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pellucid-constellations · 1 month

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The Construct of Loyalty

Pairing: Cassian x Rhys's Sister!Reader

Summary: After months of "disobedience" your father calls upon Cassian to be your personal guard. That leaves Cassian, a soldier in the Night Court army, your childhood friend, and a man deeply in love with you, to protect you from all fronts—including the arranged marriage you were born into.

Word count: 4.2k

Warnings: Angst, arranged marriage, panic attacks, dual pov ;)

a/n: This wasn't going to be so long initially but then whoops it developed its own life. Part two will be necessary I think ♡ For context and clarification, the reader grew up with the IC and everyone is around 50-70 rn. Rhys's other sister is alive still but not really important to the plot.

Main Masterlist ♡

“What if we just—”

“No, y/n.”

“But, Cassian, this is ridiculous. I’ve been stuck in here for three days.”

“And you’ll be stuck a lot longer if you disobey your father again.”

“You don’t even like the guy! Why are you so intent on kissing his ass?”

Cassian bit the inside of his cheek and narrowed his eyes at the defeated posture you’d adopted. In truth, he didn’t like your father—hated him, actually. But Cassian knew the life you lived and what would come if you continued to act out against him. He knew things were becoming serious because Rhysand voiced his concerns over your circumstances when he was usually too protective to divulge anything, and he knew things were bad because the High Lord of the Night Court tasked him to watch over you.

Him, a bastard-born Illyrian who was nothing more than dirt on the bottom of his shoe.

But Cassian was dirt that you’d actually listen to.

According to Rhys, your father had appointed six high fae to be your personal guard over the past six months. All six had been sent away rather abruptly when they failed to rein you in. But “rein you in” was a ridiculous sentiment, as you called it. All you wanted to do was to get out of the room your father kept you cloistered in and actually experience a life.

You wanted to speak to people who weren’t your assigned propriety tutors or servants. You wanted to get out of the Moonstone Palace and be a person outside of the marital obligations your father placed on you. You wanted to shop in Verlaris with Mor and make Cassian take you flying and, above all, you wanted to understand your magic—to hone the combination of night and day that your father’s choice of mistress had carefully curated.

Because that union was the entire purpose of your birth, and the moment you turned 50 you were ripped from your family and hurled into the Moonstone Palace to live out your purpose.

You were to be the figurehead of the alliance between Night and Day and you were to fulfill that duty through marriage.

It didn’t matter that you were hardly seen as a person; you were a pawn, and as long as your father lived, you would continue to be used and maneuvered as the court saw fit.

Rhysand had been trying his hardest to keep you from marriage for as long as he could, but the more you acted against your father’s wishes, the closer you got to your fate.

You knew it was coming. You’d had far more freedom before you turned 50 but you’d still lived under your father’s thumb. Cassian always hated watching you get pulled from quiet nights in with your sister and would cast you sad looks when you were made to watch from the sidelines when everyone else was training. But that had always been your life, and there was never anything he could do about it.

Cassian clenched his jaw in abject frustration. “Y/n… don’t do this.”

You scoffed and harshly sat on your bed, the gauzy material of your dress splaying up before floating back down to rest on the blankets. Whatever hairstyle had been twisted upon your crown this morning was unraveling in a pretty mess around your face and Cassian itched to brush away the strands.

You’d always been so pretty.

He turned his fingers into his palm as you began to speak. “He wouldn’t even have to know. I wouldn’t leave your side once,” you mumbled. Your words felt more like a routine and less like an actual request. Because Cassian always said no when the other guards always gave in too easily.

Or you had simply slipped past them too easily.

“Look, Starfall is coming up. I’m sure your father would let you go out to be with everyone.”

You twisted your mouth in a way Cassian knew meant you were trying not to cry. You blinked up to look at the ceiling and nodded your head with your teeth embedded in your bottom lip, and Cassian’s heart was dangerously close to breaking.

When he’d gotten the station report—or rather, demand—to be your personal guard, Cassian had seen it as a good thing. He’d get a break from the grueling hours of being a soldier in the Night Court’s troops and he’d get to spend more time with you. He’d missed you terribly since you’d been sent to Hewn City.

But then he’d gotten to your room and spent three weeks telling you no and watching you go stir crazy and he was three seconds away from caving. It wasn’t surprising that the other appointed guards had failed so quickly—you were too lovely to deny, especially when you looked so sad.

Cassian breathed out a sigh and walked to your seat on the bed, his leathers groaning as he moved to crouch at your feet. You were still staring at the ceiling and Cassian was still aching to somehow fix all of this.

“Hey,” he prompted. When you only tightened your grip on the piles of luxurious blankets on your bed, Cassian took your chin between his finger and thumb and brought your gaze down to him. “There she is,” he smiled, but the hazy gleam in your eye felt like a punch to the gut.

“I hate this,” you whispered, all shaky and upset.

Cassian tsked. “I know, sweetheart.”

“I just want to go back home.”

“I know.”

“It’s so weird that you’re in charge of me.”

Cassian snorted. “I’m not in charge of you. I’m the one that has to follow you around.”

You narrowed your watery eyes. “If that were true you’d let me go back to Velaris. Or go anywhere other than this wretched place.”

“Well, in that way I guess I’m more protecting you than in charge of you. That’s what a guard does, sweetheart.”

“Protecting me,” you laughed, jaw clenching as Cassian kept it in his soft hold. “What would be so dangerous about going to Velaris, hm? Or… running away. Really, really far away.”

“Can’t run away, y/n. We’d all miss you too much,” Cassian teased, but the hint of panic in his eyes was unmistakable.

You raised an unamused brow. “Because you all see me so much now.”

Cassian offered you a bittersweet smile and gave your cheek a soft pat. “You know I’m not protecting you from the people out there. You know why I won’t let you leave.”

You looked resigned, but that reality was becoming more commonplace. You sighed and reached up to place your touch on Cassian’s knuckles. “I know, Cass,” you hummed. “I know.”

You shifted in your seat for the countless time that evening, the stone throne at your back doing little for comfort. The heavy crown on your head was giving you a headache and your father kept yelling, exacerbating the pounding behind your eyes.

You were made to attend official court business more often, your father assimilating you into the role he birthed you for with more urgency as you rebelled. Cassian stood behind you with a stiff posture and murder in his eye, playing the role of a guard to perfection. And you knew, with all certainty, that if anyone looked at you wrong they would be on the floor.

That was one benefit of having a personal guard—even more so a guard that you grew up with.

“—not accept this insolence,” you heard your father bite out. He jutted his hand back to the shorter throne you sat upon. “And you bring it in front of my daughter. I won’t have this. Not in my court.”

You hid a flinch as the man before the dais was forced to the ground by a free-flowing darkness you could recognize anywhere.

Your father’s show of power.

The man screamed and pleaded and you couldn’t remember what had brought him to this, but you knew this was just a ploy by your father to assert his dominance over the court. You breathed through your nose as he continued to scream and plead, pressing your lips into a line and maintaining your mask of neutrality and boredom.

You were never made out for the life your father expected from you.

After the man was thoroughly incapacitated and groaning, your father let up and sent him away and you were left feeling sick to your stomach.

Almost done, you reminded yourself, and then you could rot in your room with nothing to occupy you but the dread of your upcoming fate. You could feel Cassian’s presence at your back and it was somewhat reassuring that he would be rotting along with you. Maybe he would even play cards with you today or you could pass the time begging him to help you with your magic.

He always denied with an apologetic expression and you knew, deep down, that he would never agree to anything. The back and forth was simply a way to get through the day.

The doors to the throne room burst open with a loud boom, startling you out of your roaming thoughts. You sat up in alarm when a small brigade of soldiers dressed in Day Court armor marched in, preceding a well-built, stoic-looking man with a grimace plastered on his face.

You whipped around to look at Cassian in an uncharacteristic act of impropriety. Cassian looked just as lost as you were, but he blinked away the concern and sent you a reassuring nod as if he had everything under control. You watched his ruby siphons flicker and his fists clench as he clasped them together by his thighs, but you turned around. You had to turn around because you were not supposed to consult a guard about matters of your court.

A quick glance at your father told you that he was surprised as well, but pleasantly. “Blaise,” your father greeted, clapping with the word. You hid another flinch. “I was not expecting you today.”

“Clearly,” Blaise snarked, stopping before the thrones at the head of the room. “Your full court is not even here. Where is your heir?”

Your father’s expression morphed into a glare. “Training,” he said. And then, “But that shouldn’t be what concerns you. Your bride is just beside me.”

The world slowed, your thoughts and the movements of those around you sticky and heavy. You thought you might have opened your mouth but the action was delayed and it was hard to find the path to your muscles. Your chest caved. The light in the room became dim.

Blaise smirked and trailed his gaze to your figure. He let his eyes rove from your feet up to your face, so unhurried, so lax. As if you were already something he owned and he could take all the time he wished. In a way, you guessed he could—it wasn’t as if you had anywhere else to be.

“Huh.” Blaise stuck his tongue against his cheek. “Come.”

You blinked as the man stuck his hand out and waved his fingers in three harsh motions, beckoning you to him as if you were a dog.

It felt like you’d been doused in ice water as onlookers watched you expectantly. Rhys had told you he was buying more time. Cassian had told you. Azriel sent shadows to your room and you took them as signs of something. But before you stood your betrothed and behind you stood Cassian and there was nothing to be done.

You looked over to your father.

“This is Blaise. He is a duke in Day. You shall be married. Go to him,” he commanded, nodding towards the stern brow in the center of the throne room.

“Father—”

“Go to him.”

You rose. Everything fell off its axis, a rush of lightheadedness making you lose your balance and lean back to grip the arm of the throne. A steady hand on your elbow grounded you. You didn’t even need to turn to know it was Cassian, but you did, anyway.

Hazel eyes bore back into yours, devastation and determination mingling in the hues. Something dropped in your stomach and something else made you tear your gaze away and stare at your fate head-on. Cassian’s fingers lingered. They pulled away when you fully righted yourself.

“Do you give me an ill bride, High Lord?” Blaise accused with a mean raise of his brow.

“Of course not. Do not insult me.” No further explanation.

You passed your tongue across your drying lips and took the steps down to meet Blaise, the man instantly snatching your hand and raising it above your head. He walked around you, inspecting you as if you were something to be appraised before buying, and nodded after completing the circle. Then, to set your stomach rolling, he swooped down and pressed his mouth to your ear. You heard a rushed step behind you, but the sound was drowned out by hot breath and whispers.

“You’ll do nicely, given that you’re house-trained. Virgin?”

You pushed back on his armored chest to gain some distance and Blaise cackled, knocking his head back in delight.

“A bit skittish, but that’s fine. You said she’ll be used to Day? Definitely not staying here.”

Your father hummed, taking a bored sip from his chalice. “She’s spent time in Day. Her mother hails from the court.”

The rest of the conversation was lost to buzzing.

Cassian was wrought with panic.

He had already opened his mind and shared the information with Rhys, but Rhys was still honing his daemati abilities and Cassian had no idea if his brother even got the information.

He hid his panic behind a stone wall of neutrality and malice as he walked you back to your room, cataloging the way you took even steps and stared blankly at the walls in front of you. His facade was breaking down with each step you took; you seemed to be escaping into yourself and Cassian was becoming increasingly worried.

Part of not being able to practice and control your magic came the dangers of it overtaking you. No one was sure if you harnessed daemati powers like your father and brother, but if you did and weren’t aware, you could get stuck. Cassian had witnessed Rhys’s struggles with that when he was first learning to control his magic and emotions were high.

The moment your bedroom door clicked shut, Cassian’s hands were on your face.

“Y/n? Hey, look at me,” he urged, tucking his wings into his back because maybe the light from your windows would help somehow.

When you didn’t look, a faraway haze to your eyes, he shook you, rattling your head in desperation. You should be screaming, crying, begging him to let you leave after what you just discovered. And, instead, you were blank.

His next demands were stern. “Y/n, I can’t get Rhys here. You need to snap out of this. I don’t know how to help you.”

You breathed a little deeper, but no change.

“Fuck.” Cassian looked around the room, his head whipping back and forth as he searched for anything that could help. For Rhys, it was easier to develop skills to get him out of this state because he had been expecting it. For you, there was no prep, no warning.

Cassian turned back to you, his heart pounding out of his chest. If he couldn’t get you out of this before your father noticed—

He saw your eyes shift and something clicked.

You were staring intently at the red siphon gleaming on Cassian’s chest, blinking quicker the longer you stared.

“This helping?” Cassian murmured, yanking the siphon from his chest without care to hold it up to your eye level. “Okay, we’ll work with that.” You blinked even more with the tone of his voice and Cassian took that as motivation. “Keep working yourself out of this, sweetheart. You do this and I’ll teach you how to use a blade. Haven’t you been asking? Dumb question—you’ve been asking since we were twenty but—”

Cassian cut off his rambling when the first few tears fell down your cheeks. He watched each as they fell, wiping them away with his thumbs as he waited. And waited. And then you choked out a sob, and as much as he hated the sound, relief flooded through him at your state of consciousness.

“You—you said there was more time,” you stressed, stumbling over your tears. “Rhys… he told me there was more time.”

Cassian shook his head as he spoke. “I know. I know, sweetheart, but we’ll figure it out, okay? Me, Rhys, and Az. We can—”

“You can’t do anything,” you cried. Your breath was picking up. “No one has been able to do anything my entire life. Not my brother or you or even myself. I—Cassian, I was only born to do this. No one cares about anything else. You’re only here because my father willed you to be. Because it serves his agenda to have you guarding me.”

Cassian’s fingers buzzed as he wiped more and more tears from your face. He kept opening his mouth to say something, anything, but it didn’t matter. Nothing would make up for this.

“I—I can’t. I can’t be married to that man. Being locked in here was bad enough. Being coddled and prepped for my entire life was enough. I’m not a princess, Cassian. I’ve never wanted to… and now I…”

You were hyperventilating now, raucous inhales colliding with heavy, painful exhales. You dropped to your hands and knees and Cassian followed suit but with the sole purpose of propping you up and placing a steady hand on your stomach. You fought him, desperate to claw at the ground and escape the world, but Cassian wouldn’t have it.

“I need you to breathe,” Cassian requested, his words firm but soft. “I need you to focus on how I’m touching you and I need you to breathe into my hand.”

He’d done this before, it was familiar.

You used to get panic attacks anytime your father forced you to stay at the Palace for a weekend to view one of the many horrors at the Court of Nightmares. Rhys helped, but it was Cassian who noticed the tells—the uneven breaths, the panic in your gaze. It was Cassian who felt pain himself each time your throat closed.

You shook your head at Cassian’s demand, clawing at your chest.

“Yes, y/n. Try. For me, please.”

He could tell you were trying, even as you continued to shake your head until that ridiculous crown toppled onto the floor. You tugged at the shimmering black material on your chest and never broke eye contact with Cassian and you tried.

Slowly, eventually, Cassian saw your chest stutter and your breath begin to even out.

“That’s it,” he praised, rubbing his thumb along the boning of your dress. Your lashes fluttered until your eyes closed. “That’s it, baby,” he muttered, the endearment slipping past and getting lost in the air.

You reached down and gripped Cassian’s wrist. “I’m okay now. I think I’m okay.”

“You sure?”

You nodded. “I mean, I’m not okay. But I can breathe and think.”

“Those are accomplishments I guess.”

