#and say something so shockingly terrible?
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Poor Neo- Suppressed Spite...
why did he think that was normal, moral or funny to say?
#Poor Neo#webcomic#comic#furry art#no really why do disgusting people feel the need to jump into a conversation they are not invited to#and say something so shockingly terrible?#like who the fuck are you to say something so horrid like its supposed to be funny. that's animal ABUSE and torture
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Cherry Red, Crimson Blood
Chapter 7 : Sweet Strawberry
Summary: You're not a soldier, you're just an omega. You shouldn't have to remind them of that, yet you find yourself needing to. Price makes it up to you in the best way possible.
Pairing: Poly 141 x reader
Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, military inaccuracies, language, angst, panic, fluff, suggestive content, terrible flirting
A/N: Not entirely happy with it but it's done and I can move on from this one. I struggled so much with this chapter omg. Also, I just wanted to make it clear that I am not from the UK, I've never been to the UK, I'm simply going off of prior knowledge and what Google can tell me. So, if there's any inaccuracies, I am so sorry.
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You’re expecting the knock when it comes. You’d been standing in front of your door for almost five minutes, and you get it open almost before he’s finished, hand still raised. He gives no sign that betrays his surprise, if he feels any at all, instead he simply looks you over before turning on his heel and marching towards the door.
You close your door behind you, slipping down the hallway after him. It’s raining again, though you had prepared for that, flipping the hood of your jacket up as you hurry after Ghost. He threatens to disappear in the darkness of morning, slipping between the street lamps like a specter. It’s not often you get to see the true danger in them, the threats that they pose, the things that make them good at their job. You can imagine how many on his opposing side have been caught unawares by the way he seems to flow with the darkness around him.��
You are significantly less graceful and quiet, feet slapping the wet pavement as you speed walk to keep up with the giant alpha. You can almost imagine the look on his face as you plod along behind him. If your lives depended on your silence at this moment, well, it wouldn’t entirely have been your fault. If he didn’t walk so fucking fast...
He’s at least courteous enough to hold the door open for you, though perhaps that was simply something that was deeply ingrained in him. Manners that become unconscious practice, even when you despise the person you’re with. He leads you down the hall towards the practice room again, unlocking it and flipping on the lights. He empties his pockets and removes his shoes and sweatshirt, before moving to one of the punching bags.
You can already predict what your lesson today will entail. Your knuckles have almost completely healed since your little fit a week ago. You quickly strip off your jacket and toe off your wet shoes, moving to join him without having to be told.
“Do you know how to wrap your hands?” He asks, holding out two rolls of hand wraps.
“No.” You shake your head. It’s not entirely true. They had shown you once while you were with the CIA, but that had been weeks ago and you’re sure you’ve forgotten the right way to do it. Even if you tried, he’d likely sigh and do it himself anyway.
He lets out a breath, pocketing one of the wraps before grabbing your right wrist. His hands are just as rough as you remember them being the day you punched Corporal Allen, calluses dragging against your skin as he meticulously wraps the fabric around your fingers. You watch him, trying to memorize how to do it in hopes that maybe, eventually, you’ll surprise him and manage it yourself.
He finishes your hands quickly before wrapping his own. You flex your hands, trying to get used to the feeling of the wraps. They’re not too tight, shockingly. You had half expected him to choke your fingers until they’re purple just because. But, you also know Price will be looking for any mark or sign of injury as soon as he sees you at breakfast. The thought of him laying into Ghost for even a bruise as your stomach twisting, and not in a bad way.
“Make a fist.” Ghost says, crossing his arms as he stands in front of you.
You stare at his bulging muscles for a second too long, quickly curling your fingers as your face warms.
He takes hold of your hand, inspecting your fist. “Not bad.”
“I did grow up with brothers.” You murmur.
“Did they ever hit you?” He asks as he turns you to face the boxing bag.
“Only playfully.” You say, missing the subtle edge to his voice. “Dad would have caved their heads in if they ever tried.”
You can’t see the way he’s staring at you as he stands slightly behind you, but you can feel his gaze as it lingers for just a second longer than you expected it to. You’re not sure if maybe he doesn’t believe you, or maybe he knows there’s more to the story. You’ve hardly spoken about your family since your arrival, but they seemed to accept the fact that they haven’t been your family for years now as a valid reason.
“Get into your fighting stance.” He finally says, moving around you as you take the stance you had perfected last training session. “Good.” He says, looking you over. “Now throw a punch at the bag.”
You squeeze your fists, imagining Corporal Allen’s face on the bag before you throw a punch, barely managing to move the bag.
“Punches like that are what will get you hurt.” Ghost says, extending your arm. “You can throw your weight, which is good. That’s why you were able to throw Allen off his feet. You’re asking for a broken arm, though. Keep your arm flat and facing downwards through the entire punch. Aim with the knuckles and twist your lower body for support.”
He throws a punch at the bag, the sound of his fist hitting it loud, and you watch the bag swing back and forth violently. He could probably punch through you if he wanted to. Your pitiful punch wouldn’t even stun him.
He stops the bag from swinging, having you throw repeated punches at it. He fixes your form and technique as you go, teaching you different kinds of punches. Your arms quickly get tired, and you know you’re going to be sore again. Maybe you should take up some weight lifting or something. You could ask Soap to help you.
You go until your arms feel like they're going to fall off, your shoulders burning. “I can't anymore.” You whine, breathing heavily from the exertion of throwing punches for 30 minutes.
“You have to learn to push through the pain.” He says, looming over you. “You think in a fight, everyone will just stop because your arms are tired? Or you're a little sore?”
He has a point.
You take half a step back as he invades your space, leaning down close to you. “If they're out for blood, they won't even stop even as you're bleeding out in front of them.” His eyes are dark, biting into you, speaking volumes of his knowledge and experience. You wonder how many times he's been in that situation, how many times he's had to fight quite literally for his life. He steps away from you, moving towards the center of the mat. “Come on. I'll teach you some combinations.”
You don't want to follow him. You want to curl up in a corner and nap for the next four hours. You don't doubt he'll find a way to force you, though, so you move to the center of the mat with a sigh.
He teaches you different combinations, working through them over and over. You're sloppy, mixing up which punch is which, which move means what. It only gets worse as you get more and more tired, but Ghost is relentless.
Finally after almost an hour and a half of training, he calls it. Your legs are shaking and you can barely lift your arms to unravel the wraps from around your hands. You sink onto the floor, laying out flat on the padding as you try to catch your breath.
“Come on.” Ghost says, lacing up his shoes. “You'll have time to shower before breakfast if we get back now.”
“Wait. Just gimme a minute.” You breathe, not even sure you have the willpower to get up from the floor, much less the muscle power.
He lets out a sigh before approaching you, bending down to slip his hands under your arms. “On your feet, soldier.”
He lifts you easily, far too easily. Your legs shake, nearly giving out as you're forced onto them. You pout, ignoring the ache in your bones as you're forced upright.
“‘M not a soldier.” You murmur.
“In here with me, you are. You want to learn to fight, you get treated just like everyone else I've taught.” He says, glowering down at you. “Now get your shoes on and let's go.”
Your brows pull into a frown, but you do as he says, slipping your shoes back on and your jacket. You had hoped perhaps he would have a little mercy, given your status and inexperience, but it seems you're not even being awarded that. You know part of it is his revenge for you invading his protective circle around Soap, for kissing Soap in front of him.
The frown doesn't leave your face as you follow him back to the barracks, having to almost run to keep up with him.
“You look tired.”
“I am. I had training with Ghost again this morning.”
“How is that going?”
“It's hard.” You admit, sinking back in your chair. “He's hard on me. He sees me as a soldier, not an omega.”
“Have you brought this up to him?” Dr. Keller asks, crossing her feet as she relaxes on the couch across from you.
You nod. “Yeah. He said I have to push through it, because if I wind up in a real fight, they won't go easy on me.”
“Well, I can’t say he’s wrong about that. But, that’s still no excuse.” Dr. Keller tilts her head at you. “You could bring it up to Captain Price. He is your pack alpha, and he’s also Lieutenant Riley’s. I don’t doubt he’d bring it up to him on your behalf.”
He would, but you don’t really want to stir the pot in that way. The last thing you need to do is become a tattle-tail. It’s quiet between you for a few moments, Dr. Keller shuffling her papers as you mark a clear end to that conversation.
“How did you do on your assignment? I see you’re wearing a different sweatshirt this morning.” She says, eyeing you.
You’re wearing Price’s sweatshirt, the one he gifted you. You’ve been wearing it almost every day, his scent still clinging to the fabric. Your face warms as she stares at you, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah, but...I didn’t ask for this one. Price gave it to me after I told him about where my other one came from. I uh...I kissed Soap. And Gaz.”
“Oh?” Her brows raise, and she writes something down on the paper. Your face warms even more as you watch her pen move with every letter. You can only imagine what she’s putting down. “Is that something you wanted? I know we talked briefly about it last time.” She says.
You nod. “Yes. I did want it. I...I also...kneeled...with Price...Did a couple times actually...”
Dr. Keller’s mouth opens in surprise, her eyes shining as she looks at you. “You did? That’s huge! That’s an incredible development! Did you initiate, or did he?”
“I did.” You say bashfully, sinking back further into the chair. “Both times.”
Dr. Keller smiles at you, looking almost proud. “This is a big step in the right direction. How did it go? Were you able to relax?”
You nod. “Yeah. It was nice. He was...gentle. He did it right.”
“Good. How did you do coming down from it? I know it can be intense and difficult for some omegas.” She asks.
You shrug. “Fine. I felt it a bit the morning after, but it wasn’t too bad. I fell asleep on him both times.”
“Oh?” She lifts an eyebrow. “Did you stay with him?”
You shake your head. “No, Gaz took me to my room both times.”
“Good. That’s good practice, for when your heat comes. Shows how much trust they have in each other.”
You hadn’t really thought of that. There was a lot of trust involved in omega’s heats. Omegas have to trust their alphas to take care of them while they’re blind with insatiable need, but both alpha and omega have to trust a beta to keep them alive. Your heat will trigger Price’s rut and make him lose control for a while, and it will be up to Gaz to keep you both fed and hydrated. He’ll be the one to help you both afterwards as well.
“Have you started nesting yet?” Dr. Keller asks.
You shake your head. “No. Don’t feel any drive to either.”
Dr. Keller hums as she writes something down. “Well, it has only been two weeks. Though, perhaps if you can manage to ask for some things to make your space more comfortable, that might help ease you into it.”
You chew on your lip, tugging at the sleeves of your sweatshirt. You know she’s right. Until you’re comfortable and feel safe enough, you won’t feel the drive to nest. You’ll need to nest before your heat arrives. Otherwise, it’ll cause issues for both you and Price.
“When...when should I be worried?” You ask.
“Hmm...” Dr. Keller looks at her calendar. “If you’re not feeling any sort of drive to nest by our next appointment, then I’d say we may need to consider using some exercises to help jump start it.”
“Exercises?” You ask warily.
“All easy things.” She reassures you. “Things like scent introductions, tactile explorations, and some bonding exercises might be helpful as well.” She writes something down on a sticky note. “I’ll explain everything in detail and you’ll get to choose whether you want to do any of it or not. No one’s going to force you to do anything you’re not comfortable with, alright?”
Tears prick your eyes at her words, and you furiously blink them back. It’s a little late for that kind of sentiment. Your presence here alone was thanks to a long line of people forcing you to do things you’re not comfortable with. It was easy to get lost in the excitement and the emotions of bonding with a pack, easy to forget that you would never have chosen this place had you ever been given the option to choose.
You would have gone far from the military, far from this kind of life. It’s your duty to bond with an alpha, but what if you don’t want to? What if it’s all a front, and as soon as you’re claimed the curtains rise and suddenly everything is different? What if Price isn’t as kind as you’ve come to believe him? Just one squeeze too tightly around the back of your neck while you’re kneeling and everything would change.
How easily he could take everything from you.
“You want to talk about what’s going on in your head right now?” Dr. Keller asks, breaking the silence between you two.
You hadn’t even noticed you’d been staring off into space, lost in your thoughts. Of course she knows something’s changed. She’s spent years learning the ins and outs of omegas and all the secrets you can only imagine. She’s probably just as in tune with subtle changes as the four well trained soldiers that make up your new pack. Maybe even more in tune with them.
You shake your head, keeping your gaze on the floor.
“Remember nothing shared in this room leaves this room. It’ll always only be between us.” She says softly.
You’re panicking. You can feel the pressure rising within you. You’re like a grenade and someone is about to pull the pin. You’re afraid you’ll spill everything to her, afraid you’ll let out things you’ve successfully kept buried for years and years. Things you’ve left behind, things you’ve had to move on from. Things you can’t afford to let out now.
“I’d like to be done now.” You silently curse the way your voice shakes.
Dr. Keller’s brows pull into a frown but she nods. “Okay.” She slips her papers into her notebook before standing. “Let me grab my keys.”
You stand as she moves to her desk, grabbing her keys from the drawer. She leads you from her office, thankfully staying quiet as you walk through the rain towards the barracks. You’re still panicking, the turmoil inside you probably projecting the sour scent across the entire courtyard but you don’t care. You can’t.
“Remember, if you ever need anything, I’m usually in my office.” Dr. Keller says as she drops you off at the door.
You feel guilty as you hurry to your room, shoes squeaking on the tile. You feel bad for cutting the appointment off early, you feel bad for feeling the way you do. Later you’ll be grateful for Dr. Keller respecting your boundaries and not pushing, for following through with her promise and letting you be in control of the appointment.
Right now you don’t care. Right now you can’t care. You’re too lost in your turmoil, the bitter scent of your distress seeping out from under the locked door.
“...can ye talk tae me, hen? Let me know yer alright?”
The soft voice coming through the closed door pulls you out from your burrow under the thin blanket. You blink blearily at your phone, trying to see the time. It’s just a little past the normal time you go to lunch with them. How long have they been knocking on the door?
“Come on, lass.” Soap’s voice comes through the door again. “I dinnae want tae have tae kick in the door.”
You force yourself out from under the blanket, pocketing your phone before quickly moving to your door. You throw it open, Soap’s eyes immediately scanning you as you rub tiredly at your eyes. You don’t doubt he’d kick in your door if he felt he had to.
“Sorry,” You yawn. “I was asleep.”
His eyebrows raise as he stares down at you. “Ye were asleep? Ye weren’t kidding about bein’ a heavy sleeper.” He leads you from the barracks, crossing the courtyard towards the mess.
“One time, when I was about two or three, my dad took us to some demonstration on base.” You say as you begin walking to the mess with him. “I fell asleep about halfway through and slept through a howitzer going off.”
Soap lets out a laugh so loud it echoes in the courtyard. “Ye slept through a howitzer?”
You nod. “Yup. My dad never let me live it down. I heard it all the time. ‘You’ll have to try hard to wake her, she slept through a howitzer once.’”
Soap chuckles, leading you into the mess. “Ye are a deep sleeper.”
You shrug. “I did say so. My phone will wake me up though. Alarms, calls.”
“I’ll keep tha’ in mind.” He says as he guides you through the line, making your tray for you.
You sit between Price and Gaz as usual, feeling a bit on edge still despite your nap after your appointment. You hadn’t gotten to sleep for very long, not nearly long enough to clear your head completely. You know they can tell, Gaz slowly shifting closer and closer to you, Price’s gaze flickering to you out of the corner of his eye every so often. Even Ghost’s eyes pass over you every so often as they sweep across the mess.
You wonder if he feels responsible.
You hope he does.
Soap walks you back to the barracks after lunch and you spend the afternoon burrowed under your blanket again. You’re exhausted and sore after a long morning of training and your appointment. You wish you could sink back into sleep, let the emotions pass without you having to feel them, but you’re too awake now. Too aware of them as they prickle in the back of your mind.
Dinner passes without incident, but you can’t ignore the feelings still stirring within you. You feel agitated and on edge, not even pacing your room helping you. You let out a breath before you put your slippers on, slipping out of your door. You make your way down the hallway, turning right instead of left like you would if you were heading for the rec room. The door is cracked open and you pause just before you reach it, suddenly feeling nervous. You shouldn’t really. There was no reason to be nervous, yet you can’t help the urge in the back of your mind to turn tail and race back down the hallway to the safety of your room.
“You can come in, unless you’d prefer standing in the hallway all evening.” A voice calls from inside the office.
Your face warms a bit at getting caught, but he could probably hear you coming down the hallway. He could probably smell you too.
You push open the door, slipping inside before closing it behind you. Price stares at you from his desk as you stand there, shifting nervously on your feet. You feel agitated, on edge still. You’re worked up, and you don’t quite know why.
“Everything alright?” Price asks, likely picking up on your nervous energy.
Yes. You want to say, but then you’d have to come up with a reason as to why you sought him out, why you feel so worked up. You could just kneel for him. It’s what you should do, let yourself be eased into a peaceful state of mind. Let him take care of you.
“I don’t know.”
The words are hardly more than a whisper, your voice trembling just as much as you are. Your chest feels tight, your breaths becoming shallow. You're not sure when he got up, when he even moved. His scent wraps around you, warmth encompassing your being as your face is pushed against his chest.
“I need you to breathe for me.” Price says, pressing your ear against his chest. You can hear the steady thump of his heart, the air flowing in and out of his lungs.
You close your eyes, trying to match your breaths to his. It's hard, your body fighting your attempt to regulate it. You close your eyes, focusing on the soft fabric of Price's shirt against your cheek, the warmth of his hand on your head as he keeps you pinned against his chest. It's not constricting or suffocating. It's grounding, keeping you from drowning in your own thoughts.
He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't need to as he holds you there, letting you calm down. You begin to slowly relax, your arms wrapping around his waist, fingers gripping the back of his shirt.
“Want to tell me what’s going on?” He murmurs, lips brushing the top of your head.
“I don’t know.” You whisper, still clinging to his shirt. “I’m just...I feel off. Ghost was being hard on me this morning and then I got upset during my appointment and I’ve just felt on edge all day and I can’t relax because I can’t get comfortable!”
Price tightens his grip around you just slightly. “What do you mean?”
