the royal blue-colored sky, tinged with specks of the purples and violets of the dawn; the chilly morning breeze, gently rustling the flowers in the garden, pushing the still forming dewdrops off their petals and onto the ground; you, slumbering beside him, pale skin reflecting the dim light of the fading moon, rosy lips slightly parted. Sleeping peacefully like this, you look like a life-sized porcelain doll, he thinks—your unmoving chest betrays your otherwise healthy likeness, as does the unnaturally blanched color of your skin. Your nightgown hangs lazily off your shoulder, exposing one of your breasts, and your undergarments lay discarded on the floor, on the exact same spot where he had tossed them earlier that night. He adores this version of you—so vulnerable, so defenseless, laid open for him, and him only.

Astarion finds it curious, how you seem to completely lose yourself in your dreams, yet he is also greatly perturbed by the notion that there is a part of you that he is still unable to access, to dominate. It feels unnatural, not to be able to control this elusive slice of your essence, but having ever only tranced, it also mystifies him that you’d voluntarily give up your consciousness each night. You were after all ever the trusting fool—from the moment you met, he had lied to you, manipulated you countless times, and each time you fell for it, standing by his side even when the world screamed at you not to. And even now, you give yourself to him, unquestioningly, unconditionally. In all the long years of his existence, there had been none like you, and there never will be again. None as trusting, none as kind, and he both hates and loves you for it. The very notion of you extending your kindness to anyone other than him is infuriating, and makes him want to take it for himself, put it in a glass dome and hide it away in a place where only he can bask in its warmth. He thinks he is owed that, at least; yours was the only hand that ever reached out to him, so he is justified in not wanting to share.

You shift slightly in your sleep, and a lock of your hair that had been trapped underneath one of your arms falls onto your chest. After eyeing it for a moment, Astarion reaches out for the tresses and grasps them between his fingers. Bringing them close to his nose, he takes in your scent, that is now also his. It smells comforting, familiar—it smells like home. The corner of his lips curl into an almost imperceptible smile, and he closes his eyes, letting out a contented sigh. The hushed shroud of the early hours acts as a cloak, under which he is granted a brief respite, a rare chance to let himself be gentle, be kind. Just as you become entirely vulnerable before him in your slumber, he too exposes the soft underbelly of his feelings for you; that chaotic, intoxicating brew, a messy blend of passion, guilt, hurt, longing, and love, endless and unrelenting love.

He brings his elegant fingers close to your face, and ever so gently glides their soft pads across the cold, velvety smooth skin of your cheek. Your long lashes flutter slightly, tickling the sensitive area under your eyes as he lowers the digits to brush the plump of your lips. He admires you for a short moment, taking in your image—his pretty consort, so beautiful, so frail, so foolishly devoted to him. Oh how lucky he is, to have you who would do anything for him by his side; his most precious treasure, the reason why his long dead heart beats inside his chest once more. He grasps your chin, delicately tilting your head upward to face him, and tenderly presses his lips to yours. His other hand moves to your chest, fingers softly caressing the pebbled peak of your exposed breast, his touch so faint that his skin barely comes into contact with yours. As much as Astarion enjoys asserting his dominance over you, making you kneel before him, seeing the dejected yet submissive expression on your pretty face whenever he decides to make a show of his power, it is these moments he values the most. In your intimacy, he may treat you gently, tenderly, and in your state of unconsciousness, by morning his loving touches will be but a hazy memory, securing your place below, but close beside him, from where you shall never leave for as long as he draws breath—which he can now only do thanks to you.

His fingers on your nipple leave it alone for a moment to close around your breast, giving it a soft, gentle squeeze. Moving quietly so as not to wake you, he slides his right leg under yours and presses it against the back of your knee, creating a space between your thighs as he pushes them apart, where he then nests himself, climbing on top of you.

“Astarion…” when you softly whisper his name, his half-smile widens into a grin; how reassuring it is, to know you belong to him even in your dreams. He lowers his head to plant a kiss on the delicate skin of the curve of your neck, and his lips brush against the two small indentations disrupting the otherwise pristine smoothness of your flesh. Instinctively, he brings his hand to the back of your right shoulder, his long fingers blindly searching for the matching set of bite marks. The last of the three pairs adorns your left wrist, for which reason he will ever so often take your hand in his, only to lovingly kiss it and turn it around so he can admire the evidence of his proudest feat—having sired you.

“Oh my love, I’m here. I’ve got you,” Astarion coos, holding your head gently against his bare chest, fingers tangled in your hair as you writhe and squirm in his arms, empty and glassy eyes lost in a hollow stare, seeing nothing but darkness, endless darkness. The expression on your face is at once delirious and vacant—mouth agape and fists clenched, pupils blown wide, eyelashes wet with tears and a thin string of drool coming out from the corner of your lip and trickling down your chin. At least for tonight, you are lost to him, and as he winces at the still foreign sensation of the loud, vigorous throbbing in his head, your own fading heartbeat softens, dying down into nothingness. And right as it is about to fall perpetually silent, he lets his fangs pierce his own tongue, drawing droplets of now living blood; bringing your face close to his, he presses his thumb to your lower lip, and covers your mouth with his.

He loses himself in the memory for a moment, as he so often does. Your peaceful, serene expression stands in stark contrast to the one that had been etched on your face on that fateful night. It feels like a lifetime ago, yet still he remembers the pain, the agony, the relentless fear building up in his stomach as your body contorted and tears glistened in your vacant eyes. Never had Astarion been more afraid of anything than he’d been of losing you, and by his hand no less. Killing you was the sinful culmination of his undying love, and breathing new life into you, a dowry bestowed upon you out of unconditional devotion. You only ever questioned him about what had happened on the evening of your turning once, but it mattered not how many times you asked, for he would never fully disclose the raw truth—how he had cradled you in his arms and whispered sweet nothings in your ears, kissing away your tears; how he had picked you up as you lost consciousness and carried you to your bed, where he would then tuck you in so very tenderly, so very gently, softly patting your hair and holding your hand, sharing his warmth with you as you lost your own; how he would patiently wait by your side, watching as the color slowly drained from your face, his stomach sinking at the thought of you never waking again—only for you to then slowly open your eyes, their hue now a rich crimson, much like his own. No, he would never again allow himself to be so weak, for he was supposed to be your warden, your liege. This pathetic side of him was to be ever hidden from you, only rearing its ugly head during the brief, sleepy moments preceding the crack of dawn.

With his lips still pressed against your skin, Astarion starts peppering kisses down your neck, on the hollows of your collarbone and across your sternum, his hand on your breast fondling it gently, the other still tracing the bite marks on your shoulder. His still clothed hips start lazily, almost imperceptibly rocking back and forth, lightly grinding against your naked thighs; thinking back to the night when he made you his almost inevitably causes blood to rush to his groin, and his body starts unconsciously seeking the sweet relief of the friction between his hardening erection and your supple skin. He moves his hand on your breast to grasp your nipple between his fingers, lightly squeezing it. You involuntarily buck your hips in response, which amuses him greatly as he continues playing with the tender nub. A soft moan escapes your lips, encouraging and emboldening his attentions as they drift away from your clavicle towards your chest. He plants gentle kisses on the plump of your bosom, using his teeth to pull at your nightgown and drag it down, exposing your clothed breast to the chilly morning air. You shiver, and he smiles against your skin, pressing his lips to the valleys of your ribs, the softness of your lower belly, and finally to your bare crotch. With his face so close to your swollen sex, the sweet scent of your essence now intoxicates his senses. He stands back for a moment to admire how it glistens in the faint glow of the moonlight, so deliciously inviting, as your juices start building up and collecting in-between your folds.

Feeling his breath caressing the sensitive skin of your core, you finally start to slowly regain consciousness. Once his arousals were returned to him, Astarion would make a habit of waking up during the night at various times to bury his cock in you, so it takes you but a moment to gather your bearings. Either out of mischievousness or curiosity, you play coy at first, pretending to be asleep still. His soft lips briefly come into contact with your engorged bud, sending shock waves through your body, and you are barely able to keep yourself from letting out a yelp, although you can’t prevent your skin from becoming covered with goosebumps. When his tongue pokes out of his mouth to give it a tentative lick, you know you won’t be able to keep up the charade for much longer. He feels your body tense up, and slightly raises his head to look at you from his position between your legs with half-lidded, lascivious eyes, dilated pupils partially covering the ruby hue of his irises. You’re unsure if he has already caught on to your little ruse, so you try staying as still as possible, which proves difficult with his face so close to your cunt.

After what seems like an eternity he decides to continue, lapping at your clit again and then sliding his tongue downwards, burying it between your folds. He presses it against the outer edge of your entrance, squeezing slick out of you, and as he savors your essence, he can’t help but think that while its sweet tanginess does not compare to the coppery, velvety richness of the crimson in your veins—nothing ever will, for his is the blood that courses through them—it may well be the second best thing he has ever tasted. Gliding his tongue upwards once more, he uses it to gently massage the raw bundle of nerves crowning your mound, leaving a trail of saliva mixed with your fluids between it and your twitching cunt, which then dribbles down onto your thighs. Placing a hand on each side of your hips, he pulls you closer to him, and the shift causes his fangs to graze the sensitive skin of your folds, in response to which your eyes water and you clutch the silk sheets under you both. Taking no notice of your desperate reaction, he continues swirling his tongue up and down your wetness, gently sucking on the tender skin, eagerly eating you up as if you were a full-course meal served especially for him, just begging to be ravished.

You feel heat pooling in your lower abdomen, and at this rate it won’t be long before you are brought to the edge. Momentarily forgetting the fact that you are supposed to be pretending to be asleep as you lose yourself in the crescendo of your release, you arch your back, leaning on your elbows to support your weight, and as soon as you do, he mercilessly pulls away from you, leaving your dripping core empty and aching. Eyes closed still, you let out a soft mewl in protest, which you regret as soon it leaves your lips, for once Astarion notices your desperation, you are done for.

Still unsure if he has already perceived your awakened state or if he believes your body to be involuntarily reacting to his touch, you dare not produce any further sounds. Having cruelly left your throbbing arousal unattended, his tongue now glides its way up your stomach, leaving a glistening wet mess in its wake. Upon reaching your chest, his lips latch onto your left breast, your perked nub fitting perfectly inside his mouth. He sucks on it ever so tenderly, teasing it with a pointed tongue and lightly scraping the squishy surrounding flesh with his fangs. One of his hands leaves its place on your hip and finds its way between your legs, and you let out a sigh of relief when you feel a long, elegant finger ghosting over your clit. The other hand slides further down to the curve of your ass, and his blunt nails dig into your soft skin, giving it a firm squeeze.

The pad of the wandering digit finally presses down onto the engorged flesh of your reddened knot, massaging it leisurely in circular patterns, and another finger suddenly slides between your folds, parting them gently. Unable to contain yourself, you roll your hips into his hand, which you soon learn is a grave mistake as he tightens his grip on your ass, applying such pressure that come morning, bruises are certain to form on the pale skin, which he will then tenderly kiss better while looking apologetically at you from under thick lashes; and you will forgive him, as you always do. Lifting his head up from your now rouged, swollen nipple, he readjusts his position above you, using his body weight to pin you down and hold you in place. He lets go of your ass, firmly grasping at your jaw with his newly freed hand, and even from behind closed eyes you can feel the intensity of his gaze. This does not bode well, and try as you might you cannot ignore the sickening pinch in the pit of your stomach as his eyes scrutinize every inch of your face—has he noticed? Is a punishment in order? Will he deny you your release?

“Open up, darling. Your mouth.” The commanding tone with which Astarion vocalizes the otherwise unassuming words is all it takes to placate your erratic thoughts, and obeying is for you as natural as breathing—or it would be, if you were still alive. Once you do as he says, you feel his thumb pressing on your lower lip, forcing it further down. He slides the digit inside your mouth, gagging you slightly, and your lips instinctively close around it. “Good girl,” he purrs, and encouraged by the tenderness of his praise, you start lightly sucking on it, coating it with saliva. For a short moment, he becomes entranced by the feeling of your wet tongue massaging his skin, and his mind wanders to the thought of your plump lips wrapped tightly around his cock. This prompts him to once again start bucking his hips, rubbing the now obvious bulge underneath his pants against your stomach, but this time his rhythm is much more frantic, more desperate.

Relief washes over you as you feel the fingers still in your mound resume their fondling, the one on your clit now applying greater pressure, handling it much less gently, yet just as skillfully, his knowledge of all the ins and outs of your body having always been something he prided himself on. The other makes its way down from its place between your folds, plunging into you as soon as it reaches your entrance. Your body jerks in response, and your moan is muffled by his thumb in your mouth—when he then plunges another, stretching you open without giving you time to adjust, you involuntarily bite down on the digit gagging you, sinking your fangs into his flesh. He grimaces, and you can tell you have hit an artery, because the flow of the thick, hot blood running down your throat is alarmingly heavy. However, rather than pulling away, he lets you drink, curling his fingers inside you and massaging the tight walls of your cunt with his knuckles. The rich taste of his crimson lingering in your tongue and spreading inside your body, mixing with yours within your veins and making them pulsate with life—pure, raw, vibrating life—works as a powerful aphrodisiac, heightening all your senses, and the feeling of him fucking you with his fingers is all it takes for you to come undone on his hand, muscles spasming and clenching around the digits, coating them in the sweet nectar of your release.

Just as you reach your climax, Astarion’s own teeth sink into the indentations marking the otherwise smooth skin of your neck. You instinctively cock your head to the side to grant him more access, letting him feed on you as you bask in the afterglow of your orgasm, sucking on his thumb still. His blood flows from him to you and then back to him, and the sheer intimacy of it brings you so close together that it’s as if you have merged into one single being. You can no longer tell where you end and he begins, as your minds touch and mesh and then untangle again, in a sensual, chaotic dance, where you both sway to the rhythm of his heartbeat. And while the connection lasts, his emotions rush through you and yours through him, rendering words meaningless as the everlasting adoration, the inebriating, all-consuming love you share, no matter how tainted, is laid bare before you, in all its wickedness and allure.

“Fear not: you are mine.”

You finally open your eyes, letting go of his thumb, and as the fog from the afterglow subsides you notice his fingers remain inside you still, gliding effortlessly up and down your twitching walls, which are now lubricated with slick and come; your skin tingles from the overstimulation, but the sensation is not unwelcome. With the hand you have just freed, he holds your head in place while he continues to feed, and you both stay like this for a while, his fingers buried inside your cunt and his fangs in your neck, where they rightfully belong. His little grunts as he drinks from you and the feeling of his hardened cock pressed flush against your stomach rekindle the ache between your legs, causing the living blood now coursing through your veins to flow to your tender core.

