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yeonjuns-beanie · 9 months

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Licentious Affairs

warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected sex, definitely dub-con, a little non-con, use of restraints, having sex with a demon, some animalistic behaviors, descriptions of blood, biting, degrading, hair pulling and i think that's everything

summary: you and dalton grew closer over the course of the fall semester. you sense a mutual feeling but still, a crush feels forbidden. on the night that dalton decides he needs to unlock all his memories for good, something possesses his earthly form and you’re left at its mercy.

a/n: when i saw the new installment of this franchise, something about him being possessed had me kicking my feet and giggling. this is 100% self indulgent bc I feel like this is so niche lol. it strays from the events in the film(obvi) but I hope whoever comes across enjoys and i'll get back to my kpop postings shortly :3 ~nero

possessed!Dalton Lambert x female reader

word count: 4.4k

pt.2

The breeze was crisp and the trees were warm bouquets of orange, yellow, and sun-bleached green. As you walked across campus, the leaves crunching under your feet you appreciated the change in season. Wrapping yourself a little tighter in your knitted cardigan, you pulled out your phone checking your notifications. Swiping out of your social media a message from Dalton popped up on your screen.

van gogh: r u out of class yet

y/n: walking to the dorm rn

van gogh: okay, i’ve got something to show you

Turning the volume up on your music and stuffing your phone back into your stubby front pocket, you continued your walk to the dorm. Your mind was scattering all the different possibilities of what Dalton could’ve found out. Since the beginning of the semester, his art professor had been unleashing techniques on him to tap into a deeper artistic space. Through this theory of unlocking, he opened up memories that were tucked away so tightly that he forgot they were his own. Throughout the semester, you’ve been forced to be around his revelations as you were his dorm mate, but you’d be lying if you said that you didn’t enjoy his company.

At first, you thought it was just you being good-natured and wanting to extend a hand to him in a time of need. But as his walls crumbled down you wormed your way in and slowly you found you guys becoming quite close. Opening the main doors to your dorm building the way the air felt never failed to bother you. The brick walls made it constantly humid and it was borderline suffocating with how many bodies passed through the day. Dragging your feet across the floor, you began to feel the day place its weight on your body. You felt another vibration in your pocket but ignored it, deciding to look at the notification once you got settled in.

Opening the door to your room, you were met with Dalton hunched over the canvas of his current piece. He was so focused on the painting that he didn’t hear you come in until the door clicked shut. You dropped your bag on the floor and he finally looked up.

“Hey. Didn’t hear you come in.”

“Yeah, you looked pretty focused on that freaky ass painting.”

“If not for this freaky ass painting, I’d still be “boring.”’

Flopping onto your bed, you chuckled remembering the first interaction you guys had with each other. You so desperately were trying to break the ice with your roommate and least to say it was the smallest bit painful getting some info out of him. As Dalton added the last few strokes of creativity, he put down his brush and wiped his hands off with a rag. Meanwhile, you were getting lost in his every move. You were tracing him, the way he moved, really just the way he existed. Losing yourself in your thoughts you didn’t hear him calling your name.

“Y/n…y/n? Are you even here right now?” “Huh?- Sorry was spacing out, long day.”

You were praying that somehow he wouldn’t think too much of it and just pass it off as you disassociating and not internally doting on him. You sat up as he walked over to your bed, the mattress shifting as he sat.

“So you know how we learned I can astral project right?”

You nodded and raised your eyebrows urging him to go on.

“Well, I think, whatever I’m remembering–if I finish that painting I’ll remember everything.”

You looked at him, brows furrowing and your eyes showing an incredulous type of fear. Memories from the last time he projected flooded your mind. Whatever was stalking that other plane had it out not only for Dalton but for anyone in his vicinity. It left you stricken, but subconsciously you knew you couldn’t leave Dalton to deal with it alone.

“You wanna…go back again?”

“I think it’s my only option y/n.”

You sighed knowing there was really nothing you could do to get him to think otherwise. You stared off toward the cryptic painting searching your brain for a solution that didn’t involve him going back to that other world. Nodding, more towards yourself, you looked back at Dalton.

“Okay. When are we doing this?”

There was a small flash of a ‘thank you’ that graced his features. The relationship you shared was beyond the parameters of normal but it was exactly that that allowed you guys to grow so close with one another so quickly. He let out a sigh a dour expression taking over.

“Tonight.”

You pressed your lips into a thin line forcing yourself to become comfortable with the reality of the situation. Slightly nodding, you stood up grabbing your bag from the floor.

“Alright. I’ll be right back. Just gonna run and grab some fairy lights so I can have some source of light in here while you play Sherlock Holmes in the upside down.”

Dalton cracked a smile, a small chuckle escaping him. It was something that softened the heaviness of the situation, lifting the tension not only between you two but for your anxieties. It also made something flutter in your stomach, something you’ve desperately been trying to swallow scared of what would happen if he were to find out. You were about to open the door but a hand on your shoulder stopped you.

“Your phone.”

A gentle smile stretched across his face and there was something softer about him in this particular moment. Maybe it was the knowledge of the impending doom that would ensue in a few hours or maybe it was just two people being vulnerable. You weren’t sure what came over you but the urge to hug him was impossible to pass over and your body moved faster than your mind could react. Your arms wrapped around him finding relief and comfort in him returning the gesture so quickly.

Pulling away from him you found a certain softness swimming in his eyes that you never noticed before. Feeling slightly overwhelmed and bashful you fiddled with your fingertips attempting to wash away the anxiety that was running through you.

“Thanks. I won’t be too long.”

Dalton nodded and you slipped out of the doorway. As you walked down the hallway to leave the building you were fighting a more than enthusiastic grin as you felt those same pesky feelings flutter through your being. If only you had a similar gift to Dalton’s you’d be able to see that he was feeling the exact same way. As soon as you left the dorm he sat back on his bed, his hands trying to wipe away the elation he felt from the hug you shared. He was fighting a similar demon as your own, the fabrication of feelings–a crush.

As he laid back on his bed he was running through all his favorite parts of you, something that he didn’t think he could say out loud. His mind was in too many places at once, going back and forth between the budding feelings he felt for you and the unfortunate calamity that he was going to have to face not long after you came back.

Coming out of the corner store, you were surprised by how fast the sun began to tuck behind the mountains. You had an interesting relationship with the fall season, loving how the weather changed and the natural warmness that fall carried. By the same token though, you wished daylight lasted a bit longer, especially tonight. You wished the sun would never set so neither one of you would have to experience the ire that attaches itself to Dalton when the night approaches.

When you got back into the dorm building, there was a formidable sense of dread that you felt settle in your stomach. You tried to brush it off as anxiety now that the navy blanket of night was cast over the sky, but as you approached your dorm the feeling only worsened. Taking a deep breath as you turned the handle of the door, you exhaled as you entered the room, dropping your bag by the door and tossing the bag of lights on your bed.

You were about to announce your arrival to Dalton but were surprised to find him asleep on his bed. You were gone for maybe half an hour so you didn’t think he’d be too deep in sleep. Admiring his form you quelled your thoughts by grabbing the box of lights out of the grocery bag and began to unravel them while calling out to Dalton.

“Dalton…Dalton.”

Plugging the lights in the wall, you called for him one more time before deciding to walk over and shake him up. But when you turned around, he was already sitting up on his bed. It spooked you because you didn’t hear him move.

“Jesus! Make a noise or you know, yawn or something. Scared the shit outta me.” You nervously giggled. That sickly feeling found its way back in your stomach again and you couldn’t quite figure out why. Moving the string of lights around your bed, you found Dalton being more quiet than usual and you ruled that to be the reason why your stomach was turning in knots.

“You alright man? You’re being more weird than usual.”

Silence. Crippling silence.

Chills ran up your body and you tried desperately to feel some sense of normality about the situation. Dalton got up from his bed and walked over to his canvas, running his fingers over the freshly dried paint. He forced some extra air out of his nose somewhat resembling something of a laugh. You kept yourself on high alert as you walked over to your bag to grab your phone. As you got your phone and turned around your eyes met Dalton’s frame huddled in the corner of the room closest to your bed.

The way the string of lights illuminated him caused that sinking feeling to turn into something more dire. You started to go beyond the safety of things just being “weird” and recognized it was fear settling into your bones. Dalton’s shoulders were quivering almost resembling what a laugh would look like but no noise was coming out.

“Dalton, what’s going on? You’re freaking me out.”

Ignoring your intuition, you slowly walked over to him, hoping that the lights would let you see something that you were missing from your distance away from him. You left a couple feet in between you two and you called out to him again, only this time he turned his head slowly in your direction. Any rumination of worry about your friend was quickly replaced with terror once his head turned enough for you to see his eyes. They weren’t his own. They were yellow and held malicious intent.

You wanted to stand your ground but the gasp that left you made a sound before you could stop it. You watched a smirk grow on Dalton’s face and as you broke your chains of frozen fear, you turned around in an attempt to reach the door. Before you could take your second step towards your escape, your feet left the safety of the ground and your body was flung through the air.

Hitting the art wall adjacent to Dalton’s bed your body flopped onto his bed, a shield of sheets as your protection. In a poor attempt to quickly figure out an escape you instead were met with the evil incarnate of Dalton. Your heart was pounding, fear and a dread of the unknown at the forefront of your mind. His frame was looming, staring you down like fresh prey. You gripped the bed sheets staring him down trying to convince yourself you weren’t fearful. Your plan was successful, but the longer you looked at him the easier it became for something more sinister to eclipse your emotions.

Lust.

A salacious intent swapping out the fear of him for the fear of yourself and your own emotions. Why were you feeling this? Could whatever was using Dalton as a vessel hear your thoughts? How could you look at him the same way after this? All of your questions were pushed to the back of your mind as the door to your dorm slowly opened and Dalton turned towards it. You saw nothing in the doorway but almost like a warning, a low timbre shriek echoed from his throat as a bloody goop tumbled out of his mouth.

Whatever was entering the door from the other side left, the door clicking shut and his attention was unfortunately back on you. With a feeble bid, you hoped that calling to Dalton would release him of whatever had a hold on him. As Dalton turned around to grab the cord of lights from the wall, the way he stalked back over to you sent a familiar feeling to pool in your stomach.

“Dalton…I know you’re in there. Dal-”

“-To be face to face with what was keeping me from him recently was not what I expected to see. Nor did I expect it to be so filthy.”

It felt like someone was trying to steal your heart from its chest. There was a certain grit to his tone that was not Dalton’s and you weren’t quite sure if it frightened you or excited you. As he wrapped the cord around his hand he stalked closer to you on the bed.

“Most would be terrified in a situation like this, but you? I can smell you. It’s hard to ignore really.”

You backed further to the wall suddenly facing the reality of your situation. Your heart sped up but not out of fear. The closer he got the more aroused you became but you didn’t want to admit that to yourself just yet. Before you had an understanding of what was going on in front of you, your wrists were taken and tied to the bedpost with the cord Dalton was winding up.

“No!”

A sudden urge to fight back, you weren’t sure if this was something you wanted under the given circumstances. As you tried to push back against the cord, an unseen force was pinning your body to the bed. Your vision was obstructed by the fabric of Dalton’s baggy long sleeve but the overwhelming feeling of arousal was something you couldn’t ignore when he moved to face you and you looked directly into his yellowed eyes.

His hand snaked down the front of your body leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. It was a twisted feeling, you dreamt of a moment like this but with the given situation you were struggling if it was right. As his hand toyed with the button of your jeans any doubt about the situation was pushed to the back of your mind and a gritty tone echoed in the silence of the room.

“It’s funny. Hearing you think you have enough strength to deny yourself pleasure.”

You arched your eyebrow confused by his admission. He took heed of this and answered before you had a chance to vocalize your thoughts. He leaned forward stalking over your body before he placed himself next to the shell of your ear.

“Your thoughts are so loud. Louder than his–if only…he could be the one to see you like this. He’s wished for it.” He pulled away grinning at you in a way that made your walls flutter around nothing. You wondered if the confession of your Dalton “wishing for it” was real or just something the entity used to get under your skin.

You didn’t have much time to think on the matter as your heart rate picked up again at the unfortunate realization that you, were enjoying this. The smirk that rested on Dalton’s face let you in on the sadistic pleasure of whatever was taking control of him was feeling. Before Dalton moved away from the shell of your ear, he took a deep inhale of the scent of your neck.

Humming in relish, he nipped at your earlobe gingerly pulling at the skin as he snaked down your body once more. You wish you had more control but the whimper that left your throat was something instinctive. As this primal version of Dalton reached your hips, your zipper was quickly unfastened and your pants were tossed to the other side of the room

Dalton moved his legs so that he was no longer straddling your own and situated himself in between them. Sliding toward the edge of the bed, he slid down enough to be face first with your messy cunt. Your desire soaking through the fabric leaving no room for doubt in your feelings. Shoving his nose into your drenched panties, he huffed the scent of you a second time causing you to squirm away from the action.

Closing your eyes and rolling your lips around your teeth, you tried to silence your whines to collect yourself. Once again trying to convince yourself that you had more power over your bodily wants and needs.

“Stop, please.”

Your plea was met with a sardonic giggle and as you looked down and was met with the sick glow of his yellow eyes. Dalton stalked back up your body, hovering over your face and clicking his tongue at you mockingly. As you were entranced by the figure above you, you failed to realize that he unbound your wrists from the cord. The sudden freedom surprised you but was swallowed by the feeling of his hand slithering in your panties and rubbing his finger across your slick folds.

Your body shuddered in hedonism, rolling your hips up into the feeling. As one finger slipped its way into your slick cavern your hands found solace in fisting the sheets. As he entered a second finger you couldn’t contain your sounds.

“Ah~! I can’t believe this is happening. I can’tbelievethisishappening.”

In your stupor of sexual panic, a low chuckle brought you back down to your body. His fingers curled inside of you repeatedly hitting the special spongey spot you cherished so much. As your moans became more frequent and less controlled, he removed his fingers from your pulsating hole and ripped your panties off of your sensitive frame. You whined out not only at the loss of contact but at the sudden cool air that breezed over your skin. Settling into your body you were panting heavily as you stared down Dalton.

His yellowed eyes still igniting fear but simultaneously leaving you wanton and in a state of ache. That conflicting feeling flooded your brain again and soon felt guilt peering over the horizon. Before you were given the chance to wrestle with your thoughts, Dalton straddled himself over your body. One hand grabbed your face, squeezing your cheeks to pry your mouth open just enough to shove his fingers into your mouth. He looked down at you, a small smirk adorning his face.

“Suck.”

Overwhelmed by the sudden roughness you complied immediately not wanting to make the situation even more escalated. Your eyebrows furrow, your face plagued with anxiety as you watch Dalton come closer to your face. The leftover stain of blood that was on his chin smeared across your lower cheek as his breath fanned over your skin leaving your body wanting more. As he removed his fingers from your mouth, he licks from your chip up to the tip of your nose. Dalton pulls away slightly so he can get a better look at your face as a venomous smile pulls at his.

He takes the hand that was holding your face and drags it down the side of your cheek as he exhales a phrase that would chill your bones.

“Everything I’m going to do to you…he wishes he could do himself.”

The anxiety you felt prior was beginning to trickle back in as you realized the tank top you were wearing underneath the cardigan provided you little safety from the one above. Dalton’s hands slid up your torso underneath your tank top, his hands massaging over the soft flesh of your breast. Undoing the front clasp, your tits pancaked out of the fabric only for one to be caught by Dalton’s rough hand and the other encased by his lips.

You tried to keep a coherent thought, to push back against him but you lacked the mental will due to the rapture spidering through your body. As his mouth left your nipple, the cold air sent shivers through your chest and rippled down your back as his lips savagely placed open mouth kisses along your jawline, nipping at your skin with each release.

Caught up in the feeling you almost blocked out the sound of his belt becoming undone. But as soon as you were aware, the time to react had come to pass. His cock, hard and heavy was pulled out from the layers of fabric and you felt it tap against your inner thigh. You were suddenly hyperaware of how exposed you were and the understanding of what was about to happen next rushed through you.

“W-wait! I don’t, I can’t I~ah! Fuck!”

Before you had the chance to form a coherent thought, his cock entered your seraphic walls and his teeth bit at the skin on your neck. A mark that would surely leave a stain in the aftermath. Having already been overstimulated by the situation itself, the stretch of his cock was horrifically sinful. You couldn’t help the fluttering of your walls as he rocked his length in and out of you at a harrowing pace.

As he finally let go of your neck he huffed out in the intersection of your neck and shoulder. His exhales made your skin humid and left you with another layer of unwanted pleasure. Trying to bring yourself back down to your body, your hand released the binding grip it had on the bedsheets and sought refuge in Dalton’s sweatshirt, something proving to be a mistake.

A low growl erupted from Dalton’s throat and before you could register what was happening, he had pulled himself out of you and manhandled you to get on your hands and knees.

“What made you think that you could touch me, hmm?”

Like a viper his hand webbed itself in your hair, gripping it at the base and pulling your body up. Adrenaline pumping, you were searching for a viable response but came up with nothing but babbles.