You huff out a breath, squeezing your eyes closed so the tears don’t escape as the words leave you in a flood before you can stop them. “The blankets aren’t soft enough and the pillows are too thin and it’s too dark and I’m tired of smelling like bland soap!”
Price hums quietly, squeezing you gently as a tear slides down your cheek. “Then we should do something to fix that.”
“But I shouldn’t need it!” You cry, trying to push away from him, but he keeps you tight against his chest. “I’m supposed to be a good omega and adapt and learn to be comfortable where I am.”
“That might be what you were taught,” He says, letting you push away from his chest, but he wraps his hands around your arms, keeping you in front of him. “But things don’t have to be that way. We should have taken care of something like this sooner. I’m sorry I didn’t even think of it. You shouldn’t have had to ask for it.”
You blink up at him, genuinely surprised by his words. “I...what?”
“We all have our own little comforts that we keep. Soap sleeps with a stuffed bear. Don’t tell him I told you that.”
A small smile tugs at your lips at the mental image of Soap snuggling up with a teddy bear.
“You deserve some comfort too.” He says, squeezing your arms.
“But, it’s not...regulation.” You say.
“Doesn’t have to be.” He says. “You’re not a soldier. Even then, the only ones going in there are us. The only thing I can’t approve of is painting the walls. Unfortunately the prison grey has to stay.”
You can’t help but laugh, wiping the tear from your cheek. “I suppose that’s alright. Just...as long as it’s not as dark and maybe a soft blanket or something. That’s really all I need.”
He hums, staring down at you. You can’t quite figure out the look on his face, something shining in his eyes. “We’ll get it figured out.” He says, squeezing your arms again.
“Get some shoes on. We’re going on a trip.”
You look up from your book, staring at Price as he stands in the rec room. He’s dressed in civilian clothes, arms crossed as he stares down at you on the couch. You mark your place in your book, pushing yourself up to sit. It’s a Saturday afternoon, and unlike last week they had the day off, which means you do as well.
“Are you going to make me hike through the woods for two hours again, sir?” You ask, pushing yourself up to stand.
“No. We’re going into town.” He says.
You blink at him. You haven’t been off base since you arrived, and you figured you probably wouldn’t be getting that opportunity any time soon. “Can I ask why, sir?”
“We’ve got some shopping to do.” He says simply, turning and leaving the rec room.
You stand there shocked for a moment before you’re following after him, slipping into your room to put comfortable shoes on and grab your phone and a jacket. You don’t even have a wallet to carry around to make yourself feel better.
Price is waiting by the door for you, a car parked outside. You’re slow to approach him, suddenly feeling a mix of emotions. He’s doing this for you. He’d really taken your conversation last night to heart and now he’s going to go spend money on you that he doesn’t need to.
“What’s that look for sweetheart?” He asks, standing in front of the door.
“You don’t have to do this.” You say, staring up at him. He seems so tall like this, so...imposing.
“Course I do.” He says, his gaze softening just slightly. “Should have done it sooner. You deserve to be comfortable too.” He says, turning to open the door.
You follow him out, climbing into the car when he opens the door for you. He gets in the driver’s seat, the car rumbling to life. He drives to the front gate, passing off two ID cards to the guards. He passes one to you when the guard hands them back, the gate in front of you opening.
“That’s your ID card. Gets you on and off base.” He explains as he drives away from the gate. “I doubt you’ll be leaving on your own, but just in case.”
“Thank you, sir.” You say, slipping the card under your phone case for the time being.
He glances at you, a small smile on his lips. “You can call me John, if you'd like. You don't need to be formal when we're in private.”
“Yes, sir.” You make a face, biting your lip at your automatic response. “Sorry. Old habits.”
“From the institute?” He asks.
You shake your head. “My dad, actually. He was a firm believer in respecting authority figures. All ‘yes, sir’ and ‘no, sir’ by the time we were old enough to know the difference.”
“Sounds like my father.” He says, staring out at the road ahead. “Old grizzled military man.”
“Do you still have contact with him?” You ask curiously. You don’t know much of anything about their families, their backgrounds.
“Not really. Beyond holidays, neither of us really make an effort to talk to the other. After mum passed, there wasn’t much to talk about.” He says.
“She was the glue.” You say, watching the trees pass by the car.
“Yeah.” He huffs out a laugh. “As betas usually are.”
“Do you have any siblings?” You ask, curiosity getting the better of you. You know next to nothing about them, while they likely know your entire life story.
“No,” He shakes his head. “Just me. You have a lot of siblings.”
You nod. “Seven at the time I left for the institute. Could be more now.”
“They never tried to keep contact with you?” He asks.
“Nope.” You turn to look out the window. “The institute didn’t really encourage it either, because we were being prepared to join new packs. That’s hard to do when you still have bonds with your old ones. I think they might have forcibly ended some. I know there were some omegas that tried to keep contact, but it became less and less until eventually it just stopped.”
Price’s hands tighten around the steering wheel just slightly. You wouldn’t have noticed if you hadn’t been paying attention. Silence settles in the car as he drives, farmlands passing until the houses start getting closer and closer together. You stare at the buildings as he drives through town, a blend of historical and modern.
“It’s beautiful here.” You say, watching people and cars pass by.
“I suppose so.” He says, glancing at you. “I grew up in this area.”
You turn to look at him. “You did? I didn’t know that. Then again, I don’t know much about any of you.”
“You can ask us, you know.” He says. “We don’t have to be that secretive with you. At least not about ourselves.”
He pulls into a parking lot, opening your door for you and helping you out of the car. You slip your hand into his, holding it as you cross the parking lot. You stare up at the store. ASDA. You’ve never heard of it before, though you suppose the stores would be different here too.
Price drops your hand to grab a cart, the store bustling with people. You hang onto the edge of the cart, staying close to Price’s side. “We’re here for you.” He says, guiding you through the aisles. “Get whatever you want.”
He’s led you to the homegoods section, your eyes widening at the entire aisle of blankets and bedding in front of you. You try to take it all in, but you feel a bit overwhelmed. There’s so many choices, so many options.
“Pick out as many as you want. Don’t worry about the price.” He says, before you can protest. “We get paid decently, but don’t have many chances to use it. Let me do this for you.”
You stare up into his eyes, the sincerity in them, before you nod, turning back to the wall of blankets before you. You study them, running your hand along them to find the softest ones, doing as he says and ignoring the price tags. You settle on a couple soft ones, grabbing a throw blanket as well that you can pack around to the rec room if you want to. He takes you to the pillow aisle, and you settle on a pair of fluffy pillows, as well as a couple decorative ones as well.
“Here.” He slips a big plush strawberry into your arms before you leave the aisle, your cheeks warming as you look at it. “Makes me think of you.”
You preen at his words, holding onto the strawberry as you make for the lamps and nightlights, settling on a cat shaped one that will sit on your desk and changes colors. You pick up a few other items before heading for the toiletries, finally setting the strawberry in the cart as you zero in on the soaps and body washes. You smell all the strawberry scented ones, trying to find the perfect one.
“Why strawberry?” Price asks as you put a strawberries and cream scented body wash in the cart.
“Compliments my scent.” You explain as he leads you to the shampoo and conditioner. “We had a scent specialist come to the institute one time as an activity. We all figured out what our scents smell like and what notes compliment them the best.”
An arm wraps around your waist before you can look at the shampoo, pulling you back against a broad chest. Price’s nose presses into your neck and he inhales deeply. He lets out a content hum, his beard tickling the sensitive skin of your neck. “I think you’re right.”
Your face burns hot as he presses a gentle kiss against the side of your neck before releasing you. You stand there for a moment, trying to calm the heat rushing through your body and focus on the shampoo. You hear him chuckle as you shuffle forward, your face still burning as you smell the shampoo bottles.
You settle on one, holding onto Price’s arm as you continue around the store, picking up a few other items and a couple for himself as well before heading to the checkout.
You hold on to Price’s arm as you leave the store, sticking close to him as he loads the bags into the trunk. You can feel the slight tension in his body, the way his eyes scan the parking lot every few seconds. You can’t even begin to imagine how hard it must be for him to relax, especially out in public. How fast his mind has to be running, how alert he is to everyone and everything. A threat could come out of nowhere, could come from anyone.
It must be exhausting.
“Hungry, sweetheart?” He asks as he buckles his seatbelt.
“Always.” You answer, leaning on the center console.
He smiles. “What are you in the mood for?”
You blink at him. Most of the restaurants you know probably don’t exist in England. “Fish and chips?” You offer, pulling up the one British food you’re confident in naming.
“Fish and chips it is.” He says, turning on the car.
“I have yet to have real fish and chips.” You say, settling into the passenger seat.
“Well, I know the perfect place.” He says, pulling out of the parking lot.
You don’t have to go far before he’s parking on the street and helping you out of the car. His hand settles on your lower back, guiding you down the street to a fish and chips shop.
It's too early for the dinner rush, the shop mostly empty and quiet. Price orders for you before guiding you to a table, and you let him sit facing the door and front window. He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't have to. They seem so relaxed on base, though you suppose that's the place they feel the most comfortable. You can't even imagine the kinds of things they've seen, the horrors they've been subjected to.
You don't want to think about the things they've done.
Your eyes snap downwards as Price's hand slides across the table, closing around yours. You don't want to think about the things he's done with those hands. The lives he's taken, the people he's tortured. Will he ever turn those hands on you?
They've given you no reason to fear them yet. They've all been kind, polite. Even Ghost hasn't truly given you a reason to fear him, despite his obvious disapproval and hard exterior.
You know nothing about them.
You've known them for just over two weeks. You can't possibly have any understanding of who they are, how they express their emotions. What if they get upset? What happens when they get angry? What if you anger them?
“I know this hasn’t been easy for you. Any of it.” Price says, drawing you from your worried thoughts. “I know you were taught to expect this, perhaps not this exact situation, but something like this. Being sent off to some strange alpha to join their pack, bonding with complete strangers. None of us were expecting this either. It’s been an adjustment in a lot of ways, but I want you to know that we’ll take care of you. You need anything, you tell us. You want anything, we’ll do our best to make it happen. We’ll keep you safe.” He lifts your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles. “I promise you that.”
You want to believe him. You really do. They haven’t given you any reason to not believe it.
It’s only been two weeks.
You continue to talk with him as you eat, making light conversation, getting to know him a bit more. Despite the trickling uncertainty in the back of your mind, it feels good. It feels like a date, something you had dreamed of before you presented, something you had imagined happening when you finally got old enough to start looking for potential mates and packs.
Of course, back then, you had thought you’d be an alpha.
It had been expected of you.
Price has his arm wrapped around you as you walk back to the car, his hand on your hip. It’s possessive almost, and it makes your stomach flutter. Price is the only one you haven’t kissed yet, well, besides Ghost, but you’re certain you’d wind up through a wall if you even thought of trying. It’s almost ironic that Price would be the last, considering he’s going to be the one claiming you, the one you spend your heat with.
You stare out the window as the buildings fade into farmlands again. The sun is setting, painting the world in oranges and reds. You still feel a bit warm from Price’s possessive hold on you, his teasing in the store. You can still feel the tickle of his beard on your skin, his lips pressing against your neck.
You jump when rough fingers trail down your arm, pulling it from where it had been resting in your lap.
“You were right.” Price says as he lifts your hand to his face, pressing his nose against your wrist and inhaling for a moment. “Strawberries are the strongest note in your scent.” He lowers your hand again, lacing your fingers together. “What’s got you all worked up over there.”
You stare at him, your face getting warm again. Of course he can smell it. You can smell the muskiness beginning to form around the edges of his scent. Desire. “You haven’t kissed me yet.” You say, moving his hand into your lap. “You're the only one that hasn't...well, besides Ghost.”
He huffs out a quiet laugh. “You sound disappointed.”
You untangle your fingers with his, letting his hand rest on your thigh. “What if I am?”
His fingers flex against your leg, the muskiness of his scent strengthening. “Then maybe we should fix that.”
The cocktail of scents in the car is intoxicating, and you feel bad for the poor beta soldier at the gate when Price rolls down the window to hand off your IDs.
Price is out of the car as soon as it's parked, moving around to your side to open the door. He pins you against the side of the car as soon as you're out, caging you in with his arms.
You stare up at him, head swimming with the musk laced in his scent. You can see his eyes shining in the light next to the door of the barracks. He looks like a hungry wolf, the back of your neck prickling with excitement.
He leans down, breath fanning your face as he gets closer and closer to you. You press yourself against him, hands gripping his shoulders as he presses his lips to yours. His lips are surprisingly soft, his beard tickling your face. He growls quietly against your lips, pushing you harder against the side of the car.
You let out a quiet sound in response, hands gripping his jacket. His hands slide from the car to your sides, sliding down to grip your hips. You can feel the muscle hidden beneath his jacket and shirt, the strength that he possesses. He may not be purebred like Ghost, but he’s still every inch an alpha.
You let out another quiet sound as he pulls away, pressing a caste kiss to the corner of your lips. “Bloody hell, now I know what those boys were on about.” He breathes, leaning his forehead against yours.
“They were talking about me?” You ask, pulling back slightly.
“Only good things.” Price grins, leaning down to kiss you again. “Sweet as sugar.” He breathes, kissing you again. “And just as addicting.” He pulls away from you, his hands resting on your waist. “We should get your stuff inside so you can get it all set up. Want me to fetch one of the boys to help?”
You bite your lip. “Or you could just do it.”
He stares down at you, something flashing across his face but you can’t quite make it out in the low light. “You’re sure?” His voice is quiet, taking on that soft tone it often does when he speaks to you.
“You’ll have to eventually.” You shrug. “Might as well start now.”
He leans down, kissing you again before pulling away, opening up the trunk. He grabs most of the bags, only leaving the pillows for you to grab before he leads the way into the barracks. You open your door, stepping in first before he follows. You dump your pillows on the bed, and he sets the rest of the bags on your desk.
“Blankets in the wash.” You say, digging them out of the bags, pulling the tags off.
“I’ll take them.” He says, fishing out his stuff from the bags before taking the blankets from you.
You switch out your pillows for the softer ones, organizing the decorative ones just the way you want. You squish the strawberry to your chest again, a smile forming on your face before you flop back onto the bed, sinking into the soft pillows. It’s almost perfect, you think.
“Comfortable?” Price’s voice rumbles in the doorway, a smile on his face as he stares at you.
“Much better.” You say, sitting up and placing the strawberry in its place.
The two of you finish taking everything out of the bags, decorating the rest of your room. The posters on the walls, and the nightlight on your desk. It feels far more homey already, and you know you’re going to sleep well tonight once the blankets are out of the wash.
“Thank you.” You say, looking up at Price. “This really means a lot.”
“All in a day’s work, love.” He says, pulling you into his arms again.
You lean against his chest, resting your head over his heart, listening to it beat steadily against your ear.
You wake up suddenly, yet you’re not quite sure why. There’s no one in your room, your new nightlight easily showing you that. Your mouth is dry, but there’s a line of wetness down your chin. You reach across your nightstand, your phone illuminating the time.
Just past one a.m.
You smack your lips, feeling thirsty after the excitement of the day. You’d forgotten to grab water when you left the rec room and you huff out a sigh. You don’t want to get up, but now that you’re aware you’re thirsty, there’s no stopping those thoughts.
You don’t even bother with slippers as you pad to the door, opening it up. You leave it cracked as you sleepily shuffle towards the rec room, the barracks almost dead quiet this late. You grab a bottle from the fridge, unscrewing the top before drinking a few gulps. It’s cold and tastes divine, soothing the dryness of your mouth. You screw the top back on, closing the fridge before heading back towards your room.
You turn the corner, still half asleep, nearly yelping as you slam into a chest. You stumble back a couple steps, staring up at the covered face looming over you. You gulp, holding the bottle to your chest.
“S-Sorry.” You stutter.
“You’re out of bed.” He says quietly, voice rumbling in the silence.
“Thirsty.” It’s all you can manage as you hold up the bottle.
He stares at you for a long moment, eyes flickering all over your face. His chest is heaving, almost as if he had been running before you ran into him. His hands are closed into fists at his sides, knuckles almost white with how tense he is. You think for a moment he might be mad, but you can’t catch any whiff of ozone in the air. Your nose prickles at the scent, but it’s not anger.
Your tired brain can’t make sense of it, yearning to sink back into the softness of your bed again. You slowly shuffle around him, taking cautious steps, waiting for him to reach out and stop you, but he doesn’t. He simply watches you go, standing there in the hallway as you slip back into your room, not moving until he hears the click of your lock slipping into place.
Taglist:
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#call of duty#call of duty fic#x reader#john price x reader#captain price x reader#kyle gaz garrick x reader#kyle garrick x reader#john mactavish x reader#john soap mactavish x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley x reader#poly 141#task force 141 x reader#omegaverse#a/b/o#alpha/beta/omega dynamics
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Can We have a Creepypasta Reader who gets hurt and how Creepypasta males & Female’s react please? Make sure to eat and drink some water (●’◡’●)ﾉ
🗒 ❛ Reader Gets Hurt ༉‧₊˚✧
Featuring: Jeff The Killer, Ben Drowned, Ticci Toby, Eyeless Jack, Masky, Hoodie, Clockwork, Nina The Killer, Kate The Chaser, Jane The Killer
#Notes: this is the most people I've ever written for holy shit
pronouns used: they/them
˗ˏˋ back to navigation ´ˎ˗
꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Jeff The Killer
One of the only moments he shows genuine concern about you, even if in his own twisted or weird way. Focuses more on finding out how you got hurt than trying to help, absolutely ready to murder someone in case they were the one to injure you. There's just an anger in his voice and expression that is difficult to shake off. Will bring you to EJ and tell him "You fucking better take good care of them," in a low and menacing voice. Calls you an idiot and tells you to be more careful after, and although he sounds mad, the way he ruffles your hair affectionately says different.
꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Ben Drowned
Honestly, thinks you're kidding at first and laughs at it. When he notices you're actually, genuinely hurt, he panics. He died a long time ago, so now he doesn't have a good understanding of what's fatal for a human and what isn't, so he might honest to god consider the fact you might die even if it's a minor scratch. Will try to patch up the wound, failing miserably and just bringing you to EJ instead. Probably hugs you after, more so to bring comfort to himself rather than to you. He just got scared for a second, okay?
꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Ticci Toby
He can't feel pain, so he doesn't have a good understanding of how much something might hurt. He just assumes the slightest of wounds must hurt like hell for normal people, so he's immediately freaking out, asking you if you're okay. He actually knows basic first aid, since it's one of the musts for being a proxy, but doesn't trust himself to not hurt you further by accident, so he's another one who'll rush you to EJ. Will be super clingy with you after, mumbling about how glad he is that you're okay.
꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Eyeless Jack
As a previous med student, his first concern is making sure you're physically okay. Focusing on that helps him calm down his nerves, since he's honestly panicking a little. Will patch you up in complete silence, to the point where it's a bit awkward, only to whisper a low "What happened to you?" once he's done, almost like he's scared of the answer you might have. Hugs you gently after you explain, careful as to not touch the wound, letting out a relieved sigh.
꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Masky
Similar to Jeff, his mind will immediately jump to the thought that someone deliberately hurt you, which makes his blood boil. Will be very loud and aggressive when asking what happened, making your breath hitch at the sudden protectiveness he doesn't normally show. Let's out a sigh once you explain it was an accident, calling you stupid before going to grab something so he can fix you up, his hands surprisingly gentle. It's a shockingly tender moment.
꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Hoodie
Gets worried, but not as much as the others. He's not one to think the worst about a situation, so he just concludes you probably tripped and fell or something, so he doesn't really question you any further. It's up to you if you tell him what happened or not. He's always gentle when handling you, but now you find his touch almost ghost-like as he fixes you up, then asking if you feel any better or would like to see EJ for a better inspection. A forehead kiss after he's done in definitely in order.
꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Clockwork
Doesn't even try to hide it, she's freaking out. Will grab your wound to take a closer look as she frantically asks "What happened? What did you do? Did someone do this? Does it hurt?", her mind is just racing and she doesn't know what to make of the situation. Terrible at patching you up, but does it anyway, she's not letting anyone else go near you when you're hurt and vulnerable. Kisses your cheek once she's done and tells you to be more careful.
꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Nina The Killer
Her face is literally split open, I don't think she'd be too worried about some minor injury. Just kind of coos at you something along the lines of "Aww, baby got hurt?" and offers to kiss it better. You'll have to tell her if it genuinely hurts, or else she's not going to take it too seriously. Like most of the others, will take you to EJ if you're actually in pain, sitting besides you and stroking your back and hair gently the entire time.
꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Kate The Chaser
Doesn't express much of a reaction, either. That doesn't mean she isn't concerned, she just can't express her emotions properly. Will calmly inspect the injury and, if it's out of her first aid abilities, will bring you to EJ. It's the most vocal anyone's ever seen her, asking him if it's too serious and if you're going to be okay. Holds your hand gently as he patches you up, caressing the back of your hand with her thumb.
꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Jane The Killer
Behaves like a mom. Will coo at you lightly while going "Oh, your poor thing. Come here", taking a hold of your wound and gently cleaning and addressing it, to the point you can barely feel her touch on your skin. Once she's done, she kisses your forehead softly, her black lipstick leaving a mark on your skin.
#creepypasta#creepypasta headcanons#creepypasta x reader#jeff the killer x reader#ben drowned x reader#ticci toby x reader#masky x reader#hoodie x reader#clockwork x reader#kate the chaser x reader#nina the killer x reader#jane the killer x reader
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Monster Mayhem: Donkeys & Dragons [PART 3]
Gender Neutral Reader x Malleus Draconia
Word Count: 3.3k
Summary: It turns out that befriending a dragon is not as terrible or difficult as you would have thought. But people, unsurprisingly, will always still be awful.
[PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4] [EPILOGUE]
The first week of your internment flew by shockingly fast.
Maybe because you were always at War—a perpetual cycle of making some demand or other (that usually centered around a desire for the barest levels of personal space or agency) only to be met persistently with the ancient, all-powerful, dragon equivolent of >:(
The clothes and toilet situation were already a lost cause. You knew this.
But there were so many other little things. And big things too, sure. But you can never fully realize how much you’re truly under someone’s thumb until you want to head off to do something utterly insignificant and cannot.
For example, your first morning in captivity you’d tried to boil a pot of water. It was nothing fancy, just a small kettle kit you kept in your travel bags for making warm drinks and reheating rations into something vaguely edible. You’d collected some bits of wood from the heaps of debris lying all over the place and gone about lighting a fire. You’d only just barely managed to get the little sticks smoking when a horrific screech sounded from overhead.
And then, WHUMP!
The spiked end of a black tail came crashing down, obliterating your little fire and sending bits of wood flying in all directions.
“What the fuck, man!”
Tsunotarou curled around you to hiss at the flattened sparks like some unholy snake.
“It’s just for my tea! My tea!” you howled. “I wasn’t going to burn your stupid house down!”
He’s shifted into his human form again not long after, and he looked down his nose at you like a fussy parent—arms crossed petulantly across his pale chest.
“Fire is dangerous for humans,” he snuffed, absolutely indignant. “If you find yourself requiring flames for anything at all, call for me and I will lend you some of mine.”
“I would have been fine,” you beseeched, looking at the shattered remains of your little campfire with a grumpy pout.
“Lilia says humans often overestimate their own constitutions,” Tsunotarou grouched, expression dour and stony. You were about to ask just who or what on Earth this ‘Lilia’ was supposed to be, when the dragon dipped his head in close to yours and nuzzled along your throat. You could feel the pinpricks of his fangs against the delicate skin over your pulse. “Which is why so many of your kind are massacred for their own foolishness. Or fall victim to plague and famine. Or wind up being burned alive. I would prefer that you not succumb to such a fate.”
You gulped, and that had been the end of that conversation.
Another time you’d tried to scale the banister to reach the bathroom on your own. It had been going pretty well, all things considered. There were plenty of nice footholds and it all had sort of settled at a slope, meaning you weren’t really climbing a wall so much as very slowly crawling up an incline like a determined slug.
You’d nearly made it to the top when you were scooped up by the back of your collar and promptly deposited at the other end of the room.
Of all the languages you half-spoke, Dragon was not one of them. But the snarling and snapping in your face certainly seemed like the rather universal ‘what do you think you’re doing?!’
“I was just trying to go the bathroom!” you argued. “No fires or anything!”
Tsunotarou’s large maw ducked down to growl into your much smaller one. He let out a series of exasperated clicks and chatter, the sharper or which were punctuated by sprays of green sparks from behind his teeth. His nostrils flared and the blast of dry heat that followed sent your head spinning and your hair gusting out behind you.
“I wasn’t going to fall,” you finally said, because you had a feeling that’s what you were being lectured about at the moment.
The rumbling growl that followed sounded like it had traveled all the way from the dark trenches of his bowels, or maybe even the very marrow of his bones. You could feel the ground vibrating under your feet.
“Fine,” you conceded. You weren’t exactly worried he was going to eat you anymore, but there were certainly… other things. Many dumb ways to die. “I won’t do it again.”
He harumphed at you, his head bobbing in what looked a bit like a nod. And then he turned and raked a gigantic claw across your little makeshift ladder of debris, flattening it into nothing with one, fell, swoop. You’d groaned and let yourself collapse listlessly back into the ensuing cloud dust.
There was also the time you’d nearly had a conniption because you were sick and tired of camping out on a frigid, stone, floor every night when you were trapped inside a literal castle.
“There are dozens—hundreds—of rooms in here,” you’d argued. “There’s got to be a bed in at least one of them.”
Tsunotarou had simply rolled over onto his side and arched a wing into the air, as if offering you the warm hollow beneath.
“You’re not comfortable,” you’d hissed, and he’d sulked ridiculously for the rest of the afternoon until you’d managed to finally come to a workable solution.
As in, dragging every goddamn mattress you could find into the cavernous ballroom that he’d long since seemed to claim as his Favorite Spot. You’d turned it into a game—see who could find the most comfy things and make the biggest squish pile. Being nearly a dozen times your size and having twice as many functional limbs that were capable of grabbing things, naturally Tsunotarou had come out as the winner. But now you had nearly endless pillows and blankets to snuggle into at night, so who’d really come out on top?
“I’ve never bothered to build a nest before,” he’d mumbled to himself, post victory. He patted gently at one of the thick duvets he’d swiped, expression almost whimsical. “It’s quite nice.”
“See,” you’d grinned, bouncing up and down on one of the springier mattresses. “I told you this was better.”
And so chuffed were you that you weren’t heading to sleep with a rock as your pillow for the first time all week, that you didn’t even complain when late into the evening he sneakily dragged you out of your plush pile and into his—tail wrapped snuggly around your waist and tucking you tightly against his ribs. I mean, his nest was much nicer than yours. It was only practical.
So, as anyone could see, your week had been far from easy.
But after those first days, once you had finally gotten a hand on all his nonsensical rules and you’d in turn concocted equally as many ways to try and circumvent them just enough to make yourself comfortable, things settled into a kind of domestic tranquility.
And that was when time started to drag.
You’d read the handful of books in your pack a dozen times over. You’d counted the cracks in the ceiling (one-hundred-and-thirty-two of them). You’d counted the stones on the floor (six-hundred-and-five). You’d sorted those stones into piles by shape, size, color. You lolled back against your cozy pile of blankets and thunked your head miserably against your pillow. Once. Twice. Three times. Four—
“What do you normally do all day?” you complained.
Tsunotarou lazily blinked awake. He lifted his giant, serpentine, head and glanced pointedly around the cavernous room before settling back into his mountain of blankets with a contented huff.
“You just sleep?” you frowned, baffled. “All the time?”
He rumbled unintelligibly at you for a moment before digging his claws into his nest with a long, lithe, stretch. And then those scales began to melt away, and soon enough he was pale, and bare, and rolling his way into your lap with a contented little grumble.
“What would you have me do instead?” he asked, voice thick with the syrupy warmth of sleep. He stretched again, like a big cat, and settled his head more firmly against your thighs. “Raid cities? Burn villages?”
“…Ideally no,” you grumbled, hands falling habitually to start running your fingers through the silky soft hair pooling along your abdomen. “I mean, there have got to be other things dragons do. You live for thousands of years.”
He hummed, neon eyes slipping closed. He pressed his forehead demandingly up into your palm and you rolled your eyes before obligingly sliding your digits lower to scratch at his scalp and around the base of his horns. That seemed to be his favorite.
“I am not wanted much of anywhere, I’m afraid,” he said finally with a defeated little sigh. It didn’t sound particularly self-deprecating, just… accepting. It made something sad and small curl in your gut. “So what else is there for me to do? Other than while away the hours.”
“There’s got to be something,” you pressed, that eking irritation born from boredom melting into something that was a bit too close to genuine concern for your liking. “Don’t dragons keep hoards? Treasures? That’s a thing, right?”
“Oh.” He blinked himself back into focus, as if only remembering in just that moment. “That is true. Would you like to see mine, then?”
“Aren’t hoards, like, private?” you asked, hesitant. Trying not to bring up the glaring elephant in the room that was ‘Hey. Yeah. So my friends and I totally broke in here in the first place to steal from said hoard. Not that we knew there was a dragon here. But like. I did, in fact, come here as an adventurer and a thief.’
“Naturally,” Tsunotarou hummed. You could feel it vibrate all the way up your hip. His lips quirked into a little, crooked, smile. “I’ll take you there now.”
The Treasure Room was as elaborate and expensive looking as the name implied, and it seemed to be the one area of the castle that had been spared the grey desolation that had seeped through the rest of it. It was enormous—certainly larger than even the grand, cavernous, room in which you’d recently been residing. And it was lined wall to ceiling with every variant of wealth you could imagine—precious metals, ancients tomes, paintings from every great master through history, magical weapons, the finest of spell scrolls. You could probably buy the world at least twice over with its contents.
But the thing that caught your eye amidst the endless sea of gold was not a pretty gemstone or a treasure of old, but a little, black and purple, doll—perched atop a looming pedestal of silks and finery like a crown jewel. It was small and plain with curling black horns made of felt. A chubby little dragon miniature that was as ugly as it was round.
Tsunotarou noticed your inquisitive gaze and walked over to pluck the little, cotton, creature from its throne. He held it delicately in his clawed fingers.
“Ah, yes. This is Drago. Lilia gifted him to me after one of his jaunts through the human world.” He turned the doll over in his palms, brow tugging down a bit as he did. “I hope he hasn’t been too terribly lonely. It has been a while since I’ve come down here to visit.”
The great and powerful dragon of the Castle Within The Lava Lake keeping a toy keepsake amongst his most prized possessions was so strikingly adorable that you couldn’t help but feel your heart melt at the sight.
You brightened and turned on your heel to start making your way back to the ballroom and what remained of your adventuring gear. Tsunotarou made a noise under his breath that was too dignified to be a splutter, but what you assumed was more or less his refined equivolent. And then he was tagging at your heels with a perplexed look on his face.
“Where are you going?”
“To get something!” you chirped, mentally running through the contents of your bag and little sewing kits. Yes, there should be more than plenty to—
“To get what?” Tsunotarou pouted, and you realized belatedly that running off in the middle of him showing off his life’s accumulation of precious artifacts and accomplishments was perhaps a bit rude.
“It’s a surprise,” you said. “Just give me like half an hour to put it together.”
In the end, it really only took you around fifteen minutes of fussing. Drago was hardly a complex little thing, and you’d originally learned to stitch in a panic. Trying to mend holes in pants and leather was a lot harder to accomplish when you were being actively chased by bandits, or a raging Ace. In comparison, sitting merrily on the floor of a collapsed ballroom and shoving stuffing into a little ball of cloth was hardly a challenge.
You held out your creation—equally as ragtag and ridiculous looking as its inspiration.
“There,” you beamed, and pressed it into Tsunotarou’s hands. “Now he has a friend.”
A teeny, flesh-colored, blob. With strips of soft fabric for a cloak and a hastily stitched smile. A miniature bard, perfectly (?) encapsulated in his palm.
The dragon stared down at your offering with wide, green, eyes. He looked positively startled—so caught off guard that he didn’t know what to do with himself, let alone the bewildered expression flitting across his otherwise regal face.
“You said he might be lonely,” you hummed, rocking self-consciously back and forth on your heels.
“Oh,” Tsunotarou mumbled, black-tipped claws flexing around his new gift. He observed it carefully, like an aging academic might study some ancient, arcane, relic. There was still that strange look about him—like he couldn’t quite believe the little trinket in his hand was real. “I did, didn’t I...?”
When he remained silent after that, still staring down at your homemade abomination in awe? Horror? you couldn’t tell, you began fidgeting in earnest.
“It is kind of awful looking,” you rattled off, picking nervously at the hem of your cloak. “You can get rid of it if you want—”
“No,” he barked, and then paused, clearly surprised at the ferocity of what had come out of his mouth. That at least seemed to startle him out of whatever fog had settled over his brain, and he clutched the teeny toy firmly to his chest. He cleared his throat and started again, noticeably gentling himself. “No. I think I’d like to keep this.”
You smiled. “Good! I’m glad you like it! No one deserves to feel lonely—even little, toy, dragons.”
Tsunotarou’s lips curled into an awkwardly lopsided smile—like the muscles there weren’t used to tugging so wide. It lit the entirety of his expression with something so heart wrenchingly warm that you couldn’t help but feel like none of that had really been about the little doll at all.
.
.
You really should have known better.
If someone as illiterate and ill connected as your wandering gang of idiots could stumble upon the location of a ‘secret castle overburdened with ancient treasures,’ surely anyone even marginally more competent would be able to do the same.
You’d been at the tail end of your supply of rations. And while you hadn’t entirely meant to imply that you might just wind-up starving to death, the comment had been more than enough to send your dragon into a tizzy.
“Well, what do you normally eat?” you asked, and Tsunotarou frowned as he considered.
“My guards bring me sustenance when I require it. Ice elementals, goblins, stone giants,” he listed, eyes tracking your expression in hopes that maybe any of that sounded appetizing. Which it certainly did not. His nose scrunched up in thought. “Perhaps I should seek counsel with Lilia. He would know what to do.”
You cleared your throat. “I mean, I know what humans can eat. I could just tell you.”
His face brightened. “Meat, yes?”
You nodded. “Sometimes.”
“Like that of a manticore?” he continued, excited at the prospect. “Those are particularly delicious. And there are quite a few nesting in the crags not far from here.”
His merry smile slowly slipped off his face at whatever pinched look had twisted up yours.
“Vegetation?” he tried. “There are ample bushes at the foot of the volcano. Most do have thorns, but I suppose you could pick around them.”
“…Maybe you should talk to Lilia,” you conceded.
So Tsunotarou had shifted into his scales with a promise to return post-haste and many fussy reminders that you should move as little as possible to avoid wasting any more precious nutrients. The great downbeats of his wings seemed to roll through the entire castle like a shudder, and then you were alone for the first time in nearly a fortnight.
You lazed around in the echoing quiet, drumming bits of random tempos against your stomach and occasionally humming snatches of obnoxiously raunchy tavern tunes that you’d never really managed to bleach from your brain. How had Tsunotarou done this for decades? It’d barely been ten minutes and you were already bored out of your mind.
There was a flash of shadow near the grand entrance, and you sat up enthusiastically—ready to greet your returning host. But it wasn’t a dragon at the door.
“Who the hell are y—” the words died in your throat, and you spat a muted curse. The Silence Spell settled over your shoulders like a grungy cloak. You could feel its sticky film along the back of your tongue like a fine layer of moss.
“Who the fuck is that?” one of them hissed, and you fought the petulant ‘that’s just what I’d been about to ask you, jack ass!’ that wouldn’t have made it past your lips anyways.
There were six in total—a proper party from the looks of their ensembles. At least two people in full plate armor, a waify looking elf with a thick spell book in his hands, and three others in various getups that weren’t quite cookie cutter enough to tell you anything helpful. You rambled at them irritably, silently, gesturing rather impolitely all the while. You mimed teeth, and claws, and wings, and stomped around like a beast in a play.
