#Cinder's Masterlist

[neverchecking]

Cinder's Masterlist

*Reminder that this blog is in fact a Yandere blog!*

˚ ✦ My Rules -> Here!

˚ ✦My navigation -> Here!

˚ ✦The Links -> Here!

Key:

Fluff:💝

Angst:💔

Hurt/comfort: ❤️‍🩹

Smut/NSFW: ❤️‍🔥 (All NSFW is tagged as 'Cindersins'!)

Headcanons:💖 

Dark(er) content: 🖤

My personal favorites:💚

Time:

Anything🖤

˚ ✦Just how far is the Hero of Time willing to go for you?

Fairy Boy❤️‍🔥

˚ ✦Time rewards you for always being there. What better reward is there then his children? (Breeding Kink, Sub! Time)

A Bird's Eye View❤️‍🔥💖 

˚ ✦This hero proves how well he can breed his Harpy lover~ (Breeding Kink)

NSFW Alphabet❤️‍🔥💖 

˚ ✦What it says on the tin <3

Twilight:

Good Doggy❤️‍🔥

˚ ✦Twilight shows just how good he can be (Sub! Twilight)

Muddled Thoughts❤️‍🔥

˚ ✦With some altered affects form the Muddle Bids, Twilight shows you exactly what he wants (Breeding kink, Dom! Twilight)

A Rainy Day❤️‍🔥

˚ ✦After being caught in a rainstorm, you're left with limited options to keep warm. Twilight has a few. (Cockwarming)

A Bird's Eye View❤️‍🔥💖 

˚ ✦This hero proves how well he can breed his Harpy lover~ (Breeding Kink)

Big Bad Wolf and His Teeth❤️‍🔥

˚ ✦Twilight finally understands what about danger excites you so (Knife play)

Lion's Heart💖

˚ ✦How does this Hero react to a Lynel hybrid?

NSFW Alphabet❤️‍🔥💖 💚

˚ ✦What it says on the tin <3

Sky:

Divine Temptation❤️‍🔥

˚ ✦Hylia's chosen hero is tempted from Skyloft~ (Sub! Sky)

Welcome Home❤️‍🔥💚

˚ ✦Sky shows you just how glad he his that he's home. Even if it's just for the night.

Crimson Feathers ❤️‍🔥💚

˚ ✦What if Sky's Loftwing could shape shift into a Hylian?

A Bird's Eye View❤️‍🔥💖 

˚ ✦This hero proves how well he can breed his Harpy lover~ (Breeding Kink)

Butterfly Kisses 💖💝

˚ ✦This Hero finds the child of King Rauru and Queen Sonia...Who are no longer around. Well, you know what they say. Finder's keepers. (Platonic! Dad! Heroes!)

Warriors:

Tell Me I'm Pretty ❤️‍🔥

˚ ✦How far can some pretty words get you with the Captain? (Praise kink)

A Bird's Eye View❤️‍🔥💖 

˚ ✦This hero proves how well he can breed his Harpy lover~ (Breeding Kink)

Butterfly Kisses 💖💝

˚ ✦This Hero finds the child of King Rauru and Queen Sonia...Who are no longer around. Well, you know what they say. Finder's keepers. (Platonic! Dad! Heroes!)

Legend:

The Cheaper Things in Life💖 💚

˚ ✦Legend would lay down his life, and the lives of others, for you. He soon finds out that you would do the same.

Chicken ❤️‍🔥

˚ ✦You and Legend play your own version of Chicken (Cockwarming)

A Bird's Eye View❤️‍🔥💖 

˚ ✦This hero proves how well he can breed his Harpy lover~ (Breeding Kink)

Hyrule:

Thinking of You❤️‍🔥

˚ ✦The Traveler gets a peak into Reader's thoughts. (Sub! Hyrule)

Wild:

Lost and Found❤️‍🔥

˚ ✦Wild figures out just how to keep you tied to him (Breeding kink)

His Home❤️‍🔥

˚ ✦Wild learns just how little you actually have to do to turn him to putty (Premature ejaculation, Sub! Wild)

The Champion of Masks 💖 

˚ ✦BotW! Link, and champions, with a Reader who has the Masks from Majora's Mask

Do You Hover on a Chair? ❤️‍🔥💚

˚ ✦Wild offers you a seat. (Face sitting)

A Bird's Eye View❤️‍🔥💖 

˚ ✦This hero proves how well he can breed his Harpy lover~ (Breeding Kink)

A Tick ❤️‍🔥💚

˚ ✦He had to prove he was better. Needed to. Even if he needed to use some unconventional methods to do so. (Threesome, Ft. Sage!)

NSFW Alphabet❤️‍🔥💖💚

˚ ✦What it says on the tin <3

Fours a party❤️‍🔥💚

˚ ✦ He's going to continue using those unconventional methods to prove he's the best. Even if now there's more than one opponent. (Foursome, Ft. Cal and Sage!)

Four:

Handling the Heat❤️‍🔥💚

˚ ✦Four sees just how much heat he can handle (Slight sub! Four)

A Bird's Eye View❤️‍🔥💖 

˚ ✦This hero proves how well he can breed his Harpy lover~ (Breeding Kink)

Hypnotic❤️‍🔥

˚ ✦four figures out just how quiet you can make the voices in his head (Hypno kink)

Butterfly Kisses 💖💝

˚ ✦This Hero finds the child of King Rauru and Queen Sonia...Who are no longer around. Well, you know what they say. Finder's keepers. (Platonic! Dad! Heroes!)

Wind (Platonic):

˚ ✦Nothing yet!

Sage (TotK Link):

TotK Link💖 

˚ ✦The first introductions of Sage

The Switch💚

˚ ✦Reader gets separated from the Chain with nothing but their switch and just so happens upon a certain someone.

A Rusted Link💖 

˚ ✦Sage's place in the chain isn't as smooth as the other's.

'Tis the Season❤️‍🔥

˚ ✦After being reunited with his dragon lover, Sage proves that he can handle Mating season (Breeding Kink)

The Dragon's Daughter❤️‍🔥💚

˚ ✦When faced with the once lost Daughter of King Rauru and Queen Sonia, he realizes that maybe there is a reason to save Hyrule. (Breeding Kink, Baby trapping)

Rattled Chains💖 

˚ ✦Sage finally interacts with the rest of the chain. He's not happy.

Putty❤️‍🔥💚

˚ ✦Sage laments about how easily you can get under his skin...While you show how easily you can get under his skin. (Sub! Sage, but he's a butt about it, bondage, and slight nipple play)

A Tick ❤️‍🔥💚

˚ ✦He had to prove he was better. Needed to. Even if he needed to use some unconventional methods to do so. (Threesome, Ft. Wild!)

Love Me ❤️‍🔥💖 

˚ ✦After being used to nothing but harsh actions and hissed words, Sage is quite affected by someone showing him nothing but love.

A Bird's Eye View❤️‍🔥💖 

˚ ✦This hero proves how well he can breed his Harpy lover~ (Breeding Kink)

Butterfly Kisses 💖💝

˚ ✦This Hero finds the child of King Rauru and Queen Sonia...Who are no longer around. Well, you know what they say. Finder's keepers. (Platonic! Dad! Heroes!)

Fours a party❤️‍🔥💚

˚ ✦ He's going to continue using those unconventional methods to prove he's the best. Even if now there's more than one opponent. (Foursome, Ft. Cal and Wild!)

Calamity (AoC Link):

Fours a party❤️‍🔥💚

˚ ✦ He's going to continue using those unconventional methods to prove he's the best. Even if now there's more than one opponent. (Foursome, Ft. Sage and Wild!)

The Chain:

Sit on my Face❤️‍🔥💖

˚ ✦Reader wants to repay the chain. They discuss how. (W/Sage!)

 (Pt. 2! Ft. Time)❤️‍🔥

˚ ✦ Reader pays their dues~

Courage (Animated Link):

A Bird's Eye View❤️‍🔥💖 

˚ ✦This hero proves how well he can breed his Harpy lover~ (Breeding Kink)

Bro, It's not gay if you say no homo, bro.❤️‍🔥💖💚

˚ ✦They even kept their socks on. (Ft. Dalton and Dante, and Ko*idai IG.)

Ko*idai (CDI Link):

Golly ❤️‍🔥

˚ ✦Ko*idai has a breeding kink. That's it. That's the post.

Bro, It's not gay if you say no homo, bro.❤️‍🔥💖💚

˚ ✦They even kept their socks on. (Ft. Dalton and Dante, and Courage IG.)

Fierce Diety:

NSFW Alphabet❤️‍🔥💖💚

˚ ✦What it says on the tin <3

Misc:

His Forbidden Fruit

˚ ✦ A non-Link specific little tid-bit.

Rauru Headcanons

˚ ✦Link's sister proves her worth to the first King of Hyrule...Maybe a little too well. (Breeding Kink)

Worshipper Ravio

˚ ✦Ravio as your devoted follower.

Sage and the Chain rambles

˚ ✦Some interesting thoughts with Sage and the Chain, and the chaos behind it.

Cottagecore home

˚ ✦My thoughts regarding Sage, his old Hateno home, and his thoughts towards that and Zelda.

Double Standard

˚ ✦Some thoughts with Wild having a dirty dream and the Chain's reaction.

Stuffy Recovery

˚ ✦How would the Chain help you fix your plush? (This was so soft and I love how it came out. It's not Yandere, and not long enough to count as a drabble, so here it goes!)

Talk about the Triplets (Wild, Sage and Calamity)

˚ ✦Just some thoughts about the triplets and why they would be Yandere. (WARNING: Talk of unsubscribing from life, so please proceed with caution)

Wild and Sage sleeping habits

˚ ✦And why they have to sleep with Reader (Get your mind out of the gutter >:()

A Submitted Sage Tid-bit

˚ ✦Go read this. Right now >:(

The Triplets (Ft. Plus sized Reader!)

˚ ✦This too.

Let's get Loud

˚ ✦Who's having the most fun making the Reader break their quiet streak?

Spitballing Cal Hc

˚ ✦Cal headcanons that aren't enough to be their own post.

Spitballing Wind Hc

˚ ✦Wind headcanons that aren't enough to be their own post

Twilight Comic

An absolutely ADORABLE Comic submitted to me. <333

Aaliyah's Corner:

Aaliyah Ref. Sheet~

˚ ✦Yall seem to love Aaliyah so I'm linking her art here.

She's barbie.

˚ ✦And Sage is just Ken.

Eye of the Storm

˚ ✦Where does her story begin? Right here :)(Head the CW warnings).

Art Piece Take one!

˚ ✦I can art. who knew?

Ceres and Aaliyah meet (Which can only end well, of course.)

˚ ✦Please note, this is mostly pure smut between my own Oc and Ceres (Who belongs to @angry-trashcan) Totally self-indulgent but I love it sm.

Part 1: Bound (Bailey's Piece)

Part 2: Two on One Special (My Piece)

Part 3: Girl(S) Interrupted (Bailey's Piece)

Part 4:

Mae and Aaliyah Meet

Another OC x OC storyline with Mae (Who belongs to @jcs-radiostation) Also self-indulgent but i also love them sm <333

My part 1: Here!