“I-I don’t, I don’t know. I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

He controlled the movements of your head, forcing you to crane your neck and stare at him in his amber orbs one last time. Mocking your apology, he cooed at you.

“Aww, you’re sorry? Why don’t you show me how sorry you are?”

Punctuating his statement by rushing his cock back into your ruined cunt, you cried out at the feeling. He shoved your face back into the bed, his pace now unrelenting and no longer a derivative of pleasure but rather of power. With every thrust you felt the tip of his cock assault your cervix, causing tears to well up in your eyes and dry into the sheets beneath you. It was overwhelming, feeling like all decision was stolen from you.

The only thing that filled the room now were the occasional groans from the figure above you and muffled sobs from yourself. You hated that you could feel the approaching feelings of ecstasy building in your lower stomach. The heat was building and the suffocating squeezes from your gummy walls around his cock were more than enough to alert him to your demise.

“You gonna cum around me, you filthy slut? Enjoyed every second of this didn’t you?”

The guilt you were warding off finally made its way to the forefront of your emotions but you couldn’t find it within yourself to admit that you did, in fact, enjoy all of this. You settled for denial. Denial would save you from the inevitable self reflection you’d have to face.

“No, no no I didn’t! I didn’t enjoy it. I didn-!”

Your body cut you off, your orgasm washing over you reluctantly but comedically in timing. As your body shuddered around him, you heard that same derisive chuckle leave his throat mocking you yet again.

“Keep telling yourself th~aht.”

He pulled himself out of you, spraying his seed across the exposed portion of your back. The warmth felt overt, wicked, and it was something you didn’t want on you. You didn’t have the gall to face the being behind you. Instead, you let your body fall limp against the bed as the being fronting as Dalton stood up and fixed himself back into his clothes. From behind you heard him.

“Say hi to him for me.”

Not expecting a response from you, he left Dalton’s body. His earthly form collapsing on your dorm floor. You didn’t have the strength to turn and help him up as he came to, too busy wrestling with your emotions as tears pooled out of your eyes. You heard your Dalton groan and stand up reaching to turn on the lamp light on his art desk. As the warm light illuminated the room, he turned around silence and shock devastating him as he took in the sight of you.

You tried to quell your sobs, but your body kept shaking them out. Dalton slowly walked over to you trying to survey your body without touching you. When his eyes landed on the alabaster stains that painted your lower back a terrifying realization overcame him.

“Y/n…? Y/n, talk to me.”

The gentle tone was something you missed dearly despite only being gone for such a short amount of time. It comforted you knowing that the worst was over for at least right now. Dalton kneeled on the floor resting his upper body on the side of the bed. You turned your head slowly, still somewhat expecting to meet those hideous yellow eyes but when you saw the gentle and disconcerted brown pupils you were swamped with relief. Tears still were falling across your face, their frequency diminishing.

You gave him a weak smile, a small “hey” leaving your lips. Like cracked porcelain, he wouldn’t dare touch you. He couldn’t break you more than he already had. His tone weak and regretful, he scanned over your fragile body trying to understand how this happened. He let his head fall next to yours, burying his head in sheets.

“What did I do to you?”

#dalton lambert #dalton lambert x reader #dalton lambert fanfic #insidious #insidious the red door #horror smut #dalton lambert smut #insidious fanfic #horror fanfiction #horror imagines #ty simpkins #dalton lambert imagines

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tomlinfonda · 11 months

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Inside me there are two wolves.

One who thinks that the writers are either stupid or cruel, and that the finale was so incomprehensibly bad that I shouldn't try to make sense of it. And that I should move on.

The other one is a subtext-and-metaphor-hungry beast that is manically obsessed with finding a reason, at least subtextually, for the incomprehensible mess they made out of these characters, especially Ted, in the finale.

Everyone is so right to point out that Ted in previous episodes would not have acted like this. I think the reason for the sudden regression in his character is Dottie.

That morning, full of smiles, in a good mood, Ted starts his walk to work.

He cheerfully strolls through the streets, saying hello to his neighbors, making chit-chat with them. He is (as Trent said it in 1x03) out there in the community. He is, more importantly, part of a community. Until suddenly-

"Mom?"

Dottie's arrival changes everything. Ted gets worse and worse throughout the episode. In the hotel room in Manchester, the football anthem "Blue Moon", with the haunting lyric "You saw me standing alone" plays over Ted's lonesome figure, in the shadows, depressed.

Juxtapose that with his first scene: the lively neighborhood and daylight.

At the end of the episode, his conversation with his (manipulative) mom hits him deep. He feels immense guilt over not being there for Henry. And he's been torn over this for the entire season.

His mom, and the way she acts, and the way she manipulates him, push him in the wrong direction: Kansas.

I think Ted has disassociated for most of the finale. But I also think that he is intentionally pushing people away. Maybe he thinks that this will make it easier for him to leave, maybe he thinks that this will make it easier for them to let him go. Maybe he just hates himself so much that he cannot accept their help. Maybe he feels guilty that they're showing him so much love, when he knows he will abandon them.

Either way, he quits. Something that he would not have done, even in season 1. So his regression goes farther than the first episode, deeper into his past. He goes from:

to having doubts on the plane about leaving without winning the whole fucking thing

but leaving anyway.

And this is one of the most curious things to me. Rebecca offers to bring Henry to him in England by helping relocate Michelle:

And yet, he refuses. So, sure, this is about being there for his son. But given the choice between his son with his beloved community, and his son without his beloved community, he chooses the latter.

I've heard the argument that we don't know for sure that Ted doesn't have a support system in Kansas. But from a narrative perspective, it's important that we haven't been shown that hypothetical support system at all. And given that he actually returns to Kansas without the one person who we know supported him before coming to England, it comes across as a terribly isolating situation.

So why would Ted choose to part from his found family, even though bringing his son into that family would be an option? My theory is that he just really fucking hates himself. I think he wants to punish himself, maybe for being away from Henry for so long, maybe for something else. I don't think he believes that he deserves love or even credit for how he helped the club.

I mean, Rebecca and Trent offer him exactly that this episode: credit for what the did for the club.

And he rejects them both, choosing instead to remove himself from their lives, to erase himself from the narrative.

I think he's lower mentally than we've seen him for a while.

I think he's in his dark forest.

So the plane departs and then lands. And Ted is back in Kansas, driven through the prosaic, picket-fenced, isolating, depressing American suburbs to the house where Henry and the ex-wife who doesn't love him are waiting for him.

And the light might be golden, and he might be reunited with his son. But as we close in on the last shot of the show, you can see his smile try to fight the sadness in his eyes and you know.

He's not happy.

#ted lasso #ted lasso spoilers

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pickyourpoisonandevolve · 7 months

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Boy fucking howdy, the BG3 obsession is real, and so is being unable to sleep. I cranked this out in 20 minutes in an absolute fervor because I’m OBSESSED, as we all are. Please forgive my absence, but let us rejoice that I have been possessed enough to write again.

—————

Admittedly, you all have had better days on the road to Baldur’s Gate. There have been close calls and hard fights, but today has decidedly been the worst. What started as a hopeful descent into the Githyanki Crèche ended in most of your party downed, and watching Laezel’s eyes lose light as she died. Shadowheart thankfully still had the wherewithal to walk you through the scroll you said you’d never had to use, hand in shaky hand. It took you about an hour to detach yourself from her side once you all made it back to camp.

Quiet nods and looks of understanding were sent all around you as you commanded your feet their last few steps to your tent. Gale would take over dinner tonight. Karlach would take care of the owlbear and Scratch. Others would take other duties. You would take care of sitting down on your cot and disassociating before you could unclip both straps of your armor. That’s how Astarion found you anyways.

You had been close, today. Despite the looming threats, you both woke up in cheery spirits. You had gossiped about how Raphael was a scumbag, but a hot one, how Shadowheart and Laezel would definitely make out by the end of this journey, among other things. Once battles had started, you had even found a nice flow physically. Shooting arrows over each others shoulders, stabbing enemies before they could get to the other. Something went wrong along the way. Discussions didn’t seem to go your way. No one you all encountered seemed very convinced of your decisions or leadership. You felt that it had started to infiltrate your team, despite their objections.

But someone had died on your watch. And for that, you’d never forgive yourself.

“Sweetheart, armor comes off before bed, you know.” A little less smug than usual. “He’s worried,” you think in passing. It seemed that his voice came from farther away, until you felt the whisper of his fingers on your shoulder. His way of not wanting to scare you. He’s very familiar with the look in your eyes right now. You have enough energy to finish unbuckling the second clasp before the chest piece falls to the floor with a dull thud. As you extend your torso to stretch properly for the first time today, both sets of eyes fall to a particularly dark red patch in your torso, right underneath your heart. Seems you’ve been stabbed. How long ago is anyone’s guess, but the armor seemed to hold as the worlds worst tourniquet. The volume of voices tune back out as you hear Astarions call for help, the pitch of panic sending you deeper into… something. Not quite nothingness. Not quite enough of something to call it anything. A general state of pain and emptiness.

Two sets of hands lift you enough to lay down on your cot. Voices mill around, but you feel the large hands of Halsin gingerly lift your shirt to begin healing. He leaves you in your bra as he begins his work. He has a way of making his deep booming voice so soothing when he knows you’re in pain. Astarion sits down closer to your face, and has one hand on the side of your cheek. His thumb runs across your cheekbone a little faster than usual, trying to comfort you as well as himself. Halsin has been around this enough that both men don’t seem to be phased, but Astarion starts his mix of worry and chastisement and care. Funny how he can speak so softly and so cutting at the same time.

“How many times have I told you to tell me when you’re hurt? You’re not holding up your end of the bargain,” he says, with no real seriousness. You look over long enough to see his creased brows, but in them, something new. He’s angry at you, for compromising the plan. For compromising his journey. For compromising the trust he put in you for being a team. He’s also mad at himself for not being in front of you to catch the blade.

“You’re no good to me dead, you know. I need you… I need you here.” He says, voice shaky, as Halsin finishes his spell. The newly connected skin is always itchy, so he puts a salve on before he leaves. He puts a large hand on Astarions shoulder and exchange a few words before he leans over and kisses you gently on the temple. He whispers, between the three of you “We’re here to take care of you, my heart. Please allow us to.”

Now that the physical pain has started to subside, the emotions you’ve been pushing down through the day start to bubble up. You start to feel the dirt, the blood, the viscera on your skin. How compressed everything is starting to get. You lean up and start to breathe. A little too fast, a little too heavy. Astarions eyes get wide, he’s seen you stressed but this is something different. You hurry to a nearby abandoned building near camp while he stays behind a step, a little stunned.

Normally this would be the time he freezes, unsure of emotions, unsure how to help. But it’s usually him that’s going through something like this. It’s usually you who calms him down, brings him back to center. What has he done to make you feel like this?

You sit in the corner of a decrepit old rampart. Panic attacks haven’t been prevalent for quite some time. You don’t hear him, once again until he’s next to you. You notice your cot and some creature comforts set up a few feet away. A few curtains strewn to block out the inevitable morning sun. Some candles for light.

“Thought you might like some alone time tonight.” He says, voice deep and steady and sure of himself. For someone so lithe and nimble, you forget he can lift you in his arms. And he does settling you in bed, sitting while you feel him taking his shirt off and leaning you against his chest. The skin on skin contact, you’ve found, comforts him as much as it comforts you.

The shock of Astarion moving with such assuredness brings you a little bit back to surface. You clear your throat and say “I’m sorry for troubling everyone. Today was a little hard for me.” Your voice breaks a little at the end, and so does your resolve as you cry, letting the emotions of the day out.

He runs fingers through your hair and turns you into his chest as you release all your worry from the day. “You know, I honestly don’t know how you’ve kept it together this far, my sweet.” He brings his face to the side of yours, steadying your breathing and letting his breath warm your neck. “I haven’t had to be strong for anyone… well, other than myself. But I didn’t even do a good job then. You’re so much more than you know. To them. To me.” He lays a field of kisses to the side of your face and neck while his arms surround you, fingers lacing together. “I… don’t know how to do this part. I don’t know how to be good at this. To comfort. But I do know I’ve never been more torn apart when you’re in pain. Please. Let me… try. Let me try to be good at this.”

Chest heaving, you look up and take his mouth into yours. You kiss deeply, letting it say all the things you’re too tired to say. Too tired to thank him for. He seems to understand, as he cradles your face in his palm. A kiss that’s said more than you’ve said to each other for weeks.

As sleep overtakes you, he brings you into his chest, arm circling your shoulder.

The last burst of energy wouldn’t allow your mouth to say it, but Astarion felt the tadpole twitch with the three words you two had been dancing around for some time. If his heart still beat it would keep him up for the rest of the night. In hope. In anticipation to say it back. But you two were together. Alive. There would be time for I love yous in the morning.

#astarion #astarion x reader #halsin #baldurs gate tav #bg3 #bg3 spoilers #oh hell don’t read this #baldurs gate astarion

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bunnliix · 14 days

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Can't Stay Away from You - Chapter Three

I'm finally back after over a month! I hope this is enough to make up for not updating this series for a month.

masterlist wc: 5.7k warnings: panic attacks, disassociation maybe??, better to be safe than sorry, reader just has a rough time in this chapter, angsty times, violence against doors, violence in general, Minho bites, slightly suggestive-ish??, also fluff!! I think that's it?? I'm really not sure at this point, but it's basically reader having a rough time and the boys helping her

Y/n was the first to wake up the next morning, and she found herself in a bit of a pickle, stuck in between the two omegas of the skz pack. She was in a bit of shock, not remembering anything past being on the couch in their living room. She wasn’t quite sure how she got to be here, in the middle of their nest, and in the middle of the eight men. She noticed that Felix had attached himself to her back, their legs entangled along with Han’s, and her birthday twin was clinging onto her front, his head almost buried in her neck. She could feel his breath on her neck, and it made her shiver. She didn’t think that she’d ever be in this position, but fuck now that she knew what she was missing out on, she never wanted to sleep alone again. It just felt so right to be here, it felt right to be with them, but that thought was also terrifying.

She started to try and untangle herself from the pile, needing a moment to breathe, and a moment to herself. She tried pulling her legs out of the pile, to little luck, the two omegas’ grips were almost cutting off the circulation in her legs when she tried pulling them up towards her chest. Her next move was to try and pull herself out of the boys’ grip, only to have them hold onto her tighter, as she let out a huff as their stubbornness, even while they’re asleep. Stupid omegas not letting go.

She froze as she felt a pair of lips on the back of her neck, knowing that had to be the freckled sunshine boy. She took a harsh breath in as she tried to relax, but then Han left his own kiss on her neck, as she gripped the bed underneath her to try and ground herself. She could feel herself slicking up after the actions of the two omegas, her own omega screaming in joy at this whole situation. She tried to will her thoughts in a less smutty direction, to which it almost worked.

That was, until Seungmin woke up due to her movements and her scent that betrayed her. His sleep filled eyes looked at her over Han’s head, an eyebrow raising at her actions, and she quickly looked away, garnering a chuckle out of the vocalracha member.

“Go back to sleep, omega.” He says, morning voice very evident, as his voice sounded much more gravelly than normal.

She shivered at it, and silently nodded, though she pouted at being told to go back to sleep. The change in her scent as she thought of how nice the singer’s morning voice sounded was what finally work Han up, and the rapper smirked at her change in scent. She got so flustered just at his member’s voice, and Seungmin didn’t even have the best morning voice. That would go to the Aussie line, with Minho as a close third place. Those men’s voices in the morning, he would never get enough of them. It may also be the reason why on mornings where they had schedules, the alarms were set for earlier than usual. Jisung pulled her back down into his arms, holding her tighter so she couldn’t escape.

“Not allowed to leave, ‘mega.” Han says, voice full of sleep, though his smirk could be heard in his tone of voice as well.

Seungmin chuckled at her predicament, finding it hilarious. His laugh woke Minho up, however, and once the dancer was awake, he also chuckled at what she had gotten herself into. She looked adorable trapped between his two omegas, and she looked like she belonged right in the middle of their nest, like she had occupied it forever.

“Cute. Three cute omegas, and my good omegas for keeping little omega in bed with us.” He praised the two, and Han preened at the praise from the alpha, while y/n pouted.

“I’m not cute.” She protested, to which Minho only raised an eyebrow, staying silent while he stared at her.

“Just cause I’m an omega, doesn’t mean I’m cute. Got it mister?” She said, glaring at him now.

This riled up the alpha, who was very rarely challenged. He growled in warning to her, red eyes flashing at her. She crossed her arms, staring at him dead in the eyes, challenging him to do something if he’s that bothered.

“Omega, stop with the denial. Now.” He once again growled at her, his alpha very unhappy with her disobedience, and the self-deprecating nature of her comments. By this point, the rest of the pack had woken up from their exchange, if not by Minho’s growls.

“Hmmm, nahhh. I’m good. Once again, I. Am. Not. Cute.” She said, voice firm, but with a teasing lilt to it.