Having drank to his heart’s content, Astarion pulls away from you, making you wince at the sudden emptiness as both his fangs and fingers leave your body. No longer plagued by the perpetual, agonizing hollowness of vampiric hunger, his only reason for feeding on you still is the invigorating thrill of your taste on his tongue and your blood pulsating in his arteries; you were his first, after all, having offered him the greatest gift of them all when you had no good reason to. Killing you on the evening he first revealed his true nature had never been out of the question, and it puzzles him still why you would willingly surrender this sanguine gift to a vampire stalking you in the night—a pitiful creature, hiding in the shadows, with murderous intent and offering you nothing but pain and misery. He is reminded of your foolishness and naïveté every time he sinks his fangs into your soft flesh, and the familiarity of it is oddly comforting to him.

Not bothering to wipe the red smear on his chin, he brings his hand up to your mouth once more, only this time his digits are covered in your juices. A single look into his crimson eyes, clouded with lust, tells you all you need to know, and you eagerly obey the silent order, wrapping your lips around his fingers.

“Ever so obedient, aren’t you, my sweet?” His honeyed words and impish smile send shivers down your spine, and unable to talk as your tongue flicks and swirls, lapping at your own sticky essence, you look up at him through your lashes with coquettish demureness; his pretty little spawn, always so good to him, so docile, so devoted. The very sight of you makes his cock twitch with desire. “I do find it charming when you play your darling little games. Mostly because you are awful at them. You did know I was aware the entire time, didn’t you?,” although his smile widens, there is a hint of danger in his voice, “That you were awake.”

As his blood within you rushes to your cheeks, spreading to the tips of your ears, Astarion’s expression darkens, and the lust in his eyes grows wilder, more desperate. There is something endlessly enticing about how bashful and girlish you look with your face hot and flushed with his crimson, like a child caught stealing from the cookie jar, and it makes him want to devour you whole. He abruptly slides his fingers out of your mouth, and the glistening string of your fluids that forms between your lips and his digits breaks off as he uses that same hand to grab your neck and bring your face close to his. Once you are mere inches apart, he stops for a moment, the proximity between you such that you can feel his long lashes brushing against your skin and see the flecks in different shades of red swimming in his irises. The stillness in the air makes you acutely aware of the sound of his heartbeat, and it paradoxically both comforts and torments you. Such is the nature of your relationship; yearning and sorrow, worship and regret, lust and greed. The duality of it is not lost to you, but you’re past the point of coming up with justifications, for it is far too late for redemption. You made your choice, he made his, and now his burden is yours to bear. It matters not if outsiders looking in cannot make sense of it, as the bond between you was never meant to be understood by anyone else—however ugly and twisted it may be perceived by those around you, it is undeniably a bond of love, one you are willing to protect even if it costs you everything.

“Until the world falls down.”

When he finally closes the distance between you and crashes his mouth into yours, your mind is wiped clean of any semblance of coherent thought and your senses are filled with nothing but him—his scent, his warmth, his taste. He hungrily parts your lips with his tongue as soon as your skin touches his, your teeth clicking in his desperation, and his grip on your neck tightens. You feel tears well up in your eyes, some spilling through your lashes and rolling down your cheeks, your repressed emotions overflowing as you lose yourself in the fierce intensity of his kiss. You want him, you need him, you hate him; you love him, oh how dearly you love him, more than life itself. He explores the inside of your mouth, wantonly, passionately, only stopping to suck on your bottom lip, nipping it with his fangs and lapping at the droplets of blood blooming from the punctured flesh. Once he pulls away, gasping for air, you are both a disheveled mess, lips swollen and bruised and red. Not yet letting go of you, his fingers wrapped around your throat still, he guides your head back down, laying it on the soft feather pillow, only to then straighten up his torso, hand on your neck holding you in place and darkened eyes looking down upon you. From your position below him, he looks ethereal, almost godly, as the moon casts a pale halo around his frame, shining its light on the naked skin of his upper body.

He holds this position for a while, silently studying your face, and as he does, his intense gaze seems to gradually soften, mellowing out into almost tenderness. You feel the pressure of his fingers on your skin lessen, and then cease completely as he frees you, raising his hand up to cup your cheek. His thumb traces the trail of dried tears, and you lean into his soothing touch, eyes wettening once more. Taking notice of this, he leans back down and brushes his lips against the teardrops threatening to escape from your lashes, drying them before they fall.

“Shh, my darling, hush.” The softness in Astarion’s voice and the gentleness of his caresses as he runs his fingers through your hair are all you ever yearned for, all you ever needed, and yet with every touch your chest tightens and you feel a pang of loneliness and guilt tugging at your unbeating heart, for this is what you want, but not what you deserve. You failed him, just as he failed the others, and your regrets bind you together for eternity as the thread of your fate entangles with his in a constricting embrace—so is it too greedy, to let yourself be selfish and indulge in his warmth before the sun rises? Is even someone as broken and wicked as you allowed a moment of reprieve, however brief? You know not the answer to these questions, nor do you think you ever will. All you know is that there’s nowhere else you want to be but in his arms, no matter how much it hurts, for you’ll endure the pain as long as you are by his side.

“Kiss me,” you quietly plead, your supplication barely a whisper, prompting him to pull away slightly to look into your eyes. He takes a moment to try and read your expression, his gaze sharp, inquisitive, stripping you off all your defenses and laying you bare before him. A short time passes, and without saying a word, he lowers his head down again, lips brushing against yours, their pillowy softness and the taste of your blood still lingering on his skin shrouding your mind in a white fog. You raise both of your arms and wrap them around his neck, bringing him closer as your mouth matches his movements, the desperation of before now manifesting more tenderly, more lovingly, but just as intensely. One of his hands remains on your cheek as he kisses you, and with the other, he finally unlaces his pants, freeing his neglected erection, which by now is slick from the precome leaking from its engorged head. The color of the sky outside slowly begins to brighten, now a beautiful blend of periwinkle and cyan, and as the twilight peaks and starts to reach its end, Astarion decides he has waited long enough—he will take you here and now, before the merciless, harsh light of the sun engulfs you both.

Feeling his hardness against your thigh, you readily comply, spreading your legs apart. You need this just as much as he does; to be one with him, carnally, for your souls have long merged, and there is no you without him just as there is no him without you. As he lines up with your entrance, his lips leave yours and he presses your foreheads together, staring into your eyes with reassuring tenderness. You feel the tip of his cockhead flush against your dripping sex—the reddened, puffed up skin feels warm, and thinking of how it is swollen from his blood in your veins is all it takes for him to finally snap and give into his desires. He slides inside of you in a single thrust, the wetness from your juices facilitating his entry as he stretches your walls to accommodate his large size. You try to bite back a whimper, your eyes once again tingling and prickling with the promise of tears as one of your hands finds its way to the back of his head and your fingers become entangled in his silvery curls. Not moving immediately, he waits a while, giving you time to adjust. You revel in the familiar feeling of his cock stuffed inside your core, the pain and warmth of it, and you wonder if he too can find comfort nowhere else but in your flesh, as it is only when filled with him that you are able to hold together the broken pieces of your descended mind.

The hand that had been cupping your cheek now rests on your waist as he moves his head to nuzzle the curve of your neck, taking in your scent. Ever so slowly he starts rolling his hips back and forth, planting gentle kisses on the delicate skin where his fangs had been buried just moments ago, now stained with patches of dried blood. You close your eyes, still trying to hold back the tears, hugging him as tightly as you can, or as tightly as he’ll let you. His pace is at first languid, sensual, allowing you to feel the entirety of him as he massages your aching, tender walls, still sensitive and spasming from your orgasm. He grunts in your ear, prompting you to start undulating your own hips, doing your best to match his rhythm. Emboldened by this, he moves his hands down to grab your ass, tilting your pelvis up and pulling you closer to him. Just as desperate to feel him as deeply as physically possible, you wrap your legs around his midriff, allowing him to reach the innermost parts of your throbbing cunt. When the tip of his cock brushes against the spongy skin of your cervix, your gut tightens and you cry out for him, unable to contain yourself.

“Astarion…”

The sound of his name in your lips, so very eager, so very sweet, is all the encouragement he needs, and the once languid movements give way to more vigorous pounding, the lewd sound of smacking flesh echoing in the otherwise quiet room as he snaps his hips and buries himself deeper inside your aching core. Your body rocks in rhythm with his thrusts, the tears in your eyes finally escaping your lashes and running down your face, a chaotic culmination of all the pleasure, all the hurt, all the desire and all the devotion brewing deep inside your heart as your raging feelings come to a boil. No one can understand, no one will understand—and yet, as he fucks you senseless in the early hours, pumping his cock in and out of you with lascivious abandon, none of it matters. You hold him even closer, pressing your squishy breasts flush against the sweaty, glistening skin of his chest. He moans at the sensation, intensifying his pace and using his hands on your ass to tilt your pelvis higher, pushing your folded legs, which are still wrapped around him, as close to your upper body as your flexibility will allow it. You feel the muscles in your thighs stretching and burning, but this only excites you further, and the soft whimpers leaving your lips escalate in frequency and loudness alike.

As he continues pounding into you, Astarion’s kisses on your neck become more passionate, more heated, going from pecks, to licking, to sucking, until eventually he gives in and once again sinks his fangs into the bruised flesh. You mewl faintly and your grip on his hair tightens, in response to which he bites down on you harder, nails raking across the skin of your ass as his thrusts grow fiercer, more violent. The message immediately gets through to you—the cheeky little spawn must know her place—so you obediently let go of his curls, although your digits remain entangled in them still; yet he does not slow down his pace, ramming into you with such force that you are afraid you will have trouble walking once he is finished. Mercifully, one of his hands leaves its place on your ass to hover above your swollen clit, which twitches desperately as his cock resurfaces and then disappears again inside your cunt. He grasps it between two deft fingers, massaging the engorged bundle of nerves as a reward for your obedience, and that is all it takes for tension to again start building up in your groin.

“You have given me everything.”

His digits on your tender bud; your blood running down his throat; his cock slamming into you, stretching open your tight walls—you are so very close to climaxing again, and yet you don’t want the moment to end; you don’t want morning to come, breaking the spell and robbing your lover from you, as it always so cruelly does. The tragic inevitability of it is however unaffected by the infinitude of your existence, a gift that was also bequeathed to you by him, and enveloped by the ice-cold embrace of the memories of your death, your body comes alive as you are pushed over the edge, your twitching cunt fluttering and contracting around him, creaming and squirting your sweet juices all over his length.

As you slump back and go limp is his arms, Astarion unlatches his mouth from your neck and props up his torso to marvel at your image as you bask in the glory of your release—so maddeningly beautiful, cheeks and plump lips flushed bright pink with what remains of his lifeblood within you; his consort, his spawn, his to use as he pleases, his and nobody else’s. While he continues fucking you through your orgasm, all you can hear are his low moans and grunts and the squelching sounds of your wetness as he ruts into you with ever increasing furor. You can tell he is also close by the way he holds your hips with both of his hands, pushing his own against them with almost vicious ferocity while you remain slumped on the headboard, tits bouncing cutely with every thrust. The daylight seeping through the curtains now brightens up the room, and as you look up at him with half-lidded eyes, you notice how handsome he looks illuminated by the gentle glow of the rising sun, sweat beading his temple and dripping down his chin and nose.

“Gods…” he groans, voice raspy with lust, and with one final push he empties himself inside you, filling you to the brim with his seed, which feels thick and warm flooding your tender walls. Still panting and sucking in sharp breaths, he falls on top of you, not bothering to pull his cock out of your still spasming cunt, chest flush against yours and head burrowed in the crook of your neck. Spillover runs down your thighs and soaks into the wrinkled sheets, but neither of you bother cleaning it up, the resulting stain surely to give the maids good reason to blush later.

You bring a hand up to his silky curls once more, gently running your fingers through them as you feel the calming thumping of his slowing heartbeat vibrating against your cold skin. As the dawn finally breaks over the still sleeping city, signaling the beginning of a new day in your undead life—for better or for worse—you find comfort in the warmth of his flesh and the sound of his ragged breathing as it gradually steadies. All your suffering, all your pain; if even your death is required to bring him to life, then so be it. He will live for the both of you, and you will love him for it. Forever—for good.

“Thank you for trusting me.”

[hungharrington]

Could I request something from the prompt you reblogged:

“I had a dream about you last night. Woke up hard/wet. Wanna hear about it?”

kitchen counters (kisses, and more)

this was hard to think of a sitch! it's a bit weird (?) but also a bit goofy at times, which i love and i hope u love anon! not any warnings needed, it's hot consensual sex except they don't use a condom but we know this is fiction and we should totally use those things irl. ok be safe and enjoy <3 2.8k words. minors do not interact.

It’s a bit of a strange morning, being here in Steve’s kitchen when you haven’t spent the night.

Not for lack of want, mind you. You hadn’t been able to is all, some family event that rolled way too late into the evening. And even though you know Steve would’ve come and picked you up if you asked, even at some point past midnight, you didn’t want to ask that of him. You knew he’d had a long day. Steve tried to insist he’d sleep better with you beside him.

“I don’t want you driving, s’all,” you said into the receiver last night, your tone apologetic. “It’s just, it’s late and you’re tired. I’ll come over in the morning, okay?”

“You promise?” Steve grumbled back. He never was in the chirpiest of moods when he went home to empty sheets. 

“Pinky.” 

And you followed through, driving over as soon as you could after your wake-up. Your own spare key lets you into the house and it’s only mildly surprising to find it quiet. The kitchen is empty, lights off. 

You think of your boyfriend, who must be still asleep upstairs, and take a couple steps up the stairs, and— ah, there it is. The sound of the shower. If you strain your ears, you can hear his faint rendition of a George Michael song. It makes you grin.

You head for the kitchen anyways, flipping on the lights as you go— it’s a bit later than Steve’s usually up but you’re willing to bet that without you there to bug him awake, he’s dozed past his usual alarm.

There are Eggos in the fridge, enough for both of you, and fill the toaster with them, pressing the lever down. You begin brewing the coffee, the scent of it percolating the air and it’s nearly ready by the time you hear Steve coming down the stairs.

He appears in the doorway, shower towel still hung around his shoulders, his chest bare. You automatically dip your gaze to drink up the sight of his chest, a mixture of love and lust competing in your chest. His hair is shaggy and wet. He’s scrubbing the back of it with the towel but he pauses, delighting at the sight of you.

“I thought I heard you,” He smiles easily, and you meet him in the middle when he comes over for a kiss. His hands circle your waist. You press up on your toes and hold his face gently, pressing your sweetest good morning onto his lips. Steve hums. His eyes are still closed when you pull back.

They flutter open and he smiles again, blindingly handsome. “Missed you last night,” he says, pulling you closer by your waist. “And this morning too.”