#linked universe #linked universe x reader #yandere linked universe #yandere linked universe x reader #linkeduniverse #legend of zelda #loz #yandere legend of zelda #link x reader #Cinder's Masterlist #Cinder nav

[xarrixii]

to those of inquiry,

my introduction

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hello, fellow traveler of the hellscape that is this website (or app, if you happen to be on your phone using such)

my name is @xarrixii, and i am better known as "arri"

i have a separate blog from this one designed for reblogging other peoples' work. if that's something you're more interested in (my taste in writing), then i suggest you visit @the-arrikive

masterlists a long way under the divider

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i have come from a land not so far away (planet earth) to share the nonsensical nonsense of my brain (my writing).

i write both longer, novel-like stories and responses to writing prompts when i'm feeling it (feel free to send me one, if you'd like). my brain is random, though, so i can't guarantee i'll get something out right away.

i am irregular. do not expect something like weekly uploads. you get a story when i remember to post one and have one available. i shall not rush the accidentally filled plotholes genius i breed.

sometimes i make edits. i've made a lot of edits recently, like layout/ease of access and also wording on some of the earlier chapters. (already read chapter one of cinder? i changed the beginning because i hated it and i personally would put down the book immediately if i'd found it in the library)

i still hate the first sentence but honestly, the noggin can't think of anything better so we'll cry about it later

also, grammarly hates me because i don't like its grammar rules and i don't capitalize my "i"s when i'm casually speaking. i hate grammarly because some of its suggestions are stupid. i just don't want to turn it back on every time i eventually end up needing it.

less important: i am cisgender. i identify with she/her, but i could really care less (not quite sure that counts as any). i am pansexual. (frying pans don't have enough personality, don't ask about them)

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what i like reading:

i love, love love love love love love love it when a book focuses on its characters. there's nothing wrong with taking in the fantasy world they built for the people to live in, i'm all for that as well. it's just a trend i see that the more a book focuses on following its plot, the less it focuses on the people riding out that plot.

i'm a firm believer in characters "building a plot" based around their actions, even if that means an author built a plot and then designed the perfect character for enacting it.

also, i grew up a gacha kid (gacha studio/life/club). that means i'm familiar with cliches and love it when people throw them on their heel. it's also (unfortunately) made me enjoy love stories less (which makes things difficult since books that focus on characters almost always have some love plot that works out).

i'll read a hero x villain, sure. but sometimes i might think up the ending where they don't love each other (platonic and rival)

ask me any time about what i enjoy reading if i've confused you (it happens a lot).

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what i like writing:

this one's a lot simpler, i like writing what i like reading. because if i wouldn't read it later, why would anyone else?

due to me being cringe once upon a time, i spent several years writing out roleplays (yes, i was the edgy roblox kid too) with some friends, so anything super long i write for a very long time from now will be my personal adaptation of something that's already existed before

writing prompts are the truest test of my creative abilities, though. making up new characters, a new environment, and a new plot based on the whims of a few sentences from time to time is what keeps my rewrites from being copy-pastes.

that also just keeps it fun for the friends who wrote it with me once and will read it from my fingers typing it again

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also to note, i'm not afraid of writing about blood, gore, violence, and the like, and i'm also insensitive to what all needs to be tagged, so any help with that goes a long way

most of my writing prompts will be written with non-binary characters

if you find me fucking up pronouns please notify me where i diddled it up thank you!!

so about being a gacha kid

i suck at drawing. the physical descriptions of my characters are laid out in gacha apps, and yes i am mildly embarrassed about it. but putting their designs down somewhere means i have something reliable to refer to while writing.

thou shalt not judge me for it.

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hobbies

writing. i guess a bit obviously. i also still enjoy playing video games and listening to music. i like watching horror games, but can't bring myself to play them. i also make a lot of jokes about violence. i mean a lot. but i know when to take something seriously.

favorite roblox games including: entry point, scp: site roleplay, funky friday, robeats, 3008

i also play genshin impact occasionally, and no i'm not elaborating.

if you couldn't tell by now, i talk too much. moving on:

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masterlists

hey, me! i know you're reading this, because i know you're the most likely suspect for looking for these links all the time.

"Cinder" Masterlist writing prompts

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looking for more? ask me! send me prompts! FILL MY INBOX!!!

#writers on tumblr #writerscommunity #writeblr #introduction #intro post #introductory post #writers #original characters #original stories #original fiction #novel writing #author #this was longer than intended #i'm gonna miss my cinder masterlist being pinned #i should probably think up a tag for that #ill probably do that later #why am i talking to myself in the tag list

[sukunasweetheart]

i so desperately want to write a dark romance with the concept of consuming as a form of intense, obsessive yet ominously beautiful, love with trueform sukuna.

i want him to love reader so much that he almost wants to literally eat her, and i want her to see it not as something to be terrified of, but to accept and recognise that his desire to devour you is not out of malice, but rather, something of adoration...

his mad infatuation would reveal itself in many, many forms. just by simply looking at you, his eyes darken, and his gaze seems to poke and prod at your soul, constantly analysing and soaking the sight of you into his memories. the way all four of his hands touch you, his searing hot palms smoothing over you, littering deep bruises across, claiming your skin as his canvas, embedding marks that indicate his presence in all and every way possible.

how his lips possessively captures yours, tongue twisting around in your mouth - sukuna kisses you with a type of hunger that goes unmatched by anybody else-- his engagements with you are all-consuming, meaning that he doesn't let you get a moment to think about anything else, too pre-occupied with his flames that lick up at your flesh, threatening to burn you down to cinders with its intensity, unmerciful. and when his teeth sinks in, a cry escapes your throat - a cry that isn't pleading for help, but is pleading for more.

sukuna's adam's apple would bob up and down as he swallows dryly, enduring another night of wishing to absolutely devour you whole, and leave nothing of you behind. it certainly doesn't help that you encourage him, egg him on.

he mustn't- he mustn't- he mustn't--

for who will comfort him from the loneliness that would follow, if he loses you to himself?

he satiates his aching desires by lapping up your honey-sweet blood from your inflicted bite wounds, addicted to your unique, intoxicating flavour.

you smile deliriously, like a madwoman, helplessly enamoured by sukuna's dangerous, distorted, yet an undeniably powerful form of his love.

Masterlist

#sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #sukuna #sukuna smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x y/n #this is something like a warm up... im trying to get myself to write more gaahhhh #anyway he occupies my mind 24/7 i just dont like bringing my thoughts to reality :( #maybe i'll post some old story ideas i had in headcanon form again as a starter?

[artemisgrayy]

Had this rattling around in the old brain pan- fueled by your incredible writing even more

During the final battle, reader gets badly injured are isolated from the rest of the group. Adam finds her but instead of killing her he offers her a proposition- let him have his way with you (always wondered about demon-strange) and he’ll let you live, decline and he’ll kill you [and maybe still have his way with you]. Alastor overhears and is NOT having it.

Your Unlikely Hero

✨Masterlist✨

Tags: Minors DNI, Alastor x Reader, Adam threatens rape, non-con, gore, violence, fluff, swearing, traumatic events, Alastor is bad at feelings, Alastor to the rescue.

18+ - Minors DO NOT INTERACT

Pain slashes through you like an angelic spear as the fatal wound on your leg gushes streams of crimson across your skin. The smell of iron and cinder invade your senses as you struggle to apply pressure to the seeping gash.

“Well, what do we have here?” A voice cuts through the distant screams and explosions that surround you. Your chest tightens when you lock eyes with Adam who approaches you through the debris, a shit eating grin splayed across his unmasked face. Your heart slams in your throat when you see the look of pure malice in his eyes.

You desperately attempt scramble to your feet, only to feel your leg give out, pain shooting through every nerve ending like dynamite. You're immobilized. You have no way out of this.

“Fuck,” you shriek, shaking uncontrollably from the adrenaline coursing through your veins, fear ripping through you deeper than the wound. He glides towards you effortlessly with malevolent purpose.

“You know,” he laughs, grabbing a fistful of you hair to pull you to eye level, your scalp screaming as individual strands breaking free, “I've always been curious to know what you hell-bent degenerates feel like around my cock.”

You screech, the pain in your leg becoming far less urgent as you kick violently to escape his grasp. The warmth of your tears cut through your dirt-covered cheeks when he smashes his lips against yours. You swallow back the acid building in your throat, nauseous from the unwanted advance.

He rips you backwards, his gaze locking onto yours. You tremble when you observe vile smirk on his face, “How do you like the taste of humanity, bitch?”

“Please stop,” you beg, hopeful for a shred of compassion.

He throws you to the ground and you feel the back of your head connect against the cement with a sickening thud. Everything spins. The crimson sky above you full of screams as the exorcists launch a full scale attack on everyone you've ever loved. Everything closes in around you as Adam stands over you, ready to have his way.

“Adam!” Chimes a radio filtered voice from behind him, “I know you have a penchent for being a nuisance but unfortunately y̴͕̋o̸̫͛u̵̙̚'̷͈̇v̵̪̇ë̶̹́ ̷̻̊f̶͊ͅǘ̴͎c̷̻͆k̸͉̀ẹ̷͐ḑ̴̐ ̶̨̆w̵̠̒ỉ̴̺t̵̹͛h̴͐͜ ̷̜͗t̵͉̾h̴̛̖e̸͓̕ ̵̗̚w̴͚͒r̵̭̅õ̷̡ń̴̦g̵̭̾ ̵̘͂p̴̪͠e̷̲̊r̸͖͗s̵̤̎o̴͖͐n̷̦̿.̶̱̈”

You peak around the angel and see Alastor standing there, his blood red eyes glowing with a rage you had never seen before. Both of his hands are overlapped casually on his cane in front of him — though his stance and expression are anything but casual. His smile holds firm but fury bleeds from his gaze like the saliva dripping down his chin. The furious demon's squared shoulders raise with every irritate breath as he stares down the first man with murderous intent.

A wave of relief flushes through your chest at the sight of him, tears line your eyes but the state of shock you're in prevents them from going further.

“Not yet I haven't.” Adam cackles, standing his ground over his prey.

“Ha ha ha, cute” guffaws the Radio Demon, tilting his head. He slams the bottom of his cane against the cement. Swirls of shadowy demons and tendrils explode violently from the ground, spawning all around him. His eyes narrow, daring the angel to make a move.

Adam turns toward you and his hand shoots down towards your throat. You choke out a stutter as he drags you up in the air by your jugular. Wind whips the hair free from your tear soaked face as you hang 20 feet over the roof of the hotel.

“You want your bitch? Come and get her, you fucking pussy.” Adam beckons as you fight for breath, his nails digging into your skin when his hand tightens. You claw desperately at his grasp, fighting to stay conscious as a dark vignette clouds your vision.

“Gladly.” Alastor promises, “though that's an appalling way to talk about a lady.”

Sharp peaks of shadow laced with an electric storm of green fire from Alastor’s position, slamming into Adam, breaking you free from his grasp. You stutter and gasp, your lungs awarded with the sweet taste of oxygen as your airways shoot open — but the relief is short lived when your body begins free falling.

You close your eyes, ready to accept your fate as you plummet towards the scene below you.

To your surprise it wasn't the cement that broke your fall, but instead something much softer. When you open your eyes you find Alastor's face looking down at you, his eyebrows furrowed with concern. You're enveloped by the feeling of security as he holds you tight against his body.

“It appears as though I'm not the only falling, darling,” coos the demon, pressing his forehead against yours, “I'm sorry I wasn't here sooner.”

You're taken back by the sincere show of emotions from him, “and here I thought you only tolerated me,” you jest, your voice raspy as you continue to fight to catch your breath.

“Heavens, no.” He pulls his head away, reflecting for a moment, “Though I’ll admit, the threat of losing made it clear how much I need you. Let's keep this between us, shall we?” he pauses, “at least for now.”

A smirk forms on your face and you nod in approval. He presses his head to yours once more before setting you down against the wall.

He turns his back to you, facing Adam, who has recovered from the attack, and is menacingly standing a top the broken sign of the hotel.

“Adam — first man, next to die!”

Part 2 now available!

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I was HELLA excited to see this prompt in my asks so THANK YOU 👏👏

More like this plz.

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✨Masterlist✨

#hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor the radio demon #alastor fanfiction #radio demon #alastor is in hell for a reason #alastor is bad at feelings #alastor altruist #alastor x reader #alastor & reader #tw noncon #hazbin adam #hazbin hotel adam #adam is a jerk #soft alastor

[pursuitseternal]

A “Decadent” treat for Valentine’s Day💝 Astarion x F!Reader with a sweet Sex Chocolate treat💝

Astarion x F!Reader | E | 3K aphrodisiac-infused smut

💝Gift for @bhaalbaaby 💝

Summary: You finally make it to Baldur’s Gate, coin burning holes in your pockets, a need to gift your companions to celebrate how much you appreciate them. You get a gift to, a box of chocolates from your Vampire lover, and some alone time in an alley

CW: semi-public sex, aphrodisiac sex, knife play, nipple play, blood kink, blood drinking in detail, panty snatching rogue, one feral vampire who wants your blood and more

Bites series | Ao3 link |Masterlist

“Decadent:”

🍫💝🍫💝🍫💝🍫💝🍫💝🍫💝🍫💝🍫💝🍫

At last… out of the crowds of Rivington, you made it. The bottleneck of Baldur’s Gate, the Southspan’s Main Street stretches out before you all. And that gold you have been hoarding like a dragon burns a hole deep in your pack. Everything smells… good and foul. Bakeries and perfumeries and smithy shops and fish mongers…. And you can’t wait to buy something from them all.