Han had wisely loosened his grip, and had loosened Felix’s as well, just in time for Minho to grab her. The alpha pulled her underneath himself, staring down at her as his eyes flashed red, warning her that his alpha was dangerously close to the surface. She stared defiantly back at him, not willing to budge on her position, nor showing any fear of the alpha. His alpha enjoyed the good fight, but was displeased by the omega refusing to submit, disregarding the fact that she wasn’t their omega, and had no obligation to submit to them, to him.

“Omega, be good.” He said firmly.

“I’ll pass on that.” Was all she said in return.

Normally, an omega would have bared her neck in this situation, but y/n fought that urge and won, leaving the alpha to have to force her to bare it. Minho, who was running completely on instinct once again, leaned down close to her neck and he nipped at it, leaving a mark.

“Omega. Submit. Now.” He growled into her neck, biting at her neck harder a second time when she didn’t give in right away.

Y/n whined, unprepared for what happened, but she submitted and gave in. She stopped fighting him, and bared her neck willingly, to which the alpha above her grinned at winning.

“Good ‘mega. Very good.” He told her, kissing the marks he left. “Don’t deny it again, or pull an attitude with me. You’ll end up back underneath me if you do.” He told her simply, before flopping down on top of her.

She whined in embarrassment but a blush remained on her face after she processed what happened, and Minho chuffed in delight at it, before he allowed her to move out from under him. She didn’t get the freedom she wanted, however, since Hyunjin immediately pulled the omega into his arms, holding her tightly. The others chuckled and laughed at her predicament, enjoying seeing her be passed from one member to another, thinking about how cute she was. Though a couple did worry about her, seeing as she was just subjected to Minho’s alpha, mostly the betas, since they knew how it was to be subjected to an alpha, especially in the manner she had just been affected. They watched her closely, eyes following her movements.

Eventually Hyunjin loosened his grip, and y/n took advantage of this to escape his hold, quickly scurrying out of the room before anyone else could take the chance to catch her once again. Thankfully, for her sake, she quickly found the bathroom, only running into a few of the boys’ rooms before finding it. She locked the door behind her once she entered, and she quickly used the bathroom before she found herself in the mirror, staring back at herself. She looked at herself, not recognizing the person she saw in the mirror’s reflection. Hair mussed and out of place, Minho’s bite marks visible on her shoulder, and she just looked different. She couldn’t describe what was different exactly, and that plus all of the feelings that had been building up in her that morning finally fought their way to the surface.

She couldn’t believe everything that’s happened in the last 24 hours, let alone the last 48 hours. She went from bumping into who she now knows was Felix, to the fanmeet and meeting Stray Kids and getting Chan’s number, to Hyunjin and Minho showing up at her hotel room last night before bringing her here, to waking up in the nest with them. What was her life, and what had she done to end up here? She couldn’t process all of this, nor could her omega. Her omega was distressed, but also strangely content, and she couldn’t comprehend that either. It was all a little too much for her omega and her to process, going from being alone by herself to being here, with all of them, and honestly being treated like a member of the pack, it’s almost too much to bear.

She vaguely saw herself sliding down the mirror, thoughts in her head of why she was here with them at all, why she was being treated like a member of the pack when she clearly wasn’t, why were they being this nice to her? She couldn’t understand how she, a normal fan who met them once, well Felix met her twice, and how this went from that to her sitting in their bathroom after having slept in their den. The world around her felt like it was spinning, and she couldn’t process anything going on around her, the only things she could focus on were the thoughts running through her mind, making her worry further. She felt sharp pin pricks, looking down to find that she had been digging her fingernails into her hands, breaking skin. Without realizing it, she had been hurting herself and her scent had leaked out of the bathroom, slowly invading the rest of the dorm.

Time skip backwards a tiny bit…

The boys watched y/n’s escape, laughing at how cute she was, as they heard the sounds of various doors opening and closing, before hearing silence, figuring that she had found either someone’s room to hide out in, or the bathroom. They chatted amongst themselves, figuring that she’ll find her way back once she’s ready. They mostly spoke about their own schedules, thankfully they all had the day off today, since they had just finished their comeback promotions, the fansign yesterday having been the final one of their promotion cycle.

It wasn’t until a disgustingly nasty smell wafted into the nest room that made a couple of the members gag that they realized something was horribly wrong. Felix and Chan jumped into action, the omega of the duo almost slipping on blankets as the two of them rushed out of the room, Minho and Jisung following closely behind, with the rest of the pack not far behind the four of them. They follow the scent to the bathroom, finding the door locked, and they know she’s in there.

“Y/n? Darling, please open the door for us please?” Felix called out to her, worry filling his voice.

The sour scent of smoke only gets stronger at his words, and he and Han know she could drop at any moment, and with the door in the way, they would have no way to help her. Chan sees a shadow move from underneath the door, and realized that she’s sitting against the door, which means forcing their way in wasn’t an option.

“Please baby, talk to us. We’re here for you.” Jisung called out, trying to keep the worry and fear out of his voice.

They hear her breathing pick up and Chan curses, if she wasn’t against the door, he would have gotten Changbin to break the door just so they could get to her. He tried to think of a way to get her away from the door, just so that they could break it down. He didn’t care if he had to get another door, her safety was more important than a door right now.

“She’s against the door, we need her out of the way, then Bin or I can break it down.” He whispered to the two omegas, who immediately understood what he wanted them to do. They continued talking to her, trying to coax her either away from the door, but really they wanted her to unlock the door, as it would make everything else much easier. They tried appealing to y/n first, but then when that didn’t work, they started appealing to her omega, hoping that it would work, because her scent smelled like a bonfire, and not in a comforting way.

Minho sees the shadow underneath the door move, and points it out, to which Chan immediately tries to open the door, still finding it locked. He huffs in frustration, but quickly reels that feeling in before he looks to Minho and Bin, who pull the omega duo closer to themselves, giving Chan the room he needs to bust the door open.

“Omega, stay away from the door, I’m gonna open it and I don’t want you hurt. Alpha doesn’t want to hurt you, okay?” Chan said to y/n, before he shoved his shoulder into the door, partially opening it. He tried once more, successfully breaking open the door, and looking into the room to find y/n pushed up against the bathtub, her wide eyes staring up at him. Her breathing is still way too fast, and tears are running down her cheeks and onto her chest as she just stares at him.

“Hey little omega. You’re okay, we’re gonna get you out of here and get you somewhere safer than the bathroom, yeah?” Chan told her, kneeling down on the ground in her line of sight , trying to make himself seem smaller so he didn’t appear threatening to her omega. He slowly inched closer to her, staying far enough away in case her omega felt threatened by a strange alpha’s presence. He watched her, her breathing still erratic but her eyes were trained on his form, not letting him out of her sight.

Chan took a deep breath before asking her, “Can I touch you, little one?”

He watched her, waiting for a response, but instead of replying, she launched herself at him. “Alpha.” She said as she pushed himself into the pack alpha’s arms, burying her head into his neck. Chan froze for a moment, before wrapping an arm around her and patting her back to comfort her. He whispered reassurances and comforting words in her ear, trying to calm her down as he felt her tears on his skin. He still had no idea why she was like this, nor what sparked this breakdown and subsequent drop, considering that her omega had taken control.

Hearing footsteps, he looks up to see Minho having made his way past the door, looking up at his second-in-command with worry and confusion in his eyes, seeing those same emotions mirrored in the other alpha’s eyes. The others peeked into the room, the two omegas whining at seeing how tiny y/n looked curled up in their leader’s arms, both them and their omegas wanting to reach out to her and calm her down themselves. They couldn’t stand seeing another omega in distress, it physically hurt them to see it, let alone for it to be a fan of theirs like this, and without knowing what caused it, they weren’t sure how to fix it.

Seungmin suddenly pushed his way through the rest of his pack and quickly entered the bathroom, moving past Minho and stealing y/n from Chan’s grip. He was a beta on a mission, even dodging a punch from his pack alpha for taking the omega. He darted out of the bathroom, carefully however, so that the girl in his arms never hit anything as he made his way to his own bedroom, knowing that the only way she’d calm down was to take her away from the onslaught of scents, especially her own. Staying in that stinky bathroom wouldn’t help her state of mind, it would only reinforce it. And since he tended to keep his own room pretty scent free except for his own and a few select scents, it was a perfect place to let her recover. Hyunjin and Changbin had immediately followed the youngest beta, trusting him as their pack beta to know what the best thing was to do, despite his age.

Seungmin pushed his bedroom door open, walking over to his bed as Hyunjin followed, as Changbin stayed at the door to keep everyone else out. Chan had almost stormed after the pack beta, his alpha ready for a fight with the beta who stole the omega out of his arms. It took both the other alphas to stop him, plus Changbin wouldn’t let him anywhere near the younger trio in the pack beta’s room.

“Chan, you need to chill off before you come anywhere near here.” Changbin told him, crossing his arms as he stood in the doorway of the bedroom. “Go take a walk, I don’t care what you do as long as you don’t try to force your way into this room right now.”

Chan huffed but didn’t say a word, walking away from them, against his own alpha’s wishes. Minho watched him walk away, deciding to keep an eye on him, knowing that it was his alpha making him feel this way, as Chan wouldn’t give into his anger easily if not for his alpha pushing him to. He said as much to the rest of the pack outside of the room, before stalking behind their pack leader.

Meanwhile, Seungmin beckoned Hyunjin to sit on his bed and once the other beta was sitting comfortably, passed y/n over to him, with whined protests coming from the omega who wanted to stay with him.

“Shhh, it’s okay, I’ll be back in a moment, okay? Jinnie is gonna take care of you for me, yeah? He’s a really good cuddler, I’ll have you know. Even if I don’t like to admit to enjoying cuddles that often, he gives really good ones.” Seungmin said to the omega, pointedly not looking up at the other beta as he said all of that.

He moved to his closet, finding a new blanket he had yet to use, and thankfully it was still in its packaging. He brought it out of his closet and over to the bed, taking it out of the plastic and wrapping it around y/n as Hyunjin helped him to do so. He sat on the bed in front of the other two, as Hyunjin whispered reassurances to the omega in his lap, and trying to convince her omega that she was safe with them, and to allow y/n to come back to the surface.

It took almost an hour for them to coax y/n back to the present with them, her actions still telling them that her omega wasn’t far from surfacing again, should the need arise. The two betas traded relieved looks, before Seungmin looked over at Changbin, who still played the bouncer role, keeping the others out of the room, even as the two omegas looked like they were five seconds away from tackling the buff man just so they could get close to y/n again. She looked up at Seungmin, who could see that her eyes were no longer glazed over and almost dull looking, they looked to have some of that life and sunshine back in them. He breathed a sigh of relief, before asking her the hard question.

“Hey, how are you feeling, sunshine?” He asked her.

He got a groan, and a mumbled, “Tired.” in return.

He chuckled, expecting that answer after everything that happened. He knew now wasn’t the time to ask the harder questions, like what exactly made her panic like that, and how she was faring after the omega drop. That would come later, when she wasn’t as tired, and when she was a bit more coherent. Hyunjin kept her mind in the present, blabbering about anything and everything as he swayed them both side to side, trying to help keep her relaxed.

Seungmin knew that it wouldn’t be a bad idea to let the others in the room now that she’s back with them, but he’s worried that one of them might try and ask too many questions about what happened and that could cause her to drop back down or spiral. That was what he didn’t want to happen. Looking over at the eldest beta, he could see the eldest was subtly pointing at Felix.

Felix wouldn’t be a bad choice, he usually was the comfort that most of the boys went to when they just needed someone to be there for them, without any pressure, and when one of the betas weren’t around to help either. He also would probably be the most comforting to y/n at the moment, and the one who would pick up on any cues she showed, being a fellow omega. He nodded to Bin, who let Felix and only Felix into the room, despite Han’s whine. Their sunshine omega carefully approached the bed, not wanting to spook or shock y/n.

“Hey, y/n sweetheart, Felix wants to come over here. Is that alright with you?” Hyunjin asked her, pointing out Felix who was waiting for her permission.

She didn’t look back at him, eyes locked onto Felix as she nodded. The other omega could see unshed tears in her eyes, from when she was still emotional earlier. Felix walked closer to the bed, and as soon as he was within arms length of y/n the slightly older omega reached out and grabbed a hold of him, almost launching herself at him. He pulled her close, lifting her into his arms as they embraced, the rest of the pack watching them with happiness in their eyes.

Felix moved to sit them both down on the bed, Seungmin and Hyunjin both hung around to keep y/n happy. The two had tried to get up and leave, only for the smallest omega to whine at their attempt to leave. They ended up in a pile on the bed, y/n’s quiet giggles making their squished situation on the bed much more bearable.

During this, Han disappeared from the pack that was waiting outside the door, which was only himself and Jeongin at this point, and headed to the living room, where he could hear the two eldest discussing something. As the younger man walked into the room, the two men looked up at him as he made his way over to them.

“We have to talk.” Han stated, looking at the other two.

“What about?” Chan asked, concerned.

“About how we’re all treating y/n like she’s already a part of our pack, when we all know she isn’t. At least not yet.” Han replied.

“Why is that a problem? Isn’t it better that we’re treating her like pack?” Minho asked. “We’re getting along insanely well, she fits right in, her scent is amazing. What’s so wrong about treating her like she’s one of us?”

“What’s wrong, is that although I think all of us, and our respective alphas, betas and omegas, treating her like pack means everything good, and that she’s probably meant to be one of us, is that it’s what’s caused her to break down like this. Before this happens again, we all need to sit down and talk. I’m serious, because I can see she’s like me, and you know exactly how bad I got when he-who-shall-not-be-named left us and the pack. I don’t want her going through that, because we’ve all decided something without telling her.” Han says, slightly scolding the boys without directly doing so.

The two alphas were sheepish, knowing that they did kinda fuck up with what they’ve done so far. Though now that Han has explained it to them, they understand how exactly their actions could have contributed to this whole situation, and decide that they’ll be better about it in the future. Han then decides to drag them back to the room, now that the three of them have had this talk. In theory, should he have said this to all of them? Yes. But that would mean leaving y/n by herself, and that wasn’t a good idea right now.

Walking back to Seungmin’s room, they found that Jeongin had finally been let in, and Changbin had also stopped guarding the door. They took a peek inside the room, finding that the pack was softly talking with each other and y/n as they were scattered on and around the pack beta’s bed.

“It seems you’re doing better y/n. I’m glad.” Chan said, causing the others to notice them.

“Hyungs, Hannie, you’re back!” Felix welcomed the three men back into the room, happy to see them.

The three are quickly beckoned to join them, though Hannie is beckoned to join the beta/omega cuddle pile on the bed. Once he is close enough, Han is pulled into the pile by Felix, and the betas move around to let the omegas curl in the middle of the pile. This is how they all spent the next little while, letting them all relax in the company of the others, and conversation flows easily, but comfortable silences in between those little conversations. The omegas spend this time getting to know y/n better, asking all sorts of questions, wanting to know her better, and the others also occasionally ask their own questions to her as well. It’s more of an interrogation than a conversation, considering that the omega knows more about them, than any of them know about her.

After a while of this silence, Seungmin decided it was time to speak up, knowing that they really needed to talk things out with y/n.

“I think we really need to talk about what happened. I know it’s not easy to talk about it, y/n, but I think it’s something we need to have a conversation about. I know you haven’t known us long, but I hope that we’re able to talk honestly about these things.” Seungmin said, broaching the topic of y/n’s breakdown.

Y/n’s reaction was immediate as she sat up and looked down at her lap, avoiding eye contact with any of them. She took a breath, still not looking at any of them, before she started speaking.

“I started thinking about all of this, all of what’s happened in the last 24 hours. I went from talking to all of you at the fanmeet, and somehow going from that to being here, and not only being here, but Lee Know and Hyunjin coming to my hotel room, and then bringing me here. Then you all let me into your nest. Me, a fan, being let into your nest and then waking up there and I don’t remember how I got there. And then Minho went alpha on me. Neither mine or my omega knew how to process any of that, let alone the fact that you all treat me like pack when you barely know me. Why? Why me? I’m just a normal girl and you’re all Stray Kids. I don’t get it.” She spewed out, her breathing starting to speed up.

The boys looked shocked, though Han and the two eldest alphas looked less shocked than the others. Felix and Hyunjin started tearing up at her words, feeling so bad that they’ve caused her to feel this way. Han thought that he was right on what the cause of her drop and spiral was, and he felt bad that he was right.

“I feel so confused, I feel so at home here with you all, but before I met you all yesterday, I had never been around you at all. I shouldn’t feel this at home with all of you, let alone any of the alphas, but I am. And that terrifies me because I can’t figure out why. I don’t wanna leave, but I can’t help but worry that I’ll have to. Not even that I’ll have to, I will have to leave, I can’t stay here forever. I’m not one of you, I’m not a part of your pack.” She finished, tears dropping down onto her legs.

Chan moved to kneel on the bed in front of her, a hand reaching out to tilt her head up so he could look her in the eyes.

“Your feelings and the way you are feeling is perfectly valid. I want to say that before anything else. I am sorry for treating you like one of us, without any explanations and for going about this as we have been the last 24 hours. We’re at fault for, without a better way to say it, shoving you right in the deep end without saying anything that would have helped you and your omega understand why you went from being a fan at the fansign, to being here with us in our dorm. We’re at fault for that, and we should be the ones begging you for forgiveness.” Chan apologized, while explaining things slightly as well.