“I don’t think this is part of your job description,” you joked, the small laugh that followed half-hearted and weak.

Cassian smiled. “Did the other guards do it?”

“I can’t say they did.”

Cassian readjusted his position on the floor and shifted you to no longer sit on your knees. He brushed your hair back and fixed the neckline of your dress.

“You scared me,” he admitted, still focused on adjusting the mess you’d made of yourself.

“I’ve had panic attacks before.”

“No, not that. You got stuck, I think. Like how Rhys would when he was first learning to use his daemati abilities.”

“Don’t tell my father.” The words were so quick from your mouth that Cassian shot up to look at you. “Don’t. I already have a difficult time with the court abilities and I don’t need him to—”

“Y/n, I would never tell him,” Cassian interrupted, a furrow in his brow. “Why would you ever think I would do that to you.”

You cast your gaze down. “Well, I don’t know. You’re in his employ—you have to report to him and be loyal. The other guards—”

“I am not another guard.”

“Well, I obviously know that. But I just wasn’t sure where that part of you started and my friend ended.”

Cassian closed his eyes for a long, disappointed beat.

It was pretty obvious that Cassian was in love with you—at least, it was pretty obvious to himself as of three weeks ago. The moment he saw you again after months away, all pretty and sequestered away and so happy to see him you were glowing, he knew he was a goner. There had been hints of it when he was growing up, but seeing you again made it hit him full force.

Of course, you could never know, because as much as you said you weren’t and were adamantly against the title, you were a princess, and Cassian didn’t want to add more stress to the plethora of horrors in your life.

Still, the realization of his feelings only made your questioning tone hurt that much more.

“Y/n, look at me.” Eyes met in your bedroom. Cassian kept his hands in his lap and you had your fingers pressed to the ground. “My only goal is to keep you alive and happy. I frankly don’t give a shit about your father. Everything I do or have done has been to keep you safe. He isn’t safe, so I make sure to follow his orders because not doing so is dangerous for you. Rhys… Rhys has been keeping close tabs on the situation from the outside and informs me what I need to divulge or keep secret. Nothing has ever been done out of loyalty to your father.”

You released your bottom lip from your teeth and Cassian watched your shoulders sag in relief. He was about to say more, but then you launched yourself into his chest and his arms were wrapping around you without him willing them to. He had to stop the two of you from lying flat on the floor, jutting an arm out to stabilize the hug before bringing it back around to rest in your hair.

“I thought I'd lost you for a little while there,” you admitted, your face buried in Cassian’s shoulder.

Guilt ate at his heart. “I thought you said you understood why I was making you stay?”

“I did,” you mumbled. “Or, I thought I did. I knew you wanted to keep me safe, but I thought you also wanted to please my father.”

Cassian dragged you back from his chest, hands resting along your head and back. “I’m sorry it felt that way. I have only wanted to please your father for your benefit. I’m—we’re family, y/n—” and I love you, he wanted to add “—you’re my family.”

You stared back at Cassian, tears still fresh in your eyes and on your face. “Can we leave now?”

Another piece of Cassian crumbled, shattered. “We can’t. You can’t. Rhys is working on another way out of this but if you try to run right now you know your father will only come after you.”

“What about the human lands?” you rushed out, hands on Cassian’s chest and so close to his heart. “Or I could go off-continent. I could learn to glamour myself and try. Cassian, I could try.”

“Y/n, you just got lost in your own head and you have no idea what kind of powers you have beyond that. You have no fighting skills, no way to defend yourself. I know you’re capable, but you’ve had your every need catered since you were born. And your father would be after you. I don’t know if you’d survive.”

Cassian watched you deflate as he spoke. He brushed his hand up from your back to run a soft touch along your jaw. “And I would come with you—if you ran. But your brother has his head up his ass and he’s going to need help when he becomes High Lord.”

You smiled some—a sad, dejected smile.

“We’re gonna figure this out, sweetheart, just like I told you.” He leaned forward until your foreheads touched. “You’re not going anywhere I can’t go.”

“And what if none of you can do anything about it?” you whispered.

Cassian ignored the fear that threatened to cease him at the prospect. “Then I’m going to fight like hell until I can.”

#cassian x reader #cassian x you #cassian x y/n #cassian acotar #cassian fanfiction #cassian fic #acotar fanfiction #acotar #cassian lord of bloodshed #cassian angst

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yawnderu · 7 months

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Final Girl — Slasher!Keegan P. Russ x Reader (1/?)

A word before we start: screaming sounds a whole lot like laughter.

Nothing beats the paranoia of a high man. Rough, calloused hands shove you into the dark wooden closet, whisper-yelling orders to keep your damn mouth shut before the though of protesting could even occur inside your little drunken head. Everything is spinning inside around the room, too focused on the light sensation in your head to be able to connect the dots until it's too late.

“Listen, man, we don't have anyt—” Life can be unpredictable. One moment you're having fun with your friends in a rented cabin in the woods, and the other, your best friend is being shoved into the floor by a much bigger man, the loud sounds of his shouts and struggling instinctively forcing you to put a palm over your mouth, trying your best not to scream along your dying friend.

A quiet whimper makes its way out of your throat the moment a long, bloodied machete is raised in the air, horrified wide eyes meeting yours as the panic fully sets in for him. It's like seeing a trainwreck yet being unable to stop watching, even when your brain is screaming at you to close your eyes. To save yourself from the trauma, to protect your psyche, to let the last image of your best friend be him alive—

Hack.

The masked killer lands heavy blows one right after the other on the figure underneath him, blood splashing all over the room, forcing another muffled whimper out of your lip as the man hacks away at your friend's dead body, seemingly getting more and more excited with every single new wound he's forcing.

The house is quiet— way too quiet for a group of 5 drunk people. You were previously in the bathroom, too preoccupied throwing your guts out in the bathroom to hear any noise through the loud gags and the ringing in your ears. The man's heavy breathing fills the room, making you subconsciously hold your own, not wanting to get any of his attention and be his next victim. They say ignorance is bliss, yet not knowing if the man is aware of your presence only makes the black pit of dread grow in your stomach.

His movements are slow and calculated, letting go of your friend's mangled up corpse, the sound of the machete being pulled out of his flesh almost makes you gag, secretly thankful that you emptied your stomach earlier. Baby-blue eyes scan the room with a precision that almost seemed robotic, instinctive, like a predator who has always succeeded at catching his prey.

Your heart goes down to your stomach when his cold gaze connects with yours through the thin wooden blinds, masked head tilting to the side in what seems to be sick amusement. He inches closer to you, his footsteps surprisingly quiet for a man his size, eyes crinkling up with his pupils dilating quickly, black almost taking over the pale blue.

His gloved hand raises slowly towards the doorknob, maintaining eye contact with your tear-filled eyes— only for his head to snap up towards the sound of a crack on the wooden floor coming from the kitchen. He gives the closet one last look before running towards the sound, the sickening sound of your friend's blood and guts dripping down his machete and clothes following right after him.

Thrashing and more screaming is heard from the other side of the house, snapping you out of it enough to realize it's your only chance to escape the same fate your friends met. Your shaky hand twists the doorknob slowly, not daring to look at the dead body right in front of the door— the body of someone who died just to protect you.

A shaky whimper escapes your lips when you accidentally kick the limb corpse, shaking your head a few times to snap out of it before you move away from him, staring ahead with an unfaltering sense of dread eating you from within.

Your steps are wide and calculated, sobered up the moment the masked killer started attacking your friend right in front of you. From what little you can see thanks to the moonlight seeping through the windows, the entire place looks out of a horror movie, blood staining every single wall, dripping down at such a slow pace that it almost seems like it's God's way of taunting you.

Relief finds place into the pit of dread the moment you can see the entrance door, finally feeling like you're able to breathe again— like you're not leaving behind any of your friends who may have survived the brutal attack. Guilt has no place in survival, you convince yourself within seconds as your shaky hand reaches for the doorknob, only to be slammed against the wall, a gloved hand covering your mouth to muffle the bloodcurdling screams that leave your lips.

You thrash against his rough hold, earning nothing other than a much harder hair pull, only stopping your thrashing the moment you feel cold metal pressing against your throat. Your eyes close as tears fall down your cheeks, pooling on the soft fabric of the gloves of the man holding you against your will.

“And where the fuck do you think you're going, hm?” He turns you around forcefully, pining your body against the wall with his own, tilting his head to the side just to taunt you as his sharp machete presses harder against your neck. His free hand comes up to caress your cheek, teasingly spreading your friend's blood all over your cheeks, forcing a choked sob out of you.

“Aww... Now you're all quiet. Poor pretty, broken princess...” His tone holds nothing but fake pity and pure amusement, sickly getting off on your pathetically horrified expression. His body presses against you harder as he looms over you, only leaning down to press his masked face against the crook of your neck, not bothering to hide the way he's inhaling your smell as the back of his gloved hand keeps absentmindedly running over your cheeks in an action that would be soothing, had he not been the man who killed your loved ones.

“I'll let you go.” Your breath hitches at his words, not believing him for a single second— not when you can feel his boner pressing against your stomach, his hips subtly rubbing against you to get more friction while he wonders if it's truly worth it to let you go instead of sending you home in a box.

“But you say a word about this to anyone... and I mean anyone, princess, and I swear to God, I'll gut you like a fucking fish.” His words take a bitter tone after he calls you princess, though the hold on the machete softens slightly as he hears your choked sobs, knowing the only thing preventing you from nodding vigorously like a well-trained dog is the blood-bathed steel pressing to your neck.

“Yeah? Do you promise?” The machete is moved out of the way, yet he still keeps you pinned against the wall so you don't try to run away. His pinky finger is raised up to your face mockingly, giving you an expecting look that takes you a few seconds too long to understand. Your shaky hand comes up to his, intertwining your pinky with his in a childish promise, a whimper leaving your lips the moment he applies enough pressure to make it hurt before releasing you.

He moves out of the way after a few tantalizing seconds, nodding his head towards the door, watching you scurry away like a kicked puppy, his entire body itching to go after you— and deciding against it last second, knowing he'll be seeing you soon.

[NEXT]

Author's note: The art published in all chapters belongs to @moosch!! We're both very excited about this project and to expand on something we've been talking about almost daily for months, I hope you guys enjoy it as much as we do. <3

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reidrum · 4 months

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two millimeters | s.r

a/n: this was literally born bc i saw reid lying on the couch in the jet at the end of demons and thought ‘i would literally sit against that wall to watch over him on the way back’ so i wrote it

summary: spencer gets hurt and you’re not leaving his side

cw: season 9 finale spoilers for angels & demons, cm violence, hurt/comfort, unestablished relationship

wc: 0.6k

___________________________________________

two millimeters to the right, and it would’ve hit his carotid.

the sentence replays in your head like a cursed mantra, rendering your other senses useless. you couldn’t hear the doctor say you could see him now, or feel penny tug your arm towards the room. and you certainly couldn’t believe your eyes when you saw spencer reid in a hospital bed, hooked up to machines and iv drips, with a big fucking gauze dressage on the side of his neck.

you knew your line of work was dangerous, being a federal agent who hunts down serial killers should be enough to prove that. but it never surprised you seeing the panic that overtook all of you when one of your own was hurt.

the pure terror you felt in this moment though, was something without parallel.

two millimeters. two millimeters. two millimeters.

you’re not even sure how it happened. they were on the way to tell the preacher he was innocent, and instead he opens fire on federal agents? it was a cruel twist of fate, spencer doing what he could to protect his people and pushing blake out of the way but getting hit himself. it wasn’t anyone’s fault either, the preacher had military grade machine guns, and spencer would have done what he did for anyone. you made sure to tell blake that.

but your spencer was hurt. and all you wanted to do was take away his pain somehow, and toss it in a river to never be seen again.

two millimeters. two millimeters. two millimeters.

“hey,” you hear a voice pull you out of your head. looking up you’re met with tired soft brown eyes lying down on the jet’s couch, “i’m okay, honey. please go sit on a chair.”

if spencer had all his strength he would lecture you on the dangers of not being properly restrained on an aircraft and the statistics of plane related injuries. but that was the problem, he didn’t have all his strength. and you were not going to let him out of your sight.

which is why you are sitting on the floor of the jet, perched in front of the couch where spencer laid, resting your head on the cushion his head was on, body leaning against couch’s frame. and you planned to stay right there until you landed back in quantico.

“looks like this flight is overbooked,” your section unit chief teased upon seeing you on the ground, “hopefully the brass sees our good work and gives us a bigger jet next year.”

morgan, hotch, even jj offered you their seats to at least get some rest, something you hadn’t had in days.

“i’m fine right here.” you spoke softly.

jj and penny looked at you in concern, but knew you wouldn’t be swayed to move anyway. your stubbornness always acted as a curse and a blessing.

spencer moved his hand to graze your cheek gently, “the doctors fixed me up really good, i promise i’m okay.”

you move your hand to rest on top of his, slowly rubbing your thumb into the curve of his palm, “and i promise i’m okay right here. i’m not moving.”

two millimeters. two millimeters. two millimeters.

two millimeters would haunt you for many years to come, but maybe right now you could use it to measure how much closer you can get to spencer till there’s only two millimeters between you.

spencer knew this was a war he was not winning, and let his hand intertwine with yours. if you weren’t so close to him you might’ve missed the faintest “thank you” escape from his lips. the jet takes off and the two of you are lulled to sleep almost immediately. the rest of the team unspokenly watched over you both, making sure you weren’t rattling around or spencer rolling around too much. and penny couldn’t help but take a few pics to show you later.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #criminal minds fanfic #mgg #dr spencer reid #spencer reid hurt/comfort #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid fic

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inkonparchment · 2 months

Text

there's a man in the woods | Leon Kennedy

Leon Kennedy x f!Reader

summary: everything changes when you find a man beaten, bruised and bleeding half to death in the woods.

word count: 2.5k

warnings: horror imagery. unsettling themes. mentions/description of blood, decaying flesh, organs, guns. mention of plagas. canon-typical violence. injuries. slow burn. eventual romance. hurt/comfort. plot armour goes crazy. language.

a/n: i have no idea what i am doing so please bare with me hehe. i would like to apologize for the lack of dialogue in this.

series masterlist

Chapter 1

It starts the same way it always does.

A room so bare it may as well have never existed, a room so claustrophobic it may as well not have any oxygen, a room so untouched by light it may as well have been forgotten in time. And you; always in the centre.

Agitated by the slow sound of dripping water. Drip, drip, drip. You can never figure out where the noise comes from; above, below or one of the sides? You can’t tell because you cannot see, blinking rapidly pleading that some stray beam of light enters. But no, nothing is coming, no one is coming.

Breaths become shallow, chest constricting in pain as you fall to your knees, hands pressing over your heart as bile washes up in your mouth, tasting bitter. Then it’s the walls, they close in at a pace that you still can’t figure out. Helpless to its whim. And it almost does feel like a predator playing with its prey.

But just before it can crush you, embed your being in its rotten surface, soaking in your crimson colours as you lie awake, powerless to fight against your fate, tears wetting your cheeks as your screams of terror are heard by no one.

No one is coming. No one is ever coming.

A flicker of light, the gentlest hue of gold, and that’s all it ever takes for you to plant your feet, nails scraping against the stone, and run. You don’t dare to blink, terrified that it will vanish and leave you stranded. The light is like a distant star, always out of reach, mocking your efforts to escape the darkness.