Your heart sings just a bit, your thumb stroking lovingly across his cheekbone. “I bet you did, handsome.”

Steve raises his brows like he thinks you don’t believe him and his hands slither down, nearing the curve of your ass as suggestiveness creeps in his tone. “Uh huh. Even had a dream about you last night.”

His head ducks into the curve of your neck, lips ghosting along your throat as he continues, voice still husky from his sleep. “Woke up hard.”

His body pressing into you confirms that his high-running hormones haven’t managed to dim in the time between his dream and now — his cock is half-hard, nudging against your thigh. You can’t help the way you shiver when he kisses your neck, wet and warm, and murmurs, “Wanna hear about it?”

He’s a bastard. That’s the first thought in your mind as his kiss turns harsher, suckling at the skin of your neck in a way that weakens your knees — he’s a bastard who knows exactly what he’s doing. Your hands slip from his jaw to his shoulders, clutching them a little tighter. You try to pull yourself together.

“Something tells me you’re gonna tell me anyways.” You remark, a pant already making your words sound a little gaspier.

Damn, he makes you needy. Your head falls back and you let him nibble along your neck, feeling your arousal sparking — and catching fire quick, burning low in your stomach.

“Mm, I could,” Steve replies, between his lovebites. His cock has gotten harder, his hips lightly grinding against you to work it the right way. You keen into his touches. “Or… I could show you?”

Your hands move to tug his face up, out of your neck, and you kiss him, hard. Steve groans appreciatively into the kiss, beginning to walk the two of you backward til his back hits the counter. He uses the leverage to pull you closer, his knee nudging between your thighs — your cunt pulses hotly as you grind down against his thigh, lust licking hot at your spine.

“Mhm, definitely…” Steve starts, words tumbling out between his kisses. His teeth scrape your bottom lip, tongue soothing along after. “Definitely started like this.”

“Oh yeah?” You huff, giving a pleasurable shudder when the seam of your jeans lines up just right, rubbing rough right on your clit. A breathy moan escapes you and pushes into Steve’s lips, sealed in your kiss.

Not breaking his kiss, Steve’s hands grip your hips, his knee nudging higher as he pulls down to grind on him again — another bolt of pleasure pulls a moan from you as you clench around nothing. For a hot minute, you two play this game; Steve dedicating himself to your bottom lip, kisses hot and hands wandering, while you rub against his thigh needily. You reach a breaking point eventually.

“Steve,” you pull back from your sloppy kiss to whine, unsure exactly what you’re asking from him.

Face more flushed than before, Steve eyes you hungrily, lips swollen from your steamy kisses. He pulls your hips forward once again, groaning at the reaction it gets him— another pitiful whine, your hands on his neck flexing.

“God, you’re a fuckin’ angel,” He muses, more to himself. He bites his lower lip and takes a second to compose himself before his fingers take a walk, eyes tracing the path they take along the edge of your jeans. Steve pauses at the button, eyes flicking up to your face, eyebrows raising an inch.

“Take ‘em off?” He asks.

“In the kitchen?” You counter, sounding a bit appalled. Not that you and Steve have ever been restricted to the bedroom, but, well….

The Eggos in the toaster pop right at that moment as if to prove your point. You and Steve's heads both whip to the side to look at it and there's a moment of silence. Steve giggles first and you join in quickly, leaning into him. The noise tapers off and when you look back to Steve, you think about the night you would've had if you hadn't been held back.

You don't owe it to him, but you certainly are eager to find out the contents of his dream.

Stepping back out of his hold, you pull your shirt off swiftly. Next, you unbutton your jeans and shimmy them down your legs, kicking them off. Your legs prickle in the sudden coolness. You enjoy the wide-eyed boyish joy on Steve's face maybe a bit too much. He clearly wasn't sure he'd convinced you.

“You did say you'd show me what happened in this dream." You say, hooking your thumbs into your panties, like you're about to work them down your legs next. You pause, tilt your head, the fire in your belly fueled by Steve's greedy gaze drinking you in, "Or do you want to be the one to take these off?"

Steve growls, stepping forward and capturing your lips with his. It's fast and messy, his lips taking and taking, hands raking fast across your body as he lets desire run free. One hand kneads at your breast, pinching lightly at the peaking nipple beneath your shirt, stirring up heat within you. The other hand delves down, down, pushes gently into your panties.

A gasp stutters out of you as he runs his middle finger along your slit, gathering the wetness welling from your entrance. The pad of his fingers drags your slick forward, searching for your clit and you're nearly embarrassed by the hiccupy whimpering noise you make when he finds it.

"There?" Steve says, though his finger has already started to circle it, treacherously slow motions. You nod, your hand slipping and grasping his bicep tightly, giving a sweet sigh of pleasure. "Oh, good girl."

The praise sinks into your skin and you can feel yourself getting wetter, another futile clench of your cunt around nothing.

"Y'think you can handle my cock?" Steve murmurs lowly, checking in with you. He meanly speeds up his soft rubs on your clit as he asks, nearly making it impossible to answer for a minute, but you manage another nod, swallowing your noises for a moment.

"Yes," You say, voice nearly a whisper. Your breathing comes out in soft little pants, chest heaving. "Yes, yes, please, Steve."

Steve hums, pulling his hand from your panties and reaching for his own pants, the buckle clinking as he undoes his belt clumsily. His jeans pool at his ankles, kicked off in the direction of your own, and for a moment, it makes you laugh — two pairs of crumpled jeans on your kitchen floor all because of Steve's horny sleeping brain.

"So," you say, glancing for a moment at his tenting boxers. It makes you salivate just a bit. "How do you want me? How did the dream go?"

You emphasize the word dream, bending over to rest your forearms on one of the counters, sticking your ass out behind you tantalizingly. Steve's eyes stare intensely, chest rising and falling as he steps closer — his hands fall onto your lower back, dragging down lightly, til his fingertips curl under the elastic of your panties.

"Mhmm," He drags them further, revealing the swell of your ass and hot cunt and releasing a resounding groan of appreciation. He sounds breathless when he says, "Just... fuck, just like this."

Your panties gather round your ankles and you step out of them. Behind you, you can hear the sound of his boxers dropping, one warm hand leaving your skin for just a second. It's back in an instant, both his hands shifting down again, spreading your cunt wide for him.

Steve lets out another raspy groan, one of his thumbs coming down to play in the well of slickness building at your hole — your head tips forward with a shaky pleasured sigh of relief.

"Oh, so wet for me already." He says, bordering a tease. You resist the urge to wriggle your hips, to push back and see if he'll relent and touch you more. "Already so messy, huh?"

His light tone of mock twines up your desire and tugs it harshly, your cunt clenching with a whine so loud you nearly don’t hear his chuckle. You're nearly dizzy with relief when the next touch is his cock, nudging against your hot entrance lightly. One hand holds your hip.

Steve goes easy, sinking into you tortuously slow til his thighs meet the back of yours, a sighing moan scraping out his throat as he does. You keen, a strained mewl pushing out your throat as you get filled— so full it aches deliciously, aches for more.

“Ste— fuck,” His name is stolen from your mouth in a gasp, your hands gripping the counter as he pulls his hips back slow, the drag so so fucking delectable. Shit.

Steve rolls his hips forward, pushing back in gently and he pauses again, giving you a moment — even as you tremble and huff out high little noises, clearly enjoying yourself. Warmth spreads across your back as he leans over, pressing himself against your back and his cock further in. There’s a soft kiss on your spine, then another.

“Fuck,” he breathes heavily, breath fanning across your back. He gives another leisurely roll of his hips, a gentle fuck into your heat. You can feel his cock twitch inside you as your cunt clamps down on him. Another whiney noise passes your lips, heat curling up tight in your lower tummy. “Fuck, s’like you’re made for me. Like this pussy was just made for me.”

“Stevie,” you plead, managing to get the word out this time. There’s another ghost of his lips along your skin, then his arm shifts, wriggling under your tummy. He scoops it around your middle, hand pushing up between your breasts to rest on your sternum. Still folded atop you, Steve finally begins to move, hips pumping his cock in and out, faster and faster.

You squeal, body humming like a livewire as Steve finally fucks you, the soft squelch of your cunt sucking him in filling the kitchen. Steve’s chest burns hotly where it’s pressed to your back and you can hear every grunt that pairs with the snap of his hips, his hand on your hip and his arm under you pulling you back to meet every thrust.

Your eyes slip closed, little uh, uh, uh’s coming from your pretty mouth mixed with whimpers of Steve’s name. You’re stretched up on your toes, trying to get the angle that only Steve has ever found. Your core is burning with desire, a throbbing growing in your clit.

“You’re- shit, you’re better than a dream, sweetheart.” Steve grunts, hips never slowing his motions. The stretch of his cock has gone by now but the shape of his hard cock feels like he’s moulding your insides — and you love it.

“Nothing beats this pussy, mm. Nothing,” He drags out the word with a groan, breath coming out in hot pants against your back. “Beats fucking my girl.”

You’re nodding, beginning to feel too fucked out to even think of words. Steve’s hand shifts your hips up and you know he’s looking for that spot inside you— because you can feel his grin against your spine when you whine loudly when the head of his cock finds it.

“Oh, is that the spot?” Steve asks, voice dripping in condescension. You nod frantically. He starts to bully it with his cock, every fast thrust hitting it over and over, til nothing but the melted words of more and please leave your mouth in a drooling ramble. You’re whimpering and whining, cunt drooling all over his cock, down your thighs.

“That’s it, honey.” The words come out a bit choppy like Steve’s own orgasm was rearing its head and his hand moves off your hip — deftly finding your clit. You make a pathetic moan of his name as he circles it harshly, quick circles with the pads of his fingers.

“Fuckfuckfuck, Steve— uh, fuck,” You’re spewing anything that comes to your brain, your hips rocking back to meet Steve’s hard thrusts instinctively as you chase your high.

“Shit, honey,” Steve moans, voice climbing higher and breathier. His hips begin to jackhammer, stuttering as his orgasm tips over — a whiney string of curses sung into your skin as he fucks into your wet, hot cunt, hot cum dribbling from his cock inside you.

You’re desperate now, teetering close to your own edge but not quite there. “Stevie, please,” you cry. His fingers on your clit which had slowed regain their speed, his hips picking back up as he begins his murmurs to you.

“C’mon, honey, you’re so close, can feel this pussy sucking me in.“ He whispers hotly, his hand on your sternum moving to grope at your breast, fingers twisting at your nipple. “Want you to cum for me, okay? Please fucking cum for me.”

You don’t get a lot of choice with his cock drilling into you, pushing that sweet spot enough that your orgasm finally builds and melts — a strangled whiney moan of his name warbles out of you, instantly met with Steve’s praises, murmurs of how good you are for him. It feels like every nerve is alight, turning over and pulsing as the waves of pleasure ride out in your body.

You exhale, trying to catch your breath as you half melt into the counter, finally lowering off your tiptoes as you relax in the post-haze. Steve eases his cock out of you, the quietest wince, and you give yourself another minute before you drag yourself up, beginning to look for your abandoned panties. A thought strikes you.

“So,” you pant, leaning back against the counter; you’ll definitely need to sanitise that later. Steve’s rescued his boxers, tugging them up as he raises his brows to indicate he’s listening to your question. “How’d we do on the dream recreation?” You ask.

Steve grins cheekily. “Oh, in my dream we fucked on the couch.”

[universaln0b0dy]

Scales (Malleus x reader)

Summary: Malleus does something so small and so insignificant you believe you shouldn't be as sad as you are. Sadly back in your hometown that small gesture had a gigantic meaning.

Note: you know all of these "reader accidentally courts them" type of fics? Yeah it's this, just reversed. Malleus accidentally courts the poor reader.

Malleus had his tail out, the reason wasn't important. You had been hanging around the fae for quite a while and even after finding out he was the feared Malleus Draconia everyone told you about, that didn't take a toll on your feelings for him. No, they significantly went overboard and now you had a crush. Yay.

"Oh! Malleus, there is a scale on the floor." You weren't sure if it was normal for a dragon fae to loose a scale once in a while, but you wanted to point it out nonetheless. Carefully you put it back into his hand, only to get fixated by it.

Back in your world there was a story about a knight who wanted to marry a princess, but the king didn't want them to marry, so he ordered the knight to steal one scale from the dragon without killing him. The king assumed the knight would die during this mission, but he didn't and so the prince got to marry the princess...

"Child of man? If thy like my scale so much, I could just gift it to you." These words catapulted you out of your thoughts and for a second you blue screen. Didn't Malleus know what he was asking? That he was swearing he would love you until he dies?

The hope that had glimmers in your heart starts to dim as you realise that only the young people in your hometown used the dragon scale symbolism as a proposal. You remembered the times when during valentine's day everyone was making small scale shaped charms to give to their lover, after all the story claimed that the princess tripped over both her feet as she saw her knight with the gift and exclaimed she would love him forever.

To think that cheesy love tale would become such a giant part of your country's tradition.

You look towards the floor mildly disappointed. "Its fine, Mal." You mutter trying not to be too sad about the fact that the fae prince didn't ask you out. Oh, silly heart please stop beating so fast, you think to yourself, gazing into Malleus eyes, who looks kinda disappointed.

"Is my scale that unsightly to you that you don't want it as a gift?" He looked so sad, so you felt bad for chuckling. "No, I would love to take it, it just has a different meaning to me." You look to the side, your cheeks going red.

"Gifting someone a "dragon scale" means "I want to stay with you forever" where I am from." You expect Malleus to retract his hand that still holds the scale towards you, but he doesn't only softly humming.

"I know that, child of man. Lilia told me about that costum after you told him."

You look at Malleus in disbelief before moving your hand closer to the scale in his hand, before taking it. "Malleus? Is it alright if I tell you my answer for this tomorrow? I kinda need to prepare something."

Malleus looks at you suprised and kinda baffled, simply because you don't want him to have to go home empty handed you give him a kiss on the cheek with a soft smile, returning to Ramshackle.

"Hmm, a yes was always said with something with the same colour as my eyes." Carefully you created two necklaces out of everything you could find, now it kinda looked like a friendship token that you could connect only that Malleus would have his decorated with a gem/stone in the colour of your eyes and you would carry the scale.

"Hmm, I wish it was already tomorrow so I could give this to him." You mutter, before drifting to sleep, the scale necklace resting around your neck.

[pygmi-cygni]

Cold Feet - sickfic w joel miller

@chaithetics this is for you! xox feel better

cw: general injury/sickness recovery fic, nothing graphic but mentions of nausea, pain, dizziness, fainting, cute stuff idk, not really established relationship but joel be crushin fr fr

The dingy wallpaper swam in lazy eddies. You'd been laying on the couch, curled in the fetal position for hours, staring listlessly at the badly stained floral walls. The faded roses and lilies were swaying in an imaginary wind, fluttering in the woozy aftereffects of the pain meds.