“I think why you feel at home with us, is because you’re meant to be one of us, meant to be part of the pack.” Han piped up, all eyes on him. “I said this to Chan-hyung and Minho jagi, but I think why we all took to you so quickly and why you took to us, is because you’re meant to be here, with us, as part of the pack.” He finished, sitting up and looking at y/n as he did so.

Y/n’s eyes had widened during Han’s explanation, and those who were looking at her could see understanding blooming in her eyes as she processed what Han said. She breathed in, wiping away her tears as she took in that they felt the same way she did, and that her feelings weren’t odd. She felt better now about her feelings, now that the boys explained to her what their feelings and thoughts on the situation were, and she expressed her relief to them, that it wasn’t just her, that they felt that way too.

Changbin, sensing that she needed a hug, got up, rounding the bed to sit down behind her as Seungmin pulled Felix out of the way. The buff beta’s arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her into his lap as he kissed the top of her head. She snuggled into his hold, getting comfortable on his lap. The other boys cooed at the two of them, to which y/n blushed, hiding her face in her hands.

This sweet moment couldn’t last, as y/n’s stomach rumbled, signaling that it was definitely time for food. Minho immediately took that as a sign to make food and in his alpha’s eyes, to provide for her. He moved to snatch her from Binnie’s grip, despite the yelling from said man to give her back, and takes her into his arms to take her with him to the kitchen. When he got there, he placed her down on the counter away from the space he’d need for cooking, but close enough that she was around for him to keep an eye on her. He quickly moved around the kitchen, checking what they had in the dorm, and finding that they had a lot, so he set out to make a bunch of different dishes. He made sure to include both spicy and non-spicy dishes, including some less spicy versions of dishes, for both his spice intolerant packmates, and y/n if she also turned out to not be a spicy food person.

As Minho cooked, y/n watched with rapt attention, aware of his every move, interested in watching him cook food for them all, while her omega whispered to her how good of an alpha he was, providing for her and his pack. She tried to move off of the counter once, to try and help the taller man, only for her to be picked right back up and placed on the counter once again.

“Stay here. Don’t move.” He told her, before moving back to cooking.

Soon enough, the others made their way out of the bedroom and into the main living area, some of them checking the kitchen and finding the duo. There were more than a couple teasing remarks made to Minho about his actions, and at least one spoon was thrown in the direction of those who made said remarks. Thankfully, food was quickly finished, and y/n hopped off of the counter, moving to take the plates and dishes out to the table, as Chan managed to find an extra chair for y/n to sit on. Chan sat at the head of the table, with Jeongin at the other end, as the others sat where they could find a spot. Y/n was directed to sit in between Seungmin and Changbin, the two betas keeping her company. The buffer of the two betas piling food onto her plate, making sure she was fed enough, and that the boys wouldn’t eat the rest of the food, leaving her with almost nothing. The conversation flowed as they ate, and not once did y/n feel out of place, they always made every effort to include her, as those that spoke English translated for those that didn’t speak the language as well.

After they had finished, the betas took care of the dishes, as it turned out it was their turn to wash up today. Y/n was walked, well really half-dragged over to the couches in the living room, by the youngest alpha, who decided it was his turn for attention. He sat her down on the smallest couch with him, so no one else could take up her attention, despite the whines and huffs about it from the others. He had a monopoly on her attention, well, until she was stolen by the other two alphas and placed in between them. This eventually ended up in her being surrounded by all eight members, as a movie day was decided on between all of them, with a little bit of everyone’s favorite movies being shown, with the exception of horror movies. Y/n sighed happily as she settled and happily enjoyed the movies and fighting that occurred.

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Taglist: @queen-thiccness @royal-shinigami @lolareadsimagines @palindrome969 @tiapatito202278ok

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elementaskylos345 · 4 months

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Dread Within the Cabin

An Island of the Slaughtered fanfic

In an effort to seek temporary sanctuary from the torment of Wawanakwa Island and its restless and angered spirits, Chris McLean falls head first out of the kettle and into the fire.

|TW| firearms, disassociation |TW|

Chris slammed the door behind him, breathing heavily as he backed away from the door, eventually bumping into a workbench and leaning on it. His eyes flicked to look towards the busted window - wisps of thin light crept around the side closest to the door. All then fell silent.

The light then faded, leaving Chris alone. After at least a minute he finally let go of the breath he was holding, lightheadedness swimming in his skull.

“Fucking hell…” He murmured as he fell to the floor. He groaned and shifted himself, resting his arms on his knees, staring at the ground. His face was dirty, bruised, and cut while his hair was rugged and unkempt. He'd spent… two or so days lost and unable to find his team. Even where he knew they'd be, they weren't there. It's as if the island itself was keeping him away, tormenting him with spirits.

He left them here with a killer, he knew he did, but he was coming to save them now. Doing the right thing in the end is what matters, right? Like living a life of sin but turning to Christ - God will forgive.

He let out a stressed laugh. Then a chuckle. And then more laughter.

Chris didn't believe in God. But he was still right by coming here and rescuing the remaining teenagers. Hell, maybe after they all get through this he could do some interviews and finally get eyes back on him-

Chris jolted as a TV in the corner flicked on. Its screen was cracked and bloodied… as well as the cart it sat upon. He squinted as he slowly stood up and inspected it from afar, not daring to get any closer. It wasn't just blood that was on the TV there also seemed to be… hair… maybe a bit of flesh… on the corner. Chris felt sick to his stomach.

Death was all over this island now yet he hadn't grown numb to it. Maybe it was the constant terror, maybe it was his mind still not being caught up.

Through the static Chris saw… something. A face maybe? Glasses? He couldn't quite tell, not at this distance. The screen then turned off before flicking back on again. He tilted his head in confused suspicion, taking in the now clear image. It was an image familiar to him. A hint of nostalgia surrounding days in the arcade came to mind.

The familiar green vector graphics on that black background with the angular text. Battlezone. He'd spent far too long in the arcade playing this - it was very impressive back then. He snapped back to reality and to the fear he should be feeling. Chris squinted his eyes and slowly approached before stopping, looking out the window… he felt the need to block that off… he just felt eyes on him from over there. Be it Beth or Justin he didn't care either way he didn't want anyone looking at him without his knowledge.

So Chris took a few minutes to crudely cover the window with a nearby tarp, using a few nails quietly hammered into place to keep it up. It wouldn't last but it would do. As he stepped off of the ladder he nearly had a heart attack when he noticed the cart and TV had moved to be next to him. The ladder clattered to the floor in response to him practically jumping off of it. He took a moment to breathe, staring at the ominous mechanical box before him. The days old blood that lined the left side of the TV and pooled at its base made him uneasy.

Chris huffed as he finally gathered himself, more closely inspecting the TV while still not daring to lay a hand on it or the cart. The first thing he noticed was the atari controller sat gently on top of the box TV, inviting him to pick it up and begin playing. His eyes followed the cable downwards to the atari console. Then the consol plugged into the TV. All was well so far.

But the TV wasn't plugged in. It didn't have a cord to plug with and this shack currently had no power.

Chris shuddered at the realization. As if the situation couldn't get more supernatural. His eyes fell onto the controller and how it beckoned for him. It insisted. It was for him. He nearly picked it up… but hesitated. If he's going to be distracted he needs to be able to defend himself… that's partially why he came here in the first place - to arm himself.

So he left the TV and moved back over to the workbench. There were what you'd expect - hammers, saws, screwdrivers, the like… but there were also a few firearms. Hunting rifles and a shotgun. Damn. He'd forgotten to move them into his home before filming… or maybe this was one of the restricted shacks used for set building and such? It didn't matter now and he didn't care to remember. He just picked up a crowbar and walked back over to the TV to grab the controller.

…

“What am I doing?” He asked himself before stepping away. Yeah, what WAS he doing? He huffed. “Playing a clearly haunted game on an island full of ghosts that want to kill you, good job McLean.” he scolded himself before turning his back to the box and moving to the door.

The moment he laid his hand on the handle a sheer noise erupted from behind him, like the dying wails of a beast put through so many filters it came out like garbled static. He whipped around and swung the crowbar, wracking the TV right on its side with a resounding thud. He stared at the TV and the TV stared back, a faint static hum in the air. Sweat rolled down Chris’ brow as he swallowed the lump in his throat - he could swear he saw eyes behind those pixels.

He then noticed the missing controller. He eyed the surrounding area before realizing that the controller was at his feet… this spirit was no longer asking but demanding. He stared into the vector graphics for a moment before finally nodding in agreement.

“Alright… alright… I'll play.”

He shakily picked up the controller before gently pushing the cart back about a foot so he could sit with his back against the door and still see the screen. He was below the TV screen but he had no idea how long he'd be kept here so he might as well get comfortable. He laid the crowbar across his lap and pressed the button on the controller, starting the game of Battlezone.

Chris immediately noticed that the environment was off. A scene of distant mountains and green squares and triangles as obstacles was no more. The background was all but gone and the obstacles now resembled infinitely tall rectangles. Immediately the hair on the back of his neck rose but he nonetheless familiarized himself with the controls.

Not only had it been several decades since he last played but he was used to the arcade cabinet and not the atari version. The arcade cabinet had two joysticks that controlled the two treads of the tank the player drove, using the position of the two joysticks to determine how the tank moved. All that was now condensed into one joystick.

You'd think that would make it easier but all the skill he built up all those years ago was severely hampered. He turned his attention to the top left to see where the enemy tank would be.

[Enemy is to th rigleft]

[Enemy in rangeft]

[Enemy is to the lefange]

[Enemy ]

That was very helpful. His eyes went back to the battleground. He began to scan the area to his left, deciding that maybe the word left showing up in most of the messages might’ve meant something. The background scrolled as he turned, revealing more of the nothing and nonsensical line placements. He also saw more infinitely tall rectangles… but no enemy tank. He also didn't hear any missiles coming. So he continued spinning.

The radar feed in the top left continued to spit out nonsensical garbage as he turned. As he spun around to the right he could finally see some geometry that made sense - a large mountain off in the distance, much like the one on Wawanakwa. He'd now scanned the entire area and still didn't see the enemy tank and his nerves were at a fever pitch. He took a moment to look at his surroundings to see if perhaps all of this was a distraction.

Then he heard the sound of something firing in the game. He jolted and began reversing and his eyes snapped back to the screen, hoping he was being shot from the side. He witnessed the bullet whiz, by the front of his tank. He sucked in some air and began to strafe to the left - where the bullet came from. More bullets flew past the front of his tank. As he continued to strafe he began to dread more and more what the enemy tank might look like, unable to tell if horrifying vector graphics would look better than… whatever else might show up here.

It was a slow process but he eventually moved backwards enough to see the enemy at the left side of his screen. It was a lot tamer than he was expecting as it was just a corrupted tank model. That being said, considering how simple the graphics are this felt like an abomination from hell.

Nonetheless he was still in a terrible position. Like first person shooters after it, in Battlezone you can only fire from the center of the screen. The enemy was to the left. Not good.

Thankfully, he hadn't fired once in this whole process and there's a firing delay, about half a second. It'd be tight but he might be able to turn the tank after the enemy fired and hit it before it can shoot him. It's far more likely he'd die but it was worth a shot. He then backed into an obstacle and died. He blinked. He forgot that could happen.

Once he respawned he turned to the right and saw the corrupted enemy model. He made sure there were no obstacles in the way before lining up the shot and fired. However, the enemy moved out of the way. He hummed and moved forward to make chase. Now that he was in the prime position he was able to close the distance and destroy the enemy, causing the enemy “tank” to explode into corrupted vector chunks.

With his death and the death of the enemy tank leading to no horror brought him some comfort. A small part of him considered that maybe this spirit just really wanted to play some Battlezone. So, the back and forth continued. Playing against an intelligent being was certainly very different from playing against ai. There was even a moment of peace where the two of them “danced” by driving forward and reversing rapidly before continuing the battle. It was… nice.

After constant torment this moment of peace and, honestly, fun was refreshing. He'd almost forgotten the danger he was in, the nostalgia and newfound comfort in the game lulling Chris’ anxieties.

Honestly, after a while, he was convinced that this spirit - who he figured was probably Harold - just wanted someone to play with. It was so strangely wholesome… though, he should probably leave soon. He'd lost track of the time and still had to find out how to get back to his crew.

But he just couldn't pull himself away from the game, enthralled by the activity, he and Harold now trying to see if they can shoot each other's projectiles.

Shoot

The image of one of the hunting rifles popped into his mind, almost as if he was looking at it at that moment. He blinked, a fuzzy feeling filling his mind, causing him to lift his thumb off of the controller and stop all movement in game. He groaned and rubbed his eyes… his hands felt full… like a weight was in them. He looked down at the controller then past the TV to the dark environment around him. It suddenly didn't feel real.

He rubbed his eyes again and shook his head, fully dropping the atari controller. What the hell was going on? He felt detached from himself and from the things around him, like he was floating in a void. He looked back to the screen only to be met with the barrel of the enemy tank, his eyes half lidded and confused. He waited for the tank to shoot.

Shoot

Chris blinked into awareness, his body once again feeling like his own. He was standing in front of the workbench, staring at the ceiling. He furrowed his brow and looked around to catch his bearings. Everything was as he left it - tarp on the window, tools displaced from his rummaging, haunted TV in front of the door to the outside… but one of the hunting rifles was missing. He looked down at his hands, quickly dropping what was held within them.

Well, he found the rifle. He was holding it to himself, clearly with harmful intentions. Chris just stood there for a moment to catch his breath. How close was he to death just now? Was Harold just toying with him?

After a moment he steeled his gaze with a huff before turning to leave. He grabbed the cart with the TV and thrust it aside, just barely throwing the TV to the ground. Turns out he'd lost at some point while he was hallucinating. Chris waved his hand dismissively towards the box and picked up the crowbar before leaving, slamming the door behind him.

As he left he reminded himself that he was doing the right thing. He was saving who was left. The police were here combing the island for the killer. This anger was justified - maybe - but his conscience would be clear. These spirits would NOT kill him.

They would NOT be the end of him.

He refused to die on this island.

#elementa art #digital art #fanfic #island of the slaughtered #total slaughter island #fanart #td chris mclean #tw gun mention #tw disassociation #my art #td harold

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rubykgrant · 5 months

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(Segment of my story, How It Feels, with Jon and Martin recovering at Daisy's cabin after leaving London, and before the Eye Apocalypse happens. This in particular focuses on Martin, how he's changed since being in the Lonely, and how he is also still himself. This involves tooth loss and feelings of depression/disassociation, but isn't gory, and leans more toward being comforting. Inspired by the art of @lonelyslutavatar ~)

Jon is quite proud of himself for responding to Martin in a very calm manner, instead of rushing in and assuming the worst.

The calm quickly shatters when he sees Martin standing in the bathroom, face a mix of embarrassed and worried, holding two teeth in the palm of his hand.

Several teeth-related horror stories from past statements flash into Jon’s mind (the apple, a few dozen about some sort of “evil tooth fairy” that were probably not real but still upsetting, and several connected to the Flesh and the Hunt). Jon nearly starts to panic as well, but somehow he composes himself, and moves slowly, helping Martin sit down on the lid of the toilet, and begins trying to figure this out.

Martin has some pain in his jaw, but nothing feels “broken”, and there isn’t any blood. The teeth look “fine”, except for the fact that they aren’t where they should be. Jon asks Martin to open his mouth, and it doesn’t appear as if anything is infected or irritated. To be thorough, Jon runs to get a small torch.

“I’m VERY close to freaking out! Just so you know!” Martin says, loudly.

“Yes, I’m- I’m sorry, I’ll be there in a-”

“ANOTHER ONE JUST CAME LOOSE!” Martin is able to spit it out before yelling the news to Jon. He does NOT want to swallow any of his teeth.

“I’M COMING BACK! HERE! HERE I AM!” Jon stumbles to a stop at the small door, and walks back in carefully.

This time, Martin opens his mouth WIDE, and Jon shines the little light to see properly.

“Oh,” Jon says after a moment.

“Oh? Oh, WHA?” Martin asks, making sure his mouth doesn’t close.

“Oh, um… I sort of see the- er, the issue?” Jon answers, without actually giving Martin a real answer.

“Wha ih ih?” What is it?

“Well, I can see the empty areas, where your teeth were, and… it looks like something is, er- pushing them out?” Jon elaborates. Martin finds this description unhelpful and worrisome.

“UH HUH UH AH EEE?!” The fuck does that mean?! Good God, what was in his mouth?

“Sorry! There are NEW teeth coming in! Like- like when we lose our baby teeth, and-”

“I AREHEE AH I AHEE HEE! HOW OOH I HAH OR!?” Martin demands, and after a brief second of trying to translate it in his head, Jon realizes Martin has just said- “I already lost my baby teeth! How do I have more!?”.