It’s frustrating, legs feeling like they’ve seeped in molasses as you grunt and heave and fight to not sink. But it is fruitless as you feel a stabbing sensation in your chest, air exiting your lungs, watching in horror as your veins turn black, desperately clawing against your skin to stop it.

Repent and seek penance.

And then you awake in your bed.

Your eyes flutter open, the sound of your heart prominent in your ears as you lay in your pool of sweat, trying to control your breathing. You see nothing and neither do you sense anything, flaring the sense of panic in your chest.

Your fingers splay against the material of your bedsheets, inhaling the familiar scent of your pillowcase to pull yourself back into reality. Three deep breaths. The sound of a whine grabs your attention, brown eyes staring into yours, ears standing up in alert and the usual wag of her tail was nowhere to be seen. She must have heard you in your sleep.

You manage a smile, reaching out to pat her between the ears, “Sorry, Luna. Did I worry you, girl?”

The sound of the alarm startles you, groaning as you shut it off before it reaches the third sound. You peel the covers off of you, a layer of sweat stuck on your skin, cringing at the dampness that you found beneath you. Propping yourself up on your elbows, you wait for your eyes to adjust to the light. The ache in your shoulder returns, fingers moving deftly against your skin to ease the pain, hand slipping momentarily due to the slickness in your palms.

It’s a bit suffocating still, your clothes sticking to your body, the vague dampness on your sheets and the duvet twisted between your legs, almost locking you in. You kick it away from you, the material falling onto the floor with a gentle thump as you finally stand up from the bed, giving Luna one more pat on the head which finally has her tail wagging again.

It’s still dark out, you note. A soft breeze blows in through the cracks of your window, gently jostling the cotton curtains. You peer out for a while, the first story window giving you a view of the woods, the trees standing still despite the obvious wind. But over the top of the thick foliage, in the far off distance, painting the pale heavens is a flock of birds, flying about in agitation.

Crossing your room to enter the bathroom, you close the door behind you with a soft click and hear the gentle thump of Luna taking her spot on the other side. You stand still. Hands clutching the marble of the sink, letting the coolness engulf your burning palms and you stare in the mirror only to find exhaustion looking back at you. Bloodshot eyes, the dark circles and lifeless cheeks.

A hollowed out version of the person you used to be, knowing it’s you but still being unable to recognize yourself in any reflection. You clutch the heart pendant that rests against your neck, its edges digging into your skin. What would your mother say if she saw you now?

Cold water splashes against your skin as you turn away from the mirror, shutting the sink off as you entered the shower. You don’t wait for it to heat up, finding this a better method to wake up, to ground you, to ensure that you’re in your own home.

And you scrub, almost desperately, against your skin, hoping that this would be enough to wash away the rot you feel festering in the depths of your stomach. Your hands move faster, fear beginning to slowly creep up on your back, long bony fingers tightening around your neck, waiting for the black veins to appear.

But they don’t.

The water is shut off, a towel wrapped around you and you’re out before the steam suffocates you. It’s gotten brighter outside, the first few rays of the sun peeking out over the horizon.

Luna follows you diligently as you dress yourself, earning herself scratches on her black-brown coat, patiently waiting for you to go downstairs for her breakfast. You undo the lock on your door and make headway for the kitchen, ordering to Luna to ‘stay’ as you fill her bowl up, take a few steps back, pause and then give her the green light.

It’s your usual routine, nothing out of the ordinary. Your isolation forced your hand to establish a routine for without you would feel yourself slowly descend towards insanity. You needed a purpose, no matter how small. After one decidedly panicked evening, you had brought back a handful of chicks to raise with nothing but your sheer will and a short guide book to help you.

Your need for a purpose was fulfilled and the chicks grew into beautiful hens.

Breakfast. Tend to the hens. Hunt for meat. Lunch. Take a walk. Stare at the landline hanging idly on your kitchen wall. Read. Dinner. Play with Luna. Sleep. Repeat.

But something feels wrong today, off, almost as though the world had tilted on its axis and you’re the only one who notices.

An egg falls and cracks on the floor as you fetch it from the fridge. The toast comes out burnt on the edges. Your tea doesn’t seep well.

But you don’t have time to linger on it, don’t have the energy too, already drained by your hellish subconscious. You need to check on your hens. You whistle for Luna at your front door, shrugging on your jacket and tightening the laces of your boots; always a good sense to dress for the terrain.

And then you reach into the small closet by the door, wrapping your fingers around the cool metal of your rifle. You check the cartridge, reload, slip a few extra ammos in your pocket, pull the strap on your shoulder and step outside on the porch.

The dew is glistening in the morning sun, shaking itself off the blades of grass as Luna bounds through them excitedly, not venturing far into the tall woods. You smile, watching her stretch her legs, descending down the stairs and looking up to the sky, frowning at the lack of yellows and oranges painting the blue canvas.

The sun has seemingly vanished, snuffed out like a cigarette bud on the pavement by the heavy rolls of dark clouds encapsulating the sky. The air smells different, charged and almost expecting to see sparks fly if you run your hand through the air fast enough.

Frowning, you stare hard at the trees, watching as far as your eyes take you through the rough foliage, the twisted roots overlaying on the ground. You wait, ears perked for any sounds of a howl, a break in the branch or a low growl, grip tightening around the leather strap of your rifle.

But nothing comes and you ease, although still unable to shake off the feeling of something amiss. Maybe you just woke up on the wrong side of the bed today.

You twist on your heels, beginning the march to your little coop when you feel your feet falter, freezing at the sound of a loud crow echoing so loudly, it felt like a gunshot in the stilled air. You twist your head to your right, heart loud in your ears as you're met with beady, black eyes and a pitch black bird perched on your railing. A raven.

It bobs its head, twisting and hopping on the railing until it’s looking at you dead in the eye. You hold in your breath. It waits a beat before suddenly brandishing its wings to their full span and lunging at you, making you stagger backwards as it flies past your head, talons scratching your coated arm that you use to cover your face.

Loud, urgent barks fill the air. It drains the colour from your face, hand flying instinctively to your rifle as your panicked eyes dart around you in search. “Luna!?” And you don’t see her, finally registering the sound coming from the side of your house, near the chicken coop.

You run, stumbling on the uneven ground, the rocks poking out of the soil hindering your speed. The little coop comes into view, Luna barking maddeningly in its direction, teeth bared and hind legs charged up. You don’t see the obvious danger, taking a quick scan of your surroundings as you jog up to Luna, hand darting out to her collar as you try to soothe her, “Hey, hey. It’s okay. What’s-”

And your mouth runs dry.

The metal screen that you so dedicatedly had fixed a few weeks back, making the treacherous journey of two hours to and back from the nearest town, to keep out the predators from reaching your beloved hens was torn open from the side, the carcass of one of your chicken flung on the ground, its pristine white coat now drenched in maroon, organs exposed to the sky.

You feel a burn in the back of your throat, contents of your stomach churning viciously as you find a symphony of insects nestled inside, eating away at the decaying flesh.

You bite back the burn, shutting your eyes momentarily and exhaling a shaky breath. You need to get rid of this, and fast before it attracts all the unwanted predators in the area.

You do a quick count on the remaining hens, kick the metal screen back in place as best you can, gritting your teeth and rush back in your home to fetch a plastic bag, making sure to take Luna with you. You don’t want her engaging in any foolhardy duels with the coyotes. Your hands shake as you rip out a trash bag, making sure to knock on the wood for good measure.

The sharp noise of distaste from your mother runs through your mind. She never liked your belief in superstitions.

You shove the rotting carcass in the bag as best you can, making sure to leave no entrails behind. No visits by any wolves or bears would be appreciated right now. The sky above you begins to rumble, sneaking a nervous glance as you walk through the woods, weaving through the branches and roots, holding the bag at a distance as Luna carefully carves out a path in front of you. You need to be quick to avoid the rain, wanting to not get caught up in the storm.

You shake the bag as best you can when you’re satisfied with how far away the distance is from your home, emptying the carcass. Your heart falls when you notice there isn’t a single speckle of white left, all of it tainted. “Okay, girl. Let’s head back and enjoy a day of snuggling on the couch.” You scratch her chin, the eager wave of her tail easing the tension in your shoulders.

You make your way back, slightly different to the one you took in case you had left behind any scent. It’s quiet in the trees today. No rustling of the leaves, no chirping of the birds and no scampering of little feet on the muddy ground. There was a deafening silence today, an eerie atmosphere, only the sounds of branches snapping under your boots in the air.

And then you sense the shift.

You sense it long before Luna stills, ears perked up fully and taking her stance to lunge. The hair on the back of your neck rises. You feel your heart drumming in your chest, senses heightened as adrenaline slowly pumps into your system. The stench of despair; you know it all so well.

Your hand once again reaches for the rifle, shrugging it off your shoulder as you bring it up, finger lined up next to the trigger, breath slowing down as your steps become feather-like, gliding forward. There is barely any light out now, despite the morning hour, whatever left of it seeping in through the thick foliage like spotlights following the heroine on stage.

You suck in a sharp breath.

Lying there on the forest floor is a man. His limbs are sprawled, hands outstretched away from his body, head turned to the side, propped up on the roots. His blond hair is scattered on his forehead, sticking to the skin underneath, skin so pale and ghostly that he may as well be made of porcelain, decorated prettily with shades of black and blue.

His lips are parted, a gash rushing through them and a stream of blood dripping along its side. He lays in a pool of red, oozing out from underneath and extending as though in the shape of battered wings, his body marred in cuts and bruises, some deep and some shallow, leaving no part of him untainted. His shirt is ripped, holes in his pants. His chest rises and falls in shallow breaths, a faint wheeze accompanying each exhale.

But that’s not what’s jarring you, tipping off every alarm in your system, the rot returning in your stomach.

It’s the guns. The gear. The holsters. The grenades. The knives.

Who the fuck was this guy? And how the fuck did he find you?

No one was supposed to be able find you, no one.

You were promised.

if u see this pop up on ao3 in the next few weeks or something, don't worry, that'll be my evil twin. thank you for reading<33

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #resident evil

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beforeimdeceased · 6 months

Text

ENTANGLED IN YOU— WHEN WILL MY LIFE BEGIN?

ways to help, daily click, do not support neil

ellie williams x reader

a/n: this actually isn’t the best but i’ll post it now and edit it later :D let me know what you think

tags: @astralnymphh

masterlist

…

once upon a time there was a beautiful princess who lived a castle…

okay maybe it was an abandoned apartment complex, and maybe she wasn’t a princess, but that isn’t the point of our story. our story focuses on how fate is inescapable.

“flower! let me up.” the doctor calls. you look outside of your broken bedroom window and quickly rush to the main room where there is a lever. you then, twist it with all your might. this triggers a series of reactions going downward which opens a space in the wall for the doctor to walk up.

this was a daily routine. doctor would go out and forage for supplies and food while you tidied up your “tower” as you called it. it wasn’t much but it was home and helped protect you from the outside world.

many years ago an outbreak occurred causing a sickness in the people of the world. doctor says it was terrifying to see. disfigured faces as a parasitic virus took over their minds.

but you were special.

you were born a few years later in a hospital doctor had been working in at the time. your mother had been seeing doctor for months and she was finally ready to deliver you. then suddenly, there was a break in. the infected monsters stormed through and bit your mother as you were being born. in a panic, doctor wrapped you up, ran as fast as she could until she found this abandoned building, and promised to always keep you safe.

she waited to see if the affects of the bite were passed onto you, and gratefully reveled in the fact that they did not. she still continued to watch you carefully. just in case. then, one day while cleaning up, she turned her head for a moment and you’d been scratched by an infected that had found its way inside the building.

you wailed and so did she before she realized that you were not turning. days began to pass and you still hadn’t turned. you were completely fine other than a small scratch on the back of your neck.

doctor rapidly got to work. after running various tests she used your blood to create a cure. it’s temporary against the infection, but it helps keep it from doing extensive damage. it gave those who were previously hopeless a reason to be hopeful.

she was excited about the results and prepared to share them with the world.

once she’d gotten in touch with the others in her field, they said in order to make a viable cure for everyone you would have to die, which she did not agree with.

so she rushed back to the tower, closed the doors, and swore to never let you leave out of fear that others would hurt you. even after you’d grown older. even after a cure had been fashioned years later from a mystery flower. even after the apocalypse had been declared over and it was semi safe to leave again. you would never leave. and she was confident that you’d never try to, until…

“are you excited for you birthday tomorrow, flower?” doctor asks as she walks into the lounge area. you were sat in the corner knitting a scarf out of yarn you’d fashioned from leaves. “i am actually. i’m more excited about the possibility of-“

“leaving to see the festival?” she finishes your sentence. you huff. “doctor, please. i look outside of my window and i see people laughing and lights shining just down the mountain. i know that a settlement is out there. have you still not checked it out?”

“no i haven’t checked it out and i’m not going to. i told you it’s probably fires started to control a large population of infected.” her tone is stern. she has checked already, it is a settlement.

you slump down in a chair next to her, hands clasped together. bottom lip sticking out. “please. please! atleast promise you’ll check on your next trip.”

she looks over at your face and smiles. “fine. we’re running out of supplies anyway. i’ll check on my trip tommorow, would that make you happy?”

“very.” you respond, smiling.

♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧

a loud clanking is heard from underneath the tower followed by a string of curses. “doctor?” you call out. your heart begins to race. what if she’s hurt again and she needs help? or more of the cure? you quickly turn the knob and listen as her footsteps get closer.

then you hear her speak and it is definitely not doctor. you hide behind the entrance, a frying pan in hand as it was the closest thing to you. you watch as the woman steps up and looks around. breathing heavily with dirt all over her. before she can turn around, you knock her hard on her head.

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koiiiji · 3 days

Text

some mistakes couldn’t be undone

tw ; abuse, canonical violence, Gitae is a threat himself, angst, yandere(?)

author's note ; i still haven't decided if i want to write him having really small soft spot, or well... a more canonical bastard…✊🏻😔

author’s note 2 ; minors, ageless/empty blogs DNI OR I WILL BLOCK YOU!!!

the flickering light above the old hotel door cast long shadows on the cracked walls, giving the room an air of abandonment and isolation. you thought you'd find safety here, far away from the life you'd tried so desperately to escape. Gitae had never been a man to let things go, but you'd dared to hope that the distance, the unfamiliarity of mexico’s wilderness, would keep him away for long enough. long enough for you to figure out what to do next.

but he had found you.

the door slammed open with a force that reverberated through the thin walls. you barely had time to register his presence before you felt the back of your head collide with the hard plaster, pain sparking through your body as you gasped, stunned. Gitae’s face was twisted with anger, his eyes wild and dangerous.

“have you decided to run away? do you think someone there will protect you?” his voice was a snarl, dripping with venom as he grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back toward him. your scalp burned from the sharp pull, but the pain was nothing compared to the terror freezing your veins.

who was he now? the man standing in front of you wasn't the one you once met. well, Gitae never was who you wanted him to be, but you hold a hope that he would change, the man you had foolishly believed could leave his cruelty behind. this man was the beast you'd been running from for what felt like a lifetime.

“who is he? well, who is he, who gave you the right to think you can leave me?” Gitae's voice was a roar in your ears, but you could barely hear it over the pounding of your heart. tears streamed down your face uncontrollably, the fear and frustration, the endless cycle of suffering, spilling out of you in heavy sobs.