‘There is a dragon here,’ you tried to say. Because maybe they were just unlucky adventurers like you and Tweedle Dee and Dum had been—not having any real idea what lay beyond these castle walls. You mimed a giant mouth, like a crocodile. ‘And he will eat you.’
“What the fuck?” Armored Dude gaped.
You pointed irritably at Mister Elf Wizard, who was still very obviously concentrating on keeping you encircled in a mesh of absolute silence.
The itchy sensation clogging your throat eased and you let out a breath, which echoed loudly in your ears. Elf-Guy looked at you with something that was perhaps a shade or two off of sympathy.
“Are you alright?” he asked. “What are you doing here?”
“You need to leave,” you replied instead, firm. “There’s a dragon that lives in this castle.”
“Of course there’s a dragon,” Armored Lady scoffed. “Why do you think we’re here?”
You looked at their heavy, expensive, armor. At the giant, shining, magical, weapons hanging across their backs. At the thin wizard who proceeded catch you in a Hold Person spell that was so fast and strong you couldn’t have dispelled it if you tried. And of course you tried. What else could you do? These people weren’t like you and your loveable idiots who managed to occasionally stumble their way into an adventure. These guys were the real deal. Warriors. Heroes. Dragon Slayers.
“God-fucking-damn it.”
But of course you’d been caught in Silence once again, so you were left cursing nothing.
.
.
.
[TAG LIST] CLOSED
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#twisted wonderland imagines#twisted wonderland#twst x reader#Malleus Draconia x Reader#Malleus x Reader#Malleus Draconia#Malleus x Yuu#Dragon Malleus#Monster Mayhem#My Writing#Twst Fantasy AU#Monster Mayhem Malleus Part 3
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Can we pretty please have Sukuna reacting to his crush telling him that thier lover cheated on them. Like the reader has been in a relationship with this person for a few months.
Would he comfort her? At all?
Also can I be‼️ anon
Sypnosis - He may be heartless, that doesn't mean he'll stand silently by and watch as you get yours broken.
Warning(s) - canon JJK violence, mature themes, foul language, Sukuna is nice for once (?)
A/N - First time ever writing for Sukuna -- wish me luck! And yes, you can be that anon, I love you guys.
! PIECE BEGINS UNDERNEATH THE CUT !
"Brat, wipe those tears, you look pathetic," Sukuna says coldly, sneering at the sight of your tears running down your cheeks. You quickly lift your wrist, roughly rubbing the water from your eyes and turning yourself away from him.
At the sight of you turning, oddly enough, he feels a strange sensation somewhere in his chest – what was it though? All he knew was that it wasn't anger, no, he couldn't find it in himself to be angry at you in that moment (shockingly).
"Sorry," you mumble, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip in an attempt to silence your sobs, but the action does very little to prevent the shaking of your body. Sukuna notices, raising an eyebrow in curiosity.
His head tilts at you; you had come to Yuuji asking for a movie night and snacks, which wasn't out of the ordinary. But what was out of the ordinary was that you showed up on Yuuji's doorstep crying.
The fact that Yuuji relinquished control to Sukuna so easily was also shocking – but Sukuna was never one to complain about having control over what was rightfully his vessel.
He lets out a small "tch" at your apology, turning himself away from you and crossing his arms over his chest. Some part of him wants to turn back around and inquire about what had happened – but at the same time he could genuinely care less.
You remain silent in your place on the couch, knees curled up to your chest as you keep your watery eyes focused on the television, which plays a repeat of an old rom-com that you mentioned that you enjoyed. But from what Sukuna could see, the sight of the two main leads being happily in love is only worsening your mood – but why?
Usually you would be smiling and chipper, pointing out everything that the male lead did for the female with a too-sweet smile plastered onto your face. But now you were just staring at the screen with a look that Sukuna couldn't describe – and he despised it.
`"What's going on? You're never this silent, I detest it," Sukuna comments, angrily scrunching his nose as he turns sharply to glance at you. Your hands tighten over your knees, eyebrows pinching together as you bite back the fresh round of tears that cling to your lash line.
"Nothin' happened. Jus' wanted to come over and watch a movie," you lie through your teeth, voice slightly muffled from where you keep your mouth pressed against your clothed legs. Sukuna clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, glaring at you.
"Liar."
"I'm not lying."
"You are. I only know because you're fucking terrible at it," Sukuna spits, furrowing his eyebrows together in frustration as you look away from him again. Your eyes water, and you lift your wrist to swipe away the tears before they have the chance to fall – remembering what Sukuna had just said about them rendering you 'pathetic'.
"Nothin' happened. Even if something did, why would it matter to you?" Your voice is laced with a bitterness that Sukuna hadn't heard in you before – and honestly, he didn't think that you were capable of sounding so cold.
"It doesn't. I just don't wanna deal with your sulking," Sukuna rolls his eyes, resting his cheek against his knuckles as he sneaks another glance at you. You seem to sink further into the couch – there's that sensation again. What the fuck was it?
You remain silent, keeping your eyes fixed on the movie, which is nearing its conclusion. The male lead tenderly reaches for the female, holding her face and steering her lips to his own. Sukuna notices your nails digging into your legs, no doubt leaving behind angry red marks that you would complain about later.
"So talk."
You glance at Sukuna, narrowing your eyes at the unfamiliar tenderness that flickers in his irises. Your eyes involuntarily water, eyebrows furrowing together as you look back to the television screen.
"Nothin'. My boyfriend – he just, y'know, got bored of me. Guess my best friend looked better," you explain offhandedly, obviously trying to downplay the situation for the sake of not working yourself up. But Sukuna could tell that the situation deeply bothered you, judging by the way you blink back your tears and curl your arms impossibly tighter around your legs.
Sukuna's hands subconsciously curl into white-knuckled fists, anger flaring up in his chest as he mulls your words over in his head. He shocks himself – why did he care so much about what happened to you? Why did he suddenly have the overwhelming urge to strangle the life out of your now ex-boyfriend?
"He what?" Sukuna all but growls, turning his head to settle all of his attention on you. You, however, don't spare him another glance, not wanting to see his mocking expression or the smirk that he's most definitely wearing in response to your sadness.
A shame that if you had looked up, you would see the genuine anger that Sukuna displays.
"Wasn't slick about it either, but it's whatever," you say with faux indifference, shrugging your shoulders. You sigh shakily, tears slipping down your cheeks as the movie in front of you ends. "It's whatever Sukuna."
"It can't be whatever if you're staining the couch with tears," Sukuna bites back, glaring at you – though his anger is very clearly directed elsewhere. You let out a shaky sigh through your nose, not wanting to discuss the situation further.
"Well it is whatever, so fucking drop it," you growl out, voice wavering slightly as you reach for the television remote, flicking through channels until you land on some random documentary, opting to leave it on for background noise.
Sukuna grumbles something incoherent, lifting his legs to cross them over one another as he sits silently on the couch across from you. Every now and then, his eyes flicker to sneak glances at you, taking mental notes of your body language and facial expressions.
"I'm...sorry that he did that to you," Sukuna grumbles out, his voice at a volume that you nearly miss. The tenderness in his voice is so foreign, but at the same it sounds so natural coming from him – almost like he had rehearsed this very scene a thousand times over in his head.
You sit there stunned for a moment, not having expected Sukuna to be offering you his condolences. In truth, you didn't need them, nor did you want them – but the fact that he had softened up for a passing moment to say those words to you brought a little bought of warmth to your stomach.
"It's whatever," you say again, this time with a bit more indifference than before. Sukuna finds himself smirking, which he tries to hide but to no real avail – you catch it just before it fades away.
He'll pay your ex-boyfriend a visit later, right now, he wants you to keep that barely there smile on your face.
#colonelarr0w#jjk x reader#jjk fanfiction#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen fanfiction#ryomen sukuna x reader#sukuna ryomen x reader#ryomen sukuna fanfiction#sukuna ryomen fanfiction#sukuna fanfiction#sukuna x reader#ryomen sukuna
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What are the Harbingers like while drunk?
── ୨୧：fatui harbingers x reader
୨୧﹑synopsis :: a night of drinking usually leads to a far more chaotic band of harbingers than usual, a horrible nightmare for everyone else involved considering their behaviour. it is not all terrible however, admittedly.
୨୧﹑genre :: some are a little fluffy it varies though
୨୧﹑content :: gn reader, it is chaotic, columbina does touch reader like very publicly how far that goes is ambiguous, obviously consumption of alcohol
୨୧﹑words :: 1.9k
by this I actually mean how many drinks does it take for them to be all over you (optionally their s/o) which will find its answer, this includes every Harbinger because there is no grandpa discrimination in this household 🙏 requests will start getting posted again tomorrow
The youngest Harbinger is alright, but arguably one of the worst when it comes to how drunk he'll get and how quick. If being a massive casual flirt with you already doesn't help (which it does not), then getting a couple drinks in him can only make him worse. As if stealing all of his restraint and boundaries— possibly mistakable for sense of reason— it unlocks a secondary urge that somehow overtakes his need to fight everything that does or does not move. He can take you (not in a fight tho). A few drinks in, and you better take them away from him before he becomes too over-eager and starts on his quest to fight the other Harbingers once more. Usually, it's quite easy to get him to settle if you just tie him to the nearest pole and leave him for a while to get through his fight with a rope first.
Arlecchino is surprisingly good in this respect, though more so because it's hard to tell when she's drunk except for the fact that she speaks differently, more open with her feelings than when she's sober, and unabashedly will speak her mind in the same tone she usually speaks her insults unless it is to you. For some reason, her equally shameless words and advances always comes out something not like a question and a borderline nag to go with her somewhere—to her room, no doubt—down to outright admitting that she wants you. She barely leaves any room for your decline or contemplation when she's following you around all night like a lost, stray dog whimpering at your feet, and it's kind of cute. You won't go with her, though, because you know what she wants, so she'll just have to wait until you get to enjoy yourself a little at the very least. She's still so ridiculously cute asking with a straight face, however, especially once you manage to settle her to the point she falls asleep head on the table out like a light.
Unfortunately too used to drinking over business, Pantalone is tipsy at best as he's no stranger to drinking some ornate expensive wine after a long day of work, though the flush in his cheeks tells you he's at least a little gone. He rests his head on your shoulder without a word most of the time, perhaps purposefully gluing you to your place by his side so that you cannot be stolen away. He says he's not tired whenever you ask, and you don't doubt that somehow. He's got an added boisterous charm to his laugh, but his voice is low, and he stares at you through his lashes as he's coaxing you into drinking with him. Drink some more, loosen up, there's nothing to worry about. Of course, there's always something to worry about with him, never able to just let you be when he's drunk as he's a bit of a pest.
Insisting that you drink two glasses for her single finished one, Signora is far more focused on getting you drunk than herself. She holds drinks to your lips, practically forcing you to down them to get her to get off your back, all with an arm over your shoulders, keeping you from backing away. She's shockingly promiscuous in a way—though not explicitly—this night will just most definitely end with the two of you having drunkenly made out at least twice, and she's got a good amount of glasses of wine under her belt, as well as you stumbling and at your limit needing her help to find your bearings. Her chest is soft, of course you can use her as your pillow all you want, and of course she'll get you home safe.
An interesting case is the mysterious disappearance of Sandrone's stoic exterior, her usual abrasiveness replaced by a giggly and borderline childish self far more interested in finding something funny in everything and bothering you to carry her around, including back to her room— or yours. She's not picky. Only two drinks in, she behaves like she has never heard of subtlety in her life. Often she will question why you keep doing the things you do, especially if that happens to ruin all her fun, like pulling her away from Tartaglia so that she will stop teasing the poor boy, or to get her to stop loudly asking all of the details of the ins and outs of Scaramouche's workings when he's shifting in his seat trying to hide his discomfort behind his own abrasiveness. Eventually, you may have to carry her back to her room, if only to get her to go to bed and try to get all the rest she can before she wakes up the next morning hungover and miserable.
Scaramouche may only be a puppet, but his other functions seem to work just fine…it still surprises you that he manages to get drunk, much less that he starts getting overly emotional when he does and ends up crying over nothing until you manage to cheer him up as he buries his head in your chest. Apparently, he's just very happy to see you, despite you having been there all night, and he doesn't want you to go anywhere despite the fact you never had any intention of doing so yet. It's so strange but not unwelcome, just hard to get used to, though you let him loiter around you and cling a little. Every time you have to go somewhere, he's asking where you're going, and only when you provide a good enough answer does he stare a little before nodding slowly and resting his head on his arms for comfort, waiting for you to come back.
Over time you learned to stop getting Pulcinella drunk as it leads to him telling the same stories of his youth he's convinced beyond a doubt that you've never heard before. His earlier days in the Fatui are practically ingrained in your mind as you have little choice but to grin and bear it, hoping he doesn't notice that you're not really listening. Of course he notices, however, and in his usual exaggerated movements, taps your nose to draw your attention back, threatening to steal it if you don't pay attention. Youngsters these days is his usual grumble, and as always, you must remind him you are not, in fact, a 'youngster'. It is quieter, more intimate storytelling between the two of you, maybe only Pierro at your side interested in hearing all of this though you're pretty sure Pulcinella hasn't even noticed he's there considering he's so fixated on you and where your eyes are, anywhere but him and he's promptly drawing your attention right back.
Capitano holds his liquor so well you're a little worried for his liver, as the worst offence he manages is making a couple of bad jokes. Barely does he seem affected by it, but you wonder if managing to conceal his face well enough has anything to do with it or if he simply hasn't had anything to drink at all in the absence of any desire to take his helmet off just yet. Considering his demeanour has changed slightly, you're willing to bet the former. He is awfully touchy and forward in all of his advances, though his boldness would never overstep too far. He can hear a no and accept it, but by the time that helmet is resting on the table by his side and he's buried his face in his hands, far too drunk to reason with himself to keep it on, he does begin to get far closer than before with every word said just a half inch from your ear in a hushed tone and his arm around you so comfortably you may begin to forget it's even there.
Ever your biggest fan, Columbina wants you to do all sorts of things, not for any discernible reason. She just claims you're quite adorable. She absolutely must see the face you make after a kiss, and when someone touches your face, when you have your hair pulled and how flushed your face is when her hands travel down from your face toward your body. Of course, she will largely refrain from going too far in the presence of others, though she is touchy, almost like dangling off you, and most importantly, she is hopelessly convincing. Regardless of whether you told yourself at the start of the night that you would not hear a word of her requests, it began so slowly and spiralled so quickly that giving her just a little more leeway won't be too bad, right? It'll be fine to allow her to lay he head down on your chest and wrap her arms around you, continuing to speak to others all the while capturing all of your attention, and with how sleepy she sounds, you imagine you have hers as well with what little energy she has to spare still contributing to the conversation.
Dottore is usually such a butch that you initially thought getting him drunk would only make him bitchier, but one drink in and his experience with alcohol is showing. By the second, he claims to not want any more, and god forbid someone tries to convince him a third is a good idea because he will proceed to complain of feeling sick and deflate until he can leave. His second, however…his second has him talking shop, just not the way you thought it might. He's telling you about all these things that—while certainly not completely objectively interesting—have him genuinely smiling even just a little as he passionately explains the many things he has pursued solely based on whims and fixations. For a man who seldom speaks to anyone, drinks get him talking, and with no inclination to stop him, you sit and listen as he tells you about the ways his segments are made and how he went about discovering and acquiring the materials to do so. He wants you to come with him to his lab so he can show you these things, but with very little desire to allow him to accidentally ruin something of his while drunk, you quickly dissuade him from that and decide to take him elsewhere to let him cool off instead.
Conservative in his drinking in the first place, Pierro does not allow himself much freedom to relax in a setting where he has to watch everyone, at least at the start of the night when tensions are still high, and everyone is sensible enough to remember their quarrels with each other. as the night progresses, however, the small sips of his drink become more frequent, and his appearance follows suit, hair a bit dishevelled from the number of times he's touched it, clothing loosened to allow himself more room to breathe and hands often finding their way to you as he speaks, resting on your shoulder or on your thighs, fingers brushing against your cheek or thumb tracing your lips. to be honest you kind of like him like this, less reserved but restrained enough to be fighting his own resolve not to do something that may be too forward. You can tell in the way that resolve and the will to fight against his own wants slips away bit by bit, touches lasting longer, kisses first on your forehead finding their way to your lips and his arm, which had been resting on the table, finally around your waist as you both walk back to whichever of your respective rooms finds you first.
#✦ — headcanons.#childe#childe x reader#tartaglia#tartaglia x reader#arlecchino#arlecchino x reader#pantalone#pantalone x reader#signora#la signora#signora x reader#la signora x reader#sandrone#sandrone x reader#scaramouche#scaramouche x reader#pulcinella#pulcinella x reader#capitano#capitano x reader#columbina#columbina x reader#dottore#il dottore#dottore x reader#il dottore x reader#pierro#pierro x reader#genshin impact
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Call Me
Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, modern AU
Summary: When you are parted from Benedict, he guides you through pleasuring yourself....
Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, phone sex, dirty talk, masturbation, use of sex toy.
Word Count: 3.5k
Authors Note: this is a very belated request fill for the talented and lovely @broooookiecrisp from her ask HERE, where Benedict guides the reader through masturbation. She also chose the pic above, which looks very modern Benedict in Tuscany :) I hope you enjoy this story, my lovely. Thanks to @colettebronte for reading this through & @eleanor-bradstreet for the title. Enjoy! <3
The Facetime call connects as you recline, wearing your noise-cancelling wireless headset.
“Hello darling,” that familiar smooth voice greets, “I've missed you.” His sigh is deep and heartfelt. With the volume up, it sounds like he is lying right with you, but then it's in both ears; the stereo effect makes your tummy feel warm.
“I've missed you too,” you hum, toying with the corner of the duvet you lay under. You are so happy he secured an artist retreat residency in Tuscany for the week, but you miss him terribly. He's only been gone a few days, but it feels like forever.
“I'm sorry this has to be an audio call; the wifi here is shockingly slow and the phone reception non-existent; I thought it better to sacrifice a blocky video for crystal clear audio,” he explains. “You will just have to imagine my face,” he adds with a soft laugh.