After all your party has done for you and with you, a few tokens of appreciation wouldn’t go amiss. Karlach takes you by the arm, and you’re glad she can’t burn you to cinders by now. Because in all her hysteria, she would have certainly forgotten. Gale makes a none-too-subtle move to pull Astarion from your side, begging him to show all the booksellers. “Don’t touch me, Wizard,” he grimaces, mostly for show and humor. But there is a little irritation in his silken voice. “I have my own plans,” he comments towards Gale, but his eyes dart in your direction. That little lowering of his head so he gazes at you like the predator he is… your stomach instantly drops to your knees.

For a man who is horrific at planning, he surely knows how to calculate a breathtaking seduction… and they always begin with him giving you that look.

“Cmon soldier, let’s go find something new and sharp and deadly shiny!” Karlach tugs you towards the closest smithy, and away from where Astarion is eyeing you like you’re his next snack.

Your Cleric loops her arm through yours and giggles. “Yeah and maybe we’ll find you a little something else to wear that isn’t scaled armor and chainmail.”

“Ooooh, yeah,” Karach peers over the top of your head to cackle back at Shadowheart, “find you something Fangs won’t be able to resist.”

You manage one last look over your shoulder before they turn you into a shop, one last glance at that devouring leer from your lover. But you watch that seductive grin instantly swallowed by a scowl as Gale grabs his elbow too. You barely hear the Wizard whining something about books and spell scrolls…

You shrug. Astarion would manage. Some time where he wasn’t trying to bury his cock balls deep in your thighs for once might be good for him.

The shops flash by you, a whirlwind of coin and scents and giggles, mirth and merriment. Something you and your friends haven’t had… ever. You hold too many parcels and pouches. Of course it would be easier to stash most of it into pockets or your pack if you still wore your nice, sensible armor. But no. Karlach wouldn’t let you out the door to the clothing shop without putting on that sweet little gown you bought. So now, you walk down the street, arms laden with parcels, your thighs rubbing together without the practicality of pants, the slits up the skirt over the fronts of your thighs almost too high as you shuffle your load. Not to mention how the sun is beating on your shoulders and the tops of your breasts that hadn’t seen light since you began this journey.

You had too many things: a book for Gale, some soaps for Halsin, a bottle of Baldur’s Grape for Wyll… but you needed to return now. Karlach and Shadowheart wanted to push on, so many more stores around this corner or that one.

But you needed a rest. And someone to carry your shit.

It’s only after you make a right, you realize it’s the wrong turn. Crates line the alley, and your arms are just too sore to keep going. Resolved to rest a moment, you set your gifts down, looking at the end of the narrow way to where it hangs over the Chionthar River.

“Lost, darling?” you feel his breath on your neck even as his words barely leave his lips. Astarion hovers right over your shoulder, how he snuck up on you so quickly, you can only shake your head.

“Typical rogue,” you huff an exhausted laugh. “Just couldn’t help being a prick and being stealthy at the same time?”

“I believe you mean, typical hero, coming to save his damsel in distress, lost in the sea of the City,” he flashes you that fanged smirk that makes your stomach flutter. “How fortunate I am here, with my skills and knowledge…”

Your turn in the little space he’s given you, between that crate behind you now and his looming body before.

“My hero, come to the rescue,” you simper, very much aware of the ways his eyes are dilating as they dart over your cleavage, down your lean but unsunned arms, even to where your new dress sinches at your waist.

“Heroes are usually rewarded handsomely for their efforts, darling….”

You feel him closing in on you, his thighs butting up into your skirts, but you giggle as you reach for one long, wrapped parcel from the stack beside you. “Here, hero,” you tease. “A different sort of weapon you enjoy sheathing than the one I think is on your mind.”

His brow arches, a pleasant smile on his thick lips. He leans back just a bit, reluctant but curious about what gift you’ve set in his hands. The paper and cloth tumbles at your feet, revealing a shining new dagger, a blade nice and light as he pulls it slightly from its scabbard. “My, my,” he tries to sound smooth, trying hard to hide the lump in his throat at the thoughtfulness of your gift. “You are full of surprises, aren’t you?”

He smiles, a true grin that deepens the wrinkles by his eyes, but it only happens once he turns away a bit, thinking himself mostly out of view. His hands slip the new blade into his belt, before pulling out something from behind his back. “But this time, you’re not the only one with a surprise, I am not woefully unprepared….”

A small square box in his cold, pale palm, he opens the paper lid.

Eleven little chocolate hearts fill the lining, except for one vacant spot that stares back at you. You feel him pressing closer again, the box basically pushed against the curve of your breasts.

“You got me… chocolates?” you cock your head, picking one up and giving it a sniff.

“I’ve always wanted to have a reason to… indulge in such finery. You’ve given me more than enough reason,” he purrs. Eyes fixed as he watches you bring it closer to your mouth. “They are so… sensual and delicious, I couldn’t help but hurry to find you for a nibble.”

You squint at him, sensing there is some… game at work here. “Seems like you got peckish on your way here,” you smirk at the empty spot. “Thought you didn’t enjoy the taste of anything that wasn’t blood, my vampire.”

“For this… I made an exception,” he grins wider, and you stare into his eyes, eyes almost black as he begins to press you against the rough wood of the crate. “Taste it, my dear… it goes down so smooth, so deliciously, you’ll… burn for more.”

You lick it, feeling a foreign heat that runs right from your tongue to your belly, a sweetness to its cream that you are unfamiliar with….

“They are a specialty around these parts, darling, a little something to, well…” he catches your hand, guiding the small chocolate between your lips, “why don’t you stick it in your mouth and swallow and find out.”

Something about that tingle on your tongue already, you seem to hum with your need for more… more of the chocolate, more of him…. No.

All of him.

You smile softly, closing your eyes and opening your mouth. It’s sweet and warm and… decadent. The little treat that he places on your tongue brings you to life. And you moan with abandon, delicious little noises as you savor its taste, until you do swallow it down. Eyes still closed to the world, you feel nothing now but the way his hands have found the bare skin of your thigh. Ghosting up your flesh, his nails skate beneath the hem of your skirt, drawing it higher… higher.

His touch is warm, you notice, the only thing warmer is your own increasingly burning skin. You pant, looking into his face where he looms above you. “What’s in those… sweets?” you need to swallow midway, and somehow, being so close to him to feel his breath on your cheek only makes the burning worse.

“Aren’t they sinfully good?” his voice is deep, rumbling as his hands find purchase beneath your clothing. It takes him no effort to lift you and set your ass down on that poor, helpless crate behind you. “Lovers’ chocolates… a specialty, an indulgence from the pleasure houses on these streets. And, as I’ve never had a lover with which to share them in two-hundred years…”

You are shaking as he slots himself between your thighs, the skirt of your new dress lifted quickly around your waist. With that infamous dexterity, he slinks his fingers beneath your undergarments and inside your cunt, the chocolates already flushing your skin and soaking your folds. “Seems like the right time to indulge in the decadence?”you are slurring your words.

“Indeed.” His fingers slowly stroke you, slowly pierce deeper into your channel as his other hand pulls you right to the edge of the crate. You don’t care it’s some alleyway… that anyone could see you or hear you. Not now with the chocolate in your blood, not now with his touch crooking and thrusting into your folds.

“You’ve indulged in your own little treats, haven’t you?” he whispers right against your lips. “This dress for one, by the hells, so much easier for me to do… all manner of things now.” Just to prove his point, his free hand steals into the neckline of your bodice, pulling that breast free. Moaning, arching, you writhe as he plucks at the hardening nipple. He smirks at you, a brief little laugh on his lips before he wraps them around it and sucks.

Even his mouth is warmed, his own tasting of the chocolate raging through his body, he did have a head start after all. With how your every nerve burns and your own sex swells to be sated, you marvel at how he’s taking his own godsdamned time right now—teasing out your arousal. As if he ever needed to work hard for you to be ready for him and his cock.

Ugh… the thought of it makes you salivate. You reach for his leathers, fingers shaking and fumbling with the ties. You groan, giving up on the laces completely. Pulling the waistband down, you ease his erection free. Even that beneath your touch is hot. Swollen. Ridged with veins so risen, you can’t look away from its… beauty.

“Even more eager than usual, aren’t we darling?” he rasps against your breast. His teeth, his fangs score slightly on the pad of your nipple, making you bite your mouth shut as you scream.

“Please…” you whimper as you try to pull his hips closer by his cock. But he stands firm, fingers still sweeping inside you, mouth still teasing your flesh.

“Oh I don’t think so…” he lifts his head to place a peck on your pouting lips. “There’s so much more of you to taste first, my little treat.” He grabs into your dress once more, lifting free your other breast before he devours it with the same skill and tenacity as the other.

His tongue is wet as he swirls it, lips so skilled at sucking your flesh, by now he knows every inch of your body. But it’s the way his thumb draws over your clit, a bit harder and tougher and timed to perfection with the lap of his tongue, you burst in a searing wave of climax. Barely a warning, and you are reduced to a moaning, gushing, flailing thing. His fingers are gripped firmly inside you, hard and thrusting as you ride out the waves of your orgasm.

But it’s the little pain you barely register, his fangs cutting into the top of your breast as he now feeds, that makes you almost come again, an aftershock to the intensity of the first. You gasp for air in your burning lungs, somehow you’ve managed to hold his cock through all your throes and shocks of orgasm. And now, he bucks into your fist, growing harder and harder the more and more he feeds.

Astarion’s fingers slide out from in you with a squelch, hips rolling with increased force into your grip. “You just had to treat yourself to a dress but insist on keeping those undergarments? Tch,” he sucks his teeth as he shakes his head in mock disapproval. “You’ll know better for next time, won’t you.”

“Whatever you think best,” you grin, half-unknowing the words coming from your mouth. Your hips buck for more… that heat in your body growing more and more unbearable, despite the soothing warmth from your single climax.

Gracefully, he leans in all the closer, unsheathing that new little dagger you got him. You feel it’s cool, deadly edge press softly at the base of your neck. “Shh, shh, shh,” he smirks with lust-dark eyes. Down to his dangerous smile, he mimics how you first met. “Not a sound now…. But those undergarments of your will just have to go… have to be sacrificed for what I need to do to you….”

You shake in anticipation, eyes fixed on his sultry, arrogant, fang-toothed grin as he slinks lower. That blade leaves your neck, perfectly intact. But as he steals its point beneath your skirts, its sharpened edge cuts the thin material of your underwear. Material ripping meets your ears as he performs the same little flick of his wrist against your other hip. Standing and returning his blade, he pulls the silky band out from under you.

“Seems I’ve done you a favor.” He leers down at you, palming your undergarments, smelling them, and putting them in his pocket. “You’ve already simply ruined these already, at any rate.”

You reach for his waist, the air kissing your wet folds too much now. He could stand there and taunt for so much longer, but it’s too much to bear. You guide that thick, warm, blunted head of his cock between your thighs, wrapping your legs around him until he’s filled you.

He practically mewls your name at the force. “Gods, I should have known not to underestimate what those chocolates would do to you, darling.”

He grunts the last word as you buck against him, trying to make him start taking you. Coaxing him just a bit deeper in. He doesn’t need more encouragement than that. Not with the way your cheeks must be glowing red with how hot they feel… not with the way you feel your arousal soaking the top of the crate now, growing cold as it leaves your burning body.