It had only been an hour since your last dose, but you still felt like a rusted knife had ripped through your abdomen. A combination of a bad knife wound and the subsequent infection had incapacitated you for all of yesterday and today. If you had any rational thought, you'd be bored stupid. Instead, you were just drugged stupid.

Honestly, not much of a difference.

After staggering home from the med tent, you laid your meds, water, and two tureens of watery broth. That way, you didn't have to stumble to the kitchen every time you got hungry. Though even turning over to fumble with the pill bottle set fire to your belly.

The darkness of sleep sucked your mind into nothing as you blissfully lost consciousness.

Shhp. Shhhhp. Shhhh-

the sliding of something across your floor stirred your syrupy mind. Wincing as bright sunlight stabbed your aching head, you tried to focus blearily on the figure in front of you.

He - you assumed - was dressed in heavy clothes and grunting like a wounded bear.

"Joel?" Your voice sounded hideous, creaking like the wind in the trees. His familiar mop of curls startled, and he turned to look at you. He looked mildly ashamed, you thought, like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"Hey, sugar," he rasped, pausing what he was doing to limp over. "Didn't mean to wake ya."

You tried to raise your head but another sludgy wave of pain forced you to mash your face in the cushions. A pathetic whimper was muffled by the corduroy.

"You look a little rough, honey," he said, stooping to brush the hair from your face. You flinched a little at the sudden contact, sparks lighting at the point of contact.

Joel soothed an apology and went to close the blinds. "Tommy said you were down for the count, so I thought I'd stop by," he said hoarsely, blessedly dimming the light to darkness. You sagged with relief. Joel's soothing drawl rambled about his day while he sick-proofed your little room; placing a metal bowl for easy reach, grabbing a blanket from the adjacent bedroom, and replacing your water with fresh, cool water.

"Let me," he whispered, carefully maneuvering you into the sitting position so you could have some slow sips of broth. The movement made your chest throb, and you huffed in pain. A soothing hand stroked your hair. You could smell him, woodsy and warm on his flannel. Trembling from the roiling pain of your wound, you tucked yourself against his broad chest. Joel took the hint, and gently placed a pill in your open mouth.

You felt a little embarrassed, being this dependent on him to do something as simple as drink soup. You tried to voice your apology, but your weak state jumbled the sentence into slurred mumbles. Joel shushed you, rubbing your shoulder.

"'S alright," he murmured, "happy to help." Easing a drink of blissfully cool water down your throat, he gently lifted you and headed towards your bedroom. The light bouncing made you wince, but the soft brushed of his lips on your hair eased any discomfort.

"You'll feel better on a real bed."

You groaned weakly when your head hit the pillow. Joel tucked the sheets and blankets all the way to your chin, eyes soft and worried. "You been out a while, huh, baby?"

At your weak agreement he nodded and continued to smooth his hand over your sweaty brow.

"We'll fix ya up, don' worry about it," he assured, kissing the tears from your cheeks.

Lighting a sweet-smelling candle, he murmured a goodnight and left for evening patrol.

Hours later, he came trudging back. The gentle creak of the wardrobe as he hung up his jacket and rifle roused you, but only slightly. His warm touch and the feeling of his chest against your back rolled you right back under.

[frenziedfireworks]

Dating!

Dating the HL Boys!

(Sebastian, Ominis, Garreth)

masterlist

Sebastian :

I feel like he definitely has insomnia. He is not able to go to sleep easily and hates it. Help the poor guy to calm down & give him cuddles. If you pamper him he will go to sleep easier. 

He’s very thoughtful and remembers important dates and anything you look at. You kept staring at that book in the window? It’s on your desk. Your coat ripped? You suddenly have a new one. He doesn’t care how hard he has to work to spoil you - he will do it.

He’s very protective of you towards anyone - even Ominis. He knows you can handle yourself but he just wants to make sure you feel safe and nobody is pushing your buttons. That’s his job after all <3

You had turned in bed adjusting your position when a light woke you up. You begrudgingly opened your eyes, adjusting to the shine that was right next to you. Unsurprisingly it was your dearest boyfriend using lumos in an attempt to read instead of sleeping.

“Seb?” Your voice croaked and the freckled man looked down.

“Hey baby. Did I wake you? I’m sorry.” His hand danced over your cheek and a soft kiss was placed upon your forehead. 

“You should be asleep.” 

“I tried. Thought I’d read until I got tired..” You only sighed and pushed yourself up. 

“What time is it?” You looked for the clock and noticed how late, or more so early it was.

“Sebastian, it's 4 am. Merlin’s beard.. I’ll be back.”

“Darling it’s okay-“

“Be quiet and sit.” You grunted and made your way to the kitchen. You were quick to make him a warm cup of tea and flutter back to the safety of your bed. Sebastian’s face was red and he gave you a thankful smile as he took a sip.

“Thank you my love. I don’t know what I did to deserve you.” He leaned in to give you a quick smooch as you laid back down.

“You’re lucky you’re cute. Finish that and cuddle with me, you oaf.”

Ominis :

Once you truly get to know Ominis he is CHATTY. He doesn’t stop talking and asks you the most random questions. He would be the type of boyfriend to ask you if you would love him as a worm.

He makes very cute dates to take you on. Picnics and sitting outdoors kind of stuff! If you don’t like that then he will of course take that into consideration.. He wouldn’t mind sitting in a secluded spot just enjoying time together.

Ominis doesn’t show it as much but I feel like he gets jealous. He will admit it to you if you question him. He gets in fits of not feeling adequate for you. Just tell him you love him and it’s all fine!!

“Y/N?” Ominis’ voice pierced through the silence of your bedroom. You turned in the sheets to face him, hand coming to rest on his chest. 

“Yes?” You questioned. He had a small grin on his face that you could make out from the dim moonlight. You knew it would be another one of your silly nights.

“Would you still love me if I was a worm?” You automatically cackled at the question, expecting anything other than that.

“You’re just a worm?”

“Yes. Just a worm.” 

Ominis snorted again at the ridiculous question and you rolled your eyes. You pressed a kiss against his shoulder and hummed.

“I suppose. I think I’d take you everywhere in a nice cage. We would eat breakfast together while you squirmed in your dirt and you would enjoy your life. Then one day I would take us on vacation to the beach. Maybe even do some fishing..” You held back a giant laugh as he gasped.

“And I am not the bait surely?!” The boy's arm smacked against you and you couldn’t hold your breath. 

“I am not the bait, right?!” He repeated the question and you felt lightheaded. 

“Uhuh sure my love..” You mustered up a sarcastic response and watched as he bobbed his head in annoyance.

“You’re ridiculous.” 

“You’re the one who asked!”

Garreth :

He ALWAYS brings you homemade stuff. Some of it is mildly concerning but he just shrugs it off. After all it is “made with love” as he puts it.

Garreth always brings you on little adventures to collect supplies or sits with you on your hobbies. He thinks it’s the best to just be in your presence. 

He’s very attentive and handsy. Physical touch is definitely a high contender for his love language. I feel like it makes him more calm to always have a hand on you. You’re like a little safety blanket <3

I feel like Garreth has ADHD.. If he gets busy with potions he won’t notice ten hours have passed until you forcibly pull him away. You constantly have to remind him to eat or take a break.

“Garreth?” Your voice filtered into the empty potions room where your boyfriend stood hard at work. You had not seen him all day and was starting to worry that one of his potions had finally taken him out. Walking up behind the boy you let out a cough and rubbed your hand up his back.

“Oh!” 

Garreth jumped and turned to face you. His eyes were bloodshot and his grin was wavering on a questionable line of sanity.

“Have you slept? How long have you been down here?” You brought your hand to his forcing him to drop the feathers onto the counter. His forehead came to rest on your shoulder and he let out a deep sigh.

“It hasn’t been that long has it?”

“Baby it’s Saturday morning.” You whispered as your fingers skimmed through his ginger locks. He only grunted in response and dug deeper into your shoulder.

“Well I need to finish-“ The boy started but you cut him off quickly.

“You can finish this another day. Your brewing pot is not going anywhere. We are going to put you to bed. Understand?” Garreth only snorted and moved so you could lead the way.

“You’re cute when you’re bossy.”

“Don’t even start Weasley.”

[hinatiny]

late night comfort ੈ✩‧₊˚ kageyama tobio

kageyama has learned your home like the back of his hand; even at the latest and most exhausting of nights, he makes sure to appreciate that when he wants to see you.

w.c: 0.7k

kageyama is careful when he opens the door with the spare key, almost too careful — and rightfully so, because he enters an apartment more silent than death. it’s darker inside than it is outside despite the late night hours, although there’s a faint, dim light shining from somewhere deeper in your home. 

everything about his every move is thought and done in a calculated manner, as if he’s still on a court and internally illustrating how he should perform his next set. he’s not on a court though, he’s at your place and it’s because it’s so late and quiet that he acts carefully—slowly shuffling his windbreaker down his shoulders, stepping out of his shoes rather than kicking them off like he often does, dropping his duffle bag like it’s a ticking bomb ready to explode at any point. 

leaving the hallway, kageyama’s pace is sometimes interrupted by slightly longer steps so as to skip the parts of the wood he has memorized will otherwise creak. that’s just how often he’s been here, to the point where it’s become a muscle-memory kind of thing.

he invites himself to take a short trip around your place; heading to the kitchen for a glass of water, tracing over towards the balcony to make sure the door is locked, biting his tongue to suppress a strangled noise when he almost trips on a blanket you’ve forgotten on the floor, complaining in his mind as he folds and places it on its rightful place on the sofa’s arm.

his last task is turning off the small lamp standing on a drawer in your living room. after all, he knows that the sole reason you’ve left it on was for him to have some sort of guidance upon coming over.

kageyama feels mildly guilty about it, aware that it happens whenever your wait for his arrival takes longer than either of you had expected and you’ve decided to go to sleep first. you’ve reassured him that it’s alright countless of times, but that bad habit of his resurfaces every now and then.

nonetheless, it’s not long until he’s entering your bedroom. in the middle of blindly finding some of his extra clothes he has left in your closet, he glances back at your figure. only the contour of it can be made out, curled up underneath the covers and along with your deep breaths, the stillness of your body confirms that you’re asleep, no doubt. getting changed, kageyama can, for the first time today, take a deep, relaxed breath as he carefully lifts the blanket. he settles down next to you, cautious to not let the dip of his weight wake you up. 

it’s warm. not warm in the sense like he’s about to boil over, but warm in the sense like his soul is being embraced. it’s simply too comfortable, as if he’s also living here and he’s at home, when home really just is you. wherever you are, and one of the times he feels the most at home is when he gets to cloak his arm around you. when did physical contact become a thing? kageyama doesn’t remember, but for sure after meeting you. there’s something soothing to it, charming even, getting to hold you closer to himself.

had he been asked about it — although he probably wouldn’t, in no universe at all — he just might’ve described it like those days when a volleyball feels specifically shaped to fit in his hands. 

kageyama is briefly brought out of his comfort when he suddenly feels you shift. there’s a slight concern that he has accidentally woken you up, but you turn around in his hold only to greet him still fast asleep. with such little space parting you by now, he has to bite a chuckle away when your deep inhales actually are revealed to be subtle snoring.

at some point, it does start getting a bit warm after all. he can’t bring himself to care though, not when you curl into him impossibly closer and the tip of your nose grazes his in a feather-light touch. instead, he merely tucks your head under his chin, soon falling asleep in a peace he wouldn’t find anywhere else.

[vagabond-umlaut]

Honey & Maple Syrup

Gojo Satoru x Fem!Reader; Arranged Marriage; Childhood Friendship To Complicated Feelings™️; Flangst; Explicit Smut [P-In-V; Switch!Gojo]; Angst With A Happy Ending; Porn With Feelings™️; Brief Mentions Of Reader Being Mildly Injured In A Mission. This is 18+ Content -> Minors & Ageless Blogs Please DNI!!!

Oneshot From Series: One Day, Three Autumns [Can Be Treated As A Stand-Alone]

Satoru Is So Emotional While Making Love To His Wife. Said WIfe Too Gets Really Soft Very Quickly For Her Husband— Albeit She Knows To Mask Her Emotions Behind Her Incredibly Dumb & Mildly Yandere-ish Jokes. She's Such A Tsundere, ISTG!! [Gojo Has No Problem With That Aspect Of The Reader, Though. Sweet For The Reader, IG...]

Uh-huh, sex with Gojo sure is something else but do you know what's even more of a something else?

Sex with Gojo on the floor of your living room at three in the night— those clothes of yours scattered over the tiny distance from the front door while your husband pounds into you in a frantic rush, tears filled in his blue eyes as his lips slot against yours messily– the moisture on his long lashes dripping onto your wet warm cheeks.

The mission you returned from wasn't too difficult; the blood on your clothes weren't much of yours either. Yet... all it takes this man is one look at you from head to toe, before his sleepy gaze switches into an extremely worried gaze and he pulls you into the safety of your home and into the safety of his arms, then tilting your chin up and claiming your lips in a fiery needy kiss—

Though nowhere as needy as the moan he lets out now, on your legs tightening round his waist and driving his shaft even deeper into the trembling, throbbing, leaking mess you've become down there.

"Nngh, sweetness– p-please!" he whimpers into your ear, sharp nose nuzzling into your temple, as he delivers yet another powerful thrust, drawing a garbled version of his name from your mouth– making the muscles in your body relax yet tense, ache yet tinge in pleasure– "It's so, so tight, fuckk-" he drawls out, rolling his hips against yours. Eyes squeezing tight shut. Lifting his head from beside you, his lips part in yet another throaty moan. "'s sooo good- yea, perfect f'me– aren't ya made for me, my love?"

"Am I?" You inquire softly, relishing in the way he reaches you deep in your walls, filling the hollow; though you keep your eyes wide open to drink in the ethereal glow your man is radiating, in the dim moonlight through the curtains. "I'm makin' you cry— ah, 'Toru—" your guilt gets washed away in a wave of unadulterated pleasure– Gojo's fingers flex around yours on one side of your head, whilst his free hand brushes a tear rolling down your cheek into the cold marble below.

In reverent affection. In adoration, your pleasure-hazy mind whispers.

Two plush lips press into yours before retreating an inch away. "You're perfect, sweetness," Gojo says, slowing his motions a little– an action which makes you move to buck your hips upward, only to be stopped by a large palm covering your waist and holding it in place, "And don't feel guilty for anything– you're too good for me, too precious for me– 'm always scared I might lose you. I... don't want anyone– anything to take you too away from me— you–" his voice assumes a rare tremble; he resumes, moving his hand from your hip to cradle your cheek.