Indeed, your mind fills with images of his handsome face; you can even picture the gentle, lopsided grin you can hear in his tone.
“Are you somewhere private?” you ask, a little nervous.
“Yes. Why do you ask?” his question shifting into that lower cadence that fires all the butterflies.
“I miss you,” you offer again, hoping perhaps he can intuit what you are asking for, drawing your knees up, the cotton sheet catching on your heels as you do so.
“I miss you too,” he echoes again, “but I don't think that needs to be said in private,” his tone laconic.
He knows exactly where your thoughts have slid, but he's playing innocent. He always goads you into pushing to speak your mind, to voice your desires, and tonight is no different—gently coaxing you to profess what you want.
“I want you to talk to me,” your voice with a slight waver that betrays a hidden meaning in the words.
“I am,” the timbre makes the little earphones in your ear almost vibrate, and a frisson runs down your spine.
“No…” you hesitate, “talk to me,” emphasising the word.
“If you want something from me, darling, all you have to do is ask,” his tone a dark lilting tease now.
“Talk to me like you do when we are intimate,” you rush out on an exhale.
His rich chuckle makes your nipples pebble without so much as a touch. “Now we are getting somewhere….” he buzzes. “Are you going to touch yourself for me while I do, hmm?”
You bite your lip but can't disguise the whimper that escapes. You close your eyes and flick the volume up two notches on your phone, throwing it aside so both hands are available.
“I want you to tell me what to do,” you breathe, pushing the duvet down your body, feeling heated.
You hear the noise that catches deep in his throat; it's thick and desirous, and you thank the technology gods for headsets with this level of quality.
“What are you wearing?” he rumbles.
“Nothing…” you confess, knowing it's breathy and wanton.
“Oh god, yes,” his rushed response, a reflex that makes you clench your thighs together, loving how affected he is just by that simple statement. “Where are you?”
“In our bed.”
“Under the covers?”
“I was, but now I'm feeling hot, so I've pushed them aside. It's just me… naked… uncovered… alone… resting on your pillow…”
With each little phase, you can hear his breathing getting more pronounced. “Why my pillow?”
“It smells like you,” you answer.
“Does that turn you on?” his voice going tight.
“Yes, oh god, Ben, yes, it does.”
He growls lightly when you say his name, the noise in your ears so loud it makes you squeak, a hand straying to your breast.
“Guide me, please; I need to imagine it's your hands on me. “Draw me a mental picture as clear and evocative as one of your beautiful paintings.”
“Hmmmm,” his thoughtful hum runs right through your body with the volume up. “How about we take this slow, build to something? I have a painting I worked on earlier today. Would you like me to describe it to you? Describe how I would paint you into it?”
“Yes! Yes, please,” you enthuse quickly, desperate for his artistry in all senses of the word.
“It's Tuscany, a sun-drenched summer’s day,” his storytelling is always spellbinding, so you settle back into the pillows as if listening to a private audiobook made just for you. “The sky is azure blue; the fields are bright, verdant green. Olive trees dot the rolling hills all around. Right in the middle is a small vineyard. A gentle slope of neatly rowed vines, the leaves canopying bunches of ripened grapes, drooping heavily, ready for harvest.”
As he speaks, you spider your fingertips over your collarbone, imagining the heat of the sun on your skin.
“The grass between the vine rows is lush and thick, a balm from the heat,” his sonorous voice continues at a lush pace. “That is where I would paint you, lying on that hillside. The cool blades tickling your back as the sun bakes your skin.”
“What am I wearing, Benedict?” you inquire, gently biting your lip as your hands stray lower onto the swell of your breast, so enchanted by the picture he paints.
“Exactly what you are right now,” he responds with a slight hitch.
“Nothing?” you gasp, the idea suddenly so risque but more beguiling.
“That's right,” he rumbles. “I would paint you utterly nude.”
You brush lightly around your own areola, writhing gently under your own touch.
“Are you with me, Benedict? In this vineyard?” your breath quickening.
“How else am I going to paint you unless I am there too?” he teases gently. “And guess what I would be doing while I'm painting?”
“What?” goosebumps on your arms with anticipation, your fingers moving concentric circles.
“I would tell you to touch yourself, just as I am now. There is nothing I want to paint more than you in the throes of ecstasy,” he exhales raggedly. “You are beautiful, wild, glorious….”
“I want that too,” you rush out. “Why have you never done it before?”
He chuckles richly; the sound feels like a shimmer over your body. “Because it would be impossible to be near you when you are naked and not to touch you,” his admission is almost rueful.
“I wish you were with me,” it’s wistful.
“I am,” he assures. “just remember hmm? Sunny hillside, naked, the sun on your skin and me there with you. Now, darling, I can tell you are already doing something; I can hear the quirk in your breath. Tell me, tell me in detail.”
“I’m..” you hesitate, “...I’m touching my nipples,” you rush out, finally letting your fingers trail over the nub, pebbling hard as he moans lightly.
“Oh yes,” he stutters, “don’t stop. Give them a gentle pinch for me. Between your finger and thumb…” he waits for your little hiss, and then he hums, “Mmm, does that feel good?”
“Yessss,” you hiss.
“Imagine it’s my fingers, darling,” he requests, and you do.
You think of how it feels when his hands cup your breast, as you do now, and tease your nipples until you beg him to stop. You hear his breath catching in his throat as you make tiny little needy noises and tilt up a fraction off the bed, teasing yourself as he does.
“That’s it,” he encourages. “Now wet your fingers, suck on them…”
You know he can hear the wet, suckling noise right in his earpiece as you do as commanded, returning your fingers and painting the dampness over your skin as it puckers heavily under the sensation.
“Now pinch yourself just a little harder; imagine it’s my tongue and teeth; I know how much you like it when I suck hard and just a gentle bite….”
“Ben…” you murmur his name as you move, your head rolling on the pillow, eyes fluttering.
“Fuckkk,” you hear him mutter, losing his composure. It makes something inside you catch fire, a tingle between your legs buzzing harder.
“What next?” you beseech, wanting this to go quicker but at the same time to never stop.
“Slide your fingers down over your ribs, my love,” he stumbles a little, and you hear a squeak as if he is changing position.
“Tickles,” you giggle, and Benedict laughs softly with you.
“I know. I love to run the tip of my nose there,” he divulges, “or I may use a firmer touch. Do that, darling. Sweep your whole palm down, and feel the rise and fall with your breathing as you go.”
You do as asked, the heavier touch centring you somehow as your hand slips onto your tummy.
“Take your time, but don’t stop moving lower, darling,” he lectures. “You know I never do.”
It is so low it echoes around your whole being. Your thighs fall open, a trickle escaping your body.
“Oh god, I’m burning for you, Ben,” it’s out before you can stop it.
“Where?”
“You know where,” you obfuscate.
“I'm not there, remember? I need you to paint me a picture. I know you can do it. Don’t worry. No one can hear us; it’s just you and me. Missing each other.” His gentle, loving reassurance is the push you need.
“Between my legs,” you stutter under his coaxing.
“Are you wet for me?” he queries, panting a little.
“Yes,” you disclose quietly.
“Are you touching yourself?”
“Not yet,” you swirl your fingers through the patch of hair, almost as if waiting for his permission to touch.
“You want me to tell you exactly what to do, don’t you?” He intuits.
“Please,” you croak.
“Okay. I just have one condition…” he tapers off, temptingly, knowing he has you on tenterhooks.
“What?” the question is breathy, impatient.
“You have to be loud for me,” he petitions. “Don’t you dare hold back; I want to hear it all.”
“Okay, I promise,” you whisper, your clit pulsing, aching to be touched.
“Alright….” He begins as you hear more sounds like he is getting into position in bed himself, a slight rustle of cotton. “Bend your legs, bring your heels up high right near your bottom…”
You do as instructed.
“Now, splay your knees out wide.”
Again you follow to the letter, feeling the cool air swirling around your exposed, damp slit.
“Reach behind your head and then slide my pillow under your hips…,” he continues in that sinful tone.
“Why?” You check even as you do as asked.
“Because I want my pillow to smell like your pussy when I get home,” he snarls. The untamed way he says it, so loud in your ears, makes you squeak. He has no shame in being explicit, even if you often flounder to do the same.
Now, with your hips raised, it’s easier to touch yourself; likely, he thought about that, too.
“Mmm, are you comfortable again?” he checks.
“Yes,” you confirm, hand slipping to where it was before.
“Good, now take your middle finger and slide it lower,” he instructs. “Keep going until you find that little clit of yours,” you swear he has entered an even throatier register now, each word like dark silk cloaking you.
As your finger pad slides over that spot, you can’t help the little ohhhh that escapes your lips.
“Oh yes, you’ve found it, haven’t you? Now slide a little lower, hook that finger, and pull back up.”
You do as told and moan as your finger immediately snags the most sensitive spot.
“Oh fuck yes,” you can hear the shudder in his tone, how affected he is, making you fizz too. The self-consciousness melts away as his precise instructions root you into your body, letting your mind shut off all the thoughts and worries—just focussed on the present.
“Swirl that finger gently for me, baby,” he compels, “anticlockwise.”
Instantly, your body responds as if it were his touch. You breathe deep as you keep moving, the slickness of your desire easing your motions.
“Are you swelling just a little?” he sounds more urgent now.
“Yes,” you confirm, your clit swelling under your touch as you picture him, his face hovering over you, imagining his fingers teasing you as his lips slid hot over your neck.
“Oh god, I love when you get all swollen and puffy and flushed right there for me,” he groans lewdly, and it’s a beeline straight to your pussy. It convulses around nothing, leaking over your bottom cheeks and onto his pillow. You call his name louder, squirming bodily, something tugging inside. Your body craves him—to be fucked, invaded, pushed open, pounded until it aches from that delicious stretch.
“Fuck I need you, Ben,” you moan as your fingers move faster, sliding over that little pearl. “I need you to fuck me so hard.”
“I want that, but not yet,” he grits out, your declaration seeming to fuel him. “Imagine it’s my tongue, darling, lathing against your clit, drinking up all that beautiful juice. You always taste divine, like a slightly tart peach, sweet but sharp.”
Your mind supplies images of just that, his slightly stubbled jaw rubbing against the sensitive skin of your labia as he has to use both hands to hold you open to his onslaught, your legs reflexively wanting to close up around his head at the powerful sensations you feel, your fingers running into his lush head of hair, nails scraping along his warn scalp, praising his skill.
“When I tell you to, you grab your vibrator, baby.” he interrupts your reverie.
“Yes,” you comply, knowing it is tucked safely under your pillow beside you.
“For now, keep rubbing for me; go faster,” he implores. “Let me hear you, your beautiful voice….”
You speed up, changing motions as he guides you to do so. Softly chanting his name as you notch higher up that invisible ladder. But he knows your body so well—knows with absolute precision when to shake things up, as he does now.
“STOP!!!” he instructs harshly.
You instantly halt ministrations, whining, hearing his laboured breaths loud in your ear, your fingers frozen inches above your folds.
“Oh, are you pulsing baby? Are you so close to coming?” he sounds proud, almost smug.
“Yesssss… please let me continue,” you plead, lungs heaving.
“No,” he menaces as your hand wanders over your thighs to stop the temptation to defy him, feeling the quiver in your muscles.
“Where has your other hand been?” he quizzes.
“Gripping the sheets,” you admit as he huffs a laugh about your honesty.
“Now swap. Touch your clit with that hand,” he tutors.
“What about my other hand? It's soaked,” you confess abashed.
“I know, baby, we are going to put it to good use. Slide two of those soaked fingers inside your pussy for me,” he instructs, so low that every word buzzes in your bones.
You call out his name as you slide two fingers deep into your own soaked pussy, rippling around your touch, a lewd, squelching sound as you do so.
“Oh fuck… I think I heard that,” he inhales sharply.
“You,” you assert, “you did this to me.”
He makes a feral noise in response, breathing in harsh gusts.
“Fuck yourself,” he growls, “fuck yourself with your fingers.”
Your movements are instinctual now, following his words to the letter. Shame melted away under the heat of desire. For him, for this. To come so damn hard you scream the walls down. Plunging your fingers as deep as you can reach, over and over. Your hips are pushed high off the bed, shoulder blades and feet taking your weight as you race greedily towards your peak, forehead and the back of your neck dewy from the exertion. Thinking of his fingers buried inside, of how, when it’s him, he holds you down with a solid quad muscle over your thigh, doesn’t let you buck up as you are now.
“Please, Ben. I need your cock,” you bumble, uncensored, whimpering that you can’t quite reach as deep as he can, reach that spot that makes you babble utter nonsense and white out with pleasure.
“Grab that vibrator y/n. Fuck yourself properly,” he orders gruffly.
You release your clit and fumble under your pillow for it, a slight sound of victory catching in your throat as you do so.
Without preamble, you thrust it inside yourself, just as he would with his cock when he knows you are this mindless. The stretch isn’t as good as him, not the same weight and heat, but it still feels like a heavenly sensation in your heightened state. Your noises staccato as you take it all on board, pausing slightly to get used to the invasion.
“Did I say you could stop?” he interrogates.
Without riposte, you scramble to obey, withdrawing the vibe then sinking it back in, attempting to ape one of his rhythms, the sense memory of him moving inside you making you moan loudly.
“That’s it. Does that feel good?” his voice practically a purr.
“Yes, but not as good as you,” you answer, missing the feel of him surrounding you when you are fucking. Skin, sweat, scent, weight, the feeling of another body covering or moving under yours.
“I know, darling. I promise it will be me soon. I’ll be home in a few days,” he pledges, breathing hard.
“Will you fuck me as soon as you are home?” you implore, wanting nothing more in this moment.
“Yes, baby. I’ll take you in the hallway if you want,” he vows, his cadence desperate.
“Please…” that word is all you can stutter as the hand controlling the vibe becomes a frenzy, your pussy clinging to its mass as if it were his cock.
“Don’t forget that engorged clit,” he reminds. “I need you to rub it as hard as you can with that other hand,” his voice is becoming more broken. “Im fucking you right now,” he avows roughly, “It's me, darling, fucking you so hard. And you feel so so good clenching around my cock…”
You belatedly realise he may be touching himself, may have his cock in his hand as he walks you to orgasm. It makes your thighs tremble and clamp around your hands.
“Are you touching yourself too, Ben?”
“Yessss”, he hisses. Below the sound of your joint panting, you can hear the faint sound of skin slapping lightly as he fucks his fist.
It’s that image in your mind - him sprawled naked on a bed, skin sunkissed against the crisp white sheets, in a thick stone-walled Tuscan villa, the scent of wildflowers and the lush sound of crickets wafting through the open shutters - that hurtles you towards completion. Imagining yourself right there with him, gripping the wrought iron bed frame as he fucks so deep you can’t help but scream his name and shudder as it is his fingers snagging over your clit rather than your own.
The next few moments are a frenzied blur as, after some last gasps, you emit a long, loud scream as you come so hard, convulsing around the facsimile of his cock, your clit jumping under your touch, dimly aware he is still streaming filthy, needy encouragements that descend into gruff noises as he follows you over, the tell-tale sound of that final moment when he comes so loud against your eardrums as if he is right there slumped around you, his lips hot on your neck.
There is nothing but gulping breaths as both recover, feeling no shame, just a bone-deep satisfaction that makes you languid and heavy, not wanting to move, just curl up and sleep, a t-shirt of his you grabbed earlier your companion in his absence.
“Fuck I came so hard,” he sounds almost sheepish as it sounds as if he is cleaning up his torso.
“Me too,” you concur, little ripples of fire still running down your legs and arms, oversensitive to any stimuli; even the bedding feels almost too much.
“I want you to come again, but you sound sleepy,” he assesses correctly, and you hum in agreement.
“Too sleepy,” you slur the words as you turn onto your side and fling away the toy to be dealt with another time.
His amused sound is rich and warm. “Curl up, my love,” you once again find yourself carrying out his bidding without conscious thought.
“How long until you are home, Ben?” you mumble after a stifled yawn.
“Thirty-three hours,” you can hear the affectionate, lazy smile as he says it.
“Too long,” you lament gently into his t-shirt, the citrus-woodsy scent of him a comfort.
“Next time, come with me; it's beautiful here,” he murmurs ardently.
“I may love it there too much,” you jest, “I may never want to leave.”
“If you were here with me, I may never want to either,” he imparts softly.
You just hum contentedly. “Will you stay on with me?” you ask quietly, “until we fall asleep?”
“I never planned for anything but,” he responds fondly, a warmth blooming behind your ribs at his words.
And that is how you drift off, whispering sweet nothings as you slip into a restful slumber. The call only disconnects hours later when your batteries run out as you both sleep soundly.
Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @amygdtjhddzvb @0x1harmonia0x1
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Ur so pretty
A/n: HAI OMG- its been...a while...if anyone read it, I posted the WIP of this like all the way back in November last year. other notes are that there is no use of Y/N, and it is kept gender neutral, but it is implied to be WLW. but since it is no longer in my hands, take it as you will keke hope u enjoy!!!
Upon waking up, you already felt that it was going to be a long day, one that was longer than usual. The sores from numerous fights and hours of walking were ever present from the moment you opened your eyes; the feeling of the Astarion’s fangs wringing your neck numb. You mentally check off the numerous problems before you get out of your tent and set off for the day. Upon leaving the dimly lit tent, you were blinded slightly by the morning light. The smell of breakfast filled the air as idle chatter continued. You take a moment to look at your companions. Gale was the one cooking, making idle chatter with Wyll and Karlach, the latter who was most likely the one who started the fire. Lae’zel was by herself, sharpening one of her many swords. Astarion emerges from his tent, also having just woken up. You continue to scan the camp looking for someone in particular.
‘No sign of her…’ You think to yourself, pouting slightly. From the corner of your eyes, you see Astarion approaching you. Sighing, you reiterate the fact that although the day had just started, you could tell it was going to be a long day.
“Glad to see you didn’t die last night.” He greets you with a smirk. You look at him, already feeling the regret of letting him feed and an oncoming headache. You pinch the bridge of your nose, hoping it will relieve some tension.