Hands grip the flesh of your ass beneath your dress, holding you firmly in place as he takes control. Eyes almost black, skin un-undeadly hot where he touches you, he feels so good… better than ever… the pulsing of his thrusts consuming you and sating that fire the chocolate has put in your belly. All you can do is grab him by that sweet ruffled collar, inch your way around his neck, and hold on for dear life.

That tightly held veil of refinement begins to slip, you hear it in the snap of his hips into you and against the crate, in the feral growls he makes each time he pierces harder and harder into you….

You crane your head back, mouth panting and wide as you show him what else you want him to do… you bear your teeth at him with a playful snap.

It’s more invitation than he needs, fangs sinking into the crook of your neck, the top of your shoulder. Bite… suck… swallow. Then he lifts again, repeating the same into your pounding artery. Bite… you moan so loudly…. Suck… his lips pull so hard on your flesh you can feel it bruising… Swallow… he lifts his head to pant for air. The most self-satisfied smirk on his sharp, pale face before he yanks your neck to the other side, leaving you a match set of bites there.

Bite…

You flood with pleasure, cresting over the edge harder than you could imagine.

Suck…

Your walls suck him in too, trapping him as he begins to stilt and buck harder. Climax for him sweeping him away harder too.

Swallow…

You scream into the mass of his silver curls, trying to muffle your cries where he’s lowered to feed on the top of your breast.

But he arches back, letting out his own panting groan, coming and ramming hard into you at last. You pray the crate doesn’t give under you with a laugh. Your hands steal into his hair, caressing down his smirking cheeks.

“How… many more of those chocolates did you get…?” the question barely carries on your breathless voice.

“Not enough,” he groans, licking the last trickles of your blood as he tucks your breasts back into the neck of your dress. What was your new dress. He chuckles, deep in his chest, cock still buried inside you. Reading your thoughts. “Don’t you fret, darling. I’ll buy you another dress. One for each I ruin.”

“Oh because…” you laugh, waving your hand down your front. “This level of violence will happen to my dresses again?”

“Every time you wear one, my love,” he breathes his own laugh before he finally… at long last… catches your lips in a slow and lingering kiss. “Undoubtedly every time.”

You shake your head even as his lips continue to work yours, as his hand winds into the hair at the base of your neck.

“Karlach and Shadowheart are going to give me such grief…”

“Only because they were right… I just couldn’t keep hand or fang off you, my darling.”

#valentines day #valentine’s day fic #sex chocolates #aphrodisiac #panty pinching Rogue #vampire spawn #vampire smut #astarion x reader #reader x astarion #astarion x female reader #astarion x f!reader #astarion x female tav #astarion x tav #astarion x f!tav #astarion romance #astarion smut #bg3 astarion #astarion bg3 #bg3 smut #astarion fic #astarion fanfic #bg3 fic #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 #baldurs gate astarion #baldur’s gate astarion #astarion baldurs gate #baldurs gate smut #baldur’s gate iii #baldur’s gate 3

[eilidh-eternal]

Touch Up

Part of the Martyr in the Making series | Part 1 | Masterlist |

| 18 + MDNI | TattooArtist!Ghost x f!reader | cw for dub con/non con themes and heavy implications of grooming |

There's an insatiable itch beneath your skin that has nothing to do with the fresh ink and plasma that seeps from punctured flesh, and everything to do with a smug bastard named Simon fucking Riley.

Five days earlier…

“How ya doin’ sweetheart?” He has no right to sound this way. No right to let honey and smoke mix in his throat and spill from his lips in dark, dulcet tones. You blame the buzzing in your head, ricocheting off of your skull with each searing stroke of the needle he wields.

“Fine,” you say in a whispery breath. The hum of the needle goes quiet. That’s okay. The trilling heart in your chest is doing a fine job of replacing it. 

Pools of liquid amber, dark and rich like brandy, slide from the nearly finished linework to your face, half hidden in your hoodie, and flood your gaze with an intoxicating warmth. There’s no running from it, from the fire he’s started. The flames he fans and tends to with each murmuration of praise licks up your spine in searing tendrils, smothers the remnants of a fragmented rationale in a blanket of smoldering cinders.

A pierced brow glides up towards the fraying hem of his black knit cap as he straightens from his hunched over position. “I’ll ask one more time, an’ I expect an honest answer—d’ya need a break?” Amber petrifies under his scrutiny, as if you’re some antediluvian creature, suspended in the thrall of his gaze. Something pretty to perch on a shelf and marvel at.

Your eyes dart away, searching the patterns in the woodgrain of the cabinets for answers, divining particle board like a tarot spread. As if any of them would sound less pathetic than the truth. 

His hand slides, branding weight upon your skin, away from your waist and you fight the whine clawing up your throat. Swallow it down with the rest of the bad ideas right behind it. Plastic wheels scuff across fading concrete floors and the frayed edges of distressed denim replaces wood. Black, like everything else he wears, down to the powdery gloves and surgical mask. Bet his boxers are black, too.

When your eyes dare to meet his again the flames licking up your spine splutter, send sparks dancing up your vertebrae in shivery, glittering plumes. “I’m okay. Could use some water,” you settle on. It’s a shaky truth, flimsy and liable to crumble, but a truth nonetheless. You’d rather suffer whatever consequence comes with lying to him than lay yourself bare.

As if you aren’t already half naked in front of the man. As if he hasn't been toying with the waistband of your thong the entire session.

Your admission seems to mollify him, but the black titanium bar curving through a dusting of blond twitches. Remains cocked as he rocks back, leans across the counter in a truly obscene display, long tee clinging to every dip and curve, and plucks your water bottle from your bag.

It looks silly and small in his hand, dented metal covered in a collage of overlapping stickers, no trace of the scratched black paint besides the exposed underside. The tendons in his forearms shift beneath fabric as he turns it over to study the sticker Gaz had given you, ‘141 collective’ printed in a gothic font. There’s a similar font inked across the sliver of skin peeking out at his wrist, black ink still richly pigmented even though it looks to be more than a few years old. Must not get a lot of sun.

“Open.” You blink, several times, and come to the hazy realization that while your eyes have been busy mapping every groove and plane, tracing the prominent veins on the back of the hand draped over his knee, he’s maneuvered the water bottle to your lips. 

They part at the subtle pressure of the spout, and he tips it forward, pressing plastic between chapped lips that close around it to take a hesitant sip.

“Another,” he demands, and you try not to notice the way his focus settles on your throat, tracking each contraction of delicate muscle as you drink. “Good girl.”

You nearly choke.

And he pays it no mind. Gives no pause to the widening of your eyes, pupils flared to the limbus, or the palpable heat radiating from your skin. He merely sets the bottle back on the counter and folds his arms over the bulk of his chest.

“Just water?” he questions, and you start to nod in answer, but quickly remember your—or rather, his—rules. 

“Just water,” you echo in confirmation, and it’s received with a critical grunt. Like he can see through the paper thin restraints you cling to, the only thing keeping your lips from speaking on behalf of those between your legs.

He shifts back to his tray of inks with a glint in his eye that makes you wonder if maybe you should have said something more. Feigned hunger or fatigue.

“Just this section here–” He taps at the remaining carbon stenciling over your hip. “–and we’ll move on to shading.”

“Okay,” you mumble, and a gloved thumb brushes over raw, freshly tattooed skin. Traces his work in a gesture akin to reverence, sweetened by the lingering sting left in its wake—and you fail to stifle the moan that’s been building in the back of your throat for several hours.

When he repeats the motion and receives an identical response, the mask stretches over his face, pulls taut over the prominent bridge of his nose, and he curls his fingers into your hip. His chest rumbles with muted laughter at the whine that punches out of you, thighs clenching around the pillow wedged between them. 

“Gonna need ya a bit closer,” he croons, and gives you no warning before he hooks his fingers through the elastic pulled taut over your waist, giving it a sharp tug. “C’mon, on your tummy for me…atta girl.” He takes to arranging your limbs how he wants them, left leg practically in his lap to keep the skin from creasing, ass on full display.

You bury your face in the pillow and crook of your own arm, vehemently ignoring the way he grips your backside to work on the remaining outline, and the surge of wanton arousal warming your neck and cheeks.

Present… 

Delicate, looping letters, woven seamlessly into the outline. Hardly noticeable if you aren’t looking for them. 

They glare at you in the mirror, the memory of strong hands a phantom touch against the surrounding tender skin.

S.R.

Simon fucking Riley.

It’s not enough that he’s under your skin, he has to be inked on it too.

“Well, angel, I know you come often, but I didn’t expect to see—”

“—Where’s Simon?” You cut John off, in no mood for his dilatory remarks, and he cants a quizzical brow.

“He’s finishing up a consult right now, is there—”

“—I need to speak with him. Now,” you demand, trembling fingers curling into fists at your side. 

You couldn’t care less what he’s doing presently. You’ll drag him off the studio floor by that stupid spiked bar in his damn brow. He’s going to—

“Hey, hunny bunny!” Kyle appears behind him, walking out of what you assume to be an office with a tablet in hand and his usual sunny disposition. Rhinestones and pointed canines catch in the studio lighting when he smiles and tucks his tablet under his arm, coming to stand beside John. His gaze dips to the healing skin of your thigh. “That the piece Si did?” It’s barely visible below the hemline of your skirt.

“Yeah,” you grit through your teeth, jaw tense with the effort to maintain a modicum of decorum. “It needs touching up in a few places.”

His eyes catch on something behind you, and you’re about to reiterate your demand, but you fall short when an all too familiar weight settles on your nape. 

“‘S all this fussing about?” Simon questions, and you jerk away from his grasp.

Your first mistake.

“You—” you hiss and lift the hem of your skirt, “—need to fix this.”

He tilts his head to study the healing tattoo. “What about it?”

“You know damn well what I’m talking about.” You know he does because the smug bastard is smirking beneath his mask, fabric stretched tight over his jaw and eyes narrowed in amusement.

He motions towards the hallway, “Let’s have a look, then,” and doesn’t wait to see if you follow him. Knows that you’re on his heels as he leads you back to the same private room. You don’t sit on the chair, electing to stand beside it instead with your arms folded tight to your chest, and you scowl at where he leans against the counter, posture mirroring yours in a decidedly mocking manner. “What’s got ya all riled up sweetheart?”

Definitely mocking

“This isn’t the design I agreed to,” you huff indignantly.

“Sure it is.”

“No, it isn’t.” You take a step closer, the toes of your sneakers nearly touching his beat up combat boots. “I never fucking agreed to have your name tattooed on me. I’m not some tramp for you to—”

“—‘S not my name,” he corrects, and you don’t know what heats your blood more; the fact that he has the gall to correct you or that he isn’t even trying to deny what he’s done. “Jus’ my initials.”

“Same fucking thing,” you seethe, jabbing an angry finger into his chest.

Your second, and final, mistake.

Calloused fingers curl around your wrist and pull, yanking you further into his space until you’re standing chest to chest. He holds you there by your wrist and the firm grasp he has on your jaw, cheeks pinched between his thumb and forefinger.

“Someone needs a reminder about manners,” he tuts, and you whine against the pressure on your jaw. “A reminder about her rules.” His hand drops from your face to settle on your shoulder and the scathing retort coiled on your tongue withers to ash amid disbelief when he pushes down against your shoulder, forcing you onto the stool beside the chair. “Stay,” he warns when you shift forward, already halfway onto your feet again, and the undercurrent of a growl is warning enough.

“What are the rules I gave you last time?” He leans back against the counter again, arms folded loosely over his chest, and his fingers tap rhythmically against his bicep, staring down at you expectantly. 

You glare up at him, fingers curling into the fabric of your skirt on top of your thighs, and he cocks that stupid pierced brow.

This is ridiculous. 

But if there’s any chance at getting him to erase the brand he’s inked into your skin…

“Give a verbal answer,” you bite out.

“And?”

“Tell you what I need.”

“Good girl. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” He stalks forward to press a finger under your chin, tilting your face up to his when you don’t deign to look at him. Amid the infuriating rush of warmth to your core, you briefly consider what would happen if you were to rear back and bite him.