“who is that guy huh? answer me, bitch!” his grip shifted from your hair to your shoulders, shaking you violently. his fingers dug into your skin with brutal force, but you fought against the pain. you fought him, digging your nails into his hands and pushing him away with what little strength you had left.

“this is not a guy!” your voice cracked as you shouted, your words breaking through the sobs. “not a guy…” you repeated, softer now, your voice barely a whisper. your trembling hands instinctively moved to your stomach, as if trying to shield the life that was just beginning there. but you immediately pulled your hand away.

but it was too late.

Gitae’s gaze darkened as it followed your movement, and you could almost see the moment of realization flicker across his face. he noticed. he noticed. thought raced through your mind, panic rising like a wave ready to crash over you. you staggered back, your body pressing against the wall behind you, heart hammering as Gitae took a step closer, his presence overwhelming.

“say it again,” he murmured, his voice low and menacing, but no longer a shout. he tilted his head, a cruel curiosity dancing in his eyes. the shift in his demeanor only terrified you more. you could see the gears turning in his mind, calculating, deciding your fate in a way that would forever bind you to him.

you opened your mouth, but no words came out. you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. walls felt like they were closing in on you as his massive hand cupped your face, thumb slowly brushing over your tear-streaked cheek. his other hand dropped down, gently, almost tenderly, resting on your stomach.

“how far?” his voice was dangerously calm now, a whisper in your ear. the gentleness in his touch was jarring, terrifying. you could feel his breath on your neck, sending a shiver down your spine.

“i-i… i don’t know,” you stammered, your voice trembling. “i just did a pregnancy test… a-and it showed... two lines…” you hiccuped, your whole body shaking as Gitae’s hand pressed you harder against the wall, but his touch on your stomach remained soft, disturbingly so. his palm rested there as though he was claiming something far greater than just you.

two lines. you could barely process the words as they slipped from your lips, the reality of your situation crashing down on you.

the future you’d envisioned — escaping from him, finding freedom — was shattered. those two lines changed everything, tied you to him in a way you could never have anticipated. you could feel the monster before you shifting, adjusting to this new reality, this new form of control.

the silence that followed your confession was suffocating. Gitae’s fingers lightly traced your belly as though imagining the life growing inside. he wasn’t shouting anymore. his rage had dissolved into something worse, something calculating, a dark smirk curling at the corners of his lips.

“you’re carrying my child,” he murmured, his voice now a chilling purr. “that’s good. very good.”

the look in his eyes was no longer just anger - it was possession.

“now you have no reason to run. ever.”

his hand, still resting on your stomach, tightened slightly, enough to send a clear message. you were his now — completely and utterly. any hope of escape, of breaking free from this nightmare, slipped further away with every passing second.

and yet, somewhere deep inside you, a spark of defiance remained. you couldn’t let this be the end. not for you, and certainly not for the child inside of you.

as Gitae’s hand lingered, still caressing your stomach with a twisted sort of affection, you knew you had no choice but to fight. maybe not today, not now — but soon.

you need find a way. you had to.

because some mistakes couldn’t be undone — but they could be escaped.

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lovelettersforthedamned · 6 months

Note

frat Peter x reader where he takes care of her after she gets spiked at one of his parties? 🥹🥹

Be Here For Her

✮ frat!tasm!peter parker x f!reader

✮ word count: 1.2k

✮ summary: your night has become foggy as your head swirls with confusion. when peter discovers your disheveled state, he swiftly becomes your aid while also preventing other people at his frat party from facing the same fate as you.

✮ warnings: language, mentions of drugs (spiking drinks), mentions of alcohol, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, this is a heavy topic so read at your own risk pls.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

main m.list ⋆ peter parker m.list

gif by @kenstaroyco

Your head was pounding against the bass of the music while your body felt as though you were moving through a pool of gelatin.

Peter was out mingling with the people entering the house of Kappa Phi, trying to keep things in order. But with the mass amounts of crowds entering the building, it was easy for both you and him to become distracted.

You were hanging out with a group of girlfriends of the frat when Peter approached the group again, a sheen layer of sweat on his forehead. He opens his mouth to speak, but honestly, you don’t hear a word he says. It feels like your mind is swirling as you lose focus on the conversation playing out in front of you. And when Peter places an arm around your shoulders, it feels like a ten-ton weight was set on top of you, causing you to slump a bit further into his side.

He must have felt your sluggish presence, because he grips your side tighter, keeping you in place right as your knees buckle and send you to the floor. The girls around you look at you with confusion and panic. They’ve been with you this whole time and knew you were just finishing your first beer, so you couldn’t have been drunk yet.

“Woah,” Peter exclaims as he holds you by your arms when your knees slam into the floor beneath you. Your drink falls to the floor, causing a bigger mess.

Your eyes are hooded over, your gaze unfocused. All you could put together were a bunch of faces looking down at you, and hands grabbing at you to help you up. The entire situation was overwhelming, but the thought of forming a coherent sentence made your head hurt more than it already did.

Peter’s mind was running a million miles per hour as he slowly pulled you in his arms, carrying you bridal style to take you upstairs to his room. He turns to your friends before departing, “I’ll text you guys later, get home safe.” With a few nods from the girls, he starts his careful ascent to the quiet room. He maneuvers you through the crowd, careful to not bump your head on anything. As he’s about to climb up the stairs, he hears an eruption of laughter behind him. Turning his head over his shoulder, he spots a random guy with his friends pointing and laughing at you barely conscious in his arms.

“Let me know if she’s a good fuck! I expect a ‘thank you’ later, bud,” he shouts to Peter, followed by another sound of laughter.

Peter puts the pieces together, and suddenly his vision focuses on the guy who yelled at him. He’s a skinny guy, probably a freshman, with the most obnoxious yellow shirt on. The prick in the crowd didn’t know who he was, and who you were. Anyone who knew Kappa Phi knew about you and Peter. An urge to leave him bruised and bloody on the floor overcomes him, but when a pathetic groan comes from you, he remembers that you’re in a vulnerable state. The only thing you need is Peter.

He blows him off and continues to make his way upstairs. Once he reaches his door, he skilfully pulls out his keys and unlocks them before twisting the handle and pushing his way inside the dark room. Peter lets out a sigh of relief as he walks towards his bed and lays you gently on the mattress.

Peter quickly walks back to the door, locking it behind him as he takes off his jacket, throwing it in a random corner. Kneeling next to you, he brushes some hair away from your face, keeping his hand there. He notices that you’re mumbling incoherent sentences and his eyebrows scrunch in confusion trying to piece together what you’re saying.

“D-Don’t…feel,” your body shakes with a tremor, “good.”

His heart breaks at your weak mumble of broken words. Your hand slowly reaches up to hold the hand that’s holding your face. The only thing keeping him sane is knowing you’re with him. He’s keeping you safe, and you know that.

Peter slowly comes off of his knees and starts to lay next to you. One of your hands is always touching him, a wave of reassurance washes over you at his touch. He pulls you onto your side and into his chest, the feeling of his rhythmic breathing lulling you to sleep.

The moment he feels your breath even out to a steady pace, he pulls his phone out, calling one of his frat brothers who’s still downstairs. The phone rings a few times before the music blares out of the speaker followed by a loud shout, “Parker, what’s up?”

“Hey, Matt,” he starts, “will you do me a favor?”

There’s no hesitation before Matt responds, “Yeah, of course. What’s going on?”

“Can you find Chris and look out for a scrawny kid with an aggressively yellow shirt on? He needs to be thrown out immediately,” his voice is stern but still quiet with you asleep next to him.

Peter can hear Matt call out for Chris before placing his phone back to his ear, “We see him. Anything else?”

“Yeah,” he clears his throat, “if you see him with his friends, bring them outside and get their names. And search all of their pockets. Whatever you find, bring it up to me ASAP.”

“Got it,” Matt answers before hanging up.

⭒⭒⭒⭒

About half an hour later, a soft knock is heard from Peter's door, causing him to gently unravel himself from your hold. He makes sure you’re still asleep before pulling open the door. He finds both Matt and Chris standing there with a solemn look on their faces and a few bags of white pills in their hands.

Chris starts, “We’ve got their names, all of them.” The air is heavy as Peter takes one of the bags and inspects the contents in them.

“Okay,” he takes the rest of the bags, “will you send their names to me?” The two boys in front of him nod their heads. “Can you guys also make sure everyone’s okay down there? I would go with you, but (Y/N) needs me here,” he nods back to your unconscious frame behind him.

Peter can see Matt and Chris’ brains catch on to what happened to you tonight, and their eyes go wide. They nod, speechless before heading back downstairs.

The bags in his hands feel heavy as he looks at them again before he looks back up at you. A feeling of guilt floods his brain, but he knows that you wouldn’t want him to feel responsible for this. He could hear you telling him that it wasn’t his fault. Putting them safely on his nightstand, he falls back into bed with you ready to help you tomorrow morning with whatever plan you decide to follow through with.

✮ author's note: once i'm on my frat!peter grind, it doesn't stop i fear. thank you anon for this request!! this was a heavy topic that's so real and it's so scary :( thank you for reading! ok, bye ily!!!

#peter parker x reader #tasm!peter x reader #fluff #andrew garfield peter parker #peter parker #tasm!peter parker #frat!peter parker x f!reader #frat!peter parker #peter parker hurt/comfort

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sidekick-hero · 24 days

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First Love, Second Chance

(steddie | teen | tags: exes to lovers, canon divergence (Eddie lives), future fic (set 2001) | Part 2)

Next part to this one.

Eddie was standing near the entrance, a little uncertain, like he was looking for someone. His hair was a bit shorter than Steve remembered, but the wild curls still framed his face in that familiar way. He was dressed up, too — not a suit or anything, but in a crisp black button-down that looked like he’d borrowed it from someone with more of a taste for formal wear. Eddie’s fingers twitched at his sides, the way they always did when he was nervous, and he looked around the room with those same dark, intense eyes that Steve had memorized years ago.

Steve’s breath caught in his throat. No way. No way, no way, no way. This had to be some kind of joke. A cruel twist of fate. Robin had sworn up and down she hadn’t meddled beyond signing him up, but this felt like exactly the kind of thing she’d do to yank him out of his shell.

Eddie hadn’t spotted him yet, and Steve had a second — just a second — to decide if he was going to slip out the back door and pretend this never happened. But he didn’t move. Couldn’t move. His feet felt glued to the floor, and his heart was doing that weird fluttering thing it hadn’t done in years.

Eddie’s gaze finally swept the room and landed on him. For a moment, it was like nothing had changed — like all the years and all the hurt had vanished, leaving just them, two boys in a small town with big dreams and bigger fears. Eddie blinked, then a slow, cautious smile spread across his face, the kind that used to mean he was up to something.

Steve felt the air shift, his chest tightening. “Holy shit,” he muttered under his breath. He wasn’t ready for this. But maybe he was. Maybe this was why he’d come — some part of him still hoping for a miracle, still holding on to something he couldn’t quite let go of.

Eddie walked over, and Steve stood up without thinking, his legs moving before his brain could catch up. Eddie stopped in front of him, close enough that Steve could see the tiny silver hoop in his ear, the one he'd always worn after they'd let him out of the hospital in '86, when he'd had his ear pierced as a way to get his body back, as Eddie had said. All the scars that littered his body hadn't been his choice, but this little hoop had been. Eddie looked at Steve with a mixture of surprise and something else - something that looked an awful lot like hope.

“Steve Harrington,” he said, his voice a little rougher than Steve remembered, but still the same. “Is this… Are you my blind date?”

Steve swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. “Looks like it,” he managed to say, his voice steadier than he felt.

Eddie laughed, a low, nervous chuckle that tightened something deep in Steve’s chest. “Well, this is… unexpected,” Eddie said, his voice trailing off before he added, “I didn’t know you were… I mean, I didn’t think I’d see you here.”

Steve shrugged, aiming for casual but feeling closer to panic. “Yeah, I didn’t think I’d see you either,” he admitted. “But… here we are.”

Eddie’s smile softened, and for a moment, they stood there, two people with too much history and too many things unsaid. “Yeah,” Eddie finally said, “here we are.”

Just like that, the room seemed to shrink, the noise and strangers fading away, leaving only the two of them. That was, until a voice cut through their little bubble.

“Sir, can I ask your name so I can find your table for you?”

Steve blinked, startled. Joanne had slipped up beside them, unnoticed, while they were lost in each other’s presence.

“Sure thing, sweetheart,” Eddie replied, flashing that familiar, disarming grin he always used when he was trying to charm someone. “Eddie Munson.”

Joanne gave him the same appraising look she had given Steve earlier and then beamed back at him. But as if suddenly remembering her actual purpose, she glanced down at her clipboard, her manicured finger scanning for Eddie’s name.

Steve’s heart pounded as he watched her. He wasn’t sure what he hoped for more: that she’d announce Eddie was, in fact, his date, because it would mean that on paper, at least, they still fit together perfectly. Or that she’d say Eddie was here for someone else, because maybe that would prove what he’d been telling himself all this time — that they were never right for each other, that they’d only been a disaster waiting to happen. Yet, the thought of watching Eddie charm someone else tonight, someone new, made his stomach twist into knots.

He held his breath, waiting for Joanne to decide the fate of whatever this moment was supposed to be.

Part 3

#steddie #steddie fic #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things fanfiction #my writing

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official-twistfateau · 2 days

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Test - Manuscript (Replaces Words): You are given a cest with the items, the room is covered with multiple words written in calligraphy. Match the correct words with the item that you hold in your hand.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Matt Stubley: Feather, greetings! Have you seen Jack? I am recreating a scene from an antique story but in the modern times, and I will need his imput.

Hint: Find Jack in one of the open rooms.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You and Matt found the blonde doctor in the kitchen with John. Meanwhile John is preparing something to eat, Jack seems to be reading some notes when he notices you.

Jack: Hey, Matt, Feather. How are you doing?

Matt: Here we are... Anyways, there is something I need help with.

Jack: Really? It is a pleasure to help, what do you need?

Matt: Well, you see...

You decide to do the test meanwhile they speak.

Matt: And your imput would be really helpful.

Jack: I see, I see... No worries Matt, I can help you out. I love your writting style.

Matt flushed at the compliment.

Matt: You do!? Thanks!

And he bowed, causing a smile and a soft chuckle from Jack.

Jack: Yeah. You have really good abilities in writting, so when I check it out and write down the special details that you need, I am sure you will manage to do a splendid story.

Matt: Really!? Thank you, thank you!

Matt, suddenly, hugs Jack and gives him a quick kiss on his cheek, then he breaks the hug, bows and leaves saying goodbye.

Jack smiled at the figure and proceeded to read the writting that Matt gave him.

On the other hand, John was doing a horrible job with containing his giggles.

John: Pray that James never finds out.

Jack seemed to caught on what he meant and turned red like tomato.

Jack: Oh...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Congratulations! You found Jack, helped Matt and now you have to deal with hiding the secret event that took place from James!

Hooray! Here are some freedom points.

Matt Stubley: Thanks, Feather! I really admire Jack so I know he will giv- ... *turns red from embarrassment as soon as you remind him what happened* Please don't tell James... Pretend you got partial amnesia or something.