“Well if someone didn’t take any more than he should have, I wouldn’t have passed out.” You quip, to which Astarion lets out a laugh.
“I did not take any more than I normally do. You just lost a lot of blood yesterday.” He says as he crosses his arms and shifts to the side. You look at him blankly for a moment, thinking if it would be worth it to put a stake in his heart. Listing the pros and cons, it seems that keeping him alive has more pros, shockingly. Sighing once more, which was something that happened a lot when Astarion was around, you cast lesser restoration on yourself and begin to walk towards Gale, Karlach, and Wyll. However, before you can even approach the trio, you see Shadowheart emerge from her tent.
Your heart skips a beat as you look at her from afar. From the moment you had seen her while on the nautiloid, you had some sort of feelings stirring for her. Just a glance at her tells you how much of a beauty she is. The way her onyx hair framed her face, her braid that swished and would often rest on her shoulders, and the soft makeup that furthered her beauty in a way that felt almost godlike. Not to mention her eyes. The soft hazel green stood out with her darker eyeshadow, luring in the very person who looked into them. In your mind, she could rival the beauty of the gods and goddesses. However, it wasn’t just her physical beauty that lured you in, it was the subtle beauty that seemingly showed when she wasn’t paying attention. The soft smile that creeps up her face when you were swarmed by children at the grove, or how she plays with Scratch when she thinks no one is paying attention. You would often find yourself looking forward to fights, just to get injured so she could heal you, watching how her hands would tenderly cover the wound. In essence, her mannerisms, voice, and beauty have bewitched you, terribly. Often you were left lying awake late at night, thinking back on any conversation or memories you have of her.
Since the tiefling party a few nights ago, you have had numerous things to think of. Truthfully, you were elated that you had agreed to a drink with her, since in your mind it showed that she had a fraction of attraction towards you. While it was hard to tell how she truly felt since she was sharran and they were sworn to secrecy; you did not need words to know that she enjoyed the moment you two shared. The kiss you two shared, the talking and looking into one another's eyes until either the sun came up or sleep overtook you both. The morning after you two had talked about it, she agreed that there was something between the two of you. However, soon after she began to withdraw herself from you, she would avoid being alone with you, cut the conversation short, and even volunteer to stay behind at camp. It hurt to see her detach herself from any social interaction with you. You even knew that she was avoiding only you, catching glimpses of her talking to the others, chattering with Lae’zel even though they both differed. Rather than getting upset and confronting her, you kept it to yourself. Finding that it was better to give her space, something that she appreciated in the past, though it was turning out to be harder than you wanted it to be.
“You know, it is rude to stare.” A voice cuts you out of your train of thought. Blinking, you look at the voice and see that it is Astarion. Confused as to what he is talking about, you give him a look. He rolls his eyes and smacks his teeth. “You have been staring at Shadowheart’s tent for a good while, my friend. A bit too long, might I add.”
Quietly, you let out an ‘oh’ before you turn towards your tent. You decide to start getting ready for the day, no longer hungry. Stripping your camp wear and donning your armor, you mentally summon all your courage so you can ask Shadowheart to accompany you, Gale, and Karlach. Finishing the knot of your boots, you equip your weapons and leave your tent, the blinding rays of the sun stinging your eyes for a brief moment.
‘Moonmadein please guide me.’ You utter in your thoughts before you make your way to Gale and Karlach. Even though you were nowhere near them, Karalach seemed to notice you were heading their way. Turning her head from her conversation with Gale, she makes eye contact with you. Her face seemingly lights up as small flames rise out of her skin.
“Mornin’ soldier!” She hollers. Gale says something to her in a quiet tone, one that you can’t hear. Whatever he told her caused the flames on her to diminish. Looking back at you, she gives a slightly nervous chuckle and says, “Sorry about that. Just excited to get on the road again.”
“No worries, and good morning to you Karlach. You too Gale.” You reassure Karlach quickly before you greet the wizard. Gale smiles in return and greets a quick ‘morning’ before leaving, presumably to get his stuff for the road. You look back to Karlach and ask, “Have you seen Shadowheart?”
“Oh, I think I saw she went with Scratch into the woods,” Karlach says, her mood seemingly more down. She hesitates for a moment, before asking “Why?”
“I just want to see if she wants to join us on the road. It has been a bit since she left camp.” You explain, hoping you weren't evident in your real reason for talking to her. While it wasn’t a complete lie, it wasn't the whole truth. The half-truth was that you did want her to accompany you and walk around for a while; you did want to know if she wanted to leave camp for a while. You also just wanted a moment alone with her; for when there was a moment where everyone was walking, no direction in mind. It seemed that Karlach bought what you said, as she began to perk up a bit after your answer. However before anything else could be said, the bushes rustled slightly. You and Karlach turn to the noise, however, you don’t need to go and investigate since Scratch jumps from the bushes and runs toward you. He jumps onto your chest, tackling you to the ground before he starts to lick at your face. Laughing at the slightly ticklish feeling, you try to move him off of you, not too keen on smelling like dog breath or even having slobber on you so early in the day. Thankfully he gets off with ease and goes to bother someone else. Still chuckling, you get up from the ground, with the help of Karlach who is laughing with you. The rustling of leaves happens once more, catching your attention once more. This time it was Shadowheart who emerged from the woods. You briefly make eye contact with her, your heart skips a beat, and you move towards her. Though it seemed she noticed you moving, since she looked away first and headed back to her tent, not even uttering a greeting or looking back. Your shoulders sag, clearly dejected at her avoidance.
‘I can’t be like this all day. We have to move forward.’ You think to yourself, quickly shaking the feeling and standing up straighter, putting on the front that you were not bothered by it.
“It seems like she has no intent on leaving today. I suppose we could drag Astarion with us.” You jest lightly to Karlach. Wanting to leave sooner, you readjust your pack and look for Astarion. Thankfully, he seemed to have read your mind and was already in his gear. You look for Gale briefly and see that he is equally as ready. With a nod, the four of you leave camp and begin the day.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
“Ugh, I feel I can sleep for days,” Karlach groans as she stretches her back. Letting out another exhausted sigh, she falls back. You nod in agreement, the weariness in your bones causing them to ache slightly more than they already were. While trying to stretch your back, you find it more difficult than normal, as you are in your armor. It was a long day, numerous battles and hours of walking. If there were only a handful of fights, you could handle that, however, it felt like it was battle after battle. The mere thought of the battles caused the bruises on your body to feel more prominent. Plopping down on a nearby tree trunk, you let your body relax as much as it can while sitting up. You look to Gale was already cooking, somehow already in his evening wear. The smell of the food made its way into your stomach, causing it to rumble. Looking around, you notice you can’t find Astarion. Assuming that he is relaxing in his tent, you sigh and lean back, still trying to find relief.
However, you begin to become restless. Somehow through the aches and pain, you feel the need for fresh air, which is odd for being outside. Not being able to sit and just wait, you get up and begin to head to your tent. Before you head inside, you turn to Karlach and Gale.
“You two can stay at camp tomorrow. Take the day to rest. I could bring Wyll and Lae’zel instead.” I say to Karlach and Gale. Gale doesn’t comment, rather focused on the meal he was making than what I was saying. I hear a faint groan, which you assume is Astarion. You begin to feel slightly bad, that he can’t get a day of rest, however with the avoidance from Shadowheart, there is bound to be one person who has to travel a little more.
‘Hopefully, she will get over whatever hindrance she is dealing with…hope I didn’t do anything wrong.’ You think before shaking the thought. ‘I shouldn’t think about it too much.’
You rid your thoughts altogether, of what happened, what is, and what was to come; choosing not to think on it too much, you begin to take off your armor. It took you longer than normal, the aches in your body causing you to slow down. Eventually, you were in your evening wear; sitting on the floor, staring at your feet blankly. You didn’t notice how much the day had affected you, to the point you just wanted to seek the warmth of another person and just fall into the deepest sleep you could. However, the person’s warmth you wanted seemingly wanted nothing to do with you. You let out another deep sigh, kick off your boots, and turn to your bed, not wanting to eat.
It seemed that no one noticed that you decided to turn in early for the night, or if they did no one came into your tent. You felt a tad grateful that no one came, feeling that no one's company would be enough. You lie in your tent, trying to sleep. However, no matter how much you slowed your breathing and kept your eyes closed, your body could not find itself to relax. With a sigh, you decide to give up on sleeping and leave your tent. Hastily throwing on your boots and mentally wishing it was late enough, you emerge from your tent and see that the camp is empty. The fire from supper was completely burnt out, and the large pile of dishes piled up near the lake camp was showing that everyone had indeed turned in for the night. Turning your head once again, you see Scratch and the owlbear cub huddled next to one another, sleeping soundly. You smile softly, your heart melting that they are bonding so well with one another. Trying to be as quiet as possible, you leave the camp and head into the nearby forest.
In a moment in time when there were so many new feelings and unfamiliar things around you; from being abducted by illithids, seeing the hells, waking up in what seemed to be the middle of nowhere, and having an uninvited guest in your brain, the forest provided comfort. No matter where in Faerûn, trees will always be trees, the dirt path made by countless feet that trekked forward in their journeys, made you feel less alone and confused. Walking over bushes, you decide to mindlessly wander, not worrying about the pain in your feet or where you end up. There weren’t many sounds in the dead of night, other than the wind that shook the leaves and bushes, the distinct animal noises of nocturnal animals, and your footsteps. You don’t pay much attention to it, however, rather you choose to blank entirely. The traveling and battles from earlier in the day left you mentally exhausted, as well as physically but that was neither here nor there since you were always physically tired or sore, your mind was left both restless yet still. An internal paradox that you found yourself in recently. Much of how your relationship with Shadowheart was a paradox in itself. While it was difficult to say that you were in love with the mysterious woman, especially since it had not been too long since you two had met, it wasn’t hard to conclude that a part of you consistently yearned for her. Desired to hear the sound of her voice, to feel her gaze upon you, to comb her hair as it rested upon her shoulders, to have her touch you in ways that no other before has. A part of you dreamed that she could one day let you into her mind, into the deepest darkest parts of her mind, where you would find solace there as just she wormed her way into your mind. A constant plague that you could not rid of, not that you wanted to.
However, that was the lingering problem that shifted the foundation of what could be. The beliefs that you both hold make you enemies by default. The very belief that a sharran and a selunite even being friendly was unheard of. Nevertheless, you befriended one, hell you even kissed one, something that younger you would stress about, wondering if you were turning to the Lady of Loss. Not that you would, you find that the beliefs of your dear moon maiden held were truly a resonate of your own, and you weren’t saying that since you grew up with it. From your very limited understanding of the Lady of Loss, you found the very idea of wallowing in the dark with no hope seemed very unhealthy. From what Shadowheart told you, which was also as limited since her memory was removed, it seemed that Shar was lying to her followers, saying that she was easing their pain when in reality she was just adding to it.
‘How could she worship a goddess that causes her to be left in the dark and pain,’ You wonder, looking at the ground as you walk and begin to pursue your lips. Eventually, you begin to slow down, coming to a full stop at the texture change from under your shoes. You look up and see a lake, one that is possibly connected to camp, as the moon dances on the water, light ripples distorting the image. Breathing in the sight, you consider undressing and wandering into the water, before shaking the thought. While it was tempting, you find that it would be a hassle putting your clothes back on. Instead, you kick off your sandals and roll up the legs of your pants, and wander to the water before seating yourself down, just far enough to where your butt won’t get too wet. There you sat for a while, taking in the sight, smell, and sounds of the area around you. You feel your mind slow down, your eyes getting heavy at the comfort of the water as it rocked and kissed higher on your calf. Just as you were about to leave yourself completely vulnerable to the wilderness and let your mind wander into the night sky, a voice rang through your ears.
“Well, I certainly did not expect you to be so far from camp.”
Your eyes shot up, startling you awake. You don’t know who you were expecting when you turn your head, however, the last person that comes to mind is Shadowheart. Her hair was down from its chain and braid as it rested over her shoulder and draped to her mid-back. With that being the only outlier, Shadowheart looked the same as how she did the night before. Even though you wanted to say something, your mind was too slow to react, so you just looked at her. Embarrassed that you could not utter a sound, you turn your attention back to the lake. She chuckles, a noise that reaches your ears and tickles them ever so slightly, and you feel your ears and face get warm. Focusing solely on the lake and the reflection of the moon, you could only listen as she shuffled behind you. Far too nervous to catch her gaze, but still nipping with curiosity at what she is doing, you look at her from the corner of your eyes.
Not paying you any mind, she sat next to you, albeit a bit away from the water, which you assume was because she was not in favor of getting wet. Nervous that she will catch your gaze, you look away once more as the wind starts to softly blow. The both of you sit there in silence, unaware of what Shadowheart is thinking and you are far too nervous to break the silence, lest you say the wrong thing.
‘Truthfully, what is the wrong thing to say?’ You mentally quip to yourself, ‘Rather…what is the right thing to say…Should I break the silence? Does Shadowheart have something to say? Why is she also out here? Did she foll-’
“Was..there any particular reason you left camp?” Shadowheart asks, her voice stopping your thoughts. You look at her, a stunned look on your face. You were astonished at the fact that she was actively engaging in conversation rather than avoiding it. She is facing forward but looking at you from the corner of her eyes. Feeling your face get warm at her stare, you turn your head once again.
“I just..wanted some fresh air…” You murmur, bringing your knees closer to your chest and hugging them. You didn’t think to elaborate further, finding your reasoning sound enough. If you were completely honest with yourself, you were being slightly petty due to her avoidance. Shadowheart, who seemingly accepted the reasoning, sighed to herself, in a way that could be depicted as relief. Although you found it odd, you didn’t bring attention to it, rather resting your head on your knees. You both sat in silence, the sounds of the surrounding area being the only thing that stopped the moment from being dead quiet. Once again, content with the peace, you feel your eyes drooping once more.
“You didn’t come out here to meet anyone?” Shadowheart asks, breaking the silence and waking you up once more. Confused by her question and unsure if you even heard her correctly, you turn your body and look at her. She was actually looking at you, her head turned in your direction. Although it might have been your mind playing tricks on you or wishful thinking, it seemed that her eyes were a green of jealousy. Nonetheless, she blinks and it seems that she hid whatever emotion she was harboring.
“What? Why would I come out here to meet someone?” You ask her, as she shrugs and turns her head away from you, looking at the lake again. Thinking you weren’t getting an answer in response, your mind begins to wonder with various questions. Trying to make sense of your thoughts, you let one slip past the barriers of your lips.
“Why have you been avoiding me?” You ask, your voice much softer than you wanted it to be. Sounding much more hurt than you wanted to reveal, your mind and voice wanting to show her how her avoidance pained you. Though you hate to admit it, you are sure your face is showing that pain just as much as your voice did. She doesn’t move, mimicking that of a statute; Neither do you, not to turn to look at her, in fear of her seeing your face and you never getting an answer. You both sit there for a moment, your question leaving you feeling like you just shouted into the void and expecting an answer back.
After a moment, she lets out a breath, seemingly holding it in. As if she was not expecting that question and didn’t want to answer it.
“I do not think we can be together.”
Upon hearing her words, you feel as if your very soul was de-rooted so violently, that it took the very foundation of who you were down. The void answered, with a truth that you avoided and did not want. The truth that haunted you after you kissed her under the moonlight and the stars away from the party. Plagued your mind when you would think of who you were and who she was. It seemed to have shattered every thought, every wish, and every dream you had of holding her and that she hold you in return. With all of the shattering going on in your mind, you cannot utter anything else other than a simple, “Oh.”
“It’s just…” Shadowheart trails off, trying to find her words. She seems to struggle for a bit, so you decide to make it easier for her and leave.
With the hurt of your body and heart and the threat of tears in your eyes, you stand up. Not wanting your not-lover to see you cry, you quickly wipe the tears that were threatening to fall out and sniffle. Washing off your feet of any sand, you place your sandals on and head back to camp, not caring that you are leaving her behind. Not noticing Shadowheart pulled her knees to her chest, as she rested her head into her arms. Unknowing of the inner turmoil that was going on between her mind and her heart; the war between her sprouting care and affection for you and the dedication she has to her faith.
The way back was agonizing, your heart heavy with hurt and your mind yelling for sleep while also overthinking every bit of interaction with Shadowheart. The more you walked, the feeling of more tears threatened to fall and let you shed every ounce of heartache and misery. Picking up the pace, you cannot help but think about your reaction.
Surely you could have handled this way better in theory, but in practice? Was Shadowheart so deeply rooted into your mind, that the mere rejection shattered you whole? Did you crave her affection so badly that even the cold sharp end of a knife stab would have felt better than this? No matter how frigid and distant she was, how did you not lose an ounce of interest in her? Would you betray your goddess, just to be within Shadowheart’s gaze?
It seemed that as you asked more questions to yourself, the lack of answers seemed to spiral into more questions. However, you knew that you would never be able to answer the questions that spiraled in your mind. Eventually, you stumbled upon the camp, seeing Astarion was the only one up and about. His eyes turned to you, gaze softening at the sight of you rather than a rabid animal or an enemy trying to attack in the night. Upon seeing your expression, one of anguish and with tears already falling, his face morphs into concern for a moment before blanking.
“Did something happen, o’ fearless leader?” He asked, using the nickname he used to tease you once you were bestowed the mantle of leader. Maybe calling you your nickname was his way of comforting you. Not that you stood around long enough to find out. Rather than answering him, you decide to go straight into your tent. He makes a noise, one that sounds like he wants you to stop, but he doesn’t move from his spot.
Once inside your tent, you head to your sleeping bag and tuck yourself under it. Not wanting to wake everyone, but also needing to let out your emotions, you opt to cry silently into your hands. Trying whatever way to muffle your sobs as they wracked through your body. Curled up into yourself, you eventually fall into a dreamless sleep.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
Upon waking up, you immediately notice the sunlight is more prominent through your tent's fabric. Finding this odd, you immediately sit up and try to leave your tent as fast as you can. Crawling to the tent flap, you squint your eyes at the bright light of the day, noticing that it is far past the normal time you awoke. You look up to confirm your suspicions and see that the sun is most definitely showing it was later in the day, almost to the midpoint of the sky. As you crawled out of the tent, emerging from the cocoon of emotions you barracked yourself in last night, you saw Wyll making his way to you. It took you a bit to stand up fully, while your body was mostly recovering from the longer-than-average rest, it was still sore from the battles and wandering you and your party had been doing these past weeks. The horned man was already in front of you by the time you stood tall, patiently waiting.