“Uhh…” before Jon can say anything else, two more teeth fall out, helped by Martin’s attempts to talk. These were from his top row, on the left side. They completely leave Martin’s mouth, and land in his lap. Martin groans, irritated. Jon tries to speak again, before something else distracts him. “If- I had to guess, which is all I’m doing, I’m sorry, this- this might be like your OWN spooky puberty?”

Martin groans again, giving Jon a glare.

“You were working with- hell I’m just saying his name, Peter, you were working with Peter for a while, and before that you were working at the Institute. That changed all of us, a little bit, but Peter really pushed you along, and… what finally made me change and become something more than just human was- I died. Sort of. When I was in that coma, I was pretty close to being dead, but then I came back. You were… you were almost ready to fade away when I finally found you, and then you came back. I think you might have become something more than just human,” Jon pauses a moment, to let Martin have a chance to understand what he’s saying… and because another tooth falls out. “And we saw what happens to ME when I don't feed on any statements, so… you haven’t been doing anything at all when it comes feeding what you are connected to,”

Jon places his hand on Martin’s cheek and turns off the torch, letting Martin know he can close his mouth again. Martin does so, and then immediately gives an angry huff, spitting still another tooth into his hand. He gathers up the rest in his lap, so he’s holding all of them together.

“What the hell. The isn’t FAIR. Your- your eyeballs didn’t fall out when YOU changed! And why my TEETH?! Am I supposed to start eating people? Peter didn’t even do that!” Martin blinks a few times, uncertain. “I mean, I never SAW him to that…”

“This might not be so LITERAL. I doubt this is a sign you need to actually eat anybody-”

“Pff, whatever, you don’t KNOW…” Martin scoffs.

“What I mean is- sometimes when people like us change, it isn’t always straight-forward. This might be more… like it symbolically represents the way loneliness can, er- consume you? Eat you up?” Jon is leaning back against the wall opposite Martin, arms crossed anxiously. He hunches his shoulders up, as if to shrug in a way that asks for approval.

Martin does not exactly “approve”, but unfortunately, he’s beginning to see that Jon may have a point. He also remembers that nightmare he had, as if it had been some kind of “punishment” for rejecting the Lonely. The fact that Martin can now remember Peter purposefully pulling him into the Lonely to avoid true and permanent death added up as well. Did the Eye punish Jon when he wouldn’t feed it new fear? Yes, he supposes so.

“Wonderful. So my teeth are falling out as a METAPHOR. And what am I even supposed to DO about it? Read statements that are relevant to feeling forlorn and isolated?” Martin now feels THREE teeth pop loose. Great. More to add to the collection in his hands.

“Perhaps not…” Jon ventures another guess. “That’s sort of the specific thing I’m stuck doing. And it started even before the coma, remember? So maybe- was there anything you did while working with Peter that might have been related to feeding this particular kind of fear? It might have even been something that seemed almost normal, but the more it happened, the more it had an affect on you, and when you stopped, you felt strange?”

Martin’s first reaction is to just say NO, because he’s in an ornery mood (Why shouldn’t he be moody? His teeth are falling out! He has a right!). Instead, he tries to give Jon’s question some real thought…

When Jon was still in the coma, and Peter first became the “new boss”, Martin had initially tried to take on more responsibility as a way to shield other people from the problems that came from working so closely with… a man like that. The most unnerving part was how pleasant Peter seemed. He often asked Martin to come along as his personal assistant when he went on various errands; some were clearly for meeting with other unusual people part of the whole Fear situation, while others were part of the more normal side of business for the Magnus Institute.

These people, in either situation, would usually not even acknowledge Martin at all until Peter made a point to turn to him, ask a question or make a request, and then they’d startle to see there was a WHOLE man there beside Peter. When Martin got more used to it all, he’d speak up on his own, blatantly pointing out when somebody was giving Peter incorrect information or outright lying. In those moments, they were not only surprised that Martin existed, they were suddenly INTIMIDATED by him.

Peter was very amused by this, and proudly complimented Martin on being so “accomplished”.

Yeah, that may have been how this started.

Martin was well practiced at going unnoticed, keeping quiet, fading into the background. That was a good way to keep yourself safe. It was also a good way to be lonely. The shock of suddenly being given attention no doubt fed Peter’s patron Fear plenty of Martin’s own nervous energy… and when Martin did it on purpose, making himself known with an aloof sort of confidence, it caused unease in other people. The Lonely probably loved feeding on all that.

That was the start… but what turned it into a pattern, something that Martin had to continue doing, and also something that he did without thinking about it?

It finally occurs to Martin that what was happening when he first left the Lonely might be a hint; the sleepwalking. That never happened back in London, not exactly. However… very often, when Martin left the hospital after visiting Jon, or took a break in the evening in the middle of working late, he would walk through the city and let his mind wander.

No, that was putting it mildly. He’d feel a growing disconnect from his own feelings and thoughts, and whatever remained gave him a sense of bored contempt, if anything.

He blended into the crowds, but still wasn’t “part” of it all. Martin remained separate, even in the shared experience of riding the bus or waiting for a light to change.

Occasionally he would pop into a store and use the self check-out lane, or even a bar with no intention to mingle or drink, and he would go unnoticed.

All around him, he would see people talking to each other, or chatting on calls, crying over break-ups, getting into arguments, lying about what they were doing, waiting to meet somebody who wasn’t coming, staring at displays in stores of things they longed to buy but couldn’t afford, getting frustrated after searching for a job all day, trying to be funny for friends or deal with a stressful visit with family… Martin could nearly picture himself, as if looking on from another point of view, and he was nothing but a nameless face on the street.

Obscure and forgettable. Martin would walk on, automatically, no effort in reaching his destination. It was eventual and certain. He may as well be a memory, instead of somebody who was still there.

Then he would be back at the Institute, or at home, and his thoughts would click back into place. Maybe he’d take a shower, or have something to eat. If it wasn’t too late and he was done with research or paperwork, he’d watch something on TV. It was alright. Mostly.

In the current situation, with Martin sitting on the toilet in a bathroom of a safehouse in Scotland, trying to figure out why he’s losing his teeth… he thinks that he’s finally connected some dots, and sees the bigger picture.

“Yeah… well, um- I guess maybe when I would walk around London and sort of lose myself in groups of people, without interacting with anybody, that was possibly like feeding on loneliness. So. Maybe I just need to do THAT again,” Martin looks up at Jon again, now the one checking to see if what he’s saying makes any sense.

“Hmm… it might work when you go out to buy us supplies. You’ll be around people again, and- whatever lonely feelings they have,” Jon nods, though he doesn’t look happy about it. That’s fine. Martin isn’t happy, either.

“What if I… Jon, when you got REALLY bad, you compelled people to talk about things when they didn’t want to. What if I VANISH somebody? What if I can’t control this?” Martin asks, and as soon as he closes his mouth, he has to spit three more teeth into his hand.

“That is upsetting, I know…” Jon replies, reaching out one hand to place on Martin’s shoulder. “But, listen- a few days after I started to really try and rein myself in, one of the people I compelled actually showed up at the Institute again. I was… well, I- erm…”

“You were outside, sneaking a smoke,” Martin guesses.

“Yes, FINE. Anyway, I thought they were still having problems because of me, and I immediately apologized and assured them it wouldn't happen again. I was honestly sort of distressed about that, I didn’t want to go find everybody I had compelled, because seeing me might just make them even MORE afraid, but I still wanted to say I was sorry… well, this person told me they only came there to explain they weren't angry with me. They didn't forgive me exactly, but-,”

“What, they wanted to rescind what they said before? Like, withdraw the complaint?” Martin raises his eyebrows at this.

“Something like that. They told me… they weren’t having nightmares anymore, about me OR what I made them talk about. It had faded after a while. They also told me that it sort of helped, in a weird way, to finally confront something they’d been ignoring for so long. And now they knew, the world had scary things in it, that was REAL, and they weren’t crazy for wanting to be careful…” Jon sees Martin wants to jump into the conversation, but has to pause to catch another tooth that has escaped. Jon continues talking, knowing what Martin was going to ask.

“The reason I didn’t say anything at the time- I didn’t want it to seem like I was making excuses. Oh, this person says the nightmares stopped and they faced their fears, this means nobody should be mad at me anymore! Hell, no. I still forced people to share private thoughts and experiences against their will, and that wasn’t right. I’m only telling you this NOW because I’m hoping that you being around people in public, absorbing whatever you need, THAT will be more like when I read the statements. The fear and the hurt already happened. You aren’t making it worse. If you keep ignoring this hunger, then… it will most likely get more intense, but even if that happens, you still might not vanish somebody to death. People even escaped from what Peter did, occasionally. I just don’t want you to feel… hopeless,”

“OK… yeah, OK. This is still pretty fucked, though,” Martin says, trying to steady his breathing.

“Yes. And it will probably continue to be fucked. But we can try to help each other feel better,” Jon smiles down at Martin, and somehow, that makes a tense knot in his chest loosen.

Jon waits with Martin as the last few teeth come loose, and gets a small glass jar for them. After some “Should I leave them under my pillow?” jokes, Jon grabs the small torch again to see what the situation is with Martin’s new set of teeth…

“You really don’t feel them growing in?”

“Uh-uh,” Martin may not physically feel the teeth coming into place, but he has noticed that the ache in his jaw is gone, and the weird grinding has stopped (that was probably his weird new “spooky” bones making room for his weird new “spooky” teeth. This sounded like such a stupid problem when he thought of it that way, but there just wasn’t a better term unfortunately).

“Well, they’re almost all here, and- they’re sharp! Martin, your new teeth are POINTY!” Jon uses his hand not holding the torch to tilt Martin’s head back slightly.

“WHA? LIE A HA-HIRE?” What? Like a vampire?

“No, not like that… you don’t have fangs, exactly… oh lord, I can see them rising up!” Jon says, and now Martin is starting to get annoyed that he sounds EXCITED about this. “They’re wider, and sort of flat… Martin, I think these are like- like shark teeth!”

Jon has set the torch aside, and is now holding Martin’s head with both his hands, leaning him back even more so the light from the ceiling shines into Martin’s mouth. Jon is pushing aside Martin’s upper lip to see the teeth as they move through the gum better, and that is IT, Martin is DONE.

“GEH YER FEE-HERS OW UH I OW!” before Jon can translate that into “Get your fingers out of my mouth!”, Martin actually SNARLS as a final warning, Jon whips his hands away, and just to be dramatic, Martin CHOMPS his mouth shut.

His new teeth are officially finished growing in; all the severe ridges fit together. Sharp, solid, and strong.

Shark teeth... really? Was that just the Lukas Brand? Martin has to turn half-way into a SEA MONSTER? For the aesthetic?

Jon knows Martin wasn’t actually going to bite him… and Martin knows that Jon knows this. Which is why Jon still looks more fascinated than afraid of Martin’s new MONSTER TEETH, and that just makes Martin want to try and snap at him again. Jon can see that as well, and he starts to snort laughter. Martin wishes he was strong enough to stay furious, but the corners of his mouth betray him, curving into a smile.

Yep. All his human adult teeth fell out, he’s got weird spooky shark teeth now, he’s damn near close to laughing about it. He must be mad. Oh, well. So is Jon.

#tma #the magnus archives #jmart #jonmartin

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yellowroseswrites · 10 months

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Hi, I was wondering if you could write a fic about Spencer Reid x sh/ed reader. The reader is very insecure because she feels like she used to be smart but isn't anymore and maybe after failing a case she starts harming herself again.

I was also wondering if you could include

that she wears a watch all the time

that she tends to cut small cuts on her fingers because she can blame them on other things and often digs her nails into them when anxious

has a good relationship with family so she feels her actions are unjustified

Spencer and reader are friends but shes always thought of him as more

I totally understand if this isn't possible and thank you.

"I want to help you carry it."

Spencer Reid x Sh!BAU!Reader

Author's notes- [ “has a good relationship with her family so she feels her actions are unjustified’ called me out personally and i need emotional compensation /j. Sorry these pieces have taken so long, a lot of my requests have been sh related and i wasn’t in the right headspace until recently, i hope you understand and i hope you enjoy this piece <3 also this is taken quite far from the prompt, so i’m sorry about that. I’ll definitely try to write more with reid and sh reader, so i’ll try to follow the request a bit more closely next time]

TW- {Self harm mentions, not super graphic, but it is a bit detailed, mentions of kidnapping and su!c!de (briefly), Eating habits mentioned, but not detailed at all, disassociation scenes, 2 of them i think, use of y/n}

1.2k words, enjoy

You looked down at your watch, watching the second hand tick all the way around the circle, desperately trying not to look up. If you looked up, all you would see is the dissapointed face of your best friend, Spencer.

You were sat on a stool near his kitchen counter. Usually if you were sitting here, there would be laughter and smiles, maybe pizza or some freshly baked cupcakes, but this was different. You only ever saw Reid like this once, when he sat you down to talk to you about your eating habits. You swore you would never do anything that would make him that upset again. You never wanted him to worry about you. He had enough on his plate, you would only be a burden. And yet, here you are.

You thought you were hiding it well, to be honest you really were. You never let anything slip, not a wince, not a complain, nothing. No one knew a thing, until today.

You were finishing a case, a rough one if you’re being honest. There was a young girl, one with scars everywhere, self inflicted. Everyone thought she had killed herself, except you and Reid. You both fought hard to find the girl. The team did end up finding her, she was trapped in some freaks attic. The case was closed, she was found, it was fine. You told yourself it was fine, you did your best to convince yourself that it didn’t bother you. It wasn’t until you were filling out your case reports that you finally let yourself dwell on it. You could hear Derek’s voice so clearly in your head, “Is it possible that she took her own life? It’s clear she has suicidal tendencies.” Even after JJ and Hotch explained the complexities of non-suicidal self injury, his words still rang in your head. You dont even know why it bothered you. I wasn’t judgmental, it wasn’t disrespectful, it wasn’t even a bad theory, but it rattled you. It’s like you could perfectly imagine them talking about you like that, like you were nothing but your habits. You knew that wasn’t how Morgan meant it, he was doing his job, you would do the same for any other case, but this one just stung.

As you thought about it, you faded into your mind. It’s like you weren’t even there at your desk, you were inside your head. Your nails found there way to your other hands knuckles. You were good at hiding the marks, and it was easy to lie about them. They were your hands, anyone would believe that you just knicked them, or got them stuck in your car door, or that your neighbors cat was a playful fella, or the countless other excuses you had saved in your resevoir. You never hurt youself in public, or when people could catch you, except today apperently. Your finger was red and bleeding by the time you snapped out of your haze. Or rather, was rudely dragged out of our haze by Spencer. You blinked a few times as you focused on him and what he was saying.

“Y/n stop that.” His hands were on yours. You were frozen for a second, your mind almost buffering, before the reality of that moment actually dawned on you. Without speaking a word you pulled your hands back and stoop up from your desk.

You grabbed your bag, sliding your unfinished report into your desk drawer, before beginning to walk off, “Good work Spence, I’ll see you tommorow.” You made your way to the elevator, ttrying to avoid the obvious footsteps following you. He put his hand on your shoulder as you made your way out of the building, gently guiding you to his car. You didn’t fight it, you knew you couldn’t, and you would really rather not make a scene in your work parking lot. You listened to the hum of his car air conditioner as he drove the all familiar route to his appartment.

That’s how you ended up here. A few warm tears falling down your cheeks while Spencer silently stares at your shrunken figure. He was trying to find the words that he wanted to say, which was never a good thing. He was the Spencer Reid, he always knew what to say.

He finally cleared his throat, after what felt like ages, “Non-suicidal self injury is a habitual addiction, but it’s possible to recover from it. You just have to tell someone about it, that’s step one. That’s always been step one. We’ve talked about this.”

“I know Spence. I’m sorry.” Your voice was small. You felt small compared to your all knowing best friend. You knew everything there was to know about self harm, sometimes it was the only thing you wanted to read about or learn about, sometimes you felt like it was the only thing you knew about, but you knew this was how Reid helped, so you tried to stay calm as you let him tell you everything that you already had memorized.

“We’re friends y/n, you can talk to me.”

You huffed at that, mumbling a small, “Yea friends.”

“You’re deflecting.” He sounded softer, you hurt him. You were deflecting, and now you feel worse than you did before. You hated this, you wanted to go home and relive this day. Your nails started to sink into the skin on your thigh.

“Why do you keep doing that?” Great, Spencer saw. Spencer knows. Spencers going to think your insane, he’s going to talk about you like your a victim. He’s going to talk to you like a baby and look at you like your bleeding out in front of him. He’s never going to think about you the way you think of him, your just some charity case for him. He doesn’t -

His hand grabs yours, taking it away from your leg. Before your brain can catch up with you, your arms are wrapped around him, pressing your face into his torso. Your tears are falling more freely now. You feel his hands run through your hair and rub against your back. You never feel more safe than you do when your in his arms, your thoughts can’t catch you here.

You aren’t sure how long you stay like that before you gently pull away from him. You sit patiently as he examines your hands. You can see the hurt in his eyes, you do your best to ignore it.

“I love you, y/n. I don’t want you to do this to youself. You can get help for this. You can talk to me about it if you need to.” He was soft, but not condescending. You could feel yourself melt, as though you needed another reason to love him.