“No,” you admit reluctantly, and he hums low in his chest, clearly pleased with your answer. 

“So tell me what you need.” His thumb sweeps over your chin, traces the contour of your bottom lip, and you press your legs further together. 

All the anger, hot and swirling in your chest, mixes with the smoky whorls of his words until you can't distinguish between the two. Can’t untangle the intrepid need to rebel from the desire to yield in supplication to the enigmatic man towering over you. 

“I- I want…” Your words get tangled up with it, coming out in a stuttering mess. “Fix it.”

“Fix what, sweetheart?” The way he stares into your eyes is nothing short of maddening. Fathomless pools of amber, beckoning you to bathe in their warmth, and like a moth to a flame you go willingly.

“Fix me,” you croak, and he shakes his head. “Please.” 

“Don’t need to fix ya, sweetheart. You’re mine–” He crouches down before you and slides a roughened palm over your knee, up your thigh to the tender skin beneath your skirt. “–Says so, right here.” He traces each letter of his initials inked onto your skin. “And what’s mine is perfect. Just the way it is. Understand?”

No. But you nod anyway.

“Words,” he insists. “Need to hear it.”

“I understand,” you murmur, still sifting through the haze in his eyes.

“Good girl,” he croons, sickeningly sweet, and pets a hand over your hair, thumb tracing the shell of your ear and sending a shiver skittering down your spine. “All soft and sweet for me, told ya we’d get ya there. Just need a little training, hm? Gonna let me train that pretty, empty head, aren’t ya?”

“Yeah,” you respond absently, and his eyes flare with a molten, ravenous desire.

Next>>>

©️Eilidh-Eternal.2024 ~ The intellectual property of Eilidh-Eternal is not permitted for reposting, transcription, translation or use with AI technologies.

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #ghost simon riley #simon ‘ghost’ riley #simon “ghost” riley #simon riley fanfic #simon ghost riley x f!reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x female reader #simon riley x female reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x f!reader #simon riley x you #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost x female reader #ghost x f!reader #cod fanfic #call of duty #cod #cod mw2 #cod mwii #cod mw #dub con #cw self harm #non con #grooming

[fanaticsnail]

Three, Two, One: Part 1 of 3

Hello beautiful people! I have decided to turn this part one-shot into a two-part series - SPECIFICALLY because I wanted it to be happy and playful, but it is leaning into a super HARD angst and I didn't want to spoil the playful vibe 👌

Word Count: 3,928

Warnings: mentions of tobacco, nicotine and addiction.

Song accompaniment: Know You Girls, Honey, Boy Toy

Fic Request Prompt by: @terarria-sunflower. Masterlist Here.

“Three, two, one,” you glanced down at your rotund, egg-shaped ticking timer as it began to shake as soon as the final number fled softly from your lips. A small smirk pulled at the corner of your mouth as you gazed at the blonde chef as he placed the relinquished cigarette butt within his ashtray; closing the metal lid to keep the cinders away from tainting the blue ocean with its waste.

“Down to the last second,” you muttered again to yourself, shaking your head while opening your journal and jotting down a new number within the pages. You flipped the yellow ribbon back within the page and shut your book; the several ribbons swaying at the bottom of the journal as you wrapped it around in its bound leather strap to place back atop the table.

As ship’s chronicler, you were tasked with notetaking and scribing the comings and goings aboard the Going Merry; a task which you undertook with complete precision and gusto. You had everything down to a fine craft; from documenting strategic battle maneuvers, to how many engagements in combat Zoro completed before his blades needed repair, down to exactly when the ship would need to pull in to resupply the kitchen with fresh ingredients, and the vessel with fresh medical supplies.

Your attention was being currently drawn to cataloguing the kitchen, searching through the prior menus Sanji had completed to determine which items took priority to resupply. As the kitchen was the blonde chef’s domain, you were spending far more time with him currently than the other members of the crew. You adored how passionate he was about food, and reveled in his eagerness to offer flirtations with you. Originally, you paid his flirtations very little mind; drawing conclusions that his words and gestures was built into his character as his occupation moulded him.

However, as his flirtations became more bold with his subtle smirks and playful words directed towards you; you decided it would be amusing to return his gestures, primarily out of boredom in your travels. Immediately, you found entertainment with how flustered you could make him, how his eyes would twinkle widely and his chin would fall to the ground to have his face shrouded by his blonde hair to shield the rising blush from your view.

Gentle touches of his hands brushing against yours as you passed him your journal to look over your kitchen restock notes, leaning yourself towards him over the kitchen benchtop with a playful bite of your lip while you asked him a mundane question, sitting in silence as he lit a cigarette and gawked at you while you read over your notes; crossing your right leg over your left and absent mindedly brushing your toes against his outer thighs with a light smirk.

It was truly a joy to see him flustered. He knew all of the right words and actions to pose towards others in playful advance, but never quite knew how to process the same unbridled gestures when they were reflected back onto him.

As Sanji walked his away from the wooden frame of the Going Merry’s kitchen bay-window, he turned towards you and smiled his beautiful, cuspid smile as you. Your heart began to swell at his attention, prompting you to look up at him half-lidded and cock your head to the side.

“What are you doing in here, beautiful?” he asked, continuing his approach.

“Oh, just cataloguing in the log book while enjoying the view,” you taunted him back with your playfulness, shamelessly raking your eyes over his torso, down his legs and back up to meet his gaze; “the ocean outside the window is nice to look at, too.”

He paused his movement, a small flustered panic behind his eyes before his smile spread further to his face, “You like what you see, then?” He gestured his hand over his body and arched his eyebrow upwards in question. He was wearing his blue and white-striped shirt with his black tie clasped firmly around his neck; sleeves fastened down at his wrists, secured by black buttoned cuff-links.

Your smirk drew into a broad smile as he continued to step closer to you, you confirming: “yes, chef.”

He allowed a large laugh to escape his parted lips, shaking his head at your brazen sanction.

“You hungry?” he asked once his laughter teetered off.

“Barely,” you shrugged, rising to your feet from your place sitting above deck, “but if it means spending more time with you, I’ll accompany you here the kitchen and aid your preparation for-,” you paused, reopening your journal and skimming it’s pages before locating the correct passage; “-Luffy’s second afternoon tea before dinner?”

He again chuckled at you, beginning to roll up his sleeves by unbuttoning his cuffs; “alright then, come and help me. Keep me company.”

You smiled again at him before reaching down towards the table and retrieving your egg-shaped timer from atop the wooden surface and holding it firmly within your hands. Sanji furrowed his brows, looking at the timer in your hands; “what’s with the timer?”

“Oh,” you shrugged, patting him on the shoulder as you moved past him, “nothing that should concern you.” He cocked his head up at the comment, intrigued by your nonchalant comment. You placed the object back down beside your journal, fixed to remain in its non-ticking nor shaking state for the interim as you readied yourself to begin aiding Sanji with the formulation of the meals.

“Okay then, let’s get started,” he began after rinsing his hands thoroughly, turning to his work station and bringing out several ingredients to ready preparation for Luffy’s snack; a two course meal with several sweet and savoury elements that were not too difficult to execute. You began to lather your hands with soap to wash them before you made your way to aid Sanji with food preparation.

While your back was turned and your egg timer and journal were left unattended; Sanji felt he had no choice but to peruse through the pages, finding your latest entry with the yellow ribbon: the colour he knew represented his entries for your chronicler-duties. Your journal was by no means taboo nor out of bounds for any members of the crew, but as Sanji searched through the pages; he was secretly hoping to find some semblance of minor infatuation towards him.

You both flirted with each other incessantly and constantly aboard the ship, and while travelling from port to port. Sanji couldn’t help but to be wooed by your words and actions, hoping that what began as entertainment from boredom grew as much for you as it did for him; hopefully fanning the flames of a small crush on your crewman into potentially developing into a deeper relationship.

You placed an apron over your head and secured the strap around your waist to stop any food items from falling to your clothes accidentally as he watched you over his shoulder; before hunching back over to find anything of the romantic nature between the pages.

He skimmed over his routine, noting several lines of ingredients he neglected to inform you in need of resupply already added to the journal. He sighed, contented and relieved to see you were effortlessly able to pick up on his subtle substitutions he used to cover the need for the missing ones; grinning at the knowledge of how attuned you were to his actions and efforts as chef aboard the vessel. In his daily schedule, he noticed several small crosses flurrying throughout his comings and goings; numbers written next to each cross.

He furrowed his brows and continued skimming over the pages, passing now onto the green-ribbon section: Zoro’s routine, noting his schedule had no crosses nor numbers. He deepened his frown and looked to the orange, red and blue ribbons for Nami, Luffy and Usopp’s schedules and noticed no crosses on their schedules either. Was this the answer he was looking for? He needed to know, and he needed to know, now.

“Hey, love?” Sanji spoke up, alerting you of his attention. You creased your brows at him, noting he had opened your log-journal and was reading his pages; “what are all these marks?”

Wiping your hands on a hanging blue and white kitchen towel, you turned to approach him; leaning your elbow on his shoulder as he turned his body into you, keeping his sights held to the pages of his schedule. You tilted your head towards your notation and narrowed your eyes before turning away from the pages to look at the blonde chef to your side.

“Those are your cigarette breaks, Sanji,” you smiled at him, reaching up to move his blonde hair away from shielding his eyes from you, “I’ve timed them.”

You turned away from him towards the kitchen counter and began sorting through the stock and comprising them into an order of need: items that needed to be cooked and items that only required assembly.

Sanji turned his eyes back to the page and creased his brows at the notes, looking over and acknowledging truly how many times he sought out the nicotine hit within his day to day activities. Although he didn’t manage to secure what he was hoping for, he remained perplexed by the sheer number and time throughout the day he received his dose of nicotine; almost angry at himself for the total amount.

“I have that many?” he asked, rethreading the ribbon back into the pages and putting the journal back atop the counter next to the egg timer.

“That you do, chef,” you nodded, continuing to sort out the piles of ingredients and readying a knife to begin peeling. Sanji hummed, looking over at you as you began peeling fruit with the edge of your knife. He emptied his pockets, placing his tobacco pouch, ash tray and lighter next to your journal before equipping himself with an apron to join next to you.

You both continued to prepare Luffy’s second afternoon snack together, laughing at something one another said and flirtatiously advancing each other with nothing more than a gentle graze of a shoulder or a brush of a fingertip as you continued working with one another. Once you had completed the task, Sanji removed his apron and began reaching toward his tobacco pouch and ash tray. A sly and mischievous look fell over your features.

“Can I ask you a question, chef?” you asked in a slight hint of mischief in your tone, prompting him to halt his retrieval of the pouch for a moment. You removed your apron and hooked it over a brass kitchen rail.

“Anything for you, love,” he smirked at you, turning around to face you and scrunching up his nose playfully. You tilted your head, walking closer to him and gazing up into his eyes.

“What is it about cigarettes that have such a hold over you?” you asked him curiously, “obviously it is the nicotine addiction, but is there more to it than just that?”

Sanji broke his sights away from you and looked off to the ceiling in thought with a small hum.

“You know,” he began with a nod, turning his eyes back down to meet your gaze, “I hadn’t given it much thought until now, truthfully. Maybe the rush? Taking a moment to myself? Could just be the chemical endorphins or the adrenaline, really.”

You nodded and downturned your lips in thought with a shrug. Sanji smirked at you, half-lidding his eyes mischievously before asking; “Why? You got a theory?”

“Frankly, I think it’s primarily about the nicotine,” you nodded, a wince of a smile falling to your face, “you should really think about breaking the habit, it’ll shorten your life and ruin your palate in the long run.”

You flicked your index finger over his chin playfully, a flirtatious grin rising again to your lips; “gotta keep that talented tongue in peak shape for when we get to the All-Blue. Can’t have everything tasting like ash now, can we?”

A small pink hue rose to his cheeks as you allowed a small giggle to escape your lips. You turned away from him to collect your journal, revelling at how flustered you made the flirtatious chef.