#panic room au #panic room outrage #panic room twist fate #house of panic and secrets #jack firewood #john fall #matt stubley #belen (or feather)#quest #and also slight shipping i guess?#firebley #or woodbley #ig

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lostinforestbound · 4 months

Text

It's here after many weeks, the 10k one-shot to celebrate 200 followers, but I suppose it's also to celebrate 300 followers as well! I meant for 300 to be a different celebration but that's okay! I'm sure I'll make something else for the next milestone!

Requested Tags: @dutifullylazybread @heytheresunflower @barbwillbrb

Rolan/GN!Tav

I Shouldn't Love You Like You Are Mine

Rolan has too much to do with so little time. Becoming the new Master of Ramazith's tower is proving more complicated than the wizard have ever thought. On top of it all, he has a deep infatuation with Tav, the hero who saved him and his family many times. He knows he has no chance with them, so he has settled on hopelessly pining and dreaming. One day, Tav rushes into the shop in a panic, and he could have never in his wildest fantasies expect what they request of him.

Word Count: 10k (Don't like Tumblr? Read on AO3 instead!)

Relevant Tags: Rolan's POV, Makeout Diversion, Smut, Lorroakan Bashing

Beta Reader: @el-tur-el (Thank you so much for your help T!!!)

NSFW under cut, Minors DNI

The air is stale, the scent of electricity still strong in the space that surrounds him, the taste of blood on his tongue from when his sharp teeth gashed the inside of his mouth. He's sore, bruised, burned, somewhat electrocuted by the way some of his muscles spasm still, but he's alive. Tav is long gone with their companions, and all that is left is him and a dead man.

When staring down at the body of his spine-broken master, Rolan is not sure of how he's supposed to feel. At first, he felt a genuine joy that he had not felt in many years. The adrenaline was still high at the time, and he proudly remarked that he would turn the tower inside out to find its secrets and share them with the world. He always has been ambitious, that is what got him this far, after all. Tav seems happy for him, and he ignores how it made his heart pound even more.

As he stands alone in the room, he questions whether he's supposed to feel something now that the joy has faded within the span of minutes. Some kind of liberation? Or perhaps his emotions are fighting each other in his psyche, making him feel everything and nothing all at once. The man who tortured him, who beat him like he was a misbehaving dog he didn't even want, who refused to teach him anything about wielding the weave, lays dead by his feet. He can't help but think that he looks pathetic now, face twisted in permanent fear even after death.

He spits on his face as a final 'fuck you'. He hopes he rots in the deepest pits of the hells that he was once dragged to.

Running his stiff hands down his face, he tries to think of what to do first. He has to get rid of this body, it can't stay here lying around. It will decay and stink more than Lorroakan already has. Grabbing a fistful of the dead man's hair, he drags his body towards the balcony. He could throw his body over the railing, it would be insult to injury, but no. He will do something much worse.

He digs into the stray backpack at the edge of the railing and takes out a disintegration scroll, one that he knew Lorroakan hid out here as a backup plan in case a fight doesn't go his way. Without thinking too much on it, he casts the spell on the body, and Lorroakan disappears into ash.

His former teacher was now erased, made into nothing, and no one will remember or miss him. A fate worse than death, in Rolan's opinion.

Almost numbly, he heads back inside the main room and tries to find cleaning supplies. There's so much blood on the floor, and it did not help he made a trail while dragging the body. He wishes Tav was still here so he could demand they clean their mess up, where he wouldn't notice his tail flicking back and forth in irritation. Would they bother listening to him? Maybe not, but at least they would be there, just a little longer. Just enough time for him to pine once more.

Lia is right, he's a very selfish creature.

A couple of mage hands bring a bucket of water and an unused mop over. He is taken aback, as he thought they would have disappeared in Lorroakan's absence. Although, these could have been Ramazith's, wherever that wizard is now. It doesn't matter, either way. They're his now.

He dunks the mop into the water and starts swiping across the floor, noticing how as he cleans, the white cloth of the strands turn red. There's so much godsdamned blood, it will take him forever to clear the mess. There's a lot of blood on him, too. Specks and splatters of blood paint his hands crimson, long dried onto his red skin. His mentor's blood. Lorroakan's blood.

He helped murder a man, today. He killed someone. His blood is on his hands as much as it may be on the Nightsong's. Or Tav's.

An unsuspected shudder runs through his body, and he feels sick. He chalks it up to his adrenaline rush going down too quickly, ignoring the feeling as he swipes the mop across the floor.

The hairs on his neck stand on end as he feels the crackle of the weave, warning him someone is coming through the portal. Part of him hopes it would be Tav; he wants to talk to them again. Maybe they can help him with the cleanup, laughing about how they left him here without realizing it. He would stumble over his words like a fool, trying to be impressive in his pathetic state.

It's not Tav that arrives though, he recognizes Lia's quick footsteps anywhere. She's always been the fastest between him and Cal; they both could never beat her in a race, but he swears he lets her win.

"Rolan!" She shouts, quickly coming up to him along with Cal, whose heavier footsteps are right behind hers. "Finally! You kept talking up this tower and now we get to see it-"

"Wait, is that blood?" Cal immediately interrupts, face falling.

He must look horrendous, Rolan realizes. He got so busy cleaning the floor that he didn't even bother washing up first. Based on when he looked at himself that morning, the bruises should still be very prominent. Shit.

Lia bristles when she cups his face, looking at his injuries. "What is this?"

The silence that falls between them is telling. He knows she figured it out a long time ago, but she wants to hear him say it. "I'm fine, Lia. He was a horrible mentor, but it's not my blood on the ground."

"Tav told us they helped you kick his ass." Cal comments, trying to lighten their moods, "Looks like you did just that if this blood isn't yours."

"You should've killed him earlier, idiot!" She spits.

"I know, I know." He mutters, trying to speak even as Lia turns his face around to see the damage. "It's good to see you two."

"We missed you, brother," Cal says, gently moving Lia away and hugging him. "Please don't do that again. It was hard, without you."

Rolan lets out a sigh he didn't know he was holding, hugging Cal tightly. Lia joins in quickly after. When was the last time they held each other like this? He doesn't remember.

It feels nice.

While it doesn't last long, it is more than satisfactory for him. They help him with the clean up, Lia helping with the blood while Cal sweeps the floor with a broom. They take on more workload than Rolan wants, but he can't argue with them when they practically plead for him to rest. To be honest, he's unbelievably sore, and maybe sitting down for a bit wouldn't hurt.

It only takes his body a few minutes until it's antsy again, so he joins them quickly after.

And then he never stops moving.

He cleans, reorganizes, and keeps walking despite his beaten body screaming at him to stop. He can't stop, because if he does, he knows he will not want to get back up. He'll crash, and he can't afford that.

At the end of it all, he enters Lorroakan's room without thinking and is frozen in place. He's been in here before, but never for good reasons, only beatings. Is this not his room now that the original master is gone? But it reeks of his old mentors stench. He scrunches his nose as he looks at all the personalized decorations. They're hideous, all of the colors too bright to stare at, and most not matching with each other in terms of palette. There's not even a real theme and it makes him irate.

He remembers being beaten on this very floor for messing up a verbal component.

Enraged, he marches up to the bed and tears off the sheets, making a point to dig his claws into them so they would rip. The pillows are next, tossing them across the room and onto the floor. He'll need to replace every damn thing if he wants to use this bed. To use this room.

Unwanted memories start to flood into his mind as he tears the place apart, most of them being on the ground, where Lorroakan said he belonged. Beaten, burned, electrocuted, sometimes poisoned. A place where he was at his most pathetic. He often has nightmares about those late nights, but some of the worst ones were Tav walking in and seeing him like that, utterly broken on floor. They would never see him the same, and he doesn't know whether he prefers them to be disgusted by him or to feel pity.

He's close to a breakdown, having trouble getting air into his lungs before Cal and Lia comes in. "Rolan?"

With a slow sigh, he turns to look at them. "Why are you two up?"

Lia's eyes trail around the destroyed room, seeming to note the claw marks on the bed sheets discarded on the carpet. "Couldn't sleep." She says simply, giving a knowing look.

"Can we sleep with you?" Cal asks, rubbing the back of his neck, "Like when we were kids? Just for one night."

His jaw moves to start a pointless argument, but then snaps shut. They're both not children anymore, they can sleep by themselves. He can sleep by himself. However, he cannot deny that he craves the affection it would bring. He hasn't been this long without them, no matter how much he complained about them being clingy before.

"All right." He says quietly after taking a deep breath, "Not in here, though. Come."

He quietly leads them to the comparatively bland room Lorroakan gave him in Sorcerous Sundries. It isn't terrible, but he realizes that the bed is way too small for the three of them. Thankfully, he had a remedy. He adjusts an enlarge spell and makes the bed wider, and they all settle down on top of it easily.

Lia makes him stay in the middle while she settles on his right side, Cal climbing over carefully to lay on his left. Honestly, he misses having them so close.

"Rolan?" Cal speaks up as Lia pulls up the blanket.

"Hm?"

"Can you make a light show for a little bit?"

Rolan can't help but smile, slowly closing his eyes before opening them up again and raising his hands. "Any requests?"

"Make it look like flowers blooming." Lia says instantly, draping an arm around his middle.

He huffs before murmuring a few words, a burst of colors appearing in the air. Like asked, they take form of flowers blooming, petals falling near them gently. It's gorgeous.

It fades after a minute though, the exhaustion finally catching up to him as he falls asleep. If Cal and Lia were bothered by it not lasting, they don’t say a word.

For the first time in years, his night is not plagued by nightmares.

---

As soon as he wakes, Rolan does not stop moving.

He's the new master of Ramazith's tower, there is so much to do with so little time. The Absolute's army is on its way and he needs to gather everything he can to protect his siblings, and to protect Tav.

Tav doesn't need protecting, he knows that all too well, but he needs to do something. Anything at all. He needs to prepare the arcane cannon, but there is so much research to be done. On top of it all, he wants to be able to focus on his studies, but then run a shop at the same time.

He barely eats the toasted bread he haphazardly made for himself, too distracted by the logs Lorroakan left behind. There's so many customers he needs to take care of, including deliveries. Maybe he could repurpose the animated armor to make the deliveries, but that could be shaky as they're unstable. Well, Lorroakan's magic was always weakly done...he could rework the sigils. He'll have to rework everything in this place, actually.

Gods, everything is such a fucking mess. He knows he needs help, but respectfully, he wants everything a certain way and his siblings won't be able to give him what he wants. Tav would be able to understand-

He stops reading, surprising himself with his thought. Tav? Why would he think Tav would know how he likes things? It's ridiculous. But he can imagine it, them carrying books around with whatever means and placing them in alphabetical order, then by subject. They would tease him about being so stingy with what books go where on the bookshelf.

And they would laugh. Not quite at him, but laugh nonetheless. It's such a perfect sound in his ears, and the thought of it makes the tip of his tail flick about. Damn it all!

He's been thinking about them a lot, unfortunately. Ever since the Shadow Cursed Lands, where they succeeded in saving his siblings where he could not, an infatuation began to settle in his heart. He had half the mind to possibly confess, but immediately pushed it out of his mind. There was no possible way they would feel the same. He's too bitter, too arrogant, and he saw the way they looked at Gale, someone who is much more accomplished than he is. It is a fondness that he never received once in his life, and certainly not by them. He was jealous of it, but jealousy is an ugly little trait to have, so he gave up on dwelling.

The feelings never went away, no matter how much he wants them too.

He wants to say more to them, especially after they saved his sorry tail again during the fight up in the tower. They left before he could, he was too dazed staring at the mess the Nightsong made of his former master. He regrets being too out of it to say anything proper.

What would he have told them anyways? He doubts anything worthwhile. Probably a weak apology and an even weaker attempt to express his feelings. In the end, they would reject him, no doubt. He messed up too many times, back in the Shadow Cursed Lands, even if they accepted his apology for lashing out.

So he continues on and tries to forget, organizing the scrolls at the front counter of Sorcerous Sundries. His nose scrunches in irritation at the disorganization of it all. Was Lorroakan always like this? They aren't even categorized in the right sections, its horrendous. Diabolical. A sin on this shop.

Frustration straining his brow, he lays them flat on the counter to decipher where they should go, ignoring the ache that sits subtly in his bones. He hasn't had the chance to heal himself, so the bruises are still very prominent. It doesn't matter, he can take care of it later.

He knows deep in his heart that later will never come.

In the middle of his thought, one of the front doors burst open. Someone runs in and...well, he doesn't recognize them, but he does see the illusion aura that surrounds their figure. He's about to yell at them about their audacity, but their disguise instantly fades when they close.

It's Tav, in all of their wonderful glory.

"Tav?" He asks dumbly as they rush the to the counter.

They urgently hop over the counter and grab his wrist, and he actively has to suppress a wince by the force. "I need help. Hurry!"

Without a chance of responding, they drag him along towards one of the rooms along the side of the shop. They practically throw him in there.

The door slam briefly echoes in the room, and he barely has time to react before the back of his thighs meet the desk inside. He hisses, the bruises still fresh, “What in the hells are you doing?”

“I need a diversion. I was disguised but the Flaming Fist followed me.” They state, starting to open up the front of their tunic to make a mess. “Let me kiss you.”

He hates how the tip of his tail stands at attention, and thank the gods they don’t notice it. “What.”

“We’re kissing. Now. Just-“ They groan, loosening their shirt more to make themselves look like a mess. “-I need to make it look like I was busy. Rolan, please?”

He should say no. Everything is screaming at him to say no. But he is a weak man, and he’s dreamed that he could have them in his arms. Or be in their arms, it didn’t matter to him.

As soon as he gives a nod, they grab the front of his collar and pull him in, kiss searing. It takes everything in his being not to moan at the contact, especially when they loosen his hair properly to make it fall past his ears. They don’t touch them, much to his relief.

Pretending to put on the same act as them, he presses into them enthusiastically, letting their tongue in when it pries at his teeth. He fell out of control so quickly that he doesn’t know how to pick himself back up. He had half the mind to let them have their way with him. Blood rushes down south when their hand slides up his clothed stomach, sweat beading on the back of his neck as the muscles tense and quiver. Their touch was firm, demanding, and the voice in his head screams at him to not deny them for a moment. How long has he been waiting for something like this to happen?

Before he could panic about his dick twitching in interest at their ministrations, the door flies open. It startles Tav enough to where they bite his lip on accident, making him jolt.

A group of Flaming Fist freeze at the door, taking in the scene before them.

Rolan reacts quickly with his typical sneer, sitting up straighter and trying to ignore Tav being between his legs. “Do you mind?”

“Well, sir-“ One starts but the other, a commander most likely, cuts them off.

“There’s a suspected thief that we believe ran into here.”

“So you decided to almost break down one of my doors?” He questions, making a show of magic to fix his hair up. Tav moves away with their arms crossed in front of their chest, looking annoyed.

“We apologize, sir, but this thief is-“

"Excuse me?" Tav states, putting on an offended face. "How dare you! I am not a thief! I've been in this shop for a while now, unless you are accusing me of stealing from here?"

Rolan comes in before the Commander starts to retort. “My partner, no, my associate could not have been a ‘thief’ as they have been here with me for the past fifteen minutes. And this chase happened how long ago now?”

One of the other Flaming Fists glances up at the clock in the room. “…Five minutes.“

The man to their right smacks them upside the head.

“And what did they look like?” Rolan continues.