“I can’t do that, I’ll just be a burden. This isn’t your baggage to carry.” You started to pull away again.

“It’s still your baggage, I just want to help you carry it. Let me help you, please.” His voice pulled you right back in.

You wiped the remaining tears from your face, “Okay Spence.” He sighed in relief, taking your hands and leading you to the couch. You both sat, you resting your head against his chest. You didn’t have to talk about it now. You knew you would eventually, but that's another thing about Spencer, you felt comfortable. You didn’t feel anxious about the impending conversations to be had, you weren’t stressing about him watching you or knowing your secrets, you simply felt safe. That was enough for now.

#yellowroseswrites #comfort fics #x reader #x reader fic #self h@rm #self harm fic #sh!reader #self h@rm reader #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x reider #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #tw #spencer reid comfort

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lovelykhaleesiii · 1 year

Note

Hello hei hi yes. Uhm i was wondering if i could perhaps make a request to. Something relating to maybe modern aegon or even tgc! However u want it! And for the plot part could it be sth of the fact their partner was nott very welcomed by people in their life all the time and so now they do evrrything to always make them feel wanted and needed and safe and all that jazz. Thank u love your stories!

heya bby, thank you for sending in this request!!! you know I'm a sucker for angst lol! I appreciate you, hope you enjoy this as much as I did writing it xx apologies for the long wait!!!

Approval & Acceptance.

PAIRING: Modern!Aegon ii Targaryen x fem!Reader

WORDS: 2,018.

WARNINGS: swearing, angst, mentions of slut-shaming, soft!Aegon.

A solid year had passed by since you'd plucked the courage to accept Aegon into your life, beyond the title of a mere friendly acquaintance. A wonderful, solid year it has been, now approaching the eve of your 1 year anniversary. Even prior to committing to Aegon as his one and only partner, you'd knew very little about him, although the extent of what you knew was not as pleasing as you’d liked…

A traditional part of living out a college life, many students often found themselves entangled in some sort of fraternity, which just happened to be the case for Aegon. He was quite the social butterfly, the centre of attention, although in a notorious way. The partying hardly ceased, only encouraging his previous habit of excessively drinking till he was passed out in some remote location of the campus. And the ladies… He relished in their undivided, carnally driven attention too, opting to satisfy his lust through sexual means, Aegon was a wild boy.

On the other hand, you had a rather mellow tune about yourself. More reserved and diligent with studies, although you did not mind the occasional outing, perhaps even a cocktail to go with it. You much rather preferred intimate, soulful gatherings than the chaotic mess of parties. Nonetheless, Aegon and yourself had mutually met one another and clicked instantaneously. The dynamic between you two was perfectly balanced, and gradually, romantic feelings had developed mutually.

The more of his time and thoughts you had naturally preoccupied, the more committed Aegon became, eager to devote his energy towards you. He began to disassociate himself from the all the unnecessary proclivities he'd previously pre-occupied himself with. Strenuously investing his efforts into making you as happy as can be.

The dates were splendid and fruitful, Aegon was infatuated with spoiling you with grand gestures and intimate, passionate love-making.

"I cannot get enough of you, sweetling, what have you done to me?"

Aegon would often mutter such pleasantries into your nearby ear, as he firmly held you close against his larger, warm body, enraptured in his arms, nothing but bare skin to skin contact.

It was undeniable, however...

The affection you naturally showered Aegon, was something that he'd been craving yet denied so vicariously throughout majority of his life. Upon mingling with you, it was all he could crave for, so desperately. Seeking for your approval and acceptance at all times. Your sweet, delicate scent had even become some sort of an addiction for him, that made him feral. Girls had come and gone in his life as means to satisfy his 'manly' needs, although none had remained, nor impressed him enough to have such a profound effect on him. With each lovingly, passing day, Aegon became more serious with you, serious enough that he had been intending to introduce you to his kin, as his girlfriend.

****

You'd been feverishly hesitant for tonight, as the hours tolled throughout the day, you could've sworn you were falling ill from the anticipation.

"Wh-What if they don't like me, Aeg? If they don't approve of me, what then? Do we stop seeing each other?"

"Oh, Y/N-C'mon, now. Be serious...Perhaps, they might not warm up to you but rest assured, they could never say no to some cake-" Aegon chuckled, as he fleetingly eyed the baked good resting on your lap, that you'd meticulously prepared hours ago, before resuming his attention back on the road ahead.

"Aegon, stop! You are absolutely no help right now! You know how these things stress me out," You defeatedly sulk, as you continue to dreadfully stare out across the vicinity beyond the car window. You could suspect Aegon's side glances towards your stoic direction, as he sensed the tension oozing from your stiff body.

"Y/N, baby, you know I'm only fucking with you, right?" Another glance exchanged between the road and you, you'd silently shrugged to Aegon's words.

"Y/N-"

A large hand gripped your chin firmly, pulling your face towards his direction.

"I mean it. I'm certain they are going to love you, baby, how could they not?"

His sweets words, earned a half-hearted smile from you, as you further leaned into his touch. His grip releasing from your chin, now reached over to your closest hand, as he pulled it over for a quick peck. Giving you a reassuring squeeze, before resuming the wheel, you felt a calm wash over, easing your worries for now...

****

"Aegon, that was fucking terrible. That went to shit pretty quick!" You vexed, as you aggressively smacked your clutch down on the dining table, Aegon silently following you behind as you entered your shared apartment. The car ride home felt long and painful, you both remained quiet, no words exchanged as you pondered over your vivid thoughts, emotions tense. You felt sick to your stomach, for the family dinner did not go accordingly, nor as Aegon had desperately hoped. The words he'd shared with you just moments before arriving to his family's place, now meant nothing, fuelled with delusions.

"Y/N, I-I'm sorry-" Aegon softly uttered, followed by a sigh, as he undid the tight buttons of his shirt, plopping himself defeatedly on the couch, as you removed the fine earrings you'd donned.

"It's not your fault, Aeg... They ripped into you just as much as much as they did me."

It was unfortunately the truth...

The moment you'd even entered the grand home, gifting the backed good to Alicent, who carefully eyed it, you'd already managed to trigger some spiteful side glances from his mother. As she closely eyed your figure up and down, beside her eldest son's side, her lips pursed in an almost disappointed look.

Aegon's father unwell, his health declining, as Aegon had pre-warned you, only managed to stay for a quick greeting, before resuming to the comfort of the bed. He seemed rather pleasant towards you, and rather wished for him to have stayed in place of Alicent, however, he too had a pre-dispositioned distaste for his eldest son, from again, what Aegon had disclosed to you.

"Forgive us, Aegon often rushes the girls out of the house, not bringing them in to be introduced, so this could be the first of many," Alicent spat, exchanging a smirk that you felt was fuelled with spite. Almost as though it was her jab at reducing you to the same type of 'company' Aegon would previously seek out.

"I should've known they would have acted this way, baby. A-As if they're trying to test me," Aegon exhaustedly stuttered, rubbing the furrow of his brows as he rested his head forward over his hands.

"And I just had to drag you into their fucking shit."

"Mother- You said you'd play nice... Now, this- This, is my darling, Y/N, Y/N this is everyone-," Aegon teased and hastily proceeded, a poor attempt of trying to alleviate his mother's harshness, as he gently pushed you forward.

"Helena, Aemond and Daeron-" Aegon continued as he gestured toward each sibling, you shaking each of their hands cordially. Respectively, Helaena too, seemed pleasant enough, although withdrawn and uninterested in the evening. Upon, close examination of her interactions with her own mother, it seemed the poor girl remained closed off towards her too, probably as means to not mingle with such bitterness. Daeron, Aegon's youngest brother, immediately succumbed to the distraction of his phone, silencing the conversation at hand with his costly looking headphones.

Aemond, on the other hand, showed no interest nor the slightest inch of a smile, as he stood self-assuringly by his mother's side, exchanging a private word with her as they guided you into the dining room, where the meals had been set and prepped already.

Questions had been asked about your studies, job and general background, although you felt they were said more out of obligation than the actual itch of wanting to know.

Aegon gradually grew rigid as the minutes went by, his mother and brothers, exchanging quick jabs at the eldest for his indecency, lack of dignity in his ventures and poor choices. You felt for Aegon deeply, wounded mutually by their brutal words, for it seemed as though they were reluctant to get to know the reinvented version of himself. Stubborn in their perceptions of him, deeming him "incapable of change" as Aemond insisted, in the confinement of the kitchen as he aided his mother in the dishes... You had overheard their private conversation, although refused to mention such things to Aegon, for it would upset him even more.

For a while, Aegon continued to divert the conversation onto you, wanting his family to optimise the opportunity to know you, although it seemed his efforts were pinned against him.

After revealing that Aegon and yourself had met mutually at a party, you'd witnessed a sly, haste exchange between Aemond and his mother, before Alicent coughed up the audacity to say:

"So I see you are not so different from where my son finds his usual tastes."

"Aegon, you didn't know-" Slowly walking over towards his dejected side on the couch, tenderly rubbing small circles on his back.

"If anything, they were quite volatile to you too, baby."

"Yes, but Y/N this is nothing new for me...If I'm being honest with myself, I gave them all the reasons in the fucking world, to hate me, but you?-" His attention panned towards you, as his hands cupped your tearful face in his instinctively, a saddened look struck upon him as he noticed your hurt one.

"How could they say such awful things about you, my sweet, sweet angel-" Aegon leaning in closer, closed the short distance between you both, as he planted a passionate kiss against your soft, lipstick stained lips.

"I truly am sorry about their behaviour, baby- I'm going to have a real, hard chat with them tomorrow, trust. Let's just get ready for bed." As you nodded your head in agreement, you both stood up, Aegon following you closely behind, holding one hand, whilst the other cheekily spanked your ass, as you gracefully walked. Turning swiftly to face him, now a sly look strewed across your face, you knew that Aegon deserved some sort of reward for putting up with tonight.

****

Nonetheless, you fucked him real good, it seemed it greatly helped to relieve the tension built up from the night prior, for the both of you. Having been drained mentally from the dinner, and physically exhausted from the long, sensual rounds of sex, you awoke the next morning to Aegon's missing figure from his usual side of the bed. Your arm reaching out only to be met with cold, empty sheets, instead you reached over for your phone. The unlocked screen had already displayed an unread message from "Aegon."

"Gone to speak to my family, angel. Don't wait to have breakfast, I'll be back for some more fucking as my reward. I love you."

You couldn't help but smile, for despite how belittled Aegon was, he was considerably resilient. He never hesitated to defend those that he cared for, those that he sincerely loved, and you were nothing less.

He had retuned an hour later, and disclosed the exact discussion that had taken place. From what you'd heard, it seemed Aegon had plentiful to say this time, whereas his mother and Aemond, remained to be the ones biting their venomous tongues. Giving them the ultimatum to apologise, or he'd refused to see them once more, Alicent immediately insisted he bring you over for another attempt of a family dinner.

Aegon and yourself agreed, however on your terms. You'd be the ones to arrange the date and time that best catered for yourselves.

And just as he'd mentioned and liked to remind you, you had rewarded Aegon with a generous amount more of fucking, before lounging around in each other's pleasant company. Warmly embraced in Aegon's arms on the couch, as you nestled in, to watch a cringe rom-com, the night before slowly became a blur.

It was the small, precious moments that mattered most...

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astarionfixation · 28 days

Text

Chapter 7: *I have all the time in the world, darling*

Part of "Am I Fu**ing Insane !?!" A multi chapter adventure in Astarion’s mind

Rating: Mature for mentions of sex and blood

CW mentions of panic attacks, disassociation

Word count count: 2.6k

Pairings: Astarion X OFC Tav

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54356776/chapters/139073218

I have a quite serious praise kink. Which also means compliments in the forms of tags and/or comments might very well spur me to write and post more

** Thoughts "" Dialogue - - Remarks ++ Quotes / Memories

*How can she just be asleep??? I’m starting to see her point about immortality seeing the amount of time humans have to waste this way…*

Astarion’s body is holding hers from behind, her legs slightly separated from each other so his own leg found a way to sneak between them. Unfortunately in a much more innocent way than the simple thought sounds in his head.

They have fallen in this habit for weeks now, and there’s really no complaining from his side. It still feels like a silly rule though. But she said it

+We can’t kiss+

And as she set the rule, he wouldn’t have her repeat herself. Especially since, by simply upholding her request, he has had a chance to partake in her lavish blood every time he has so wished.

*as if what we are up to is not… more intimate anyway…*

He holds her body tighter to his at that, her slow, deep breaths confirm he’s not going to disturb her slumber anyway and so he’s allowed, he can relish in her presence, her warmth, the blissful feeling of his stomach, his nostrils, his entire being filled with her life essence coursing through both her veins and his.

It took a few days at first to understand how to find a balance between his hunger and her health. Truth is he could drink from her forever and still marvel at the uniquely intoxicating flavour her humours concocted just to make him completely besotted by her. And he would have conceded to his addiction to her when it came to blood, though since their unlikely partnership came to be, she had also been incredibly patient and kind to him and that's also hard to even consider ever relenting on that assurance. Bar the first night -and they never spoke of it again- she never showed anything resembling jealousy or anger, despite the times he let her wake up alone, while too many voices, too many images of his past keep coming back to taunt and mock him, if not attack and dismember at times, and it’s always hard to come back unscathed from that, he certainly cannot have her around during those times that he barely remembers himself. How could he risk being around her, breakable as she is?

*Mortality definitely does not become her, but until I can do something about it…*

It was the first part of their silent agreement that was spoken, just the day after the revelation of his vampiric condition. It was too important to leave it hanging in the air like teasing promises of multiple fluids exchanges.

+Help me find a way to destroy Cazador and I swear, I will turn you and free you the second I become a Vampire Lord+

As if their quest for simple survival wasn't enough. And after centuries of subjugation no, mere survival was no longer an acceptable option. She didn't have those centuries ahead anyway, and why deprive himself of such delicate presence, and delectable flavour, if while destroying his abuser he could also find a way to give her the immortality she so steadfastly desired?

There's something surfacing, just an itch at the back of his mind that reminds him it could be just a half truth. He’d have no reason to let her go and he would be an entirely different master anyway! He could keep her close, keep her safe, keep her his and she would have eternity to learn and experience every single little thing she so desires.

*With me. As Mine*

He buries his nose further in her locks, pressing against the nape of her neck to have another reminder of how intoxicating her scent truly is. Despite the time and chances he’s been given to fall within the habit of having her in his arms, it never for one moment feels like something part of the background. It brings colour and desire to his every waking moment and might have actually made him skim of his own trances to avoid missing… her.

There hasn’t been a night they spent apart, ever since the first time she let him feed on her.

He would say that nothing happens due to the clothed, innocent nature of their shared time together, though the closeness hardly can be defined as such.

*Well it is innocent. Always… Mostly… where it matters…*

which is anywhere outside of his own mind.

He blamed the blood at the beginning of this peculiar understanding. Her blood coursing through his own veins, driving him insane with the need to hold her, have her and possess her in every which way his mind could picture, fangs buried in the skin of her breast just as his cock could finally be completely enveloped in her silky, wet warmth, because of course! of course it would be just because the blood, her blood within his own body, just wanted to go back inside of her…

*and so do I…*

He could have brought up the question as to why? Why deny herself? There was no pretence to keep up anymore…

Miraculously, the revelation he stupidly gave away in a flash of anger about the access he had of her precious little book, never came up again. She knew, of course she knew, but she never asked, and he had no inkling of breaking the perfect balance they had built for themselves. Yet he could still evoke the words she had for him in that little book, and now more and more he hears them in the voice he now knows she would use, the precise tone and pitch with which her desire for him would caress his ears and ego as she finally concedes

+The desire for recognition leaves me restless and as soon as my mind cannot occupy itself enough it’s like I’m hitting my head over and over onto Astarion, onto the naive need to believe he could see me+

*How much more can I show her she's all I see now, all I think about!?!*

The song her blood sang for him was the perfect justification to his need for her during the first few days, but all it took to crack that utilitarian excuse was seeing how her health was beginning to be affected by the blood loss due to his daily feeding off of her.

He became aware of her pallor, the shorter distance she could walk before being exhausted and attracting the attention of their companions concerned for her health. And yes, his own too. Because he couldn’t think of anything happening to her and losing the one access to the pure, simple, unadulterated bliss that feeding from her gave him… but also because of that kindness, never once turning or shouting at him, despite the varied and valid reasons his behaviour gave her. Because survival never required him to think of anyone but himself before

*and learning takes time…*

Even after he realised he couldn’t possibly drink from her nightly, he found himself missing her presence, yet he had no other excuse reason to seek her.

Thankfully the first night he didn’t go to her room, she came to his. Or attempted to, several times as he heard her unsteady little feet from the moment her door opened, going back and forth between her own bedroom and stopping in front of his. When he finally opened the door to find her out there, dark eyes widened like a child caught in the act of stealing candy, she just bashfully asked

+Can I sleep with you, please?+

And he had to tease her, of course he had to! what?! with that nonsense ‘no kissing’ rule upheld, but such implication left hanging in the air?