“You make a fine point, beautiful,” he broke his face back into a smile, “how do you suggest I get my fix? Save my palate,” he added with a small chuckle.  

You halted your step and quirked your head to the side before turning back to face him again.

“Let’s look at natural remedies,” you pondered, looking upwards at the ceiling, a list forming in your mind; “for adrenaline, why not spar with Zoro? He’d likely appreciate the amount of practice he could get in.”

Sanji hummed, stepping his body closer to you, “doesn’t really serve the endorphin release now, does it, love?”

You giggled in response, again looking towards the chef in thought, “you could go for a quick dip in the ocean? Breath control and adrenaline with that one.”

“And strip off my clothes multiple times a day?” he shook his head with a large grin forming, “I hardly see that as a helpful alternative. Again, it misses the endorphin release and doesn’t meet the accessibility criteria.”

You furrowed your brows and pursed your lips in thought. He chuckled again, turning back to face the table to retrieve his tobacco pouch and lighter, beginning to assemble a cigarette; rolling the tobacco within wafer-thin paper and adding a thin filter port to the end of it. He leant against the table, hips aligning with the height as he reclined back into it. As he brought the filter end to his lips, a stroke of genius struck you. He rose his lighter towards his lips and made to cradle the flame to ignite the end, halting at your next words.

“Kiss me,” you uttered softly with your head swaying as you held a small shyness to your voice, a tone Sanji almost missed. His eyes widened, mouth falling slightly ajar as his cigarette clung to his bottom lip.

“What was that-?” he asked in an utterance slightly more elevated than your own. You looked up at him with a small playful grin as you took your bottom lip once again within your teeth to bite it.

“Breath control,” you said more confidently, beginning to step closer towards him, “adrenaline release,” you raked your eyes over his body before settling on holding his eyes firm to you, “endorphin rush? I’d say a simple kiss would meet the criteria.”

His breath hitched within his throat at the suggestion, prompting him to reach up and remove the cigarette from between his lips and place it on the table behind him.

“You’re saying I can kiss you-,” he confirmed with a small hint of both delight and apprehension, “-for as long as I want?”

You giggled, reaching past him to retrieve your egg timer, “I’ll allow you to kiss me for as long as you need to.”

Sanji quirked his head at your actions, widening his eyes at the egg timer in your hands before a small chuckle fell from his lips. You stepped within his personal proximity after searching his eyes for any apprehension to do so. Meeting none, you settled comfortably in the space between his legs as he remained reclined against the table.

“And judging from your routine: with your mornings, you take about two minutes per cigarette,” you nod your head, rolling the timer within your hands, “your afternoon ones are down to a solid three and a half to four,” he nodded, taking your wrists within his hands and looking down still at the timer, “your before dinner cigarette is about one and a half, because you’re desperate at that stage,” he snickered at your comment, you giggling again in tow.

“And my after dinner one?” he asked you in a breathy, almost frantic voice, “surely I take my time with that one-.”

“-The after dinner one, you usually take around three,” you cut him off with a small giggle, “but your before bed one,” you nudged your nose under his chin to bring his gaze up to meet you once more, “that’s where you take your time with a solid five,” you whispered suggestively close to his jaw.

A small whined-groan escaped from him as he began to chase your face to seek to capture your lips in a kiss, meeting only the tips of your fingers pressed against his lips in response. He furrowed his brows and flittered his eyes down towards your hand and back to gazing intensely into your eyes.

“Hold on, big boy,” you warned him, scrunching up your nose playfully, “I have to set the timer first, or it’s all for naught.”

He nudged your hand away with his chin and a small growl escaping his lips in displeasure at your apprehension. You chuckled at his eagerness, allowing your hand to fall onto his cheek in a gentle caress.

“Surely not for the first one,” he commented hoarsely, desperately as he began reaching down to take the timer from your hands; only to be met with your hands closing over the egg-timer and holding it firmer, “just a taste-.”

“-It’s part of the fun,” you smile at him, floating your gaze over his face; falling on his lips before rising up again to meet with his eyes, “otherwise it won’t work and you’ll be back to square one."

He hummed in response, almost in a low whine as he pressed his forehead against you and grazing his hands down your ribcage to settle against your hips; “and what do you get out of aiding me with my fix?”

“I get the knowledge,” you whisper against his jaw, grazing your lips along his skin slowly, “that I’m the one bringing the rush to you, Sanji. I’m the one making you feel good.”

“Set the timer,” he growled firmly, eyes darkening with his pupils blown out and intense with desire, “four minutes.”

“Oui, chef,” you whispered with a small giggle in anxious anticipation, pulling your lips away from his jaw and turning towards your egg timer; winding it to the appropriate duration.

“Okay Sanji, the time starts: n-,” your words are halted by his the soft but intense collision of Sanji’s lips overzealously engaging in entanglement against your own. You squealed slightly at the immediacy of his reaction, your eyes wide as you stared at his closed eyes as his brows creased in intensity with your cheeks held firmly within his hands.

You reached slowly behind him to place the timer down on the table and raked your hands over his back and slid your fingertips against his flesh and holding his hips firmly while closing your eyes. You shifted your lips against his, opening them to deepen the kiss and allow him to glide his tongue behind your entrance to dance with your tongue. You gasped as soon as the contact was made, feeling a sharp piece of metal beneath the muscle, attached firmly to his frenulum. A piercing? Sanji has a tongue piercing?

He smiled into the kiss, feeling your shock as you brushed your tongue with his. He retracted the muscle from your mouth and began to place rougher kisses, assaulting your lips while raking his fingers through your hair and cradle your head further against his own. He rotated his head to continue the deep and rough engagement, prompting a whimper-like moan to fall from your lips in response.

As he remained reclined against the table, you wavered in your mind how much more adrenaline you could spike into his bloodstream to elevate his heartbeat further. Deciding to not withhold your ministrations; you pulled yourself further against his hips and hooked your right leg over his left and guide his left hand from your hair to wrap around your thigh. A groan fell from his lips as he reclined against the table further, unbreaking the kiss from your lips as he eagerly began to support your weight against him with fervour.

He pulled his other hand from your hair as you laced your hands behind his neck to hold him further into yourself. Just as you tilted your head and made to rake your fingers into his hair while he reached down to grip the back of your other thigh to hoist you up against himself fully; the egg-timer began to rattle and shake, alerting you the duration of the kiss was to be drawn to a close.

The low groan released from Sanji’s lips followed by a whimper as you began to pull yourself away from him was as delicious as the meals he would readily present to you, filling you completely with his unbridled need being absolutely met by your body.

“Please-,” he cried his protestation and need for you softly as you made to break from his lips, “please I need more.”

You smiled while he chased you with his lips as you pulled away from him, unlacing your leg from circling his hip and pulled your arms around his shoulders. You pressed your hand to rest against his chest, feeling the rapid pace pummelling harshly at his breastbone, pushing him away with a gentle but firm touch.

“You can have more,” you cooed at him, looking down through your eyelashes to see his desperation on full display over his face; his breath unevenly falling from his mouth, “in an hour and twenty minutes, before dinner.”

“For how long, then?” He gasped, moving his hands from your hips to lace his fingertips within your own, “surely not just for one and a half minutes.”

You giggled at him, looking at the beautiful picture you had painted on the man of a canvas before you: his eyes blown out with lust and desire, his heart beating with the rapidity of an over-excited puppy anticipating its first treat, his lips bruised from the prior collision against your own.

“You are out of breath,” you nodded to him, gesturing to his lips with your chin, “you have a spike of adrenaline, gathered by how rapid your heart was beating just now,” you rubbed your thumb to circle over his own, “and hopefully the kiss gave you as much of a rush of endorphins as it did me,” you giggled with a nod, taking your bottom lip between your teeth.

He nodded, looking down at the ground with a small smile tugging at his slightly swollen lips.

“Thank you for helping me with breaking my addiction, and,” he murmured, bringing your hands upwards to brush his lips against every digit; paying them all as much attention as the other with his lips, breaking only to utter; “for helping me restore my palate. I’m going to look forward to receiving my next hit from you.”

You felt a small rush of butterflies falling over your chest as he bore a wide grin against your knuckles.

“Okay, chef,” you said, releasing your hands from his and bringing your right hand up to caress his cheek, brushing your thumb over his lips to tenderly sooth them, “let’s go bring the captain his second afternoon tea.”

“Oui, mademoiselle,” he groaned, pressing a small and playful kiss against the pad of your thumb, prompting a small whimper to fall from your own lips this time; a smirk readily rising to his cheeks as he took the balled piercing from beneath his tongue and twirled it against his teeth absent mindedly.

Part 2

#one piece #opla #opla fic #x reader #one piece live action #sanji opla #black leg sanji #sanji fic #sanji x reader #one piece sanji #sanji

[pasukiyo]

LEECH.

| a collection of one-shots. collection masterlist.

DISCLAIMER: this fic is simply a work of fiction and is in no way, shape, or form claiming to be a reflection of how leon kennedy is canonically portrayed as a character. this is an au, meaning it is an alternate reality written for fun, so please heed this warning and keep it in mind while you read.

— to join the taglist, follow the link here and choose “leon kennedy” in the character list.

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leon kennedy x fem!reader word count; 1,656 warnings; leon is a stalker, leon's also a bit of a loser!, themes of dark!leon, allusions to smut, mentions of oral (m & f receiving) summary; letting her go was easily the biggest mistake leon has ever made, and he's made more than he can count. so when he finds her again, he vows she’ll be the one thing he clings to, like a leech in skin.

 Leon never had a place to call his own, but he did have a home, once. 

 Home was a girl, home was a medic who, by patching him up that first time in the training grounds, prompted a rumbling from deep within his belly for a hunger he’d never had before, making him yearn for something constant, something domestic, something normal. 

 Because Leon Kennedy’s life was far from it. Years of being in all the wrong places at all the wrong times made certain of that. There was nothing normal about him to begin with anyways, even before that shitshow of a first day on duty at R.P.D..

 Although not many tried, many failed to truly understand Leon Kennedy. Before there was a top secret government agent, there was a cop and before there was a cop, there was a teenager and before there was a teenager there was just a child, mourning the loss of parents he never got the chance to really know. 

 But that was all just the surface-level shit. 

 Everyone, at least on a business standpoint, knew about Leon’s past, why he was so eager to be an officer in the first place. But no one gave a shit about the in between. Nobody really cared for who Leon Kennedy was at his core, beneath all the blood, sweat, gore, and tears. 

 Nobody did— except for her. 

 Leon’s home once looked at him with a tenderness so devastating, it was like its own cataclysmic event. Every time she looked at him with eyes so warm like a crackling fire in the hearth on a cold, winter night, eyebrows pinched and brow furrowed, it was like the Earth was collapsing around him. The world was caving in and Leon didn’t care because all he could see was her: listening to him, eager to know more, wanting to help him. 

 He could still see her eyes every night when he closed his and he could still hear her voice, her breathing, the little sounds she made in those moments they shared when they burned the brightest. His skin still buzzed where her lips once touched him, although each day that passed by, the burn her kiss left upon his flesh gradually faded, so faint now, he was holding on to cinders. Leon would toss and turn in whatever bed he ended up in every night, willing the memory of their last night together back to the forefront of his brain, clinging on to the dying embers left in her lips’ wake. 

 Her kiss felt fainter tonight than it ever had before. 

 The feeling was nearly painful. 

 Leon ripped the thin duvet off of his body, swinging his legs over the side of the mattress that was more like a box spring than anything. The motel room he’d ended up in after the last mission was small, the walls were yellow with grime, the curtains over the window thin and ripped, allowing the orange light from the lamppost outside to spill in. There were small, dark ovals on the floor in the corner that were surely cockroaches, but Leon didn’t spare them a second glance as he zipped up his jeans— he’d slept in far worse places than this. 

 He tugged on the sheepskin leather jacket that had since been draped over the top of the withering dresser, stepping into his boots and bending at the waist from the edge of the mattress to lace them up. The alarm on the nightstand read 4:00 in big, red numbers that blinked after him as he stuffed his room key into his pocket, slipping out the door. 