“Good morning,” He smiles softly at you. You nod back, your mood still somewhat in shambles due to your previous night's adventure. Rather, you had more pressing matters to attend to, such as-
“Why did no one wake me up?”
Wyll doesn’t say anything but stares at you with the same look.
“Astarion told us what happened last night,” He starts. Afraid of where this was going, you feel your heart and stomach plummet through the ground, possibly landing in the Underdark somewhere. Wyll seems to take notice of the mild panic on your face and corrects himself. “Rather, he told us you came back to camp a wreck. He told us he was unsure what could have distressed you so. Karalach and Gale were the ones to suggest that we leave you to rest.”
With his explanation, you start to relax a little bit. Of course, Asartion would tell everyone. Though you know you couldn’t be too angry at him, rather fond of the fact that he was worried. It warmed you a bit that even though the vampire elf kept his emotions to himself for the most part, he ditched that belief for just a moment and expressed worry. You make a mental note to thank him and work towards a better friendship with him. Pushing that thought to the back of your mind along with any residue of yesterday evening, you smile softly at Wyll.
“I appreciate that, thank you.” Your voice sounds way more stable than you thought it would be. “Though, in the future, I would appreciate being woken up, even if there is concern for me. After all, we don’t know how much time we have before the whole tadpole thing turns us into illithids.”
Wyll doesn’t say much, just hums and nods, before being called by Lae’zel. He whips his head before turning back to you with a shy smile, one that you return with your smile and shoo him away. He scampers to Lae’zel, leaving you alone still standing in front of your tent. You sigh and relax your body a bit before you head to go to the stash of food the camp keeps. After not eating much throughout the previous day, it was starting to catch up with you with your stomach growling. At the stash, you begin to look for something quick to fuel you before you attempt to cook anything. Finding nothing that piqued your interest, you decided to head into the forest to see if there was anything edible. As you were heading to leave the camp alone, you passed Karalach, whose back was to you. You step towards her and begin to call out to her, however before you can utter a sound you step on a branch, alerting her to your presence. Turning to the source, Karlach seems to move away from what-who she was interacting with. Just beyond Karalach was Shadowheart, with a look you cannot describe. You spend a while looking at her, so many mixed feelings rushing to you faster than anything you can describe. Before you got swept away in the tidal waves of emotions, Karlach’s voice snapped you out of the trance you were in.
“Hey, soldier! How are you holdin’ up?” While her face had a big smile on it, it also had a look of concern. Turning your attention to the buff tiefling, you put on a strained smile before answering her.
“Better now that I’ve had more than 4 hours of sleep.”
“Really?” Her shock was evident, as she shifted slightly so the front of her body was facing you. She makes a glance to Shadowheart, something you feel you cannot stomach to do at the moment. You nod and respond.
“Yeah…I was just about to head off.”
“All alone?” Shadowheart says for the first time. Her voice rings in your ears as you feel your knees go weak for a moment. You cannot help but want to ignore her, to give her a taste of how she has made you feel; however, you decide against it, being in front of someone else.
‘That doesn’t mean I have to look at her.’ You reason to yourself before looking to the forest, trying not to make it obvious that you were avidly avoiding looking at her. “I wasn’t going to go far. Just wanted something light.”
Nothing is said for a moment before Shadowheart speaks again.
“I’ll go wi-”
“There is no need. I can go alone.” You cut her off, your voice coming off more harshly than you expected it to. However you couldn’t find it in yourself at that moment to apologize, rather you say your quick goodbyes and leave. In your absence was a puzzled Karlach at the thick tension between yourself and Shadowheart. She doesn’t say much, still feeling the tension, quickly making up an excuse before leaving. In her wake was a Shadowheart who was staring off in the direction you took off in. Left in the shadow that she herself had cast upon you.
However this time, the reason for it was known, and she had no one to blame but herself.
#shadowheart x tav#shadow x reader#im going crazy#this took forever#anyways#shadowheart is bad a feelings#like really bad#angst???#at least it's my attempt at it#☾adoniswrites
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Time for more Seperated Leo Human AU! (I really need a name good lord-)
As promised, we now get to look into Leon's lore! He's a funky little guy, and shockingly well adjusted!
Lore drop under the cut!
His full name is Leonardo Tomás Esposito, and he is quite proud of it! He picked it out himself when he was about 10 years old, and he's happy to say that he still loves it to this day! (Fun fact: all of the names have double meanings to them hehe)
But anyways, his Mamà is in fact, NOT Big Mama (but it was a solid guess!), her name is actually Mia Esposito! (+10 Fandom points to anyone who can guess her full first name) She is a full time nurse and used to travel around the several NYC hospitals as an on-call nurse, but once Leon was born she stuck her roots down to one and has been there ever since!
She's actually an incredibly interesting character (with her very own arc!) with a lot of depth and meaning. She grew up with her Puerto Rican mother and Italian father, but after a series of misfortunes and despair, she ended up immigrating to NYC to start a new life for herself. About 10 years later she began raising a baby all on her own as a single immigrant mother in New York City (Sound familiar?). Whenever Leon asks about his father she tells him that she doesn't remember his Papá, only that he had the same almond-shaped brown eyes as her baby boy....
But ultimately she doesn't remember him hahaha maybe Leon should stop asking questions and get back to studying!
(Leon knows that she's hiding something, but ultimately he doesn't care about his father that much, he just assumes that he did something to hurt his Mamá and wants nothing to do with the man at all)
Leon and his Mamá are very close, they're very similar to Percy and Sally Jackson from the PJO series, and they would definitely fight God for each other.
Leon was raised very much with the mentality of "It takes a village" and has many aunts and uncles and relatives in the hospital staff that he considers family. Mia couldn't really afford childcare as Leon grew up, as it often came down to food or rent for the month. The hospital staff saw this and absolutely adored little baby Esposito, so they were more than happy to raise him alongside their own children. Mia owes her life to this staff and considers them her family through and through.
As he grew up, Leon saw all his favorite people as nurses and doctors and considered each and every one of them heros. He decided very early on that he wanted to be a doctor when he grew up, and after a terrible injury when he was 14 it cemented the fact that he wanted to be a pediatric surgeon, to help kids just like him.
But the issue is, Leon and Mia definitely do not have enough to cover medical school for Leon on a single nurse's income, even with all the jobs that Mia and Leon have taken over the years. That's why Leon NEEDS the athletic and valedictorian scholarship, without it he won't be able to achieve his dream. The only thing standing in his way is.....
THE HAMATOS
(Except Michael, he's a gift)
Leon is willing to do ANYTHING to get those scholarships, but his Mamá always reminds him that the Hamatos might need it just as badly as he does, and that's about all that's keeping him from REALLY doing anything to hurt/sabotage them. His Mamá has instilled a really strict moral code into his psyche and he won't actually do anything to them, he just....really wants to give his Mamá a better life, one she deserves.
Although, he is kinda curious as to why the Hamato brothers have the same eyes as him......
First // Previous // Next
Whew! That was pretty much just a really intense ramble, sorry there was no actual structure to that, I just really wanted to talk about my Leon lore! Props to anyone who figures out the significance of all the names, and to clear up any confusion, Mia is Half Puerto Rican, half Italian, and Leon is 1/4 Puerto Rican, 1/4 Italian, and 1/2 Japanese (but shhh he doesn't know that yet) and obviously he's got that amazing vitiligo (shout out to anyone and everyone with vitiligo, y'all are amazing and beautiful)
Thanks for reading my lore dump, see ya next time for..... huh idk yet, vote ig
See ya next time!
#Leonardo rottmnt#Leo rottmnt#Rise Leo#Leonardo#separated leo au#seperated au#Mia LMA#Leon LMA#rottmnt#rottmnt leo#rise of the tmnt#tmnt#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles#Tmnt#rise of tmnt#teenage mutant ninja turtles#rise donnie#rise mikey#rise of the turtles#rise raph#trans leo#transmasc leo#trans leonardo
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Lots of peoples irl think an immortal soul/eternal essence/unforgettable memories is/are a defining characteristic of humans.
cont. "I mean to say that to those people it isn't so weird for humans to persist while the inhuman fade with their material being."
--
I know, I think that's most people. Humans tend to intuit some kind of extraphysical existence, the same way we intuit a flat earth and free will and a sun that moves across the sky - if we don't investigate all this and learn any different. I don't personally see how such a phenomenon is possible when we know that consciousness and indeed everything we are is produced by our brain. When the brain dies, we go black like the light on my ceiling fan when I flick the power switch off. We don't ask where the light went. It's just gone. Wolf's not still flailing around somewhere trying to avoid flung poop from an angry monkey when I end sekiro.exe.
I do understand the intuition though. When my dog died and I was carrying her out to the car to go to the doggie crematorium, her body was so shockingly pliant, heavy, and suddenly empty. It was like she'd left it and gone somewhere else. She didn't go with her body out to the car at all, she was just laying in my room behind my desk chair, still. It felt like that for weeks.
A lot of Unsounded's cosmology is the result of me wondering what the consequences would be if there really was extraphysical conscious existence. Like, there are so many versions of you. Which one would be eternal? Would your consciousness and memories at the time of death lift off you in one intact blob, or would everything break apart into all the selves you were? Your five year old self has no idea who your fifty year old self is, and vice versa, more or less. I don't see how they could stay together. If your five year old self simply doesn't get to be immortal like your death self, what about if you die with terrible dementia or a brain injury, would that just be you forever? Or does it roll back to a previous version? Where is that previous version coming from? Are there back-ups? So your child selves DO persist? What about all your trauma? Do you have to remember it all forever? Maybe you have no memories at all and are just an empty consciousness. Is there much satisfaction in being the equivalent of a disembodied houseplant for all eternity? Can you make new memories without a brain? How would you do anything without it? Or eyes or any senses?! AAAA!
Of course the simplest answer to all this is there's no reason to think it's a concern, the whole concept is just something we intuit incorrectly. Like the inak, I'm pretty cool with that. Because the alternative is really scary to think about.
Duane imagines Ssael seeing the khert and the eels and the squishes and all that, and deciding immediately that the Gods had to go.
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can you do one where the protagonist gets overstimulated and the villain helps them deal with it? if you're still taking asks that is. I love your work so much and have missed seeing you! thanks!
They took a deep breath. “It’s called overstimulation. Maybe you’ve heard of it.”
“From the noise?”
It was mostly the noise. Protagonist gestured around them. “From everything. I feel like that should be obvious.”
Stupid, stupid. Way to antagonize the guy with the gun,
Villain paused, considering. “Do you have earplugs?”
Uh oh. Red alert. Not good. Not good.
“I forgot them today,” Protagonist said, trying to focus on not snapping or biting or hitting their head on the ground. “Bad luck.”
“I have extras,” Villain said smoothly, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a pair that looked just like theirs,
“That’s- that’s-” oh, screw it- “That’s a bad idea, for me,” they said.
Villain quirked an eyebrow. Shockingly, he looked genuine. “Why?”
“I won’t be much of a conversationalist if I put those in,” they said, trying very hard for a wry smile. It didn’t feel natural. This keyed up, nothing felt ‘natural’. It was never this bad.
“You can still hear me.”
“Yes, but- well-”
“It’ll be easier to keep up a conversation if you’re not resisting the urge to kill me,” Villain said. “As fun as it is to watch.”
Protagonist clenched their jaw. Their ears were ringing and their head hurt and there were pebbles on the ground under their hands. “If I,” they started, rubbing their hands against the fabric of their pants, “If I put those in, it’ll stop the noise and I’ll- crash. No more conversing for me.”
“Crash. Explain.”
“I’ll. I won’t be here anymore.”
“You’ll freeze?”
“No, no, I’ll just be- mindless.” They cringed at the last word. This was a terrible idea and they couldn’t stop themself from spilling everything. “I can’t think, or talk or- or do anything but listen and do, if I can understand what I’m hearing. It’s rote.”
“So you’re saying,” Villain said slowly, “that if you put these on right now, you’ll quit talking back?”
Protagonist reached up to pull at a strand of their hair. Anything to focus on other than that voice. “Yes,” they managed eventually, not even worrying about the safety of lying. “But-” there was something they needed to say that was important, something to stop Villain, and even though they could see the shape of it in their head and feel the words in their mouth nothing came out. They squeezed their hand into a fist, nails biting crescents into the palm of their hand. “I thought you liked having someone to entertain you.”
“Don’t worry about me right now,” Villain said. “Put them in.”
They stared at the ground.
Villain caught their chin- skin on their skin, hot and they could feel it and it needed to stop- and pulled them into eye contact. “Put them in.”
They couldn’t think. Why were the lights so loud? And Villain’s eyes… relentless.
I’m gonna crash anyway. May as well control it.
Protagonist took the plugs gingerly, trying not to touch Villain’s hand. Tilting their head from one side to the other, they put one earplug in and then the other, settling them.
Their tension didn’t fade immediately, but it stopped growing. The noises and the lights and the feelings stalled in their mind, and settled. Everything paused, and went sluggish.
Villain was still staring at them, but they didn’t feel like parsing out the expression on their face. Or really even looking at them.
“You can hear me?” Villain said.
They didn’t say anything. It didn’t really matter. Villain said not to worry…
“Stand up,” Villain said.
Still staring into space, Protagonist stood up. The movements were slow and jerking, like they were pulling their body upright with marionette strings.
I made a… mistake. Mistake. Shouldn’t have done that. Mistake- they tried to grasp onto the thought, pull it back and figure out a solution, but it slipped away. What?
I want to sleep.
Villain was saying something. With some effort, Protagonist dragged their eyes up to Villain’s shoulders. They weren’t doing faces right now.
“-did warn me- you’re totally out of it, aren’t you? Like a lightbulb.”
They wanted. They wanted something. They opened their mouth- and didn’t say anything.
Hands steadied their shoulders, and Protagonist leaned into the warmth. It felt so good. They wanted more.
Something inside their chest reared up, pressing danger into their nerves. They shivered, and the arms wrapped around them, holding them against something warm and solid. A chest. It rumbled with laughter.
“...do this more often,” the voice said, muffled and distant.
They shook their head, squeezing their eyes shut. What were they so worried about before?
Something lifted up their legs, then they were being cradled against that warmth. What were they afraid of? They could just go to sleep…
Danger, something whispered. Protagonist didn’t pay it any attention. They were already half asleep, cradled in the Villain’s arms.
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Something always confused me about the messages Cayde left to his 'killers'. Like, while he could be annoying at times, I just don't see, say, Ikora or the Guardian killing him.
Could you clear it up for me?
not sure what prompted this ask, but i would LOVE to talk about Cayde let's go
to me, the thing about Cayde that a shockingly small amount of people seem to understand is that this guy is deeply self-loathing. the best way i've ever seen it summed up is "he was a terrified man who was mostly terrified of himself." (you can read that post here btw.)
Cayde blames and guilts himself for so much. Andal becoming the Vanguard, Andal dying, Taniks not staying dead, making up Ace and his Queen, not remembering Ace and his Queen, probably the Red Legion attack on the Last City (i think it might have been written somewhere that satellites/security was his job, but don't quote me on that) - he's constantly running away from his problems and responsibilities, and when he isn't, he's doing everything he can to try and fix them himself (e.g., one-man suicide mission plan to kill Ghaul.)
moreover, his entire jokester persona is so deeply ingrained into his identity that he genuinely doesn't know if anyone even knows him. in his message to Ikora he says he wasn't even sure if she ever liked him, and Ikora confides to the Guardian that she considered him one of her closest friends.
as such, i think it's completely reasonable within his character for him to assume, somehow, that there could be a reason for Ikora or the Guardian to kill him. he doesn't consider himself integral to the Vanguard "team," and, by extension, to the City. he would like them to like him, of course, but even if they like the lax, aloof, jokester persona he puts on - he doesn't know if they like him. he doesn't even seem confident that anyone would like the real him.
so, if they had to kill him for whatever reason - "the good of the City," because he messed something up, because he did something terrible, some kind of Darkness-corruption (him or them), maybe even if he was just that insufferable and they'd finally had enough - he thinks of himself so lowly that he wouldn't really be able to blame them. (in most of his audios he even sort of has a reason planned - he pissed off Eris badly enough, Zavala had to kill him for the good of the City, the Guardian saved him on Nessus so he "owed it to them anyway" - i think that he carries so much guilt and exhaustion, especially with regards to everything that happened to Andal, that, on some level, he feels like he deserves it.)
so, in regards to your question, sure, WE can't imagine Ikora or the Guardian killing him, but we are the audience, and Cayde doesn't have any idea as to how anyone else might feel about him when the chips are down.
(in fact, life on the line, if someone had to die, i doubt Cayde would even let it be anyone in the City but him. i have a whole post planned about Forsaken + themes of sacrifice, but his whole "Not if I get there first," followed by personally sailing down into a deadly explosion (even with a Ghost) is very indicative of this and a much broader sort of self-sacrificial-ness, but that's... a much longer post.)
#i wrote this in like 20 minutes and im REALLY fucjing tired so i hope it makes sense but#i think he just. finds it so easy to blame himself. it started with ace and only got so much worse with andal#destiny 2#cayde 6#cayde-6#long post#analysis#mine
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Anyway, Jinx random wartime q!hgduo spitball ramblings/ headcanons/ off-the-cuff analysis ig cuz I like thinking about them ^_^
I think they didn't meet at the start of the games but maybe a few months to a year or two in- I'd say either when Cellbit is about 15 or close to being 15.
By that time both Bad and the currently nameless teenager both had some sort of reputation as dangerous, ruthless, and maybe even downright cruel killers on the battlefield. One way or another they ended up becoming partners much to the horror of everyone else.
For Cellbit he'd recognize that sticking by Bad increased his chances of survival by a LOT and this dude doesn't even get mad when he takes bites out of him which is great.