+Well darling, I see despite your silly rule you just want to skip to the main course then+

Thinking back he's still not sure her reply was naive or defiant

+Isn’t that technically what I am to you?+

He was so dazed by her reply she had to specify +food?+ before hesitantly confessing +I don’t want to sleep alone+

He would have lied if he had tried to deny how pleasant it had been to just lay with her, despite the urges that at times made him leave her in the middle of the night. She never once lamented it to him, always greeting him with a smile the next time she saw him, dissolving his fear and shame as if there never had been reason for them to be there at all.

So their silent agreement now also included spending every night together. Mostly innocently. Ostensibly touching her for feeding purposes only, though he never felt the need to explain how his fingers, his nails, his lips and teeth didn’t have to mandatorily trace on her skin until he’d found the right spot where her pulse came through the most.

Each and Every night.

And judging from the sinful sounds that always escaped her lips during this preprandial dance of theirs, she wasn’t in any rush for him to just bite her either.

*Her ‘no kissing’ rule makes absolutely no sense!*

and at times like this the thought almost irritated him again, so that his nose now buried in her hair has to move slightly, side to side, to find her mulled wine and flowers aroma to soothe himself, to remind himself how much she’s already given him, and even to vaguely confess to a part of his mind who enjoys this never ending teasing, that he could also play a part at times, when his hands could just disappear under the hem of her shirt to trace gently the skin of her stomach.

Or all the times at camp when she was sitting beside him, reading or studying plants, and he could start tracing lazy circles on her skin, beginning from her ankle when he was just laying opposite to her. One afternoon she didn't react well until his eager fingers had reached way past her knee to the soft skin of her inner thigh and for a second he had sincerely considered the option to just throw her skirts up and see if the rule applied to every pair of her lips…

*You little minx… do you really have no idea what you do to me, night over night?*

The familiar tug at the corner of his lips should make him mad, because how can she have so much power over him even when this fast asleep? His body adjusts slightly against hers and her warmth engulfs him, though her blood always makes him warmer and having fed on her just before she fell asleep means he can comfortably pull her to his body, and his own self consciousness about his temperature does not have as easy a hold as usual.

In fairness it’s not like this is completely innocent either. Everyone knows by now that there never need to be two rooms anymore when they stop by an inn, No need for two separate tents after the night they all found out about him and almost wanted to stake him on the spot.

*What was I supposed to do? Not tear the jugular of the goblin that was almost close enough to hurt her?!?*

The thought alone makes him press the hand on the naked skin of her stomach so he can pull her even closer to himself. She took his side, stood up shielding him from the others with her own body in between.

+Astarion is under my protection!+

*And you under mine, sweet thing*

She even threatened offered to leave the merry fellowship and find a solution to their parasitic problem with only the two of them. She since claimed it was safer to share quarters and that became an incredibly welcome convenience to latch upon.

*The Vampire and his Human Bloodbag, how sweet*

After that it admittedly became easier to just tone down the performance, the altisonant act, at least when they were just alone with each other. She always has subtle ways to let him attune to her inexplicable calmness, even holding her sleeping form brings him some sort of peace, especially when her mind could be anywhere but he gets to be the one holding her body to this realm. He still hardly admits it to himself but even with access to her blood and safety with her own declared protection he still needs more from her. He needs to hear her finally confess the way her body burns for him, he already knows for she scorches his lips every time they indulge in her skin before his fangs can break it. The way he feels her hips thrusting involuntarily against his own even through layers of cursed clothing to keep them apart when she let him rest, accommodating his body between her legs. The way her fingers thread through his own white curls and he can feel the instant she stops herself from pulling him down to her. The way he can sense the tangy sweetness of pomegranate and dreams of all the ways he could taste her. Finally, completely.

The taste of her lips is where his imagination always ends. Of all the enticing, erotic visions she is the fulcrum in his mind, that silly little rule is truly what doesn't allow his mind to go to something as comparatively innocent, as a kiss.

The hand resting on the skin of her stomach senses a slight stirring in her body and his mind is quickly dragged back to this moment, as he holds her in their bed, still with hours to go before another day will claim some of her attention and time away from this… attempt at something akin to companionship they have accidentally built?

Together.

She pushes back into him as she rolls onto her back and he smoothly untangles himself to allow her space. In pulling his hand away he accidentally lifts up her shirt part way and exposes her soft delectable stomach. The moonlight shines through the window and dances off her supple curves as though it's shining just for her. Just for him. He's transfixed by the gentle rise and fall of her navel, feeling a pang of envy for the air that gets to fill her inside instead of him and before he's even noticed his mouth is millimetres away from her scalding skin, the tip of his nose brushing against her delicate silky down that traps her scent even more intensely and he can take her all in. His lips almost shiver with anticipation as they part for her and, one by one, plants imperceptible gentle pecks across her canvas, working his way up towards that most delicious place he fed from that first night, stopping right at that sensitive spot where her bosom meets her rib cage, his prize denied to him by that infernal fabric.

“mm… Astarion”

When the muffled word barely escapes her lips between sleeps, he knows all he needs to know. Of all the things and reasons he might not understand, in the end, when all the barriers she put up are finally down, in her dreams, his name is the only one she ever calls upon. She wants him as much as he needs her. And if setting the pace is what she wanted, he will let her for as long as she desires. It's not as if the path is anything less than absolutely blissful anyway..

*And I have all the time in the world, darling*

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glorified-red · 1 year

Text

Autopilot (Damian Wayne x Reader)

summary: After witnessing an event that hit just a little too close to home, you were left at the mercy of your own memories. All the usual tactics Damian knew weren't helping. It's a good thing he had a little helper.

word count: 4,070~

warnings: flashback during a panic attack, disassociation and driving through it, reference to past physical abuse (not specified from who or if it's domestic, it's very vague. But is heavily implied to be from a male), depictions of physical abuse in terms of verbs (punch, kick, hands on body, etc. Nothing more. Aka no bodily harm, just the feeling), and reference to passing out from a panic attack in the past.

Nothing quite like real world events to jerk me out of a writer's block, aye? This is based on a personal experience from just a few days ago so if there is a complaint with this story being too specific, I will ignore it. This fic means a lot to me so please be kind to it. Dont hesitate to let me know what you think of it! For those wondering, yes, I did finish writing that essay. Have not submitted it because I would love to read it and edit it at not 1 am, so that's a task for tomorrow while I dye my hair.

Autopilot — acting or functioning without conscious thought, as a result of routine or habit.

That was one way to describe what was happening.

From the second you put your helmet back on to the moment your hand closed the front door, you couldn’t pinpoint a single frame in between. The entire world around you was a blur, even as you zipped through Gotham traffic on a busy afternoon.

Distantly, you knew you should be aware of the wind hitting your skin, especially as it assaulted your jacket with its wispy breath. Each red light and your boots hit asphalt. You should’ve been able to register that feeling shoot up each of your legs, maybe feel the way your body shifted into an upright position.

But instead, your eyes were blank behind the tinted lens of a bike helmet.

You didn’t even try to fix it, not yet anyway. Not when there were cars blocking you in from every angle; not when one wrong move—one stuttered breath—could mean your bike jerking into a freefall.

So you didn’t even try to fight for awareness. If you did, maybe your hands would be gripping the handlebars a little tighter, maybe even twisting the kevlar of your gloves into the grooves until you felt something. You would’ve rubbed your hands down your thighs, dragging the fabric along your skin just enough to force your body into consciousness.

But you didn’t.

You just let yourself run on autopilot.

It was safer that way anyway. Safer than having the worst panic attack of your life while driving at least. You didn’t even want to think about how Damian was going to react when he found out you were driving this far down into your subconscious—on your motorcycle no less.

He really was going to murder you one of these days. But then again, you had countless retorts ingrained into your repertoire, countless callbacks to days where it wasn’t you in the driver's seat doing this, but the hypocrite himself.

So you didn’t worry enough about it. You gave it maybe two seconds of thought before you put your helmet on and rolled out of the parking lot. Should you call Damian? Wouldn’t it just be easier for him to pick you up and worry about the bike later?

Your brain sighed, maybe your body did on instinct, if it did, you wouldn't have known. He was at home—which was barely fifteen minutes away, you could survive that long—waiting for you, it’d worry him too much to get a phone call two hours after you were supposed to be home.

Somewhere between hues of gray, your legs guided you through the maze of a familiar home. There was a buzz in your ears, like the poor organs were trying desperately to comprehend the noise around you but fell short every time. They were filled with water then dried with cotton only for it to dissipate with water once more: a ferocious cycle that left you a stranger to the greeting happening right before you.

You shouldered passed . . . something? It didn’t matter. If it did, surely your brain would let you know later . . . right? Then came the mechanical routine of finding a place to bring yourself back. But when every wall looked the same and your boots trudged against the carpet—Damian was so gonna gripe about shoes in the house later—it felt like a losing game.

So you stuttered to a stop, somewhere. Arguably the worst place because the only tether you had to the outside world was the ground under your boots, which you couldn’t even feel because there was at least an inch of rubber tread between your reality and everyone else's.

The same buzz hit your ears. Maybe if you tried hard enough, you could blame the disconnect on the inner padding of the helmet stuffed against your head. It’s worked before, it’s not like it’s easy to hear with this thing on, let alone when your brain didn’t even want you to.

You could start to feel the autopilot wearing thin, the remnants of it dissolving with each passing second you remained idle. You tried to tap each of your fingers against your thumb one at a time to cling to what little autopilot was left. All you got from your body was a single twitch in your thumb.

A tap, a click, and a slide. All sounds you saw rather than felt or heard yourself. The tinted panel in front of your eyes lifted slowly until your grays turned into greens. You could get lost in that green for eternity and your soul would find contentment. You could find that green from memory, even when your eyes were filled with grays or your body turned blind to it. That green was one you would never lose.

It came naturally, locking your eyes into his. You could almost laugh at the fact that the last wisp of autopilot was used connecting yourself to him, as if your body had formed a habit you didn’t even know about until now.

You knew those eyes better than he did himself, even if he’d spent years staring at them before you. It was an easy victory when you traced them in your memories. So you knew each crease of worry that outlined the narrowness they had at the moment, the subtle squint as he tried to reach you.

Unfortunately for the both of you, he succeeded.

Your next breath came right before your lungs were punched by reality. The sheer weight of it was enough for you to struggle for air. It was like you were trapped as Atlas once was. But instead of holding the weight on your shoulders, you were crushed underneath all the rubble, having failed to keep everything upright.

You choked out a sob, hating the way your own breath ricocheted off the helmet back into your skin. You were suffocating. Your hands shot to the offending metal and clawed at each of the safety latches built in. Shaky fingers didn’t have enough dexterity to succeed which only made you gasp harder.

In an instant, there were skilled hands overtaking your own, practiced enough to succeed where you had failed.

“—eathe, I’ve got y—”

Newfound peripherals blindsighted you, they were both a blessing and a curse. While the new vision made it easier to protect yourself, the responsibility of having to do so was far too heavy a burden. You wanted to keep living in your tunnel vision and pretending it was safe there.

You were still suffocating. Air was scarce to come by and when it did travel through you, it scorched your lungs until you considered if air was truly worth the fight if it hurt so much. The same shaky hands grasped for the collar of your jacket, suddenly far too tight against your neck. It was as if the fabric itself was choking you and not Reality. Thready hands were better to imagine than calloused ones.

You didn’t notice your feet tripping backwards until your back collided with a wall, you didn’t even care, you just wanted this stupid jacket off. Agile hands swifty unlatched everything, unclasping safety mechanics and helped shrug the leather bind off of your skin.

“—ok, it’s off. Brea—”

The wall was solid; the wall was good; the wall was safe. You let yourself slide all the way down until you hit the floor, your green easily followed. You coughed on an exhale, your inhale having hurt far too badly to finish.

Your hands settled together behind your neck, fighting to grab at something, might as well protect your pulse points.

“—off?”

Your gaze struggled to lift up to him without staggering. When it settled back into his calming hue, you choked out a response: “What?”

Realistically, you exhaled far too much on the word when you received another kick to the chest but you figured he would get the gist. He’s smart.

“Do you want your boots off?” His hands floated in the space between you both, where your bent legs ended and his crouch began.

With a tilted comprehension, it took a few breaths—albeit pretty quick ones—for the words to sink in. When they did, you jerked out a nod. Without hesitation, he made quick work of velcro, buckles, and zippers, forcing you to trudge through heightened awareness alone.

Awareness was always worse than letting your mind shift into sand to pass through fingers with ease, free from the pain those fingers always left. Especially when Reality was combing through sand with a sharp comb, breaking each particle down to the atom. Water couldn’t wash away atoms the same way it could sand.

Your lungs convulsed again just as your socked feet felt the bite of cold tile, boots long since forgotten.

“Breathe,” he said simply, telegraphing his movements slowly. “Can I take off your gloves?”

You liked the safety of where your hands were, but feeling a leather mesh on your neck wasn’t exactly the most comforting feeling.

You jerked your hands out slowly, seeing for yourself just how much you were shaking compared to his steady hands. His movements were slow and deliberate, testing the waters to see how you reacted to his touch on your skin. The second both hands felt air instead of fabric, they retreated back to safety.

“You need to breathe.”

You shook your head, feeling the muscles under your hands twist along with the motion. “I—” you choked, “I can’t”

“Yes you can.” Damian shifted from his crouch to sit before you. “You’ve been through this before and you always come out of it, don’t you?”

You squeezed your eyes shut, hoping it would help somewhat. Another kick to the chest and you were back to scrambling.

“ ‘t hurts,” you whined.

“I know it does, but you have to breathe. Breathe with me.” You opened your eyes to look at him through the blur of watery tears.

That was a mistake.

Reality was finicky at best. It shifted like the waves in its fluidity, morphing into new forms and combining within itself. Your fingers twitched against your neck.

Focus on the green.

But then his hands slowly laid atop your knees, a familiar trick he did every time. Innocent touch, a tethered connection between you two to bring you back to him. The further the attack would go, the more weight he’d put into his palms until your legs unbent without your knowledge. It was an easy way to open your chest cavity to make breathing a little bit easier while making it seem like nothing is changing, especially when your brain is occupied with other things.

But this time, his hands felt bigger, they felt more calloused, and held more weight in them. You jerked in an inhale. “Sto—stop touching me.”

Immediately his hands lifted off of you. “Okay, I won’t touch you.” His palms raised in the air so you could see them, an emphasis to his word. “But we’re going to breathe together.”

Damian waited a single moment for you to register his words, for your eyes to shift from his hands to his eyes, then finally, to his chest.

“Breathe in.” He exaggerated his chest visually for you to replace touch. Usually there would be some comfort in the way your hand was guided to his sternum, fingers spread out to feel the fabric of his shirt and the way his chest rose with each inhalation, only to fall when he exhaled. Yet this time, his chest would’ve felt different and that thought alone was enough for your breath to stutter.

“And out.” You envied the way he released his breath so slowly and with so much control where yours was rushed and clunky.

He praised you all the same. “Good. Again. In,” he breathed in, you followed shortly after, “and out.”

You fell out of the inhale before he did, your lungs quivering under an invisible hand. Your head hit the wall with a whine. “I can’t.”

“You can,” he stressed. “I know you can. Try again.”

You wheezed where he inhaled, you coughed where he exhaled. Your hands sunk from your neck to your chest, gripping on tight to the kevlar.

“That’s it,” he said, just before another set of breaths. You hated this part the most. You could live with the shakiness afterwards, the pain and the burn of your lungs once they finally settled down. You could ignore the feeling of being on edge for hours after, the feeling of fragility, like someone could blow and you’d wither away with the feeble wind.

But the feeling of true hopelessness that came from this part was always the worst. You couldn’t fathom succeeding at this simple human task, a task that comes mechanically—completely on autopilot. Yet for some reason, it was a monumental task for you.

Before Damian—and a little bit during—you let yourself get consumed by the darkness. You let the hands squeeze your lungs until your brain fizzled out, the consequences to be dealt with once you woke up. It was far easier than fighting for consciousness, especially when said consciousness was so painful.

He didn’t like that very much.

So here you were, clamoring your way through a breathing exercise as if it wasn’t the most painful thing in the world. As if your lungs weren’t burning with rage and your muscles weren’t aching with tension.

As if you couldn’t feel hands all over your body with each step back into awareness.

As if you couldn’t hear and see things just passed Damian’s silhouette.

“This isn’t working,” you bite out. Your head had sunk down to face the floor at some point. The carpet was a darker shade of beige than it was a moment ago. Maybe it was your shadow affecting it, but considering everything, you didn’t think so. “I need—” you choked.

You saw the way Damian’s hands twitched against his pants, fighting to do something to help you. “Tell me what you need.” He tried searching your eyes like before, that tether was one that could bring up to him from just about anywhere. But you were studying the carpet as if it had wronged you on a visceral level.

You closed your eyes, trying to think past the echoes of an old voice and the remnants of old touch. You were stuck in limbo, caught between two realities that somehow merged in a single moment. Another kick to the chest and your body caved inwards—the same way it had before.

You could feel your grip on Damian’s reality fading. It was the one you’d prefer any day and it was the one you should be in. Not this one. Yet here you were, taking the hits of hands long in the past.