"You do understand that, sweetness— don't you?"

Some other time and you suppose you'll be busy wondering, how on earth this man has that short his recovery time to be blubbering one minute then reassuring you the next— now is no such time, however.

Fresh tears curtaining the steely determination and tender affections in those azure pools of power. Fingers flexing yet again, as if to grasp and engrave the feeling of your fingers intertwined with them forever. Calloused palm caressing your cheeks, gentler than a rose petal.

Your husband— The One And Only Honored One— looking at you as if the only deity he deems is worth believing in is right in front of him, under him— Every strand of his soul worshipping every atom of your being, as if that is the only means he might achieve enlightenment—

You don't know how to deal with the storm of emotions your sudden realizations wreak through your body [one disadvantage of marrying your childhood best friend is how easily you can read him, during an emotionally charged moment, further increasing the weight on your emotions-weary self...]— You do know how to deal with the storm of emotions wreaking havoc in your husband, though. [Count this as an advantage of marrying your childhood best friend— you take quite a great deal of pride in knowing none can read Gojo the way you do.]–

Pulling him down, until his well-defined chest collides with the soft flesh of your breasts, you take advantage of the sudden loss of grip he has on you to flip him onto his back — and lean down, your nose bumping into his and your lips separated in small huffs, being mere yet too much an inch away from his, open in a small shocked circle.

Notwithstanding the dull ache in your calf nor the stinging pain at the apex of your thighs the abrupt change in position has brought along– you smile.

Too much drunk on the emotion you know one must never allow their ridiculous hearts to experience in your line of work; though, you think you can be a hypocrite for tonight– the first and only time in your life.

You press a swift kiss to the corner of his lips. "I'm here, 'Toru and I'll be here, worrying you and annoying you to your wits' ends, till death does us apart– maybe after then too, I'm going to haunt you and the next woman you marry, till she runs away and you're left all alone for me to monopolize again— Heh, sounds like one hell of an antidote to your insanely stupid worries– doesn't it, Satoru?" you ask with a grin.

A huff of a laugh sounds from the addressed man. Raising yourself a little, you narrow your eyes, ready with biting retorts— only to pause on catching the upwards curve slowly forming on his lips— so small yet so blinding in quality, as it grows and stretches, bringing out the adorable dimples in his cheeks, eclipsing the fear and concern in his features by its priceless beauty, you know no fake smile can possess— no matter how bright, how wide, how well-practised they are.

Heart thundering within your chest, you brush away a tear clinging to his eyelashes with a thumb, moving to plant your lips to his face once more.

Ah, well— you tell yourself with a happy little sigh— perhaps, you can be a hypocrite for a bit longer than tonight.

I do not own the characters used. Divider is by @cafekitsune. Please do not plagiarize or translate or repost this. Hope you enjoyed reading this! 😊

Please interact with This Post to be added to the series taglist! ❤️

Masterlist

Hope y'all won't mind me tagging you here: @avatarofstars, @shotorus, @4sat0ruu, @ancient-vivarium, @heresan, @poe-daydreams, @konigbabe, @yuujispinkhair, @nanamikentoseyebags [PLS LET ME KNOW IF U WOULD LIKE TO BE REMOVED FROM THE TAGLIST. I WON'T MIND!! PROMISE!! TY FOR YOUR SUPPORT!! 🥰🥰]

[fallenwhumpee]

Super boop back to you :) Please have part two <3

Promise

• Part 1 • Part 2 • Masterlist •

Warnings: Nightmares, blood.

For once, Healer was free to do as they wished after a battle. There were no injured from their team, nearly no one to bury, and only a few of the villagers hurt mildly that was taken care of by the other healers on the field.

But somehow, they couldn't enjoy the celebration.

Sighing at the campfire warming their face, they wished they hadn't felt this way. They had won, with almost no casuality under some finest generals of their kingdom, but it felt off. Healer was missing something very important.

Standing up slowly, they began wandering in the crowd, checking everyone. Their focus was mostly on their own team, though. Just as Leader promised, all of them were in good shape. And some in good mood enough to join the small chorus that was beginning to form.

Healer wasn't one to stay spectator to those. Before, they would be running to celebrate the victory after patching up the last soldier, but that day, they felt like a stranger to the fun. They were sure this wasn't what Leader felt while—

Oh. Perhaps what bothered them was the fact that Leader didn't come and watch the others with their usual subtle but proud smile. Healer was too used to those hidden glances that they were now feeling the absence of it.

Healer couldn't understand what held Leader back this time. This was probably one of their best battles in their career, something to be celebrated at least until the sunrise.

Despite the growing unease inside them, they didn't visit Leader again. The celebrations calmed down, loud cheers turned to silent chatter until Healer felt the need to check up on Leader.

Quickly but silently, Healer marched to Leader's tent. There was a very dim light flickering. It made Healer hesitate. They would hate to disturb Leader's sleep, but shadows were moving inside.

Peeking their head in, Healer was greeted with the sight of Leader tossing and turning, eyes closed. A piece of parchment was on top of the shield in the cormer, a foreign face halfly drawn on it.

Healer looked back to Leader again. They were frowning and muttering in their sleep, body tense. It looked like Leader was having a dream— a nightmare.

"Leader?" Healer called. They didn't want to startle Leader, simply to connect them back to reality. They stepped further into the tent but then swore with a loud clank. Their leg knocked over the neatly stacked armour.

Leader woke up with a jolt, reaching to their sword before meeting with Healer's guilty gaze, the sudden deep and raging breaths filling the silence. Healer didn't move from their place not to trigger any furter response. They simply took in Leader's unusual messy appearance, from hair to the environment. Then, Leader relaxed their grip on the swords hilt slowly. Healer hadn't even noticed that.

Healer turned the valve of the gas lamp, revealing the messy scene before them even more clearly. Leader slowly gathered their breaths and composure, sitting up properly.

More than the unusual sight, a string of blood on Leader's slightly exposed shoulder shook Healer.

"Sorry," Leader began as they wiped their face. "Must've fallen asleep. Is there something wrong?"

Healer stared for a moment. Healer was an idiot. But not as much as Leader. "Yes. Yes, something is wrong. Show me your shoulder. Now."

"There's nothing to show. Healer, go get some rest." Leader almost hissed.

"I'm not leaving until I see that shoulder," Healer insisted, their voice firm. They stood with arms crossed and didn't talk for a while.

Reluctantly, Leader yielded, lowering their guard with a sigh. Healer quickly knelt next to them, carefully removing the bloodsoaked bandages.

The wound was deeper than Healer had anticipated, and they couldn't suppress a gasp of concern at the sight, the wound flesh and still oozing blood despite looking like it had been a while. While the cut was clean, edges of the wound were irritated by the fabric— was that cloth fabric? What was Leader thinking?

"This needs proper treatment," Healer murmured, their fingers tracing the edges of the injury with gentle precision. "You're lucky you didn't aggravate it further."

Leader remained silent, their gaze fixed on the ground as Healer checked it again before leaving to get some supplies. Leader's behaviour was... odd. Concerning.

"Sorry," Leader breathed out before Healer went out, their voice softer this time. "I didn't mean to snap. It's... It's been a long day.".

Healer only nodded before rushing to their own tent. They quickly grabbed some herbs and bandages. Much to their relief, Leader hadn't moved while Healer was away. They offered a willow bark for Leader to chew on, which Leader refused with a small thanks. Healer sighed before warning Leader and using a damp cloth to clean the wound. They were sure it was painful, but Leader remained silent.

"I didn't know you could draw so well," Healer tried. They didn't want the atmosphere to be so tense. "And your figure looks gorgeous. I'd like to meet them if they're single."

For a second, Healer thought they had seen tears in Leader's eyes, but when Leader stared into their soul flatly, there was only an empty look. "You can't meet them," Leader simply said, closing the topic.

Healer had a feeling all of their attempts to make a small talk was destined to end up like that. Lost in thoughts, they forgot to warn Leader as they wrapped the first set of bandages soaked in Healer's own secret formula. They shrugged apologetically at Leader's wince, continuing their work once Leader nodded them.

"You two would be unbearable together if they were alive." Leader muttered in a fond voice, too low to hear if there was any other sound than shift of the fabric.

Healer's blood froze, their hands faltering momentarily before resuming their task. They tried to ignore the comment that wasn't for them to hear, so they changed the topic.

"You didn't break your promise if you didn't come to me because of that. Technically, no one visited me." They mumbled as they took clean bandages.

Leader remained silent for a moment, their gaze fixed on Healer's hand working on their shoulder. Finally, Leader sighed, their shoulders slumping with resignation.

"It's not about the promise," they admitted, with emotions in their voice Healer couldn't dechiper.

"What is it then?" Healer asked gently, failing to mask the tone of genuine concern as they spoke. "You can talk to me, you know."

"I know," Leader replied flatly. "But old habits die hard, I suppose."

Again, an awkward silence took over. Healer could heal wounds, but healing souls? It was beyond them. So they just focused on wrapping the wound, not looking at Leader's face. It was a mistake that they would never forgive themselves for because when they raised their head back, they saw Leader looking at the drawing and... crying. Tears falling silently as Leader stood still.

The sight of their usually composed and authoritative figure crumbling before them was both unexpected and unsettling.

"Leader..." Healer's voice trailed off. They didn't know how to react to this.

After a moment that felt like an eternity, Leader took a deep, shuddering breath and wiped away their tears with the back of their hand. They straightened their posture, as if trying to regain control over their emotions.

"You should really go get some rest, Healer. We will leave tomorrow morning."

"But..." Healer started, trying to form an argument.

"I'll do the same. Thank you for your concern. Its... I appreciate it. Now, if you could just..."

Healer hesitated, torn between respecting Leader's request for privacy and their concern. But ultimately, they knew that leaving Leader alone with their thoughts was not an option.

"Leader," Healer began gently, "I understand if you don't want to talk about it, but you don't have to bear your burdens alone."

Leader's expression softened, a flicker of grief crossing their features before they masked it first with a smile but after with their usual stoicism. "Thank you, Healer," they said softly, their voice tinged with exhaustion. "It' selfishly, I know, but some burdens are only mine to bear."

Healer could only sigh as a response and leave after exchanging goodnights quietly.

[blueaetherr]

romance oblivion

pairing: mason mount x fem!reader [she/her]

warning(s): angst?

summary: the one where feelings are no longer mutual

author's note: something short to get myself out of my writer's block. my requests are open if anyone wants to send a request or two <;3.

In the second hour of the day everyone and everything seemed well settled in the night. The neighbours' music and lights were off by midnight, the streets beyond the estates quiet and deserted of traffic and commotion, all while the animals of the day decided to retire until the early hours of dawn returned in the following hours.

Yet in the early hours of the day, Mason and Y/N were mildly awake. Still dressed in party attire from earlier, resting comfortably in Mason's conservatory. Under a dim light, surrounded by the dark of the night, they entertained themselves with their slurred jokes from fogged minds, dancing with a lack of care and laughter that occasionally brought them out of their fatigue.

Here was Y/N and Mason, friends who were openly intertwined with one another. From the way they spoke to one another, from the way they were able to spend time together outside of normal hours, the way they chose to compose themselves in the privacy of their friendship compared to in front of others—which was all the same—it was difficult to expect anything other than an honest friendship that would see years and milestones to come.

Tilting her head she focused her gaze upon the individual on the other side of the coffee table. She asked, "Tell me, Mason: how are you?" 

He offered his friend a wondering look. "How am I?" Mason had to repeat the question to himself. For the time since they settled in the space, their conversations had only known laughter and unserious behaviours. The shift in conversation was more than sudden to him.

She rolled her eyes as she laughed a bit. "Yes! I don't see anyone else here to ask."

Mason reached his hand back to scratch the nape of his neck. He let his sight wander away from Y/N. "Well... I don't know what to say," he exhaled, leaning his head rightward. It was a simple question to answer, sure. Though returning his eyes to Y/N's unfazed gaze—a look demanding and pronounced, a look purposely in his vision—he felt the need to deliver. He sighed as his face relaxed back into a smile. "I feel like you know everything about me already." 

And he was right to think so 'cause for the most part, it was true. Considering they had been friends since the beginning of time, they lived near one another and their friendship included but wasn't limited to personal and intimate conversations, it wasn't a surprise that they knew enough about one another just as they did themselves.

"C'mon, Mase. There has to be something I don't know about," Y/N said as her face opened up further, her eyebrows lifting slightly. She mentioned in a small voice, "Let's not point out the elephant in the room."

In fact, here was Y/N and Mason, friends and ex-partners who were openly intertwined with one another.

While exes they chose to remain friends—incredible friends even. After two years of dating, they knew it was time to let each other go romantically to preserve all they already had. Their break-up, as unfortunate and tragic as it was, was necessary and understandable; they wanted different things for one another and themselves, leaving them feeling unsupported in the relationship that was initially nurturing. 

As always they were patient and kind and gentle. To themselves, to one another, to the process of returning to a friendship that actually never faded away. Nothing was irrational, arguments were limited to nothing and feelings were preserved on both sides.

"I mean..."

Watching Y/N eating with a lack of care, focusing her sight upon him, her legs raised at ease on the coffee table, slightly undone in front of him. She made it clear that she was comfortable being around him as a friend, as an ex and as a friend again. She was clear of him. She no longer thought about him until her mind ran dry of thoughts to explore. She no longer held valid nor romantic feelings for Mason.

Yet here Mason was. Watching Y/N like his own reflection, struggling to form words from his distant thoughts, uncertainty every time he spoke up, observing her every action with changeless admiration and longing. For her, for something more with her—whether worthy or not of it. He had been trying to move on, trying to focus his thoughts on someone else, anything else though his attempts weren't enough. 

From the time they had ended their relationship up until now, Mason still wasn't over Y/N... and she didn't even know, both not even in the slightest way.

So Mason had to say, shrugging through a now pained smile. "Nothing, nothing has changed for me... Same old, same old, you know."

And though he wanted to say more—to express himself, to say hear me out or let's give us one more chance—he knew he couldn't so he didn't. Not only for Y/N's peace of mind but for his. After all, before they were lovers, even before they were ex-partners, they were rightfully friends. A friendship that had always been around and uniquely theirs. Y/N was his friend, and Mason would never compromise that for his own gains.

That left Mason stuck somewhere in a place where he would be alone and without Y/N. Somewhere he would continue wanting and yearning for someone who no longer desired him. Somewhere he would continue falling for Y/N with nothing to break his fall. And his most devastating reality, somewhere he would continue to fall for Y/N while she no longer would for him but rather for someone else.

[thejacketscloset]

Mission went to shit so quickly, things they never could've accounted for happened, and now Ghost is captured and the 141 is in the wind.