“A pale half-orc, short hair with a blue blouse, but-“

He raises a hand to silence them, as if they were misbehaving children. “Then I believe we are done here, as my associate is wearing nothing of the sort and does not look like what you described. Now, unless you are here to buy something or set a donation for the rebuilding fund of the shop, you will kindly leave the premises of Sorcerous Sundries this instant. I expect a formal apology by the end of this week.”

In all honesty, it's funny how lost these Flaming Fist look. They seem unsure of what to do. As Tav scoffs and looks away, it seems as though they're trying not to laugh. He has to fight the smile that's teasing the corners of his mouth, staring at all the blustering Fists as they figure out what to do. Reluctantly, frustrated and angry, they exit out of the office and leave the shop with their tail in between their legs.

He brushes himself off when the heat dies down, finally able to compose himself. “What the hells were you doing? Are you mad?!”

They finally let out the laugh they were holding, straightening themselves out. “I blew up a Fireworks shop. An Absolute Cultist was running it! Who knew? To answer your second question, maybe a little bit. It's been a tough day.”

"And you thought you could just run in here while I was working? Making the Flaming Fist dirty my floors after I just had Cal clean it?!"

"I'm sorry Rolan, I panicked. I wasn't thinking." They say, seeming genuinely apologetic.

He could barely focus, mind still catching up with the events. Is he truly this easy? All they had to do was demand a kiss and he would follow them, like a lovesick puppy? He's ashamed of himself, and he didn't even notice them speaking again.

"Rolan?"

"What?"

"How are you?" They ask sincerely.

He straightens himself up and gets back into his usual facade. "I am well enough. This shop and the tower is a horrid mess, so I've already been spending time reorganizing the texts. Lorroakan barely knew his alphabet. They were not even organized by subject!"

They laugh at that, and gods, the sound makes his heart pound, but afterwards they frown at him, eyes scanning to his face. "You're still bruised."

"I haven't had the time to take care of them. There is too much to do."

They dig into their pack and hold out what he recognizes as a superior healing potion. "Here. If you're going to work, at least heal up. Did I hurt you earlier?"

He slowly takes it, perplexed, "It is nothing I can't handle."

"I'm sorry." They murmur.

"I appreciate your apology, and I forgive you." He states, uncorking the bottle and drinking down the potion.

Instantly, the deep set ache and soreness of his form fades to something less painful. Its like a warm hug, and he feels energized.

They give him a soft set smile as he places the bottle down on the desk. "You look a lot better."

Gods, if he could, he would crush the fluttering feeling the compliment gave him. "Excuse you, I always look better. Now, besides that whole mess that you created, was there anything else you needed from me?”

"I want to make purchases...and barter?" They squeak out.

He sighs heavily, opening the door back up for them, "Of course you do. All right, what do you have for trade then?"

They head out to the counter with a skip to their step. "I promise it's worth it!"

---

Tav ended up having plenty of things to trade, including heavy set armor, rings, and magic items they don't need anymore. Thankfully not all fortune is lost, as they give some coin for high level spell scrolls. A Globe of Invulnerability...how interesting. He knows they are out and about adventuring, but what would they need that kind of spell for? How do they even have the gold to afford it??

They were out the door before he can ask them, clearly in a hurry to get somewhere. "Thank you Rolan!"

A little defeated, he continues on with the rest of his day. Organizing, organizing, and even more organizing. This place is such a shit show, it will take him ages before everything is how he wants it to be. Cal always teased him about having his socks color coded in his drawers.

He plops onto a fresh bed at the end of the day. This was Lorroakan's bed, but Cal and Lia helped him out with cleaning the room. New mattress, new sheets, new blankets, and even new pillows. They tore down the hideous tapestries and paintings he had, and he plans to change the wall into a new color. He still needs to personalize the room to how he likes, but now it was his. No trace of Lorroakan is found here. He idly wonders how Tav decorated their room, or if they have a home to go back to. They're still a mystery to him.

As he lays there, staring at the patterned ceiling, he finds it strange he has a room to himself. It's nice, and he's never had more privacy than now. Sometimes Lorroakan entered in his room at odd hours to start a lesson at his leisure. If he wasn't a light sleeper before, he is now due to the man's random visits. Now here he is, laying his bed, with his nights uninterrupted for the most part.

He has privacy.

...He’s pent up, isn’t he?

Through all the beatings and stress, he never took time to himself and get off. He was worried about getting caught by his mentor. On top of it all, he was too exhausted and hurt to even do much for himself, some nights barely having energy to bathe. But now…

With a sigh, he summons a mage hand to grab a book for him. When was the last time he read a smut book? Half a year, maybe more? Even then, he wouldn’t indulge too much as he never had a lot of privacy. With this large bedroom, the walls being silenced, and the time he now has, he will indulge for a little bit. For one night.

As he reads, there’s not much to go off. This one is poorly written, but he can at least give himself an idea. His mind sketches out a neutral form, no identifying…parts, yet. He’s indecisive, but he’s sure he’ll come up with someone satisfactory for the night.

Usually, his fantasies contain anonymous people with no face, or they wear a mask. It’s less embarrassing than thinking of someone directly. Sometimes they take him from behind, pinning the back of his neck to a table while they rail into him. Others he has someone under him, thrusting into them and littering bites on their neck.

For now, he imagines a person of no specific gender yet, holding him close in a crushing grip and devouring his mouth. It leaves him no room to breathe as he’s pinned to the wall, their thigh between his legs pressing up against his growing erection. Heat gathers south embarrassingly quickly, the tent of his pants tightening. What is Tav like in bed?

As soon as that question pops into his head, the blank person he tried to fantasize about turns into Tav. It shocks him how vivid it is, and he immediately sits up, book falling flat on the mattress as he drops it. No no no, absolutely not. They’re a friend.

A friend who pulled him in by the collar to kissed him with reckless abandon. A friend that was ready to pin him down on his desk. A friend who stroked a finger along his jaw to help him relax into their mouth.

Hells.

His fingers trail down his stomach and into his trousers, taking himself in hand. What’s the harm of indulging in this? They kissed, after all. All of their wonderful features are fresh in his mind. As he teases the underside of his shaft, he imagined it was their hand instead of his own. Precum was already beading at the tip, and he uses it to slick up his cock. He still feels their hands on him, pressing and demanding. He wonders what they would’ve done if they had more time. Are they gentle or rough when they stroke? He’s not sure whether he prefers one or the other yet.

None of this would happen, they have many suitors at their disposal. But damn it all, he could dream that they chose him, in the end.

Gods.

He covers his mouth tightly with his free hand, almost painfully as he thrusts up into his other one. This room is covered in silencing sigils, it’s not like anyone would hear him from the outside, but even he doesn’t want to hear his shameful sounds.

He feverishly switches to a different fantasy, this one containing Tav once more, though this time he isn’t complaining.

They’re both deep in the woods, away from the Tiefling party. They saved them all from the goblins, they deserved some compensation, did they not? Tav is pressed against his back, one hand putting two fingers in his mouth, rolling the muscle of his tongue between them while the other jacks him off. He’s utterly helpless, Tav taking control of his pleasure for him in the best ways as he helplessly grips the bark of a tree. They would tell him how good he was, how much they wanted him, how lovely his moans were. That he was handsome, strong, and worthy.

That they loved him-

Strings of white decorate his stomach, his climax coming with a stuttered gasp. It came more quickly than he thought it would, and his body spasms with how intense it is. The cry that climbs up his throat stops short by his hand.

He massages himself through it, feeling dazed and utterly pathetic. How dare he think about Tav in this way, as if they were an object for his pleasure? They’re not his, and he’s not theirs, no matter how much he wants to be. What would they say if they saw him like this, desperate and lustful even after his orgasm?

Gods, he wants them so badly, and he knows he can never have them.

Catching his breath, he feels disgusting. Filthy. He shouldn't think of them at all, he hasn't earned that right to them. It's pitiful.

To remedy his sin, he gets out of his bed and heads to the washroom. It's grand in comparison to his lowly basin in the shop, and he's unsure where to start now that he has access to it. Firstly, he takes out a Create Water spell scroll and casts it, filling the entire tub with water. He then modifies the Produce Flame spell to heat up the water. That will do for now, he'll figure out how to make the process a lot quicker later.

He takes off his soiled nightwear, stepping into the water with a slight hiss. All right, maybe he made it a little too hot, but it's nothing he can't handle. Lorroakan has burned him worse. As soon as he gets to the hip line, he pours lavender oil into the steaming water and sinks in completely. He's heard of the scent being beneficial for sleep, mostly from Tav. He wonders if they are an herbalist- no, no, he isn't supposed to be thinking about them.

Emptying his mind is proving harder than he thought. No thanks to his previous transgression, Tav's face plagued him. Questions pop up without him wanting them to: how does Tav look when flustered? Are they experienced with intimacy? Do they like pain? Are they sweet? What is their perfect date? How do they show their love-

He dunks himself fully into the water before the thought could finish, and he feels the sting of the hot water against his face as he sits under the surface. Finally, his mind is silent, so he holds his breath as long as he could. It's oddly soothing, just being alone under the water. A perfect escape to everything around him. He may just have to do this more often.

Unfortunately, he has not done any training to hold his breath, so he has to come up for air within thirty seconds. Perhaps he should practice, but that's for another time.

Now that his hair was thoroughly wet, he begins washing and conditioning his hair, giving himself a scalp massage while he was at it. He didn't trust the mage hands to do it for him. They were floating in the corner, waiting for a command. Can mage hands pout? It feels as though that's exactly what they're doing. Why are they so eager to help anyways? He should dismiss them when he has the time.

After dunking under the water again to wash out all the products, he exits the bath carefully, using Prestidigitation to instantly dry himself. Ah, what would he do if he didn't have that spell on hand? It is incredibly convenient. Can Tav use magic for mundane tasks?

He pauses as he slides on a robe. Gods damn it, it's happening again! That didn't last too fucking long, now did it?

With a groan, he marches back into the bedroom and towards the balcony, pushing the doors open. The night hair hits him immediately, sending a brief chill through him before calming. With a heavy sigh, he goes to the railing and leans against it, watching the silent city of Baldur's Gate. The lanterns have long burned out, and the stars are blooming above him, but he can't relax. He's desperate for Tav, and it's pitiful.

Pressing his forehead on the cold stone, he realizes what a miserable, selfish, wretched creature he is. After all of those things, he's somehow still hopeful. Why else would they kiss him like that? Is he reading too much into this?

Though, perhaps, instead of dwelling on unwanted thoughts, he should just let them go. Lia always did say he thinks too much. Cal mentioned it could be quite damaging on one's psyche.

So he lets the thoughts flow. All of the domestic ones and all of the lustful ones, too. He flickers through memories of he and Tav's interactions, thinking of what could have been and where he went wrong. The shouting, the aggression, the drinking. Gods, the drinking. He hasn't touched wine in a while because of it.

Then he lets it all go.

He raises his head, taking a deep, long breath of the fresh night air. He's in Baldur's Gate. They all made it. The Absolute's army is about to knock on their door, but just for tonight, at least in this moment, he's calm. He's okay.

Maybe he'll be okay later, too.

After an hour, he makes it to his bed and lulls himself to sleep, pulling up the thickest parts of the blanket to hold. It manages to lull him to sleep. A success, in Rolan's tired mind.

There's so much to do with so little time.

---

A tenday has passed and Tav has not returned.

It's for the best that they don't come, as they continuously plague Rolan's mind. He can't stop thinking about them, no matter how much he distracts himself. Most of them are lustful and depraved, some of which make him feel utterly ashamed. He has no right to think of them in this way.

Though, it's the other thoughts that confuse him the most.

They're domestically blissful. He imagines waking up in bed with them, nuzzling into their hair as they convince him to stay a few more moments. He imagines dates, lacing his fingers through theirs while telling them how stunning they are. He imagines it's their body that he pulls close late at night, and not a spare pillow he squeezes to his chest.

He hates these thoughts more than most, as it makes him silently grieve what could've been if he weren't such an arrogant prick. What if he was nicer to them when they first met? Would they have approached him a third time at the party and invite him to their tent? Embarrassingly, he's been losing more sleep than usual over the what if's, and it's making him sloppy with his work. Papers were scattered, he keeps losing his books, and ink stains have been appearing on his robes more and more lately. Unacceptable.

Is he truly this pathetic, losing sleep over domestic thoughts with someone unreachable? Is he that lonely? Does he crave company that badly? It is a wizard's curse, surely.

He thought he got over this, but it seems he needs more than one night to 'let go' of them. Damn it all, why can't this be easier?

He shakes his head, regaining his focus of the task at hand. Rearranging the scrolls once more, he stands onto his feet again and brushes the dust off of his robe. He proudly places his hands on his hips. Finally, after so many days, he has the counter exactly how he wants it. Everything is organized, not a speck of dust in sight, all of it is beautifully-

One of the doors slam open again by a gust of wind, and rage fills him to the core. Why, oh why are the gods so against him? Now there's dirt of the floor, he just made Krank sweep it all out!

The anger disappears instantaneously when he sees Tav rush through the door, sweat beading on their brow and their face flushes from exertion. Extremely similar to how they appeared last time-

Oh no.

As they rush past the counter to the same room they both in before, he starts following them without thinking. What in the hells was he doing?! This can only lead to something terrible for him, even if Tav would be none the wiser. Why does he torture himself like this? He finally has everything he could ever want, yet he greedy for more. For the one thing he can never hope to have.

But they need him, and he could never deny them.

He quickly enters the room after them, shutting the door on his way in. Thankfully this room is more presentable this time around, but he doubts Tav will notice it. They have never been one to look at the finer details. At least from what he has seen, it's not as if he spent much time around them. That thought makes jealousy swell in his chest.

"I need help again." Tav states, rustling up their clothes.

"I can see that," He sasses, but Tav is already pushing off the mantle that sits on his shoulders before pulling him into a kiss, hand fisting the front of his robes.

What has he done to deserve this punishment? Are the Gods testing him by dangling his one desire in front of him? They should know he's too weak to resist their touch.

He gasps into their mouth when they pin him to the wall, free hand grasping the back of his thigh. They easily put their leg in between his, which puts him in a daze. Is this truly an act if they would go this far, or are they testing his boundaries? The worst part about this is he never wants them to stop. He wants them to keep going and reduce him to a pitiful, breathless mess.

They're already succeeding in that, it seems.

When he feels them try to pry his teeth open, he lets them, tangling his tongue with theirs. The noise is so lewd in his ear, a blush immediately rising to his face at the intimacy of it all. He thought about this situation constantly, both through the actual memory and then to his fantasies. Though, fantasy is nothing compared to their real hand tracing the skin of his exposed neck, mapping out the dips and curves of his adam's apple. Images flash through his mind of them choking him, not to hurt, but to claim. He honesty hopes they would do so, but alas, their hand trails up to cup his jaw instead.

This action only made him more flustered, and while he doesn't understand why, he accepts it all the same and leans into their hand. No one has ever touched his face like this in many, many years. Usually it was hit or slapped, no thanks to his teacher. Even when their touch is as gentle as a dove, he can't help but flinch when their thumb strokes along his cheekbone. They pull away from the kiss, catching their breath with a question on the tip of their tongue.

As if the world is playing a joke, those same Flaming Fists burst the door open. They look surprised once again.

"Again?!" He shouts at them, bristling and baring his teeth.

"Do you fucking mind?" Tav yells after, giving them a hard-earned glare.