For Bad I feel like he could've gone through the games alone with not much trouble but staying solo gets stale and lonely after while- he'd have teamed up with other players in the past but they all either died or left him eventually- he thinks it's gonna be no different with Cellbit but is pleasantly surprised when he's proven wrong.
And boy was that a good thing, because Bad has a bad habit of getting attached! He fed this stray cat a few times and now it's following after him and Bad doesn't have the heart to shoo the poor beast away!
Although Bad has much more experience and is vastly older he respects how much fighting skill his teenage partner has- he can hold his own on the battlefield- which is why he doesn't view him as his 'child' or a dependent but somewhere in-between an equal and a protege. Cellbit deferred to his leadership during fights, but theirs still a mutual respect between them.
Later on their bond would end up in a sort of vague area in the middle of a triangle between mentor & protege, equals, and something dangerously close to familial.
I find it hard to doubt that there were times when Bad would be shockingly reminded that his partner is in fact still a child... and perhaps times where Cellbit would find himself relying on Bad the ways a child would their parent or older sibling... Maybe at some point letting his funny little friend eat his flesh or spending resources healing him became less about keeping him healthy for the next battle and more about keeping him alive just a little bit longer- Maybe sticking by this powerful ally became less about pragmatism and more about companionship.
That said, as far as Cellbit's concerned he never had a family, as far as Bad's concerned his children are Dapper and Pomme... Cellbit's all grown-up now and so much time has passed that they see one another as something more akin to just 'old friends' who know what the other is capable of and thus know better then to underestimate each other... but I feel as they spend more time with each other again the echoes of the dynamic they once had become more tangible- especially given the major toll of the eggs being missing. Cellbit knows he can turn to Bad if he needs him and Bad will look out for Cellbit when he can even as he is (quite ltierally) falling apart.
Maybe sometimes even now he still can't help but see that nameless kid when he looks at Cellbit.
I honestly don't think Bad regrets the way he guided Cellbit during the war- nor do I believe that Cellbit harbors any resentment over Bad's influence in his life- even if it's left him with the same sort of fucked morals his former guardian has, his terrible self-sacrificial tendencies, and who knows what else. The reality of their situation during the games could never allow for softer forms of kindness- there was no time for them to be a 'family' and no time to think about what happens 'next' after this is all over. Bad couldn't teach Cellbit how to live, but he could teach him how to survive.
I haven't really settled on what I think happened at the end of the 'war' when they part ways... but sometimes I do think about how in the actual video Cellbit dies at the very end and man that can be interpreted in a lot of interesting ways- like obviously in qsmp canon Cellbit survives the war but it's still fun to take that into consideration!
Anyway, you know those images of predator animals with blood covered on their faces after eating a tasty meal- yeah that's them during the hunger games to me LOL
... Also does anyone else find it really funny that Foolish's adopted son and Badboyhalo's protege ended up getting married like- something about that is just really funny to me... Also I'm surprised no one has done anything about how the dude taken in by a totem of undying found love with the guy who was guided by a grim reaper like- I feel like there's some cool potential there!
Ty for reading all of that- or skimming it that's cool too! I just wanna say despite liking q!Bad and q!Cellbit a lot I do NOT consider myself to be super knowledgeable about them as characters, I just have a major soft spot for dynamics like theirs and wanted to ramble LOL so um yeah:
#long post#qsmp#hgduo#gossipduo#badboyhalo#cellbit#jinx ramblings#i feel nervous making this post but I've been wanting to post about my takes on their dynamic for awhile now lol
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Forbidden Love
A Jemily One-Shot
Written by: lilliejareau
Author's Note: this was originally going to be for my 1k celebration post but I unfortunately wasn't able to finish writing on time. But I have finished today and I hope you all enjoy this, though it is quite emotional.
Please be kind because I have not posted anything I have written publicly since 2021/2022 because I am very self-critical of my work. Thank you and enjoy! (ps, I don't have gifs and stuff, sorry!)
Word Count: 1,743
(I know it's pretty long, but I got so into it!)
Summary: When JJ marries the love of her life, Emily comes to accept the fact that she has to let hers go.
—
"Are you alright?"
Emily inhaled sharply, startled out of her thoughts. It was JJ who asked the question, standing there in her beautiful bridal dress, reminding Emily of what she lost. Emily's head tilted slightly, her lips pulled upward but not quite showing her teeth.
"Why wouldn't I be?"
JJ did a sort of smile. "You're out here all alone? I figured you'd gone inside like the rest of us."
The dancing had ended moments ago, everyone had gone inside to enjoy the rest of the party as it simmered down. Everyone except Emily who had lingered out on the dance floor with a glass of champagne thinking about the memories she had with the team over the years. She thought about JJ and the 'what-ifs'. She was so incredibly happy for and proud of JJ for finding her true love and having everything she deserved. Having hidden feelings for JJ didn't stop Emily from being delighted for her.
Emily had never loved, hadn't truly loved until she met JJ. By the time she understood and accepted that love, accepted who she was, and what that meant, it was much too late. Her heart ached terribly as the reality set in that she should no longer love JJ. It wasn't fair for either of them. JJ had Will and for years, Emily watched the couple fall in love and develop their relationship into more than what Emily had ever had with somebody before.
Yet, even after all that time, all those years, her forbidden love for JJ never really went away.
Emily shrugged in response to JJ's observation, trying to come off as nonchalant but when she looked up to meet those blue eyes she'd fallen for long ago, she knew that JJ could tell something was up with her. She cursed herself for not hiding it better.
"What's going on in that head of yours?" JJ inquired, eyes slightly narrowed but showed nothing but concern for her friend. Reaching out, she went to take Emily's hand in her own but the brunette pulled away, seemingly against her own will. A strange reaction to a familiar gesture. Something was wrong. "Emily?"
"JJ, I..." Emily tore her eyes away from those blue ones she'd fallen for all those years ago. She knew what she felt for JJ was wrong, that what she was about to say had a possibility of hurting more than keeping it bottled up.
"Em, what is it? You can tell me anything, you know that."
"I love you." the words were regretful and rushed, and one quick breath released what she had bottled up for years. There truly was no going back now. Before JJ could respond, Emily held out a hand to stop her. "You don't have to say anything, I'm not asking you to, but I do love you. I think I always have."
A very long silence filled the air, not only tension but something else that neither could name. A moment and a breath of composure later, JJ's shockingly calm voice filled the silence.
"I know, Emily."
Emily's heart beat rapidly in her chest. "You know?"
JJ gave a slow nod. "Back then, God, I was so blind. I had feelings for you, Emily. I did. But by the time I realized what those feelings were... It took me years to finally understand what I felt for you was love." JJ's eyes shone with emotion and Emily's guilt only grew. 'But I love Will. God, I love Will. And Henry, too. They're my family, Emily, and what we had, what we felt back then...it's gone now. I do have love for you. I love you so, very much, just not in the way you want me to. Not anymore."
Emily knew this would be the rational outcome the moment she opened her mouth and said those words, but that didn't mean it wouldn't hurt. It hurt so terribly, even if she knew and expected JJ's response to be nothing short of rejection.
"I know," she tearfully admitted, voice quiet, barely a whisper. She couldn't look at JJ, her eyes focused on the previously forgotten glass of Dom Perignon she held. She felt like an idiot for admitting feelings she should have never spoken aloud, to begin with. And on JJ's wedding day nonetheless. What was she thinking? The relief of releasing bottled-up feelings wasn't enough to overshadow the guilt.
"I love him, Em, he's my everything. That's my truth and I know this should be the part where I say that I wish I could change that, but I don't. I wouldn't have Henry, my life with Will, I wouldn't have any of what I have now. I know this hurts you, especially coming from me right now, but it's too late for anything more than what you and I already have. You're still my best friend, Emily, and you will always be. That's not going to change."
Emily nodded and finally met JJ's eyes again as a tear slid down her cheek. "I didn't tell you this in hopes of some sort of fairy tale ending. I love you, yes, but you're right, we're best friends. Nothing more. We had our chance and never saw it, it's over now. I just couldn't keep it in any longer. I've been wanting to tell you for a long time. I honestly didn't plan on telling you tonight, I guess it's just the perfect timing, huh?" Emily rolled her eyes at her poor attempt at lightening the mood and shook her head.
JJ didn't say anything, and it was probably better that way. Emily didn't expect an answer. The blonde simply gave her friend a sad smile, leaned in, and hugged her tightly. Emily embraced her back almost immediately. This would be their last hug before she left for London; their last moment alone together. It was very emotional for more reasons than the one.
The hug remained as Emily's mind drifted to the eye contact she and JJ held while the bride shared a dance with her new husband. For JJ, that shared eye contact was about Prentiss leaving for London soon, knowing her best friend was moving to an entirely different country shortly after that very night. But for Emily, it meant so much more. She'd lost her and for good this time. It was over and as painful as it was, it was for the best. JJ had a happy family, a husband, and a beautiful little boy.
It had once been a dream of Emily's that she would settle down and have a family of her own, a husband or a wife, a child or two. But as the years went on, she watched her dream fade away as it became a reality for the woman she loved, the hardest part being that it wasn't with her.
Now she just needed to come to terms with that.
"Thank you for telling me," JJ whispered, holding onto the embrace just a bit longer before pulling away. She could see the pain in those brown eyes and it broke her heart. She studied them longer, seeing the guilt. "I don't want you to feel guilty for admitting what you feel."
"JJ–"
"You don't choose who you fall in love with," JJ interrupted, watching as Emily's eyes recognized those words as they welled up with tears. "Those were your words, Em. I'm glad you told me and maybe in some...parallel universe, we wouldn't be as blind as we were."
"Maybe," Emily softly repeated, bringing up a hand to wipe her cheek. "You're not...disgusted by me?"
"Emily, no," JJ was quick to assure, grasping her friend's hand tightly. "It took courage to tell me what you did, I don't know if I ever could've done it."
"But it's you're wedding day."
"Yeah," JJ nodded. "It is, but what's done is done and there's no changing that. We might not be on the same page when it comes to who we love, but I can assure you that I am proud of you, not disgusted. I don't think I could ever be revolted by you, Em."
"Yeah?" Emily tearfully whispered, looking into JJ's eyes for a sign of reassurance.
JJ smiled. "Yeah."
A touching silence fell upon them as a song played faintly in the background from inside, a familiar melody that both of them knew.
"Em?"
"Hm?"
"Dance with me?"
The brunette was slightly caught off guard by the offer, her lips withholding a response. She had always been so certain that after she told JJ her secret, the blonde wouldn't have wanted to be anywhere near her. Instead, JJ was being as kind of a friend as always and asked Emily to dance. It seemed like such an innocent gesture but to Emily, it was more. It was closure instead of more heartache, and that was something she never expected to have.
"Yes."
JJ took the champagne glass and set it aside, taking Emily's hand in her own and leading them to the center of the dance floor, both women sharing a sad smile as their eyes met, hands interlocked.
This was the end, the end of an era, the end of what could have been, and the beginning of a new journey for both. A journey where Emily would move on, and JJ would remain happy in her family life, content with what she had. Both were certain at that moment that no matter what, their friendship would always be a strong foundation.
For the first time that night, Emily smiled softly, looking into those blue eyes that would be a memory from now on, not a constant reminder. She would no longer look into those eyes and feel her heart ache, her stomach tighten, or that dreadful sense of longing.
JJ was not hers, and she never would be, but at least she could leave with no regrets, the weight off her chest, and a clear conscious. She still loved JJ, and that would never change, but now she knew things she never knew before.
As they held onto each other and slowly swayed to the music, JJ's soft, quiet voice uttered words Emily had longed to hear in a much different manner.
"I love you, Emily. Always."
Emily repeated, her voice just as soft and quiet, words she meant with all her heart. "I love you, JJ. Always."
#jemily#jemily fanfic#jemily fanfiction#jennifer jareau x emily prentiss#emily prentiss x jennifer jareau#jennifer jareau x will lamontagne#emily prentiss#jennifer jareau#emily prentiss fanfiction#jennifer jareau fanfiction#criminal minds#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds fanfic#cm#cm fanfiction#aj cook#paget brewster#one shot#short story#story#writing#jennifer jj jareau#jemily one shot#idiots in love#lesbian emily prentiss#feelings#feels#family
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A short VisGale fic, a sketch of sorts, a concept born of yelling back and forth with @renn-the-rascal, and something I hope to expand on soon. But for now…
Armor
~750 words
“There, can I get you to—“
“Certainly.”
A small exchange, one they’ve repeated every day for at least two tendays, if not more. Sharing a bedroll became sharing a bed, and in that time, Vissenta has relented to let Gale help her with more than just an assuring word and a kiss before leaving. She lifts her arm slightly, relinquishing her grip on the strap of the pauldron to let him take over, securing the piece in place and giving him room to check those down her sides that hold the cuirass.
Like every day for two and a half tendays (because he has counted, every single precious one, if only to feel the shape of that number grow as steadily as his love), they dress to face whatever this quest might throw their way.
But today, it’s not her demons they face, or those of their companions.
It’s not a demon at all.
“With you, I forget my goddess.”
In the stillness of the outer planes, he could hear her every breath, and he heard it catch at his words. And he heard, too, the warmth in her voice, when she answered with words of her own that might have been too harsh otherwise.
“Then forget godhood.”
With her hands free, Vissenta takes the chance to ensure that her hair is pinned up securely; Gale takes the chance to map the small curls that grow askew at her nape, only just covering the jagged, puckered scar that starts at the base of her skull and disappears into a web he’s felt beneath his fingertips, when he cradles her head to melt into her more lingering, passionate kisses.
“I’ll have you as you are.”
He couldn’t quite believe those words; he tried to protest. “Have the best possible version of me.”
She leaned over to kiss him, briefly, and the warmth in her voice turned to fire that burned bright behind her eyes. “I already do.”
“What divine calculus plucked us from the ether,” Gale muses as Vissenta seizes his hands, insistent on helping check that his bracers are secure, “and thrust us together?”
“I’d rather keep the gods out of it,” she says mildly, but her hands tighten around his wrists as she lifts her chin, eyes flicking down to his neck before she raises them to meet his. “After we pay one more a visit, anyway.”
Scars, on the both of them. Scars that, if opened without care, could destroy everything around them.
“You… you’re everything.”
He meant it. He truly meant it. He’d seen her, bloodless, lifeless, as she made the choice to reject a great and terrible thing, a darkly divine right that she foreswore in the face of death.
He could foreswear the same. He owed her as much.
“Is this what being nervous feels like?”
Tucked into an alcove in Stormshore, Gale can hardly look over his shoulder at Mystra’s likeness. He can feel the Weave, pure and perfect, the way open to him at last, and no matter how ready he’s believed himself to be, how long he’s prepared to see her again, he feels woefully vulnerable.
Vissenta reaches up to brush his hair back behind his ear, her fingertips brushing the silver star of the goddess as she does so. “Nervous is good.”
He knows his scowl is unbecomingly petulant. “I hate it.”
All Vissenta does is smile, lifting herself up on her toes to give him a kiss. He feels the slip of her tongue against his lips - always so daring, even sequestered in a temple, and his heart swells with her boldness - before they part, all too soon. “It suits you.”
“Does it?” Gale doesn’t want to let go of her just yet, his knight in all her glorious armor.
She nods, suddenly solemn. “It suits Gale Dekarios.”
“Him again.” Searching her face for the telltale signs of teasing, he comes up short, left only with the sight of heart-aching sincerity. “You’re rather taken with him, aren’t you?”
Nodding again, she cups his cheek in her palm. “What would he want, right now?”
The answer is startlingly quick, shockingly certain. “Forgiveness.”
Vissenta’s smile returns. “I can’t give him that, but…” She tugs at the gold-edged purple kerchief around her neck, pulling it loose, and takes his hand to turn it palm up. There’s just room enough for her to tuck the slip of cloth beneath the bracer around his wrist. “He can have my favor, while he goes to ask.”
#bg3#durge vissenta#gale of waterdeep#gale dekarios#vissenta x gale#otp: at a great precipice#my writing#gale x durge
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Secret relationship with Mike Wheeler headcanons🤭
: ̗̀➛ shockingly, mike can keep a secret
: ̗̀➛ he’s not ,,, particularly good at keeping secrets, especially ones that he wants to tell every single person that he runs into
: ̗̀➛ but the secret is kept
: ̗̀➛ he’s super obvious about it tho, tripping up on his words when he mentions something you two were doing
: ̗̀➛ “yeah we were um, uh, it’s not important what we were doing but—“
: ̗̀➛ and his poker face is TERRIBLE
: ̗̀➛ whenever you arrive to hangout with the rest of the group and you’re saying your hellos, he’s watching you as if he wasn’t sucking face with you right before this
: ̗̀➛ his big Bambi eyes never leave your face … EVER
: ̗̀➛ he thinks you’re so pretty and he tells you so often and he just can’t believe that your his and he just refuses to look away from you for too long
: ̗̀➛ you’re not all that good at hiding it either
: ̗̀➛ you’re so touchy: throwing an arm around his back or over his shoulder, reaching to play with his hands, brushing his hair out of his face or picking a thread off of his shirt
: ̗̀➛ like it’s just sooo obvious that the others don’t even bother to comment on it they just Know
: ̗̀➛ you’re always at mikes before the others are, you start riding/biking together to get to places, you both so casually blow off plans to hangout together
: ̗̀➛ “cant, going to see that new movie with mike” “can’t, we’re hanging out that weekend”
: ̗̀➛ it’s gross in that way that a couple in your friend group is for a while, but then the others notice how both of your moods have improved significantly over the past couple months and they don’t bother complaining
: ̗̀➛ eye rolls are still exchanged though
: ̗̀➛ when (if) you break the news to everyone, the party pretends to be shocked. steve and jonathan are genuinely shocked. and nancy and robin don’t bother hiding it
: ̗̀➛ to be fair, mike did have to break the news to nancy when he needed to borrow the car off of her
: ̗̀➛ and robin could just tell all along
#robin is a seer#mikesworld!#celeste writes st#stranger things#mike wheeler x reader#mike wheeler x you#mike wheeler fluff#stranger things fluff#mike wheeler
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