Graves had been alive, somehow survived the attack on the tank, and he had hit them hard. His rage had been vibrant, and he was clear in his targeting attacks towards Soap. In Ghost's concern he had been blind to see how it was all a trap.

Now, Ghost had been captured for a few days. He was unsure how much time exactly had passed, only getting occasional visits from the shadows and Graves.

After what Ghost guessed was the fourth day, the shadows moved him to a new room. His head had been covered by a bag, and the barrel of a gun was pressed to his head the entire walk before he was roughly shoved into a metal seat. The gun remained until all the binds on his arms, legs, and chest were fastened. Then, finally, the gun was removed and the bag was pulled off of his head.

Ghost was sat in a blank room, a dim overhead light revealed a table set with plates at each of the three empty seats around it. At the very back of the room, Ghost could see Graves trying to blend into the shadows.

"The fuck is this supposed to be?" He growled out to his captor, only confused by the set up in front of him.

"Divine intervention." Graves says, speaking so casually as he steps into the light. Ghost hates him, he scowls with the need to wipe the smug look off his face.

"Enlighten me then."

Graves grins something sadistic. He turns and grabs something off the side, beginning to bring it to the table.

"I payed your Sargent a little visit this morning." He says, still grinning at Ghost with a look that looks almost manic. He's back in the light now, and Ghost can see what he's carrying.

A dish cover of some sort.

Ghost stomach drops, mind racing with all the implications of what Graves said while holding it. Images flash through his mind, ones of his Johnny's head sitting on that plate. Pale and lifeless, everything that he knows Johnny isn't. Has never been.

"What did you do?" Fear slips into his tone. Graves grins wider.

"I made him a snack."

The plate cover is placed on the table, in seconds Graves goes to pick it up and reveal Ghost's worst fears. A scream rips out into the room, and Ghost realizes, horrified, it's his own voice. He screams "NO" as the plate cover comes off, screws his eyes shut to avoid facing down the worst case scenario.

The room is silent for a few seconds, and then Graves honest to God starts giggling. Ghost feels sick.

He pries his eyes open, and they fall upon the... bomb??

Not Soap's head, thank god, but and honest to god timed explosive. A ragged releived breath rips itself from Ghost's chest. He hadn't even realized he had been holding his breath.

"Jeez, I'm not that crazy. Don't worry though, I made sure to invite him for this dinner."

Right as Graves spoke, the door to the room is opened and Soap is dragged in the same way Ghost had been.

Ghost's mind spins, he's dizzy with the relief of seeing Soap. He's breathing and so alive.

The bag is ripped off his head and Ghost studies every inch of every feature. Soap looks mildly scratched up, and a little dazed, but so very alive. Ghost's stomach flips with emotion, he almost lets out another sob of relief.

Soaps eyes finally land on Ghost's, and in spite of the millions of fucked up things happening to them in that moment, he smiles so warmly.

Distantly, he registers Graves saying something that sounds snarky, him leaving the room, locking them in here. And the beeping of the timer in front of him continues on, and God he should be so worried about that right now but he isn't. He can't pull his eyes away from Johnny's.

Yeah. We'll be okay. Is all Ghost can think as he holds his gaze.

[fruitcoops]

WAIT CAN WE HAVE THE FIRST TIME JAX SAW REGULUS CRY PLEASE PLEASE IF YOU HAVEN'T ALREADY

(bonus points if they comfort him)

 Fic O'Ween Day 4: Dead End, or three times Regulus almost cried in front of his friends and one time he actually did. Thanks to @noots-fic-fests for compiling all these amazing submissions, and to @lumosinlove for a tragically beautiful Regulus <3 Jax, Kris, and Vanessa are OCs of mine!

TW for injury, and canon shitty treatment at the hands of the Snakes

I.

Regulus was really good at not crying. Not crying was the easiest thing in the world. Instead of letting himself get worked up until he spilled over, he could just…not do that. He could swallow it down. Choke it back. The problem was that once he started crying, he couldn’t stop, and since nobody would care either way, it wasn’t worth the effort and embarrassment. He was a grown man. He’d been through worse.

Worse than a B minus, at least.

He was pretty sure.

“Hey, you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” he answered mildly. “And yourself?”

Jax’s mouth turned down at the sides. “Uh, can’t complain. What’s…what’s going on?”

Regulus shrugged one shoulder. He couldn’t bring himself to close the tab of his failure. “Preparing for the week.”

“Right.” Jax didn’t sound like they believed him. Unfortunate. He used to be a much better liar.

“I always do that.”

“I know.”

Odd. He hadn’t expected them to know his habits. It had only been three months.

“You seem—” Jax broke off, setting their bag down on the floor with an unusually delicate touch. They leaned against the edge of their desk and gave him a funny look. “Do you want to talk?”

Regulus’ gut twisted on reflex. “About what?”

It came out too harsh—they shrank back slightly, shoulders drooping, dark eyes flicking away. He should apologize. He should.

“What would you like to talk about?” he tried instead.

“Dunno.” That was another thing he was getting used to: the way people started speaking just to speak, to fill the silence. Jax rarely second-guessed their words. Even now, they shifted their weight from one hip to the other only once before beginning again. “I was at the gym this afternoon.”

A strange thing to note. He waited for them to continue; when they didn’t, he mustered an encouraging noise.

“So if you’re ever interested…”

“You want me to come with you?”

“Well, I—if you’re interested—”

“Why would you want that?” What was it about college that made people so vague?

Jax gestured at him with one hand. “I don’t know! You’re in good shape, I guess I figured you were there anyways. And it seems dumb to go at different times when we live together.”

“But then we don’t have to argue for the shower.”

Regulus wasn’t always good at facial expressions, but even he could read the exasperation (though not irritation) in the set of Jax’s eyes and mouth. “I want to spend time with you,” they said bluntly. Kindly. Almost like Sirius, without his awkwardness. They tilted their head to look at him. “You don’t have to, but we haven’t had a lot of time to just hang out. I’m going for a shared hobby here, man.”

Hobby. Regulus didn’t recall the last time he worked out for fun. Never, probably. Running out his feelings on a treadmill made him less likely to curl up under his blankets in a screaming possum ball, but it wasn’t necessarily fun.

In his periphery, his computer screen dimmed. His heart went with it when he wiggled his computer mouse and the reminder of everything bad in the world glared back. “I don’t know if I can,” he said carefully. “I just failed out of English, so I should probably focus on that.”

“Wh—” Jax’s eyebrows shot toward their hairline before knitting in the middle. “How do you know that? It’s not the end of the semester.”

Regulus jerked his chin toward the screen. They followed his gaze. Looked back at him. Back to the computer. Back to Regulus.

“You’re looking at me like that explains everything,” they finally said.

“It’s a. Um.” Bitterness filled his mouth. “B minus.”

“And?”

Are you stupid? Regulus bit his tongue hard enough to make his eyes water. “It’s a B minus,” he repeated. “And so they’re going to kick me out.”

Jax let out a long breath, as if they were holding many things back. Regulus didn’t like it when they did that. He’d feel much better if they just told him they pitied him outright. “That’s not…no, that’s not how that works. Reg, no professor will fail you out of their class because of a B minus.”

The part of his brain that had been running through various explanations when he inevitably slunk back to Sirius’ doorstep came to a sputtering standstill. “Excuse me?”

“Dude, that’s not even a failing grade.”

Something next to his lungs began to shake. “Explain, please.”

“A C is considered average. You’re above average. Do you know that?” Jax’s concern crept back into their face. “It’s important to me that you know that.”

Average.

Above average.

He had been screamed at for above average. Lived in terror of doing his best and being found lacking for above average.

The fury was white-hot and all-consuming, and unexpected enough that he had to blink several times in quick succession to clear the burning from his eyes.

“Reg?”

“Excuse me,” he muttered. He tried to stand and found he couldn’t so much as twitch for fear of combustion.

“Hey.” Jax’s voice gentled. “Hey, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Kindness was the cruelest thing university could have given him. It was too-tight shoes and a necktie done just wrong on game day. Regulus felt his nostrils flare around a few deep breaths. A pulsing rod blazed just behind his eye. “You didn’t. Sorry. Yes, we should work out together sometime. Text me when you’re free.”

He stood on unsteady feet, left the dorm, and began to walk.

II.

“Don’t move, don’t move—”

“Shut the fuck up and do not touch me.”

The pain was overwhelming. Regulus’ temple throbbed from the force of squeezing his eyes shut. He could feel them all there, crowding him, closing in with their worry, holding their breath because he was angry and scared and angry because he was scared and scared because he was angry and in pain. And in pain.

He could work through pain. He had done it so many times.

Breathe. His chest didn’t hurt. His shoulders didn’t hurt. His stomach didn’t hurt. The throbbing below his waist could wait until he had taken a few deep breaths.

“Reg?”

Analyze. His leg was too hot and too cold at the same time. Everything below his left hip echoed his pulse, but his shin had a special kind of searing to it. His palms, too. Someone’s fingertips hovered at his pulse point and he twitched away. They stopped. They left him alone.

Do not cry.

The corners of his eyes were too wet in the gentle breeze.

Step Three: Do Not Cry.

“Reg, are you alright?” Kris’ reedy voice should have grated on him.

“I’m fine.” His voice wavered, but did not break. He unclenched his fists and flexed them, wincing at the sting of scraped skin. He took a sharp breath and wiggled his toes—no immediate pain. His leg muscles constricted when he told them to, relaxed when he breathed out.

Move on.

He went to bend his knee and immediately heard four people stumble over each other to stop him.

“You’re fine,” Jax said near his right ear. “But also, please don’t do that.”

Regulus opened one eye and frowned up at them. “Pick one.”

Jax hesitated a half-second longer than his patience. Regulus muttered a curse under his breath and sat up, grimacing at the carnage. The heels of his hands were trashed from the concrete; they would need full gauze, without a doubt. The gash running down his shin bled freely onto his (favorite) jeans and was beginning to seep out onto the ground. He sighed. “That’s not ideal.”

“Can we help?” Kris asked, all big eyes and bigger heart while he fiddled with the zipper of his first-aid kit. “I’d prefer to get a bandage on that before you move much, but we need to wash it out.”

Regulus tried to keep the judgement off his face. It seemed rude. “That’s not necessary,” he said. “But thanks. Pardon.”

Standing turned out to be a bad idea after all. The first bit of weight made his entire bad leg buckle and he narrowly missed crumpling on the ground for the second time in five minutes. Pain lanced up to his hip; Regulus dug his hands into the sidewalk to anchor himself, and when that only made it all hurt worse, settled for a handful of measured breaths.

The touch to his shoulder blade was featherlight. “Let me help,” Vanessa said softly.

Regulus hesitated. Better up than on the concrete, he supposed. He just—what if she couldn’t hold him?

She waited for him to nod before holding a hand out for him to take. Deadlift calluses and a firm grip reminded him just enough of Leo to not pull away when she braced her other hand behind his elbow and hoisted him upright, catching him when he swayed into her. “Easy,” she soothed. “Take your time.”

Regulus felt himself buffer, eyes fixed on her. Thick, dark hair drifted into her face in tiny wisps where it escaped her ponytail. She frowned down at the jagged rock that had cut into him like it personally wronged her.

“Thanks,” he mumbled. The upset vanished from her round face when she looked up again; there was a light squeeze to his torso. He got his weight under him, and yet she didn’t let go. Vanessa’s hold didn’t falter as they limped their way down the sidewalk, supported on every step.

He caught Jax’s eye as they turned toward the engineering building and found them already smiling.

III.

It’s a dumb movie, anyway.

That’s what Regulus told himself, listening to Clare sniffle while Kris watched the screen in openmouthed horror next to him. Jax’s description had been vague at best—something about a house and balloons and an old man’s emotional support Boy Scout.

But here they were, five minutes in, with no sign of balloons, Boy Scouts, or emotional support to be found. Just utter devastation and the inevitable march of death in spite of overwhelming love.

Goddamn mailbox, he thought. This whole problem could have been avoided if those two didn’t love each other to the ends of the earth. Which, of course, only made him think of Sirius’ ability to love with his entire heart and he really hoped Remus didn’t die first because that would be such a nightmare for everyone involved and oh, god, Sirius was going to die someday and leave him there—

“I forgot about this part,” Jax whispered in the darkness of the dorm. Their voice was only just loud enough for Regulus to hear over the movie.

He exhaled, and was surprised by how shaky it sounded to his own ears. “Fuck you.”

“Yeah,” they said sympathetically. “Fuckin’ Pixar. Need a minute?”

Regulus shook his head.

“ ‘Kay.” They sat quietly for another few seconds. A shoulder pressed gently against his own. “Let me know if you do, though.”

+1:

On an unassuming Thursday in April, it happened. The hammer came down. The other shoe dropped. Regulus’ luck ran out, the final bits drip-drip-dripping out into the ether and leaving him in a dead end of his own making.

In a way, it was inevitable.

“Holy shit,” Kris said, quiet and stunned and slower than Jax had ever heard him. His green eyes were blown wide; what had been a comfortable sprawl across his mattress for over an hour was now tense, the catch of breath before a scream. One airpod sat snug in his ear. His phone was lax in his hand and utterly innocent from Jax’s side of the room, save for Kris’ look of growing horror among his confusion.

“Kris?” they ventured. Kris remained silent. Jax’s pulse kicked. “What happened? Come on, man, that’s ominous as hell.”

“It’s Reg.”

Jax’s heart skipped a beat and fell right into the canyon below. “What?”

“He’s—” Kris’ mouth opened and closed a few times. “I don’t…”

“Is he hurt?” Their phone was here somewhere, buried under their notebooks goddamnit their mother was right about the organizing bins— “Kris, is he hurt? What happened?”

“He’s famous.”

They stuttered to a stop with their hand buried in the mess of their backpack.

“I think—I think he is? Or was. Or something. Hey, did you know he played hockey?”

Jax stared at him, then shook their head. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Come see this.” Kris finally looked up, motioning them over with his head as if he couldn’t let go of the damn phone. “Come here, c’mere.”

“Are you seriously about to make me watch a Tik…”

“Regulus, do you have any comments on the rivalry being set up between you and your brother? Does it get in the way of your personal relationship with Sirius at all, being on the Lions and the Snakes?”

“My brother’s got a dirty game—”

Jax didn’t hear the next few words. They were a little too concerned with the sudden absence of the floor beneath their feet.

“—don’t endorse that sort of hockey.”

“And your personal relationship? How about Thanksgiving?”

“What personal relationship?”

Jax closed their eyes. It wasn’t enough.

“As far as I’m concerned, he might as well stay away with the rest of his pack of cubs—”

“Stop.”

Light music halted and left the room in the soft rattle of their ancient radiator.