The Flaming Fists do not bother arguing again, turning heel and leaving the shop without another word. They look foolish, doing their walk of shame. At least they were quick about it, Rolan did not feel like giving them another lecture.

"How do you do, Rolan?" They tease, a hand still fisting his sleeve.

It is a miracle how he keeps his composure. "Well enough, I suppose. Now, as I said earlier, again?"

"There's a perfectly good explanation."

"Then?"

"They were assholes so I stole their money."

"I'm inclined to agree. They are quite intrusive in their searches. Though, must have you lead them here again? I just had Krank clean the floors of the shop from bottom to top!" He complains, running a hand down his face as he stabilizes his footing, "Now I'll have to command him to do it all over again. At least the bottom part."

"I know, I'm sorry to do this to you again. I can make it up to you!" The say quickly before taking a pause. "Wait, you reanimated Krank?"

"Despite being Lorroakan's, he still had his uses." He drawls, suddenly feeling trapped in their space. "Clearly weaponry is not the armors calling, so I have him clean the floors in the morning and at night. There hasn't been any complaints."

"It's animated armor, Rolan. It can't complain."

"I meant complaints from the customers, you absolute dunce!" He snaps and immediately regrets it, but Tav bursts out in a fit of laughter at his insult.

Never has he understood what was so funny about them being insulted. Does he look like a fool doing so? Are they laughing at him? He should be angry over it but he most likely deserves it.

"Well, I feel terrible for dragging you in here twice," They giggle, wiping a stray tear from their eye. "So I want to make it up to you."

"And how do you suppose you'll do that?" He challenges.

"Well, we already got the first part of it started, if you're interested." They tease, voice low.

Oh gods.

"We could take it further. I can feel your little friend down there, and I'm more than happy to help." They murmur in his ear.

A cold sweat hits him in that instant. This is his worst nightmare. He wants it, gods does he want it so badly, but if he accepts it there will be no turning back for him.

They attempt to cup his cheek but he turns his face away, gently pushing them.

“Rolan?”

“I can’t do this.” He says, unable to look them in the eye, but he feels the way they tense.

Before they can start apologizing, he continues, “I’m in love with you. I’ve been in love with you since the Shadow-Cursed Lands, I think. I adore many things about you. But you keep holding me like this, kissing me, and it's starting to make me believe that there will be more than this, one day. When The Absolute is gone, and Baldur's Gate is safe, you would do me the honor of considering me as a...companion."

"Oh, Rolan..."

"I refuse to be a side piece, someone who will be at your beckon call whenever you're bored. You’re tugging at my heart as if it’s your plaything, and while I know you have not done this on purpose, I can't handle it anymore."

He exhales sharply, tilting his face up when he feels tears sting his eyes. "Please, do not torture me like this and just go. Leave."

When he’s met with silence, he swallows and blinks away the wetness of his eyes. He knew that he never had a chance, and that their affections were never real. How could his savior ever look at him like he looked at them? But that diversion of theirs was so wonderful, and for at least a temporary moment, he felt wanted. Desired.

Loved.

He knew he couldn’t continue. It is selfish of him and he would’ve been setting himself up for heartbreak.

Tav leans in close, eyes tender as they tilt his chin back down. “Rolan…I’ve been a fool. I thought I was being obvious.”

He finally can look at them in the eye. “What?”

They can't help but chuckle, but it is a good natured one, “I’m in love with you too, idiot. Why do you think I would keep seeing you in this way?” They ask, tucking some hair behind his ear. “I'm so sorry, I should have been more forward with you. I never meant to hurt your heart like this, you mean too much to me."

He must be dreaming, he has to be, but he can feel the of their body pressing against him. They want him too, and it makes his heart want to burst out of his ribcage. He isn't aware of the blush that rises in his face at their confession, making his already red skin grow crimson.

They carefully cup his face again, pressing their forehead against his, being mindful of his horns. "I'm sorry Rolan, truly. Could you ever forgive me?"

His adam's apple bobs with his swallow, but his face remains a stern look. "...Your apology seems genuine, and I forgive you."

"Well good, I was worried that I just fucked up my chance." They huff with a smile, gently pinning him against the wall once more. "Now, would you like me to try this again and kiss you?”

“Please.” He whispers instantly, tail coiling around their leg.

It was unclear who pulled in first, but what mattered is their hands were all over each other as they kiss fiercely. He felt one of their hands move back and grip the base of his tail. A pathetic whimper escapes his mouth, pleasure shooting up his spine. Tav happily nips his bottom lip in response before pulling away. “I want to see your bedroom, Rolan. Now.”

"As you wish." He responds breathlessly.

Using Dimension Door, he teleports the both of them to the top of the stairs of Sorcerous Sundries, pulling them through the portal and into the tower. This is a totally inappropriate use of one of his higher level spells, but his mind is in a sexually charged place. He'll chastise himself for it later.

His grip on their hand is tight, sweat gathering there as he teleports them again to the bedroom. It isn't customized to his liking quite yet, but it at least has the colors he wants. Deeper blues mixed with other calming colors to help him sleep. He doubts Tav is admiring the features with the way they pull him onto the mattress.

When they both settle in the bed, Tav quickly gets undressed, unclipping the armor and ripping off their under clothes in one fell swoop. Whatever he though their body looked like in his dreams, the real thing is so much better. Any little scar or texture change, he either wants to trace with his fingers or with his tongue. As they lay back and spread their legs, he reaches for them.

They gently smack his hand away when he tries to touch their chest, smirking. “No. You will sit back all pretty and watch.”

His mouth goes dry, surprised at the sudden command, but would he truly be a student of the Weave if he did not know how to listen to directions? He does as told, sitting back on his feet.

"Do you have oil in here?" They question.

"Right side, top drawer."

They crawl over and grab it, settling back into position as they drizzle the product onto their fingers. They make a show of it, too, playing with the substance between their fingers before their hand trails down in between their legs, locking eyes with Rolan.

He swallows as he watches them open themselves up, all for him. It sends his mind reeling with lust, and he’s still not allowed to touch. Torture, is what it is. They have him exactly where they want him, and he is not complaining one bit. Not in his wildest imagination could he have though of this scenario. It's incredible. They're incredible.

As they go on languidly slow, he starts feeling hot all over. His clothes feel too suffocating around his body, his trousers unbelievably tight. It takes everything in him not to palm his growing erection, biting a lip to stifle a small moan that threatens to escape his throat.

“I want to watch you take all those layers off, Rolan. It’s not fair if I’m the only one naked.” They demand, hooking their fingers inside of themselves and groaning.

He responds by finally taking off that mantle that sets heavy on his shoulders. They watch him unblinking as he instantly gets his robes off, seeing the tent in his smalls that expresses his want. It looks painful. He throws the robes, shoes, and smalls off somewhere in the room, his cock now in the cold air, leaking.

They smirk at the sight, now curling three fingers in with a long winded moan. “Gods, I can’t wait to have you in me. I bet you feel so good, look at that…”

Have they always been this good with their words? They always have in his pathetic fantasies, but the real thing makes him twitch in need. He wants to touch them, feel their skin against his in a blaze of pleasure.

Alas, he has to wait.

Finally, they take their fingers out of themselves and sit back up. “I’m ready for you.”

“I want to touch you, Tav.” He admits, fingers twitching on the top of his thighs.

They crawl over to him and sit in his lap, breathing hard as they wrap their arms around his shoulders. “You may.”

He takes some small amount of comfort in that they’re as hot and bothered as he is, watching their flushed face before they crash their lips into his own.

He whines into their mouth, his cock trapped in between their stomachs. The friction is positively divine and he already thinks he may be close with the way their fingers trace the ridges on his back. They're mapping them out, pressing against the wing impressions on his shoulder blades and then trailing them down his spine. As soon as they reach the base of his tail, they tug on it once more.

A gasp shudders out of him when they grind against him. “Tav, if you keep doing that, I won’t last much longer.”

They hum in approval, sucking a hickey into the base of his throat. “What if I promise to make you come again?”

“Tav, please—”

“Okay okay.” They relent, moving back a little to give him some breathing room.

They stay in his lap as they pull him in for another kiss, and he joyfully obliges. Their tongues dance as he gropes their chest, mostly wanting to feel the unique textures of their skin. They’re perfect, to him. He wishes they were some sort of god, because at least then he would have an explanation for his need towards them. This unrelenting desire that he has pleaded for every night when he dreamt of them.

He has so many dreams, one that wake him in a sweat and painfully hard in his trousers. He made a theory that indulging would help the process of forgetting his desires, but it seems as though his hypothesis was wrong. Dead wrong. His dreams of them only became more vivid, some tricking him into thinking it was real. He mourned when he woke up those mornings, wondering why the Gods were torturing him with their image, their body, their face, their laugh.

Hells, he hopes he's not dreaming right now, they feel too real. He can feel them biting and tugging his lower lip, so he concludes that they were, in fact, here with him. Making him feel so much better than his wildest fantasies. Their nails bite into the back of his neck as they briefly deepen the kiss, before pulling themselves away, a string of saliva connecting them. For at least a moment, he catches his breath.

With a solid push to his chest, he falls back onto the bed with a soft thump. He pushes himself back up onto his elbows quickly, breathing harsh. At first, he’s worried he screwed something up. Did his nails hurt their skin? He should have blunt them this morning. But then they straddle his waist and take hold of his drooling hard-on, ready to sink onto him. “Hold still.”

As they lower themselves, stars burst behind his eyes as he takes them fully, their walls squeezing around him so deliciously. He bites back a moan that tries to work its way up his throat. Squeezing his eyes shut, he manages to hold himself together when they seat themselves onto him.

“Gods, you feel so fucking good Rolan.” They moan, clenching briefly around him until they finally relax. They do a test grind, and he knows he's hitting all the right places within them with the way their eyes flutter.

“So do you.” He says breathlessly, a light sheen of sweat already decorating his skin, pupils blown wide as his tail flicks about. The appendage instinctively reaches for something to hold onto. Anything at all. In the end, he settles with wrapping his tail around their waist, keeping himself grounded. They smile down at him when they feel it squeeze them.

He tries to reach for for their sides shakily, but they are more put together in this moment, and much faster. They take his hands, lacing their fingers through his, and pin them each besides his head. He’s only met with a grin before they start riding him with reckless abandon, gripping his hands unbelievably tight.

A groan that trails off into a whimper escapes his throat, hips subconsciously thrusting up into their tight heat. It felt positively divine feeling their walls clench around him, purposely teasing. They’re grinning, even when they toss their head back and moan. He squeezes their hands for dear life, already losing himself as their skin meets his. “Ah— Tav—“

“That’s it baby, I want to hear you.” They pant, leaning down and kissing him soundly. He lets their tongue pry his lips with ease, begging for a taste.

“I won’t last if— gods—“ he cries against their mouth, toes curling in the sheets.

“I don’t care, let me feel you. I want it.”

He curses when they clench around him again, clearly wanting to milk him dry, but he manages to stave his orgasm off. At least for a little bit. This felt so fucking good, he never wants it to end. But with the way they roll their hips, he’s not going to last. He wishes he could have last longer, giving them their pleasure the way they deserve after all of their hardship. They saved him, saved his siblings, saved the tieflings. Twice. Then they saved him for a third time. They did not have to, they could've walked away and let him lay with his poor choices. They didn't, and he's never seen them more angry than when they saw his bruised face.

His stomach suddenly tightens, giving him that impending warning he knows all too well in recent days. “C—Close, I’m close—“ he rasps.

“Me too. Fuck, you feel so good love.” They murmur thoughtlessly.

That nickname teeters him over the edge, and Rolan came with a cry in his throat. Tav was not far behind, fluttering around him as they came as well.

They breathe hard, resting on top of him and letting go of his hands. They instead use them to hold his heated face and kiss him gently. With his hands free, he wraps his arms around their back to pull them closer. He’s spent, exhausted, but he’s never felt more content as he kisses them.

Before they both could feel uncomfortable, he murmurs the words of prestidigitation and cleans them up as they rise off of his softening cock. They plop next to him on the bed, smiling tiredly.

“You were amazing.”

He laughs at that, wiping sweat off of his face. “I should be saying that to you.”

“Then we’re both amazing, hm?” They tease, scooting closer to his side. "Where did you learn how to fuck like that?"

"Must you be so vulgar?" He exasperates with a groan, making them laugh, "But if you must know, I have done extensive research on the subject."

"Ooooh research! What, did you study anatomy books?"

He groans, covering his face with his hands.

"Wait a minute, you have a smut collection?! This I have to see."

"Absolutely not!" He shouts, his face, neck, and ears now a deep crimson.

They burst out laughing, and as much as he wants to chastise them for it, he ends up laughing with them. He's never felt so light before now, as if he's finally feeling relief for all the trouble he's been through.

Gods, he's truly in love with them, isn't he?

"I can go for a round two, if you're up for it." They say after calming down their laughter.

He snickers at that, pecking heir forehead. "As much as that sounds wonderful, you've exhausted me for the day."

"Then how about some cuddling? Karlach always said I give great hugs."

He hums, pecking their cheek next as they wrap their arms around him. "I think I would like that, very much."

Letting out a deep rooted sigh, he feel all the tension in his body finally leave him. He should be disgusted by all the sweat gathered around them in the aftermath of their activities, but in this moment, he wouldn't have it any other way. There's time to complain about it later. Perhaps he can show them the bath he now uses. Would they be impressed by it? It certainly is better than whatever they have going on in the Elfsong Tavern. He wants to do everything to impress them, make himself worth their while even with the chaos that is their lives. But for now, he's calm.

For the first time, Rolan felt truly free.

"Does Krank know how to clean bed sheets?"

Snorting, he looks at them again. "I haven't made him try. He's decent at mopping and sweeping...somewhat. Why?"

"Just curious. It's cute how you just have a little servant now, cleaning the place."

"Krank is not a servant, he is an employee of my establishment."

"You don't pay him!"

"That is not the point! He works, does he not?"

They laugh, pressing their forehead against his. "Fine, fine, but why not make him clean your room, including the sheets?"

"He will mess them up! I know how to properly smooth it out and make this room look highly presentable."

"Oh, I'm sure you do...anyways, do you have a bath in here? I stink and feel sweaty." He barks out a laugh, reluctantly getting out of their arms and shuffling off the bed. "I do, it's in the next room over."

When he offers his hand to them, they happily take it as he leads them to the side room. The large bath presents itself, though it is empty right now. He should figure out a way for it to be ready automatically in any time of the day, but he'll work out the kinks later. He wants to show them that his fingers have talent in ways they wouldn't comprehend. All of it in the form of a heavenly scalp massage.

#forest-writes #rolan x tav #rolan #bg3 rolan #holy rolan empire #rolan bg3 #rolanites #rolan brainrot

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styxwanderer · 4 months

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No Good Deed Goes Unpunished |

〚Twisted Wonderland x Elphaba!Reader〛

[you the wicked witch from the west had died, but to your surprise you had woken up inside a coffin in an unfamiliar world. You had also noticed your magic had more freedom and your power seem to mix to those in this world] < FYI : no Fiyero doesn't exist in your OZ world, you are completly alone, >

♱⁺. ⋆˙✧⋆꒷꒦꒷⋆✧˙⋆⊹.♱♱⁺. ⋆˙✧⋆꒷꒦꒷⋆✧˙⋆⊹.♱♱⁺. ⋆˙✧⋆꒷꒦꒷⋆✧˙⋆⊹.♱

you had accepted your fate to be painted as the villain and died by a very underhand method such as being thrown water. That pesky girl who has killed your sister, and the con who had framed you the real magician. You had tried your best to help everybody and every creature from a crueler fate, only for those same people to go against you, going as far as holding a witch hunt for you.