But . . .

Damian.

“When did we meet?” you demanded more so than asked, the words coming in and out with your breaths.

Despite his shock—and extreme confusion—he didn’t hesitate to answer with a number of years that have passed you by. Questioning you, especially your needs, at this moment wasn’t going to help.

You shook your head, your legs twitching together and back apart, the muscles contracting at random. “What year?” you said, trying to keep your oxygen inside for just a second longer.

He responded simply, your ears catching the sound with ease. The outside chatter cut down to a buzz. You breathed out a little slower.

“How?” you breathed in, your inflection cut off just slightly.

Damian didn’t waver. “We met in high school. I transferred in late and you were assigned as my peer guide to the Academy. You gave me a tour around campus to help figure out my schedule,” he paused, gauging your reaction before adding on just a bit more. “We ended up having a few classes together that year.”

“How old—” you breathed in, “How old were we?”

Damian blinked, his eyes shifting to the side as he recalled, probably doing some kind of mental math in his brain. “I started school when I was fourteen. You were probably fourteen or fifteen at the time.”

You blinked your eyes open, your lungs expanding happily at the information. Realities were disconnecting slowly, each question cutting a strand of fate that had sewed them together. Since neither could coexist, this new information was proof that the voices were just that, the past. Damian didn’t exist in the same era of these voices—these hands—him being here was a testament in it of itself.

The carpet was tinted just so, but it was enough to make it lighter.

“What about now?” you asked.

“What about now?” Damian echoed you, his confusion still prevalent in his voice. “What do you mean?”

You swallowed down the fire. “What year is it?”

For someone so intelligent, he really was not catching on to what was happening. Knowing him, he was probably scanning your head for a concussion right about now. But he didn’t show it outwardly. As much as he was confused and incredibly concerned, this was helping. So even if he didn’t sign up for trivia night, he’d play along—and he was sure as hell gonna win.

He responded factually. The math not only aligned, but since it was late into the year, it wasn’t exactly hard to remember. The buzz got even softer than before. You were able to breath out shakily, the intake was sharp in return but the progress was showing.

“And the date?”

Your eyes had closed softly, a sense of calm starting to breach through the anxiety.

Damian’s response immediately shrouded that progress. Suddenly the voice was right next to your ear and a foot was on your chest, constructing any airflow from ever hoping to come to your lips. The same date. A stupid number that just so happened to align, an anniversary, was enough to derail everything.

Damian’s voice turned to nothing but a buzz, a low rumble with a worried inflection.

He had asked a question. That much you knew. But your eyes had opened to a shade of dark beige and dreary grays, completely at the mercy of a dissociative state.

Even your hands lay limp from where they were resting between your knees, your wrists balanced atop the bony joints. You let it happen. You let your breath get squished underneath calloused hands along the back of your neck and a knee to the spine. You let your fingers go numb and your skin go cold as the room around you soured.

Suddenly it was a different time and a different place entirely.

Just dark beige and dreary grays.

The thuds of footsteps were easily drowned out until it was a simple buzz, just a low static rumbling beneath your skin.

But then your hands lifted at the feeling of fur underneath them. It was soft to the touch, the small fibers splitting away underneath your fingers. The fur shifted, it nosed in-between your pointer and middle finger before sliding down your palm, leaving a slight trail of warmth along your skin.

Your fingers twitched, the ice around them thawing slowly with each press of warmth until you could interact with it yourself. The fur morphed from a body to a small head that could fit just along your palm. Whiskers pressed into your hand as it was used as a scratching post. A head bump and your palm raised with it, only to slide down the back automatically as if your hand had done it a thousand times before.

Just along the back and up to the tip of the tail, just for the head to return for more scratches. You felt the tail wrap loosely around your ankle, shifting and swishing, but always remaining against you.

You scratched at the chin, your chest feeling lighter when the gentle creature tilted their head back to accept more. Reality itself couldn’t deny the creature’s existence, even if they truly wanted your reality to morph into the past.

Yet here it was, defying Reality, with nothing to say aside from a purr. Your hands touched black and your fingers graced white until you could make out the cat yourself, perched contently between your legs.

“Alfie,” you sighed out, half out of astonishment and half out of relief.

“I always seem to find you two together after a hard time,” came Damian’s voice, cutting straight through the static with his deep timbre. “He can help you where I can’t.”

There was still a shake in your breath, your chest still rising and falling with great difficulty, more than Damian liked. He looked up at you briefly before looking back down at the precious cat, one that only seemed to like a few people on this earth. Even if he liked Damian, it was a hell of a taming. But with you, you two clicked instantly.

Damian would never forget the day he found you holding Alfred, hugging him close and the content kitten doing nothing but hugging back with its smaller limbs. Alfred’s little head perched on your shoulder, eyes closed in pure bliss. You were swaying slowly, humming in harmony with the soft purrs omitting from the shorthair.

You were waiting on him, that much he remembered. It was years after you two had met, just shortly after high school graduation and just before Damian started college. That was the blissful moment of limbo where it was just you two hanging out for the summer and getting his apartment together.

That was the day Damian Wayne fell in love with you.

So here you were, years later, yet all the same.

“Alfred gave him to me my senior year,” Damian started. He knew you already knew Alfred’s origin, you were there. But for some reason, exact details of dates were helping you, so he was happy to recall a core memory. “He called it a graduation gift even though the meeting was pure happenstance. He didn’t want to admit the cat reminded him of me, but I knew.”

You glanced up at Damian and he glanced back.

He stated the year easily, the fricative consonants adding to his timbre. “That was the year I fell in love with you. I was nineteen. It started with prom night, I should have known what that feeling was by then. But it wasn’t until late summer that I finally realized I could see no other future than one that was beside you.”

He pointed down at the fuzz ball that was now laying across your crossed legs. “It’s all because of him.”

Your hands pressed into the fur and massaged the skin underneath gently until the final strand of fate was snapped. You looked into the green, seeing each shade of bright emerald and late spring, eucalyptus and summer leaves.

You found your voice and it was among his, miles ahead of the distant voices of the past. You said the same year, finding that your consonants blended with his after being around him for so long. Your voices intertwined in some ways and diverged in others.

“That was the year I fell in love with you.” You responded. “We got bored and decided to paint your bedroom a different color.” You found yourself smiling at the memory, not even thinking twice about how your voice became steady against the mechanics of breath. “We were trying to figure out how to use the paint rollers and you learned the hard way that too much paint was in fact, not, more efficient. You had paint all in your hair after just one swipe.”

You laughed and Damian found himself smiling at the sound. “I managed to get some on your cheeks,” he recalled.

You nodded. “You did,” a slight chuckle shaking your shoulders. “I got you back though.”

“Please,” Damian rolled his eyes, “you were covered in far more paint than I was at the end of the night.”

“Was not!”

Damian hummed in absolute confidence. “As I recall, Alfred gave you a far more disproving look than he gave me.”

“Because he found me first!”

Sometime in the near future, you would retell the events that led you to this moment. From witnessing an event that hit just a little too close to home to the police report that followed, you’d tell him everything.

But for now, you were happy just enjoying the moment with him.

Taglist ♡

@anothertimdrakestan

@cherry-dropp

@missredrobin

#damian wayne #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne x you #damian wayne x y/n #robin #robin x reader #robin x you #robin x y/n #dc #dc comics #batfamily #batman #batman comics #dcu #hurt/comfort #emotional whump

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plethomacademia · 2 months

Note

You asked me to send a porny prompt and I’m doing it, I’m putting my big girl knickers on and asking for premature ejaculation, any

And then I am running away lmao

I have been turning this in my head and please forgive me as I use this as an excuse to first draft my uh Astarion premature ejaculation from my upcoming sequel to the tadpole threesome fic. 700 words because I am ill. Tags are uh premature ejaculation, MFM threesomes, double penetration (mouth and vagina), disassociating.

Maeve had shown him a picture like this one the last time they were together, when he had watched her be fucked by Halsin in that little grove. She, of course, would never see herself from this perspective and had gotten many of the details not quite right.

He looks at them in turn: how her breast hang lower than she imagines, rounder at the ends and knocking back and forth like a metronome, rocking at a tempo that he is setting with his hips. She does not realize how much she tilts her hips up towards him, the angle just as eager as how she pushes back into him, just as greedy as the noises she is making with her mouth around Halsin’s cock. She does not know how vulnerable she sounds when she is get stroked just like — yes, just like that, absolutely mewling from just a change in how he pushes his cock against her walls. He hopes she never realizes it. He knows if she does, she will find a way to quash that vulnerability, just like she does the rest.

His last thought clangs in his head. It is windy up here, he realizes now. The air is not cold, but it is not warm. It is the wind of the sunset. He knows that it will get cold soon and they will have to go back inside. And then there will be another night’s rest, another morning of preparation, and then another walk outside to face the end of the world.

“Astarion,” he hears and Astarion realizes that his focus has gone soft. It comes back in a snap and Halsin is looking at him.

Astarion puts on a smile. “Enjoying yourself?” he purrs.

Halsin continues to look at him. “How does she feel, Astarion?”

He looks down at the scattered freckles down Maeve’s back. How does she feel? “You would know, wouldn’t you?” he says as he pushes himself inside her to the hilt, causing Maeve to make a noise around Halsin’s member.

“That I do,” Halsin says. Astarion watches as he stops stroking Maeve’s hair, instead moving to take it up in a handful. He already knows what Halsin means to do, but it is still a shock when the druid pulls at Maeve’s hair and she tightens just as she always does. Halsin uses his grip on her to pull her mouth from his cock and Astarion watches as a string of saliva goes her tongue and his head.

Astarion sees Maeve look up at Halsin with a glint on her eye. Halsin uses his free hand to take his cock up in his hand and Astarion looks at how swollen and angry it looks, nearly bulbous at the tip. He must be close, Astarion thinks, and he feels … Gods, what does he feel?

As if on cue, Halsin says, “Describe it for me.”

Astarion notices that his hips have stopped moving. He corrects this. She feels —

Halsin pulls her hair again and Astarion sucks air through his teeth.

“She feels like the hot greedy cunt that we both know her to be, Halsin,” he says.

He can hear Maeve’s laugh as she tries to snake her tongue out to lick Halsin again but the man holds her steady. He is holding his base in a tight fist — definitely trying not to come, Astarion thinks with a flick of triumph — but after a moment, he begins to gently stroke himself, just a little bit of friction.

Then he speaks. “Personally, I like most when she is about to come. You can feel how she tenses up. First her lip quivers — yes, dear heart,” he says when Maeve huffs, “your lip quivers, then your cunt quivers, then you thighs grip and then just right before you close your beautiful eyes and —“

Astarion does not hear the rest. He pushes into Maeve quickly as an orgasm crashes over him, an earthquake, a tsunami, some other catastrophe that he does not see coming and cannot stop. He makes a noise that he does his best to ignore, but Halsin is looking at him, gods he is always looking at him now.

Astarion looks instead of the woman between them and at his own hand digging into the flesh of her bottom. It will leave a mark.

If you liked that, go read the prequel

#asks #THANK YOU #if you like this go read intimate connection lmao #halsin x tav x astarion #astarion #dark urge #bg3 #bg3 spoilers #maeve #halsin

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whumpcloud · 1 year

Text

Things End | People Change - Not Dangerous

content: vampire whumpee, whumper turned whumpee, dehumanisation, muzzled whumpee, disassociation, burning, whumpee believing they deserve it, begging

"So you're still going to hurt him?" Cai signs.

Clary nods. "It's just not… worth it, right now. He already thinks I'm going to hurt him every time I move. I want to make him scared of me, it's- it's the least I deserve."

"I understand." Cai bites his lip. "I'm worried about you being here alone with him."

"You can stay over if you want," Clary shrugs.

"Are you okay?" Cai asks.

"I don't know."

It's only been a few hours, but Clary's already having second thoughts. She thinks she's hiding it well, but her twin knows her better than that, and he briefly squeezes her hand.

"He deserves it," Cai signs.

Does he? He's been hurt so badly already. But Clary can fucking feel him, hands around her throat to hold her still, and she wants to hear his dusty bones crack underneath her fingers.

"You don't have to go near him." Cai grabs the blood bag that Clary asked him to bring. "I'll feed him."

"Thanks," she mumbles. "Don't… don't be a dick to him."

"I'll try, but no promises."

—

Vincent wraps the blankets around himself. Blankets. He hasn't touched a single soft thing since being captured. And Clary, Clary was kind enough to give him blankets.

He doesn't care what she does to him. He'd deserve it, every bit of it, even if she took a knife and cut his mangled body to shreds. He'd take it gratefully, another reminder of what he is. He's had so many, but if they stop, he might hurt someone again. He'll always hurt people. That's what monsters like him do.

He's still not quite… present. He never is, not with the muzzle strapped to his face. Part of him seems to leave his body, floating in his sea of consciousness. Perhaps that's why the hunters liked to keep the muzzle on him. It made him so much less able to resist. At least at first. Now even the idea of resisting makes him shiver.

Vincent jumps as the deadbolt grinds against the door. He scrambles off the bed and onto his knees. All he needs to do is be at her mercy.

It isn't Clary. It's someone else, someone who looks so similar Vincent has to assume it's her twin. The twin eyes him warily. I'm not dangerous, Vincent pleads silently, I'll never hurt her again.

Vincent flinches away as the twin - Cai, his name was Cai - crouches down in front of him. Cai has something in his hand.

Vincent didn't smell it. It must be sealed. But it's a bag of blood, and Vincent is suddenly ravenous.

Cai smirks, and lifts the bag up, seeming to delight in how Vincent's eyes have locked on, following it desperately. Vincent whines. He wants it, needs it, has to force himself to stay still. This is just torment, isn't it? He can't imagine this is worse than whatever Cai would do to him if he tried to take it.

He whines again. Please. He doesn't care if he has to pay for it later.

Cai snaps his fingers at Vincent to force the vampire to pay attention to him, then waves his hands. Vincent stares blankly. Clary once said her twin was mostly mute, didn't she? But Vincent doesn't know hand languages.

Cai suddenly grabs Vincent by his filthy shirt and pulls him close.

"If I take this muzzle off and you bite," Cai says, in a weak, breathy voice, "I'll rip out your fangs myself, bloodsucker. Got that?"

Vincent whimpers and nods.

He sort of wishes it was Clary taking off the muzzle. Selfish creature. But he missed her. As much as he hurt her, in the brightest days where he was nothing but an object of suffering, he tried to imagine her voice. She was all he had.

His skin peels. Layers come off with the muzzle. He can't remember how long it's been on. Everything blurs together, but the deep grooves in his face suggest it must have been a while. He didn't feel the pain. Silver burns were the first thing he got used to.

Cai doesn't react. In fact, he does nothing more than fling it to the side and shove the bag at Vincent's mouth before he has a chance to speak.

The hunger is more powerful than Vincent's desire to beg while he's still allowed his voice, and he nearly melts. Nothing has ever tasted so good, even though it's animal blood that would've made him sick before he understood that he was just a worthless thing.

Cai laughs at him, how desperately and quickly he swallows the blood and drops the bag in front of him. He's still starving, but it's the first time he's fed in… in…

Cai doesn't take his eyes off Vincent to grab the muzzle.

"W-Wait," Vincent whispers. "Please don't put the muzzle back on yet. Please."

"Why not?" Cai asks.

"I need to speak with Clary," Vincent begs. "Please. Sh- She can stand at the door. I just need to see her."

"I don't care." Cai wheezes for a moment, then swallows. "You're fucking delusional if you think I'll let you near her."

"Please, it'll-"

Cai grabs Vincent by the throat. "Clary might be afraid of you, but I'm not. Keep begging and I'll give you a reason to."

Vincent nods quickly. However weak Cai's voice is, Vincent can't afford to not believe the threat. He won't ruin this already. They could take any of this away from him. They could take the bed, lock him in a room with windows, restrain him in the silver cuffs that Vincent knows Cai has hidden in his pocket because Vincent's skin prickles when Cai turns.

"Thank you for feeding me," Vincent murmurs.

Cai pauses. "I've stayed up with her all night, too many times to count. You know why?"

"Because of me," Vincent whispers.

"Because of you." Cai wraps the muzzle around Vincent's face. He doesn't tie it, just presses the silver into the vampire's skin. "She thought you would rip her throat out. I can't imagine you know what that's like."

No, he doesn't. Vincent has begged for death, over and over again, but nobody ever granted him that mercy. Clary has lived in fear of him for however long it's been and the fact that he can't remember is both an ache and a reminder of how truly inhuman he's always been. If he cared about her, like he convinced himself he did back then, he would know.

"Whatever happened to make you this pathetic," Cai spits, "you deserved every bit of it."

"I know," Vincent whispers.

Cai ties the muzzle as tightly as he can, and leaves Vincent on the floor. The awareness Vincent had dives back down, and all he wants is to wrap back up in the blankets and heal.

#polly's prose #clary nikitin #cai nikitin #vincent maddox #vampire whumpee #whumper turned whumpee #vincent and clary are both unreliable in terms of memory and narration and i love that for them.#things end | people change

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