“This isn’t—stop,” they repeated, though Kris had long since abandoned his phone on the sheers. His pale hands were pressed against his mouth. Jax felt their skin crawl. “This isn’t right. I’m not watching that.”

“He looks sick.”

“Yeah. Jesus, yeah.” Something was wrong in that video. Regulus’ bright, clever eyes were emptier than a scoured pot. A scrape marred his cheek. The violent green of his uniform—jersey, maybe? Or just a shirt?—washed him into a greyed-out version of himself. His hair was cropped harsh and short above his ears, hardly a curl in sight.

Someone was laughing in the background of the video. Jax didn’t like the way he looked at Regulus. There were too many cameras and microphones shoved into his space; Regulus wouldn’t like that, either.

“He doesn’t talk about his brother that way.”

“No,” Kris agreed in a murmur. “No, he doesn’t.”

Not that Regulus talked about his family often, but on the rare occasion it came up, Sirius was always the first one he mentioned. Jax had met him back in September—tall and broad and handsome, with a barking laugh and a voice that carried. Regulus gravitated to him like a magnet, though Jax wasn’t sure it was a conscious habit.

What personal relationship? He might as well stay away.

Kris was right. He did look sick in that video.

“Can you…” God, this felt wrong, but they had to know. “Can I use your phone real quick?”

Kris’ sideways glance made them swallow convulsively. Nevertheless, he picked up his phone.

Search: Regulus Black

Buzzfeed: NHL DROPOUT APPLIES TO…

ESPN: Regulus Black: Where Is He Now?

NHLWorld: Black Jerseys 70% Off—Everything Must…

Hockey Daily Magazine: Broken Contract and Rumors of Court!

#BlackBash

#RegulusBlack

#RegulusBlackSnakes

#BlackSlytherin

#BlackBrothers

#Playoffs2020

#AllStars2020

“Holy shit…”

NHLNews: Player Abuse in Sly…

#RegulusBlackCollege

#RegulusBlackSiriusBlack

@ hockeypalooza: I’m sorry but Regulus Black was the best player that team had ever…

@ slythlife: Black better not show his face in slyth ever again I stg

“When was that taken?”

Kris’ throat bobbed. He turned his phone off. “Last November.”

Jax pressed their fingers to their temples and let a sour breath out. This was too much. Too much. Their skull was going to implode. “Okay. Okay. Christ. Okay. Reg was famous, he left, he’s here now, it doesn’t matter.”

“We can’t tell him we know.” Kris stared into the middle distance—or, no, at Regulus’ bed. Always made, but a little wonky, like he was still figuring out how to do it right. A loose sock laid on the floor by one of his astrophysics books. “He doesn’t want us to know, or he would have said something. I’ve never heard him mention hockey. He said sports weren’t his thing.”

“He was a professional player.”

“For, what, half a season?” Kris’ lips pursed. “I’m not telling him we know. He left for a reason. Fine. That’s his business. He’ll say something when he’s—”

A key scraped against their door lock and Jax…Jax’s organs discovered the miracle of negative acceleration along the y-axis.

Regulus stepped in and slung his bag onto his desk chair. He opened his mouth to speak, saw them, and stopped. Stopped, like a deer staring down a Ford-F150. Every muscle primed and wound tight, as if someone had pressed ‘pause’ on the rotation of the world. His fingertip hovered in the handle-loop of his backpack.

“Oh,” he said simply. “Oh, no.”

And he left.

“Wait,” Kris called, far too weak and far too late. Jax’s brain refocused all in a rush—they both scrambled for the door, slipping on shoes and snatching wallets off whatever horizontal surface they called home.

“Shit, shit shit, shit,” Jax muttered. They shouldn’t have done this. They shouldn’t have looked. Kris was always right, always reasonable, never knee-jerk, so much better at this. They should have known better than to dig where they shouldn’t.

“I’ll check the library,” Kris said, jamming his phone in his back pocket. “I’ll—mother of fuck, this is not what I wanted. I’m deleting TikTok. And Google, fucking Google?”

Jax’s jaw throbbed with tooth-locking guilt. “I know, I know, I shouldn’t have looked, I’m so sorry.”

“Abuse cases? Abuse cases.” Kris swore again and pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Fine. Alright. I’ve got the library. Text if you find him first. Holy shit.”

“I’m telling Vanessa to keep an eye out.”

“Good, yeah, whatever.”

Jax fought every urge to sprint down the hallway. Regulus was already long gone. Causing a scene wasn’t going to help. He probably wouldn’t come back to the apartment unless they found him first. Maybe ever. Oh, god, Jax would never forgive themselves if Reg left because they were a nosy little shit with no poker face.

For the first time, Jax wished NYU didn’t span a million city blocks. A fenced-in Ivy in the middle of nowhere would make them miserable, but it would be a hell of a lot easier to corner his flighty roommate when his hiding place wasn’t the entirety of New York City.

Well—well.

Regulus’ backpack was still in the dorm. He kept his wallet in the side pocket, zippered up tight. No MetroCard meant no subways. No student ID meant no twenty-story buildings to slip into. Regulus’ Ultra Panic Mode meant…nothing good, but at least he wouldn’t go far. Jax’s stomach twisted more than usual at the thought of him falling apart alone.

They shot off another text to Vanessa (whose string of ????? was the only correct response to their disaster of an initial message) and stepped out onto the sidewalk.

For a day with the potential to ruin a new and treasured portion of Jax’s life, it was quite beautiful out. The air was crisp and only reeked a little from the crusty hot dog stand down the block; the massive column sticking out of a manhole was missing its usual billow of subway steam and left the sky an unmarred blue above them. They were learning to like the spring on this coast. It was cold, sure, but if they wanted it to feel more like home, they would have gone to California. New York was their escape in every sense. They just—

They just really didn’t want to lose Regulus.

They hadn’t been sure what to make of him at first: so quiet, so reserved, every emotion leashed. But then he was kind and smart and funny in his weird way. He hadn’t fumbled a pronoun since the first day. He came home early from winter break, just so Jax and Vanessa wouldn’t be alone for their last holiday week after flights home fell through.

It wasn’t that Regulus didn’t like them. It was just that he was so very afraid of some looming shadow that had remained unnamed until that very afternoon. Jax couldn’t even blame him for it. If hockey made Regulus that ill, it was a small wonder he did everything in his power to leave it behind.

The bell of the narrow bookstore on 14th street chimed when they entered. The corner seat was unchanged, down to the burnt-orange cushion with a torn side seam. The rest of the shop vanished behind a massive chestnut shelf when they sat, folding their legs up. It was nice in here. Dim lights and a quiet heater. The owner had swapped out the winter candles for fresher springtime scents just a few weeks before.

“I never lied.”

“I know.” They stretched one leg out to roll the tension from their ankle. “You okay?”

“Non. How did you find out?”

His accent was thicker. Upset was etched in every angle in the corner of Jax’s vision. Shame wedged icy fingers between their ribs. “A video popped up on Kris’ TikTok feed. We shouldn’t have watched it.”

“I wouldn’t have told you.”

 “I figured.”

“I wasn’t—I was trying—” Regulus’ jaw ticked. His forehead furrowed as he picked at the laces of his shoes. “You have no idea what it was like. The way it got twisted up, I—and I didn’t want it, and I couldn’t leave.”

Don’t fucking cry.

“I couldn’t get out. Not until that game.” They saw him shake his head minutely. “I wouldn’t have. I wouldn’t have tried.”

“What game?”

“The…” Regulus turned to look at them then, eyes narrowed. “What was in the video?”

My brother’s got a dirty game. What personal relationship?

“You were in a room. I don’t know, there was a lot of hockey stuff around. People had stuff all up in your face.” Jax brought a fingernail to their mouth and bit absently at it. “It was an interview, something about your brother.”

“Fuck.”

The quiet ferocity of it made their heart clench in surprise. Regulus tipped his head back against the cool window. The edges of his lips had gone white with tension and Jax had never felt such regret for honesty in their entire life.

“I hate that fucking video.” It came out hoarse. Jax’s belly went Gordian. “I’m sorry.”

“What? No, dude, I’m sorry. We should have scrolled past it. We should’ve—we should have waited for you to tell us.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“Then you wouldn’t,” Jax said gently. “And that’s fine.”

Regulus’ mouth turned down at the corner. “I can be out by Saturday.”

In the throes of disbelief, all they could do was shake their head. “What are you talking about?”

“Didn’t bring a lot of stuff. It shouldn’t take long.”

“Reg, what are you talking about?”

An owl-eyed stare pinned Jax; intense, but not angry. They had been prepared for anger. Not…whatever this was. “Why are you here?” he asked carefully.

“To apologize? Because Kris and I fucked up and you left before we could say anything?”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I do,” Jax insisted. “And clearly not enough people have apologized to you even once in your life, ‘cause it’s shitty when your secrets come out and it’s scary and so I’m here for you. And I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry. For this, and for all those assholes who made you play hockey when you were meant to be a space nerd.”

Of all the reactions to a sudden outburst Jax had expected, a trembling lower lip wasn’t one of them.

“Oh, god.” Panic pulsed in their chest. “Was that too much?”

“I hate that fucking video,” Regulus whispered, voice breaking. His eyes welled with tears. Jax’s tongue turned to lead in their mouth.

This couldn’t possibly be real. Not this. Not sitting in a hole-in-the-wall bookstore while Regulus took stuttering breaths around tears he didn’t seem to know how to handle. “Hey,” Jax said softly. “Oh, hey, I’m sorry.”

“No, no, no,” Regulus muttered angrily, scrubbing at his cheeks with shaking hands. “Fuck—merde, one second.”

“It’s okay.”

“Non, stop it.”

We’re doing this. We’re doing this. “Reg, it’s fine. Is this—is this alright?”

Regulus froze up at the tentative touch to his shoulder. Jax waited, heart in their throat, before Regulus gave a slight, pained nod and leaned ever so slightly into them. It was incredibly heartbreaking and also deeply weird, the way Jax supposed it would feel to pet a wild tiger in a zoo.

Worst of all, it made sense. The mottled skin of Regulus’ ankles. His careful silence, only broken in the presence of a few friends. He had hardly spoken unless spoken to until January. Jax had seen skates, just once, tucked in the corner of his closet behind his laundry bag.

They had chalked it up to the Canadian thing. One of their stupider moments, looking back.

“Please don’t leave.”

Regulus paused with his sleeve pressed below his nose. “Quoi?”

“It’s…” There was a dent in the hardwood beneath the toe of their sneaker. “I mean, you’re my best friend. So I’d like it if you stayed. If you want.”

The request felt too fragile. The wound, too raw. Would Regulus be angry that they asked?

“Why would you want that?” Regulus asked after several beats of empty air between them. He sounded mystified by the very thought.

“You’re my best friend.” The corners of their eyes stung. They gave Regulus a little pulse of pressure, the shadow of a hug. “I’d miss you if you left.”

“Oh.”

“I won’t make you leave if you don’t want to.”

A tear glimmered in the light as it fell from Regulus’ cheekbone to his jaw, where he brushed it on the sleeve of his shirt. The cuffs were stretched, like he’d been gripping them in iron hands; they matched the frayed hems of his hoodies in a rather sickening way. “I want to stay.”

“Thank god.”

A rueful smile pulled at Regulus’ mouth. “You know, you might be the first person who wanted me around.”

“That’s so…” There were no words. Literally nothing could encompass the fresh-scrape sting of each new layer of tragic backstory peeling away. “Is there any part of your life story that isn’t depressing as hell?”

“Probably not,” Regulus snorted.

He was warm under Jax’s palm. The shivering had stopped. “Well, I’m here if you want to talk about it.”

“Merci.”

“Do you—”

“No.”

They nodded and mimed zipping their lips, and it made Regulus smile just a little, so it was worth it. He hadn’t pulled away from their one-handed hug yet. Jax counted that as a victory. It was sort of like washing a wound in the ocean: it stung like a bitch, but they were better for it in the end. Regulus’ wounds had been opened and reopened for nineteen years by uncaring hands. His cleanse was going to burn more than most. But even if gifts baffled him and kind words made him grimace and hugs were—whatever this was, Jax would be there. This time, he wouldn’t have to do it alone.

[notiddygxthgf]

𝙋𝘼𝙍𝙏𝙔 𝙈𝙊𝙉𝙎𝙏𝙀𝙍 !

synopsis: the one where you have the hots for your dealer, and Wakasa is always eager to please a customer. (don't let your boyfriend stop you from finding your husband.)

pairings: wakasa imaushi x f!reader, light takeomi x reader content warning: smut, porn with some plot, car sex, cheating, oral sex, sneaky link, sexual tension, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, sex while high, consensual drug use, mentions of abuse.

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven

ONE: TWELVE THOUSAND YEN

YOU DIDN’T HATE YOUR BOYFRIEND. That would be too far of a stretch. Yet a part of you felt smothered whenever you were around him, like the sparkle you had once been known for dimmed in his presence. You didn’t hate your boyfriend but you felt a little piece of you die whenever his lips would whisper white lies against your own. It was something remarkably strange to behold; that you could feel a sense of resentment towards someone you used to adore, and even more so that you had no idea when or where these feelings began.

If you had to guess, it was probably some time around the end of the honeymoon phase which, ironically enough, had lasted longer than you had expected it to. After the new feelings subsided and the “just because” gifts trickled to a stop, what remained was an empty shell of what your relationship used to be. Empty kisses, empty conversations, empty promises. So why were you still with him? At times, it was a convenience thing. Other days it was because you loved him. It was limbo.

You were drained.

Your boyfriend sat next to you on the couch. The two of you were watching something, some show that you couldn’t recall if your life depended on it. Six long, loving years ultimately led up to this point in time, where the two of you sat side by side watching a shitty television show leaving room for all the conversation in the world – and taking none of it. 

A part of you wished you had your own place. You used to dream about living with him. You had no idea, of course, that six years later you would be sitting here regretful you hadn’t decided to be self-reliant and get your own place.

“He said he’s about to pull up right now,” The man finally spoke. His voice was a little hoarse from the harsh words he had shouted at you only a few minutes earlier. “Go outside and meet him.”

You turned towards him. “It’s cold out.”

“Yeah?” He hummed. His eyes remained trained on the TV screen. His remarkable lack of care for you could not be more obvious. “I didn’t ask.”

Feeling put down – the way you usually felt when he was around, no matter how hard you tried to convince yourself – you forced a smile. Reaching for the jacket that you had strewn over the couch just a few hours ago when you had gotten home, you threw it over your shoulders. “Fine.”

You didn’t say bye. You didn’t feel a need to do so. Instead, you stood up and walked over to the front door. Giving it a good, firm tug, you pulled it open and stepped outside. Immediately, you felt the warmth beneath your skin shrivel into hiding. 