Fated to be scorned just for the green hue of your skin, something you had no control over. Such a heinous thing humanity is. you could hear the party that they will throw over your death, No one mourns for the wicked, save for your best friend, Glinda, who had been wiser than to judge based on appearance, a true friend. Unfortunately, she too was unable to save you from your grueling fate.

Yet here you are, trapped in a coffin.

"Have I finally died?" you thought. What more does God want from you, did They think that punishment is not enough for you?

you scoffed at the thought.

You were startled when the lid was suddenly slammed open by a racoon? Cat? looking creature with fire ears demanding your robe?

' Did this creature think this robe on me is going to fit him?'

'Also where did this robe come from? and did he think that by giving the robe he was going to let a woman bare naked? what a crazy guy'

so, you ran, pulling the hood, as you thought it is better for no body to find out that you are horrendious green from head to toe, and finding yourself in an impressive library. The creature had cornered you Just before the headmage trapped him in his leash using his power.

"Ah, i've found you at last. Splendid. I trust you're one of this year's new students." he then went on and on about how you should've controlled your familiar.

" Woah! we never have a student as... green as you.. how unusual." he said upon seeing your hand. You quickly covered your hand with your robe just as you had covered your face.

" that is alright, Here in NIght Raven collage we accept everybody just as how they are as long as they are chosen by the mirror of course."

He then forced you to go back to the room with coffin. There you found a lot of students wearing the same robe as you.

' is this the same type of school as Shiz University?'

The headmage, Crowley end his bickering with some other students before beckoning you to move to the mirror. You had yourself walk foward to the strange talking mirror. As strange as your original world is you had never seen a magical talking mirror. Sure, a talking face, but it is a mechanic created to be an illusion by that horrible con, Oz.

you hated the attention that is suddenly drafted towards you, you slouch as you reached the Dark mirror.

" The nature of your soul is........ unclear to me."

" what did you say?!"

" sure i can sense a magical power residing on this girl, yet it is unfamiliar, strange, foreign.. i have never encounter this sort of power in my whole life. therefore no dorm is appropriate."

Dorm? Magic power? what the hell is this mirror on about.

" Are you suggesting the black carriage went to receive a Girl?! and with a strange magic? Absurd! the student selection process has not erred once in its century of existence! how could this happened?!"

"HMMPH! ME! Let me have this student place!" the creature who called himself Grim had broken free from the leash. He then started insisting and creating a huge chaos.

in a panic you noticed you still have your grimore with you. odd i thought i had given this to Glinda to protect. you quickly flip over the pages.

you found and recite a spell for the target to follow your word for a brief minute just before the little guy breathe his flame towards a red eyed boy.

"Sit boy, down."

to your surprise most of the students and the headmage himself had fallen down to their butt sitting as they looked bewildred.

" a... i meant that creature not you."

"RAGHHHH!! UNHAND ME UNHAND MEE!" Grim shrilled.

" how... HOW DARE YOU? UNHAND ME THIS INSTANT!" said the red hair boy

" impossible..." said the pretty glasses guy.

" How brazen of you to order Me around, I will rip you into pieces." said the lion eared guy. odd he reminded you of that cowardly lion you had saved, such ungrateful creature whomst had blamed his cowardice on you.

" You! How dare you make me touch the floor!" said the gorgeous blind guy with purple tip.

"Whoaa?!! i am on the floor?!! How??" the boy with the bandana wrapped around his white hair exclaimed.

" Wuh WHAAA.. what is this ssr op power?! scary..." the floating tablet shouted.

" To be casted with a spell how unruly the new student this year is. OH, woe is me... Uncast me this instant!!!"

The other students had started to cuzz profanities at you as well making you more nervous. ' Ah its this again, everytime i tried to help.. i get punished..'

you fumbled around confused as usually in your world the enchantment would only work towards the target intended and usually the enchantment you practied were a permanent one, you hoped this won't last long.

" don't tell me you do not know how to unchant your spell?"

"uhhh..."

thank fully in a moment your enchantment is broken as the headmage start to stand up and dust himself, so as the other students.

The red haired boy spring up and start to point his gem pen? towards you.

" OFF WITH YOUR HE--"

" that won't be necessary Mr. Roseheart. Now you!"

The bird feathered headmage ripped oven your hood as he exposed you to the whole school followed with gasps acrossm the room.

" she is green?!"

" i never seen a green person before."

You grow weary and insecure as you tried to remove the headmage hold on you.

"I'm sorry i didn't mean to, But i acted in panic because this cuz is going to fire his flame to that white haired guy!" you defended yourself.

" haaa.. for now throw this creature out of the game. and the ceremony should end here." he said as you saw students following the guys somewhere.

" now you come with me.."

he tried to bring you back where you came from to no avail so he settle for you to reside in the abandoned dorm, of course that is interrupted by the same creature. although, your impression of him seem to falter as he was obedient towards you and you found his catlu behaviour rather cute, so you dont mind to have him as your companion. Crowley explain the situation to you, but since you are a girl you are still exempt from the courses and sadly are forced towards cleaning duty. He of course didn't hear you when you state that you had died in your world and so his agreement are something you can't refuse.

The next day you are met with Ace and his cocky personality trying to get even with the incident at the opening ceremony, you, not wanting to throw another chaos, refrain from using your spells since you had not learn the extend of the effect of this world to your power, but of course, Grim had to assert himself and created the chaos for you.

You are then met with Deuce who had helped you catch the running criminal trying to run away from his job, this of course before the chase went on and you three ended up breaking the expensive rare chandelier and had to find the replacement stone. and the story goes.

that is the story of how you become a NRC student with your trusty companion or familiar, Grim and how you and grim, with your fellow 1st year whom you meet along the way have an epic adventure to deal with overblots.

>> to be continued<<

≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫

( there will be more parts to this stay tuned, If you wish to be tagged, please let me know)

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bl3upi3 · 2 years

Text

Twisted Fate | Ethan Landry

Summary: After being attacked by ghostface Reader discovers another side of life. It turns out that you are more attracted to the killer than you think.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Smut, maybe SPOIL ?, p in v unprotected, blood kink, knife play, characters death, choking, violence. Let me know if I've forgotten anything.

A/N: I haven't watched the whole film but Ethan is so hot. This is my first smut so please feel free to give me feedback. English is not my first language so I'm sorry if there are any mistakes. (My requests are open if wanted)

You had worked hard all week and were looking forward to a fun party with your friends. You didn't care much about your appearance, but you had still taken the time to choose a comfortable, casual outfit for the evening.

You had lined up with your friends to get into the party, loud music could be heard from outside the house. When you finally walked through the door, you were immediately surrounded by a crowd of lively and energetic people.

The living room was packed, with people dancing to the music, laughing and chatting. You grabbed a glass of red punch, your favourite drink, and started socialising with your friends and other people you didn't know.

You spotted a cute guy in the corner of the room and approached him. You exchanged smiles and started dancing together to the lively music. It was a perfect evening, everything was going according to plan.

However, everything changed when you went to find a toilet and saw a pool of blood on the floor. You slowly approached it, trying to figure out what had happened. As you got closer, you realised that there were bodies lying on the ground, motionless.

You were horrified, your heart was pounding and you didn't know what to do. You wanted to run away, but something inside you held you back. You had always been drawn to the dark side of life, but never had the opportunity to explore it.

Then you heard loud footsteps behind you. You turned and saw a masked man in a black robe holding a knife in his hand. It was Ghostface.

You didn't panic, you felt alive and excited about taking control. You quickly looked around for anything you could use as a weapon but nothing. Ghostface was already approaching you.

You got into a fighting stance, preparing to dodge his attack. You stepped back a little, watching every move he made. You narrowly dodged his stab, and he tried to hit you again, but this time you managed to block it with your hands.

You quickly thought about how to defend yourself effectively, so you rolled backwards and picked up a glass vase that was on the floor. You threw it at Ghostface, but he dodged it. You continued to look for a way to defend yourself, your eyes scanning the room. Then you saw the knife block on the worktop.

You approached slowly, ready at any moment to dodge an attack. Ghostface followed you, his eyes fixed on you. You reached the knife block and grabbed a knife, turning quickly to face your opponent.

"You want to play?" You challenged. Your voice shook slightly, you had forgotten how good it felt to feel like that. "I'm ready." You smiled.

He doesn't react, raising his own dagger to parry yours. You quickly stabbed downwards and he blocked the cut, grabbing your wrist with one hand. You kicked him in the chest, throwing all your strength into it. He fell onto the ground. You stood above him, glaring down at him.

You raised the knife again, and brought the blade towards his throat. You could hear his heavy breathing under the mask as you came closer, your heartbeat speeding up with every second that passed. You were on top of him, legs pinned around his hips and blade at his throat.

His arms were stretched out, unable to reach your waist. He seemed defeated. You closed your eyes, thinking about how good it would feel to kill him right now. Your breathing quickens as you decide to remove his mask revealing a curly haired boy looking at you with a smile.

"Ethan ?" You asked. His face is full of surprise, a hint of fear showing in his green eyes. He doesn't say anything, instead, you notice how his grip on your wrists loosens slightly and he tries to push you off of him. You ignore him and press harder against the knife, causing more blood to trickle down his throat. You can see his Adam's apple moving up and down as he swallows hard. You smile at him, a sadistic expression crossing your features.

"It feels good doesn't it" he asks. "To finally have revenge." Your smile widens even more. You don't hesitate anymore ready to strike. You suddenly stop when Ethan grabs your wrist, stopping the knife in its track. You pull your arm out of his grip, staring down at the blade stuck between his fingers. Blood dripping into his face, he looks at you and smiles with his bloody teeth.

Then you felt it, hard and solid pressing against your core. Your eyes widened in confusion until you realise what was happening. You looked at him, his smile, the blood, the feeling between your legs sent electricity through your whole body. His eyes locked onto yours and he leaned upwards, pressing his lips against yours roughly, almost aggressively. The taste of blood entering your mouth, mixing with your saliva.

You dropped the knife on the floor next to you and wrapped your hand around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer to your body. You broke the kiss, breathing heavily. You moved away slightly, just enough to see each other better. You were both smiling brightly, euphoria filling you. Seeing that blood on him, his own blood made you feel something new. Something hot.

Without saying a word, you stood up and looked at him. "So now, if you don't want me to kill you, you'll have to fuck me" A slow grin crept over his face. He pushed himself off the ground, grabbing you by the waist, hoisting you up onto the counter, where he positioned you.

"You don't know how much I wanted you" he said. He pulled your hips closer, kissing you passionately once more, this time his hands slipping under your dress, caressing the sides of your thighs.

"That's why you killed all this people ?" You whispered after pulling apart. He looked deeply into your eyes, his own filled with passion. You didn't understand how he could be this passionate while being covered in blood and sweat. But you were so attracted to him. And you wanted him too.

"I just wanted to kill that guy you danced with but someone saw me so I took care of all the witnesses" he responded before capturing your lips once more. He kissed you hungrily, making the both of you moan. This wasn't a gentle kiss. This was a lusty, dirty, hungry one. You could feel yourself getting wetter by the second. You couldn't think straight, but he wasn't letting go, his tongue was deep inside your mouth, caressing your inner walls teasingly. Your hands slipped beneath the hem robe, sliding over his warm skin. He groaned loudly, moving his hips, thrusting against you, grinding into you.

Suddenly he stopped, breaking the kiss, looking down at the knife which had fallen on the ground. He crouched beside it and placed it carefully besides you. Before pulling his robe over his head "Now, I want to play" he said looking at the knife, then to you "Do you wanna play?" you nodded eagerly "Alright then, let's play".

He removed his clothes and you did the same, he climbed onto the counter next to you and you climbed on top of him, taking the knife as you went. You placed both of your knees on either side of his hips. You stared at his pale, beautiful torso, you placed the tip of the knife at the top of his torso and dragged it delicately towards his belly button, leaving a thin line of blood following its path.

He watched you closely, you kept your eyes focused on his face, enjoying the view. He got up on his elbows and looked between you two before you understood. You lifted yourself up slightly, taking him inside you and sinking down slowly, your eyes fixated on each other.

He moaned loudly, biting his bottom lip nervously. He started moving his hips rhythmically, giving you complete pleasure. His hands travelled to your hips, holding them firmly. You could hear him panting, clearly trying to hold back some noises he desperately wanted to make. You lowered yourself to take his lips again.

As soon as you began moving again, he lost control of his body, moaning uncontrollably while gripping you tightly. He threw his head back, his hair falling down in front of his face. You moved your hips faster, , you couldn’t get enough, you needed him. You wanted him.

You broke away from the kiss and ran your hand over the blood that had not yet dried before running it up and down your own body. You gasped when he squeezed your breast gently, bringing a small amount of pleasure to your body as well.

A low groan escaped your throat, you weren’t sure how much longer you could continue, the sensations were overwhelming. He tightened his grip on your breasts, and you moaned louder than before, pushing down further on him .

He moaned, his grip never relaxing. You place sloppy kisses against his neck, feeling his excitement build up. He was close, you could feel it, he wasn’t far, he wouldn’t last long.

"I don't want to cum before you" he whispered, his words sending shivers of anticipation throughout your body. Your heart pounded, you couldn't remember if there had ever been anyone who was able to turn you on like Ethan did.

"Me neither" you confessed. He grabbed your hip and turned you around, positioning you underneath him. He pressed his lips against yours again, his hands travelling from your hips, trailing up your stomach towards your breasts. When he reached one of them he rubbed his thumb across it, teasing you before slamming back into you. He placed one of his hands on your ass and squeezed it, his other one moving down to your thigh. His movements were quick and forceful, pushing deeper and deeper inside you.

He continued to slam into you. Harder. Sweeter. More intense. You let out a scream of pleasure, your hips bucking uncontrollably. He was moving quicker and stronger, his grip tightening, keeping you down.

Your orgasm hit you instantly. Everything slowed down. Every muscle, every bone in your body relaxed. You could feel Ethan's grip loosen and you moved your hips, hitting back harder. He grunted in response, tightening his grip once more. He was close. So close. Just a few more steps, a couple more seconds, that's all you needed.

"Cum inside of me Ethan" You begged, throwing your head back exposing your neck. You heard a faint growl escape his throat and he immediately released himself inside of you. You let out a sob of satisfaction, feeling him buried deep inside you. You could feel the tension leave his body. His grip on you loosened even more and looked down a you with a smile.

You smiled back "So you won't die a virgin", he looked at you with confusion before before you grabbed the knife and stabbed it into his neck. His blood spilled over your chest, onto your arms. You stared at the red liquid, relishing the feeling. Your eyes trailed over his dead corpse, watching his muscles relax. It was silent for a moment.

You pushed his lifeless body away before stepping off the counter and getting dressed. Once fully dressed you walked over to the knife sticking out of Ethan's neck and picked it up. You smiled, placing the knife on the counter before taking his mask in your hand. You put it on , turning around to face your reflection on the window. You smiled at yourself as well, loving what you saw.

You left the house minutes before the police arrived at the crime scene

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