 The air was cold and fog rolled in the low-lit parking lot, curls of smoky air visible in the lamplight. Leon could see his breath in misty clouds with each step he took and he stuffed his hands into his pockets, disappearing into the fog. 

 She haunted his reverie as if she were a parasite, a sickness he couldn’t heal from. He still saw her the day she told him she was leaving, still felt the bile that bubbled in his throat, still saw the tears that fell in droplets of rain down her cheeks. He still felt the weight of the words he’d said, still remembered her shaking her head, could still hear her voice curling around his ears like a ghostly whisper, saying “you have to let me go.”

 He watched her walk away, let her go as she asked then, and perhaps, Leon should’ve tried to move on. Perhaps he should’ve let her go as she had asked, should’ve pushed himself harder in training, pushed himself harder in his missions so that maybe he could have forgotten her. 

 But he was still right where she left him. 

 Ever since she left, he’d been stuck as if he were in a time loop, reliving the day he let her walk away from him over and over again like it was some form of punishment, his own personal hell. He’d spent damn near every second that passed after that day trying to claw his way back to her, hanging on tooth and nail. He had to ask through virtually the entire medical team until he finally, finally found her. 

 He told himself he wouldn’t do this, told himself he’d wait until the morning where he could show up at her door, properly knock and engage in conversation. He tried desperately to resist the ache he now yielded to. 

 The place was caught in between a shithole and adequacy. It was a hell of a lot better than a vast majority of the places Leon had slept, at least. His footsteps echoed through the hallway as he neared her door, Room 210. He fished for his pocket knife in the front pocket of his jeans, unsheathing the switchblade before glancing around the hall. 

 Empty. 

 He leaned down to the lock and slowly, as to not make any more noise than necessary, inserted the blade, inch by inch until the tip reached the end. He twisted the hilt until there was a click, steadily sliding the knife back out and switching it closed, tucking it safely away back in his pocket. 

 The knob was cool against his fingertips as he twisted it, carefully pushing open the door, grimacing when it squeaked. He stepped inside the dark apartment, the shadows embracing him as if he were an old friend. Once he’d managed to close the door, he crept his way through the apartment, between half unpacked moving boxes and furniture. 

 The walls were bare for the most part, save for a painting above the television in the living room. Leon couldn’t quite discern what it was in the darkness, but through the sliver in the door beside it, he could just make out the shape of a footboard. 

 His heart pounded against his chest as he inched towards the bedroom door, palms against the wood, cautiously pushing open just enough to allow his body to slither through. 

 And there she was. 

 Leon’s home was a woman buried beneath the covers, turned on her side with an arm folded beneath her pillow. Home was the woman deep in slumber, lashes flush to her cheeks, oblivious to the man standing at her bedside. 

 Leon drew in a deep breath as he kneeled beside her, his fingers just itching to wipe the loose strand of hair away from her face. It’d been so long since the last time he’d seen her in the flesh and he’d counted down those long, agonizing days that eventually led him to this moment. The days were long and hard but finally, he’d made his way back to her. 

 The lips that used to kiss his, that used to part when she gasped, that wrapped around his cock when his fingers were woven through her hair were now pressed together in a line. The chest he’d sometimes lay on at night, the chest he’d knead in either of his palms, the chest he’d leave his marks upon rose and fell with her every breath. He wondered if any of his marks still tainted her skin, or if the time they’d spent apart had been enough to fade them away. 

 The eyes that still haunted him, even in this moment, were closed but still, their hue was forever ingrained in his memory. Leon’s fingers twitched as he raised a hand towards her face, shivering as he brushed the backs of his knuckles delicately across her cheek, the pad of his thumb just barely soothing over one of her closed eyelids. He swiped the loose strand of hair away from his face gently, the tip of his forefinger delicately tracing the curve of her ear. 

 The skin he’d been craving and yearning to touch was warm, a stark contrast from the cool of his own. Memories of nights that had passed with his arms wrapped around her naked body, with her breasts against his chest, their legs intertwined flashed in his mind. Memories of his palms soothing up and down her waist, his hands between the soft flesh of her thighs, his lips against her center made his mouth part in a gasp. 

 How he longed to shake her awake, to look in her eyes, to feel her again. How he longed to tangle his fingers up in her hair and push her lips against his in a searing kiss that would forever scar him but feel so damn good all the while. 

 But he wouldn’t wake her, not now. 

 For tonight, he’d settle on the fact that he’d found her, that he could see her once again. Seeing her again set that old flame in the pit of his belly ablaze once more, fueling that craving he had for something constant, something domestic, something normal. 

 Normalcy was hard, his line of work made certain of that. Nobody normal had seen the amount of shit he had, nor had the amount of blood on his hands that tainted his. Normalcy was practically a myth, normalcy sounded more outrageous than the outrageous did to him. 

 Normalcy may have been out of reach before, yes, but now— now it felt closer than ever. If becoming a leech, a blood-sucking parasite with its teeth sunken deep into skin was what he had to do to achieve it, then so be it. He was so tired of letting everything he’d ever wanted slip out of his reach— so when he sunk down onto the floor with his back against the wall, gaze still fixed on the woman slumbering upon the bed, he vowed to let this be the one thing he cling to. 

a/n; SO... SURPRISE! i got the idea for this while driving to work this past tuesday morning and couldn't stop thinking about it my entire shift lol i'm really excited to write more for this collection, so stay tuned for further one-shots! i just ask for your patience-- i'm a college student with a job! :) anyways, i hope you all enjoyed this little introduction to the collection :)

❕❕the next fic in the collection will be posted april 14th at 3 pm cst

💿 if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging or even leaving a reply to let me know! it means the entire world to me 🫶

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#leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #leon resident evil #leon s kennedy #leon x reader #leon x you #leon x y/n #leon kennedy x y/n #resident evil #pasukiyo's leech collection

[sinofwriting]

Judo Tracks - Ollie Bearman

Words: 4,535 Summary: What happens when an Formula 2 (cough and now technically kind of an F1) driver and an Olympic gold medalist Judoka start dating? Note(s): Thank you so much to V on Kofi for commissioning this! I had so much fun writing it (and I got to do so much research and take so many notes for). Reader does Judo. Uta Abe is the inspiration for reader and I’ve used her amazing achievements as readers as well. Also, mentions of blood, injuries, pain. I also completely changed the 2024 F1 season because of Ollie being called up for Saudi Arabia (I literally could not help myself). Fun fact: Ollie Bearman with just his rookie F2 season in 2023 has just over triple the amount of points needed for a super license (aka the license for F1).

Taglist | Masterlist | Emergency Dental Fund

She takes a deep breath, eyes closed as she lets the feeling of the sun hit her skin, pouring into her as she stretches out on the grass. Her thighs and calves are burning, her big toe has split open again, Jain will have her head for it. Her arms are loose by her side, wrist aching as she rotates them. Letting out the breath, her eyes open.

The brick in front of her is rugged, chipped, and would be considered peeling if it was painted instead. It’s like cinder. The cinder at the first gym she went to, not old but worn down and chipped at from overuse and abuse. She still has a piece of the first cinder block she broke skin on, blood speckling a small corner of it. Another piece from the first one she broke. Her hand throbs at the memory and she flexes it.

Her eyes flicker to her hands. Calluses and scars decorate them. Dents and bumps, spots dark and light. Clenching them, she watches as the skin stretches over bone, more scars seeming to pop out, becoming angrier. It’s a miracle, she supposes that the skin of her hands is still soft.

“You didn’t take your phone.” She doesn’t flinch at the sudden sound of a voice or the body that plops down next to her in the grass. “I needed to breathe.” They huff out a laugh. “Kid. No one is going to tell you not to breathe. We’d actually prefer it.” They nudge her shoulder lightly, teasing, but she doesn’t return it, can’t. Her eyes are still glued to her hands, to the skin she can see, the bones underneath them. They sigh and it feels like a punch to the gut. “What’s going on?” “I fucked up.” Tears are stinging her eyes and it makes her dig her nails into palms, body starting to shake. “I had one chance and I fucking blew it. This is my thing.” She shakes her head. “This is the one thing I have, the one thing I’m good at and I blew my chance.” “You didn’t blow your chance. Ridgle did a dirty move, you got injured. It happens. You’ll recover, you are recovering. You won’t make it this year, but next year? You’re gonna win, kid.” She looks at Jain, tears in her eyes that she still won’t let fall, a quiver to her lip, and her voice so small and high at just fourteen. “Really?” “Really, kid.” Jain smiles, patting her on the shoulder. It makes her nod and she forces herself to take a few breaths, forces the tears away, and then she looks away sheepishly at her feet, at her left foot. “I might’ve split open my big toe again.” Jain lets out a groan, “Dammit kid. Didn’t I just fix that up for you?”

—

She doesn’t want to be here. She knows that, Jain knows that, her parents know it, Amy knows it and she’s sure that the poor driver who was forced to drive her here knows it as well.

Hunkering down in a corner, she drains the glass of whiskey she managed to snag from the bar. The taste makes her nose wrinkle, and the sound of a chuckle makes her tense.

“Strong?” She turns her head, eyebrows furrowed for all of a second before they loosen from her eyes widening. The guy was cute. A little boyish, but she was constantly surrounded by guys that weren’t. It was a lot of weird large muscles, clear scars and repeatedly broken noses, baby fat gone as soon as their balls dropped. Not that she notices any baby fat as she looks closer at his face. “No.” She finally says. “Really weak, watered down, probably.” He huffs out of a laugh. “Wouldn’t think that they’d served watered down drinks, but who knows how they want to save their money.” “If they wanted to save their money, they wouldn’t throw this event.” She scowls. He nods, smile a touch sympathetic now. “Not a fan.” “Not in my job description.” She corrects. “It is a bit ridiculous, isn’t it?” She nods fast. “Yes! So ridiculous.”

He smiles at her, extending a hand. “My names Ollie.” “Y/N.” She tells him, shaking his hand. He repeats her name to himself after letting go of her hand. “Want to ditch with me?” She looks at the rest of the large room, eyes lingering on the bar, but she wouldn’t need that if she left. “Absolutely.”

—

“So,” she asks two hours after they’ve left, a shared meal between them. “What sport?” He looks at her amused. “Guess.” Her eyes narrow at him, and she tugs the fries away from him a bit. Cheekiness didn’t get you fries as far as she was concerned. Her fingers lightly tap against the table as she lets her eyes drink his form in.

He was lithe, no heavy, thick, full muscles. But he was muscled, a little bit like a swimmer or a runner, all hidden strength. His build alone ruled out MMA, boxing, and sports like it. Also, the perfect unbroken nose was a dead give away. Maybe football, but he was a little awkward in certain movements that didn’t line up with the few footy players she had been around. He was tall too, which made things even more interesting.

She wondered if somehow he made it into basketball or baseball, primarily American sports, and they had their international players, but she had never heard of a British one.

Her eyes linger on his neck, the muscle was weirdly developed. “You aren’t one of those guys who do the slap competitions, are you?” He laughs, shaking his head. “No.” She hums, “I’ve got no idea. Is it something weird? Something I’ve never heard of?” “Padel. Junior champion.” He tells her with a smile. Her eyes immediately dropped to his hands. “Bullshit.” He laughs again. “Not padel. I’m an F2 driver.” “Ah.” She nods, leaning back in her seat. “That explains the neck.”

—

“Ollie!” She looks behind her at the sound of Jain’s voice. Just barely catching a glimpse of Ollie before she has to straighten back out, she only had a few more minutes of her run to do then her cooldown, she could wait. “Hi, Jain. How are you doing?” “I’m doing good.” They smile at the kid. “She’s keeping me busy of course. How are you, though? Nervous for your next race?” “A little bit. I feel like I haven’t done enough y’know? Hopefully Baku will be better for me.” Jain shakes his head. “You're doing great for a rookie Ollie. I know this one,” they tilt their head towards her. “Is excited to be going with you. Hasn’t shut up about it.” They tease. “I can hear you, Jain.” She says, taking a drink of water as she slows the treadmill down a bit. “And I will kick your ass again.” Ollie stifles a laugh as he watches Jain roll their eyes at the threat, though he doesn’t miss the way her trainer pats at their ribs.