Pulling the coat tighter around you, you continued the tread down the road in solitude. You weren’t sure what you were looking for.

It was a cold night, colder than most nights this month so far. Far too cold for you to be out here by your lonesome, on some empty sidewalk at 11 or 12 at night. Mildly interested, you watched the hot air from your breath materialize into opaque clouds, grayish white against the otherwise black midnight gradient. 

It didn’t take too long before an inconspicuous vehicle pulled up next to you, right up to the curb.

You felt the pace of your heart quicken. You’d seen so many shoot-outs and drive-bys lately. God, what if something like that happened to you? Would now be a good time to start running?

The car slowed to a stop in front of you. Sleek, black, expensive-looking. Nothing at all like you had expected it to look. You swallowed the lump in your throat and, as the window began to roll down, stepped forth.

The face you were met with threw you for a loop. The description of the man your boyfriend had given you did the man absolutely no justice. He had this cute nose, one which complemented his rather feminine features – deep lilac eyes framed by long blonde lashes, perfectly arched brows, strands of hair dyed purple and blonde falling against his face in an almost delicate fashion. You had never had the pleasure of meeting the notorious Waka – the one your boyfriend hated so much. He was… actually really cute.

Waka – who appeared to share a similar sort of confusion with you –  looked you up and down. “Sorry, I thought you were someone else,” He said rather plainly, and then began to roll the windows up again.

“Wait!” You cried out. “I’m picking up for him. I’m his girlfriend.”

And down the windows rolled once more. You felt the intensity of his gaze as it raked itself up your now trembling form. When they settled on your face, he made a face, as if to say ‘whatever’, and reached into what appeared to be his pocket. “Just an 8th, right?”

His voice, honey-smooth, made your head spin. So much so, in fact, that you almost completely forgot where you were. “Yeah. 5000 yen, right?”

“That’s right,” He affirmed, extending his hand towards you. You produced the money from your pocket and placed it in his palm, watching his long fingers close around it. He slipped the money into an envelope. Then, with a softer gaze, he turned to you and dropped the bag into your hand. “He really made you wait out here all by yourself, doll?”

After a brief silence, you nodded. 

“He sent his girl to get his bud?” He remarked. “I know he’s mad at me, but shit.”

Pulling your little coat tighter around your body, you breathed out. The heat of it formed a small cloud in front of your face. “I’ll be alright.”

The man, taking a brief moment to look you up and down carefully, rested his arm over the car door. “Get back safe,” he hummed. 

“Thanks,” you replied. After he rolled the windows back up, you spoke to no one in particular, “You too.”

A week had passed and you couldn’t get him out of your mind. He was very attractive, objectively so. Lord knew you had questionable taste in men these days. No, that wasn't quite it. You were intrigued by him and his quiet charm.

That was it. Your boyfriend’s cohort slash dealer had piqued your interest, that was all.

“Shit, that’s strong.” 

Takeomi continued coughing to expel the smoke from his lungs. 

The two of you were sat in the middle of his room. On the floor, of course, because his bed wasn’t big enough to fit the two of you side by side. An ashtray was settled between you, along with an ice-blue bong and his favorite black lighter. 

You furrowed your brows, directing your thoughtful gaze down to the carpet below. You felt terrible about having these thoughts. It’s not like you would ever act on them, no, not in a million years. But they hadn’t gone away in a week.

 hadn’t even bothered to change. He was still wearing his work pants and the same T-Shirt he had come in wearing – a stupid one, at that.

You glanced over at your boyfriend. He was fiddling with the strings of an old guitar. Pinching a mini pipe between your fingers, you tapped the burnt remnants of the bowl you had just smoked into the ashtray. 

“Play me something, Omi,” You hummed. You were buzzed. You hadn’t smoked enough to get high just yet. You knew that shit was expensive nowadays – but you were buzzed. “Won’t you play me something nice?”

He didn’t answer you. Instead, he began playing a quiet tune. He fucked up one of the chords and then sighed. “I’m tired.”

“ Tired? ” You smiled. Fake, of course. “From what?”

There was some sort of bitterness between the two of you left over from one of your more serious altercations a few weeks back. To make a long story short, Takeomi hit you. He had raised his hand to you in the middle of an argument – in the middle of the mall – and he’d struck you with such force the hit had left a bruise in its wake. 

You had taken him back, of course. You loved him – you thought. Something like that. Whatever it was, you kept coming back for more. Time and time again you had tried to see the better in him, tried to allow him the time to prove that people can change… but still, that sense of disgust you get after being hurt by someone you love never truly goes away, does it?

He sighed. “Work shit.”

Work shit. It was always work shit with him. Never any details. Just Work shit.

You packed another bowl, handing the pipe to your boyfriend.

“Thanks, babe,” he grinned. Holding his lighter up to the green bud, he took a long drag, sucked it in, and then exhaled. “You hungry?”

“A little, now that you ask,” you replied. He offered you the remainder of the bowl. You took it from him but set it on the floor as you quickly decided you didn’t want it anymore. “I could go for a ham sandwich or something like that.” “Sounds good,” Your boyfriend said, voice strained while he sucked in another mouthful of smoke. “If you’re gonna make one, make me one too.”

You paused. “Oh. Okay.”

The corner store was relatively barren, as per usual. So you, a regular, strolled through the aisles with comfortable ease. You weren’t looking for anything in particular, so to speak. You were just looking to spend some money before your shift started.

You liked slow days like this. Nothing really ever happened. Being that your job was so high-paying, you were able to take it easy. You usually started work near the evening time, and you were allowed some days off here and there for no particular reason. The job in question that permitted such a lifestyle was rather demanding, though, but you couldn’t complain. Desperate times had called for desperate measures. After Takeomi had blown all of his money and landed himself in a cesspool of debt, you’d picked up a job to help out.

Carefully, you grazed your fingers over the glass bottles. You’d never been big on beer, but today seemed like a kind of day. So you bent down, letting your black miniskirt ride up because who really gave a fuck these days, and picked a pack off the shelf. Feeling a little better about the whole Takeomi situation now that you had access to means to drown out your sorrows, you sauntered over to the checkout counter. 

It took quite a bit of arm work to hoist the heavy pack onto the top, but the minimum wage worker behind the counter did not seem to appreciate the raw display of brutish strength. Standing a few inches above you, she had her arms crossed over the front of her form-fitting uniform. The little brunette smacked on the pink bubblegum stuck in her teeth. 

“I’m gonna need to see ID” She mumbled. 

Your smile faded slightly. “Sure, okay.” 

Reaching back into the pink crossbody purse you had brought, you pulled out your wallet. You popped it open and began quickly flipping through its contents. A few moments spent searching revealed that your Non-Driver’s ID was nowhere to be found.

You felt your heart sink through the floor. “Shit,” you hissed. You flipped through your wallet one more time to no avail. “I don’t think I have it on me.”

“Okay, well,” The girl paused for a moment. You knew she didn’t believe a word that had just come out of your mouth. “You know I can’t sell to you without an ID, right?”

You sighed. “Not even for 2000 yen?”

She stood still, lips pressed thin with her bored eyes resting on your worried face. She didn’t look amused. “No."

26. You were 26 years old, and here you were, still being carded. What made matters worse? The girl behind the counter looked to be at least 5 years younger than you.

“If you’re not buying anything please step to the side,” She waved you off. 

What a dick. You still obeyed, of course, but shit. 

“You really can’t tell I’m not a teenager?” You thought out loud, more to yourself than anyone else. Not like the girl acknowledged you, but still.

“I’ll be with you in a minute, ma’am,” She replied. She turned the other way, towards the customer who had been behind you in line – apparently. You hadn’t seen him step behind you – and offered in a much nicer tone, “I’m sorry about that. Are you ready to check out?’

“Just this and a pack of Mevius lights,” He spoke.

Finding it a little infuriating that this man was receiving service when you weren’t even finished checking out, you whipped your head around. You felt a strange sensation squeeze your heart when you immediately recognized the man who was checking out.

Standing there at eye level with you – maybe even a little higher – was a man of feminine nature with a pretty face and a pretty nose. His blonde-purple hair was near unmistakable.

He had this cute nose, one which complemented his rather feminine features – deep lilac eyes framed by long blonde lashes, perfectly arched brows, strands of hair dyed purple and blonde falling against his face in an almost delicate fashion. 

Waka in the wild. Who would have thought.

Your heart squeezed again when you realized he was looking right at you. 

“Hey,” you offered rather lamely.

The pretty man nodded his regards to you, sliding his own ID card onto the countertop. “Hey,” he replied. “Take’s girl, right?”

Part of you was flattered that he’d cared enough to remember you after one interaction. Part of you felt a little let down at the prospect of being reduced to Takeomi’s girlfriend, especially in the presence of such an attractive specimen. But, still, you forced a smile and said. “Yeah.”

The girl at the register placed the pack of cigarettes on the counter, right next to the brown bottle he had given her. From here, you could just barely make out the words on the label; Don Julio.  

She pressed some keys at the register and then hummed. “9517 yen.”

Waka took his ID off the counter, tucked it away into his wallet, and then brought forth a black card. “Let me get the beer, too.”

The girl behind the register paused. She glanced between you and the man and then sighed. She typed some more numbers into her stupid little register and added, “12,017 yen.”

She took the card from between his fingers. After a quick swipe and a few more key presses, she handed the card back to him – along with a receipt this time. 

“Thanks,” He hummed. Slipping both the card and the receipt back into his wallet, he folded it up and put it back in his pocket. Without much of a signal of departure, he set out for the door, then he paused. As he turned to you, his blond hair slid over his shoulder like silky drapes over a grand window. His lips, pink, plump, kissable, uttered the words, “You coming?”

And come you sure did (pause). 

You speed-walked out of the store, right alongside him.

When the two of you were a safe distance away, he dropped the case of beer into your arms. 

“Wait, hold on,” you said, fumbling for the opening of your purse while simultaneously trying not to drop the beer on his foot. “What was it, 2500 yen?”

He braced his hand on the beer box, helping you steady yourself. When you returned your gaze to his pretty face, he was shaking his head. “Don’t worry ‘bout it,” he muttered.

You froze for a moment, hand still stuck in your purse. “You sure?”

“Positive,” he replied. When he saw you stumble a bit trying to regain your posture, he reached for the box of beers again. “You got a pen?”

“Yeah, sorry,” you nodded. You searched for a pen, which you then placed in his hand. You let him put his hands on the box. “Thanks. For everything.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said rather noncommittally. He was scribbling something on the beer box. After recapping the pen, he handed it back to you. “I’ll see you around.”

You couldn’t quite see what he had written, and you had barely had enough time to strike up a conversation, let alone ask the man what he had just scribbled on your beer box. So, instead, you watched the man take a few steps back and hop onto a bike – his bike, you assumed, as it looked like he was the one who had parked the thing there. It was still running. 

He turned his head to look you up and down one more time. “Oh,” he added like it was an afterthought. “Tell your man I said hi.”

God, his voice made you weak at the knees. Fighting the heat that threatened to take over your face if you continued looking at the soft-spoken man, you averted your eyes to the gravel below – head bowed. “I will.”

You watched him pull off. 

Out of sheer curiosity, you turned the beer box on its side to see what he had written. 

Then you felt the warmth begin to crawl up your neck and spread onto your face as you spotted a series of digits written there in black ink – a number. 

As the sound of his motorbike faded into the night, his words played on repeat in the back of your mind. 

I’ll see you around. 

[tripleglitchwriting]

Hello everyone, I’ve been having a bit of a tough time so here’s a short VERY angsty-venty fic

Also not beta read, sorry.

Blue Flowers

TFP Bulkhead x gn Human reader (platonic)

CW: Character death, Grief, mourning, ANGST!! Heed the warnings!!

Some say “to love and lose is better never having loved at all”. I agree, to an extent I suppose. When you love someone it can be the best feeling in the world- be that platonic, familial, romantic, or anything else. And when you lose them, it can be the most devastating thing you’ve ever felt. Everybody’s been through it, and everyone will go through it. Life and death, black and white, sky and sea.

==========

“Do you miss him?”

“Of course I do. I miss everyone I lost in the war.”

“I miss him too.”

The stars were so beautiful the night you had that conversation with Bulkhead. They barely lit up the sky on Earth, but you knew each and every one could bring day like the sun could. It was a frightening to find out aliens lived among you and hardly any of humanity knew it. At least they were nice. Most of them. The ones you’d met at least. They were more human than some of the people you’d seen.

“I’m sorry.”

“What for? You didn’t do anything.”

“I know, I just- I just. I don’t know. I don’t know. How… do you do this? I can’t even imagine what it would have been like to… to be there when….”

“Yeah, well, that’s what we signed up for.”

“…Are you not, like, upset? At all?”

“Of course I am! It’s just… ‘been through it so many times… it never loses its sting though. It hurts more every time.”

“Well- well don’t you want to get revenge? Don’t you want to hurt them back? Why can’t we just- just- UGH!” Tears pooled at the corners of your eyes, joining the streaks that had already stained your face.

“I do. I really, really do. And I have, when it happened before. But killing never made it any better. It never…. I never got the relief I was looking for.” You didn’t respond that time. Instead you sat up on the grassy hill you were stargazing on and hugged your knees to your chest. Bulkhead’s usually bright optics were dimmed in the darkness. A light you had known to be comforting shaded with a grief you had never known him to show.

“I… I just can’t stop thinking…. I can’t stop thinking about how he’s- he’s-” you broke into a sob, “he’s not gonna come back.”

“I know, I know. Trust me, I know.” Bulkhead cupped his hand to you back in a contorted version of a hug. Head radiated off it, but you never felt colder. For awhile you didn’t move. And neither did he. Stoically, he watched you bawl and release the pain you undoubtedly felt. When you slowed down to a sniffle, the courage to ask a question you already knew the answer to made its way to your throat.

“Does it get better?” Bulkhead smiled.

“Yeah. Yeah it does. Promise.”

“Okay.” You managed to whimper out before collapsing into a crying mess again- but this time he put out his thumb for you to cling to. You squeezed it tight, and he brought his other fingers closer to your back. The embrace lasted for a long time. Long enough for you to fall asleep in his grasp.

When you were deep in slumber, he found it to be a good time to move back to base. You didn’t wake up at the bright flash of the groundbridge or the mildly bone rattling effects it typically brought. The last thing you saw before you went off to a dreamless rest was a very big hand putting a comparably tiny sheet of fabric around you.

It wasn’t something you experienced yourself, but from what you heard, Bulkhead spent the entire next day setting up a memorial. He put all of his friend’s favorite things together. No one spoke to him other than to check on his well being. When it was all said and done, the only thing left was a grave labeled “Wheeljack”, and blue flowers left on its topsoil.