He watches her finish out her workout, trying not to let his eyes linger too much on her, but knows he doesn’t succeed by the way Jain snorts and how she seems to purposely draw out a few stretches.

Reaching into a fridge, Jain tosses a drink at her. “Drink that, shower, and get out of the gym. I will see you both when you're back from Baku and do not go to the gym more than Ollie does. This is your rest period. You go when he goes and don’t push, even with a trainer.” “Got it.” She nods, smiling. “Thank you, Jain.” They smile at her. “Of course, kid. Now have fun both of you and I’ll make sure to watch the races Ollie.” “Thanks, Jain.”

The two watch as the trainer goes to the back part of the gym where an office is. When the door shuts she finally looks at Ollie. “Hi.” He grins at her, eyes getting all crinkly. “Hi.” She wants to dart forward to hug him, kiss him, but she’s all too aware of the sweat covering every inch of her body. Twisting the cap off the drink, she quickly chugs it, not really wanting to taste what’s arguably the worst flavor of all the drinks that Jain makes her drink. Tossing the container in the bin, she gives him a sorry smile. “Let me shower and then we can,” she gestures between their bodies. “Darling,” blood instantly rushes to her cheeks. “I don’t need to wait for you to shower.” And before she can protest, his hands are framing her face and his lips are against hers.

Her eyes instantly flutter close at the contact, sighing into the kiss as her own hands come up to rest just below his wrists. Keeping his hands there despite what she had just said. She doesn’t know how long they stay like that, just soft presses of their lips, but she pulls away when he gives a small lick to her bottom lip.

“Trust me, Ollie, you don’t want that until after I brush my teeth.” The taste of the drink still lingered a bit on her tongue despite how quickly she had downed it. His lips form a pout, but he nods. “Alright. Be quick though? I’ve missed you.” She presses another kiss to his lips. “I’ll be quick.”

—

Ollie crosses the finish line and the whole garage goes nuts, just like it did yesterday, just like it somewhat did when Ollie managed to get pole with bent steering the day before that one.

There are tears in her eyes as she jumps around and screams with everyone at Prema. All of them start heading over to parc fermé and she goes to stay back, but René is pushing her along, passing her to the lead mechanic on Ollie’s car who puts himself between her and the rest of the people behind him as she’s nearly squished against the bars. It’s a sweet gesture, one that would make her laugh if she wasn’t overwhelmed with pride and happiness for Ollie.

She watches as he parks the car, watches as he gets out, watches as he runs over to throw himself into the arms of the mechanics just beside her. Watches as he tries to touch everyone at Prema, as he tries to talk to them but his helmet muffles his voice. Watches when he’s set back down and he notices her. Watches as he immediately starts wrestling with his helmet, yanking it, the neck part she can never remember the name for, and his baklava before he’s got his free hand on her neck and is drawing her in for a kiss.

—

She smiles at Ollie as she walks into the locker room. There’s a bit of worry in his eyes and she knows it's from how she’s got an arm around her ribs, but he also looks proud. “What’d you think?” “It was amazing. I mean, I had never watched any of this before meeting you, but it was so cool. And that kick you did at the end, it looked so easy!” She huffs out a laugh at his excitement, wincing a little at the pulling it does, but she ignores the pain. Jain wasn’t forcing her to sit down and get looked at yet, which meant she had just enough time to do this: extending her free arm, her fingers clutch at Ollie’s shirt, pulling him forward and down a bit to press their lips together.

“Congrats on winning.” He murmurs against her lips after a moment, the both of them just taking the moment. Blood rushes to her cheeks at the soft murmur. “Thank you for coming.” “Anytime I can, I’ll be here.” He tells her, echoing her words from Baku.

—

Her hands are clasped together, tucked under her chin as she watches the screens, her brows occasionally pressing together as she watches the cars go around. Feeling a small ache in her right foot, she shifts her weight only to gasp out in pain.

“Fuck.” She breathes. The man standing next to her tears his eyes away from the screen, and an arm is quickly wrapped around her waist. “Let’s get you sat down somewhere.” She shakes her head. “No, I’m fine. I just put too much weight on it.” “Y/N,” he warns. “You need to stay off it. At least let someone get you a chair.” “David, I’ll be okay. Continue watching and I’ll find somewhere to sit.” He gives her a look, hearing the lie, but his eyes are quickly drawn to the car pulling into the garage.

She quickly moves away, wincing with every step and she just knows that when Ollie gets out of the car and is done with his press he’s going to be pissed. Jain was going to be pissed as well when Ollie inevitably tells them.

“Stop.” She halts at the sound of Andrea’s voice. Turning around, she gives Charles’ trainer a smile. “Hi Andrea. Will you still be helping Ollie with his cooldown after quali?” He gives her an unamused look. “I know that your knee is hurting. Now, come.” She wants to protest, but he gives her a look and she follows after him.

Entering Charles’ driver room, she easily hops onto the massage bed, folding her skirt up so the shorts she’s wearing underneath are exposed along with her knees.

He hisses as he looks at her left. “You’ve been putting too much weight on it.” “It’s fine, Andrea. I can’t just rest.” “You can when the muscle needs to heal. And it will heal.” Her jaw clenches and her eyes lock onto the clock in the room. “It will.” She gives him that, just like she gave the doctors, Ollie, and Jain. “But will it go back to normal? Not be weakened?” She shrugs. “Who knows? I just know that I got distracted during a match and nearly blew out my knee. So much for another Olympic medal. My career is over.” He scoffs, opening a jar of ointment. “Your career is not over, far from it. There are still months before the Olympics as well. You are young, just nineteen. You heal quicker, you just need to give your body time to rest, to heal. You can’t stand for so long or workout and train as you normally would. It needs time to recover.” She winces as he starts applying the cream. “I can’t though. It’s the Olympics. All I’m supposed to be doing is training and now I can’t. That lack of training could cost me.” “And training now will cost you a knee. It nearly blew out, but didn’t. You continue like this, it will and then your career will be over.”

“You have to take it easy.” He stresses after a few minutes of just silence in the room, finally done with the ointment and gentle massage to it. “I know Jain has told you that. Your doctors, Ollie. And I know that maybe my opinion doesn’t matter much.” She looks at him for the first time since entering the room with a scoff, frowning as tears threaten to fall from her eyes. “Of course it matters.” “Then listen.” He takes her hands in his, grateful that he wiped them with a towel already. “You will recover from this, heal from this, and you will be stronger because of it.” She shakes her head, tears falling and the words that have been building up inside of her since her injury happened come spilling out. “I’m scared, Andrea. This is nothing like my last injury. And I thought my career was over then. This is so much worse and Ollie,” she sobs. “Ollie has so much to worry about, the car wasn’t good last weekend and now he’s in an F1 car, in a Ferrari, I can’t add more to him. I don’t know what to do without Judo. Without the competitions, the training. I’ve been doing this since I was two. I don’t know anything else.” “And you don’t have to worry about knowing anything else. Not for nearly ten years. But think about it like this, while you rest, you think about your future. You think about your five year, ten year plans. You try some new things. You talk to Ollie and Jain. Because I know that you haven’t talked to them either.” She nods, sniffling as she wipes away her tears. “Okay.” She whispers. “Good.” He nods, before wrapping her up in a hug.

“Now, I’m going to get you a chair and you are going to sit in it and watch the rest of quali in it, yes?” “Yes.”

—

“Congrats on your first F1 points, baby.” She murmurs to Ollie hours after the race, finally back at their hotel room after the celebrations that had occurred and the team debriefs. He beams at her. “I still can’t believe it. I mean, I just didn’t want to damage the car, just wanted to bring it home.” She laughs, “well, you more than brought it home.”

Lopping her arms around his neck, she kisses him. “I’m so happy for you.” “I’m really happy too. And I’m happy you could be here, I know that you would have missed it due to training.” She shakes her head, “even if it wasn’t for my knee, I would’ve canceled my training sessions for this, hopped on the first flight. I couldn’t miss this. I didn’t miss any of your FP1 sessions last season. I wouldn’t miss this.” He smiles at her, “I’m just happy that I already cleared it with Prema for Spa, that I can leave immediately after quali. I have to see you win your second Olympic medal.” Her smile flatters a bit at the thought of the Olympics. “I actually wanted to talk to you about that. I wasn’t going to tonight, but do you mind?” He shakes his head and he sits down on the bed, taking her with him. “Of course not. What’s going on?”

Her lips thin and the words that she had managed to say to Andrea feel trapped in her throat. But she forces them out. “I haven’t been okay since my knee got fucked up. And I know you noticed.” It was impossible to not notice the way he’d worriedly look at her. “Just like you noticed that none of the swelling has gone down.” “It really hasn’t.” His hand gently rests on her thigh, squeezing the muscle. “Is something wrong? I mean more wrong?” She shakes her head. “I uh, I got in my head, that I fucked it all up.” She lets out a laugh and she hates that tears are coming to her eyes. Hadn’t she cried enough yesterday about this? “I was pretty sure that I ruined my career and uh,” she struggles with the next part. “I didn’t take it easy like I was supposed to. I’ve still been doing some training and I haven’t been resting like I should. And I didn’t talk to you or Jain about it, like I should’ve. I just spiraled, really quickly.” “Darling, your career isn’t over.” “I know.” She nods, a tear slipping down her cheek. Because she did know after talking with Andrea and talking to her doctors while Ollie did his debriefs and race prep.

“I know that now.” She corrects, wiping at her face. “Andrea talked to me, talked me out of my head.” “Good, because you’ve still got championships and medals to earn. You aren’t done.” “Yeah. I talked with my doctors too, I’m gonna talk to Jain tomorrow and I’m going to listen to them when they tell me what to do. Because I’m not ready for it to be over. But that does mean I’m looking at about four weeks of rest and recovery.” He lets out a whistle, thumb rubbing circles on her fabric cladded thigh. “That’s gonna drive you nuts.” She laughs, “it really will. And I was wondering if I could come with you to races.” His eyes widened, thumb stopping its motions. “What?” “Andrea told me that I should think about my five and ten year plans with this time I’ll have resting. And I already know that you're in those plans. And I know that I can’t do Judo for another ten years, not at this level at least. And if I get another knee injury to my left one, maybe I’ll get five years. And I know you want to be in F1 in ten years, still be in F1.” “I do.” The words are quiet, nearly drowned out by the sound of his heart pounding inside his chest. “I want to be part of this with you, Ollie. Every part. The bad races, the good ones, the ones that make you happy, sad, angry. I want them all and this could be the start of that.”

There’s a lump in his throat that he struggles to swallow around, because this was like one of his dreams. Her wanting that with him, seeing that with him. Wanting F1 for him.

“I want that too.” He tells her. “I want you with me. But not at the cost of your career, never at the cost of it. I know we already talked about it when we got together about having to miss events and maybe championships because of careers, and that still stands. Even after you're done with this level of Judo. That will never change, even if you change careers.” His words are rushed as he makes sure she knows that he doesn’t expect her to completely just become a WAG when she’s finished. She stares at him, his expression earnest, and she doesn’t know what to say, how to say all of that back, so instead she says, “I love you.” His whole face brightens, “I love you too.”

—

“This fucking sucks.” She lets out a laugh, “Ollie, it’s okay.” “You are at the Olympics! The Olympics! And I can’t be there because of debriefing after quali. Fucking Ferrari.” He curses and she can just see him kicking at the ground. “There’s always the next Olympics in 2028. And you can’t miss debrief. Not for Spa.” A shiver runs up her spine at the thought of that track. “I know. It’s just I was supposed to be there, Prema approved it. Was even willing to push it completely to the next day, so I could be there for you. And now I can’t.” Her heart constricts a little, because she had been thrilled when Prema originally gave the go ahead for Ollie to potentially leave debrief early so he could see her at the Olympics. But F1 was a different beast and Ferrari was stricter. They wanted to see her win her second gold medal, wanted to support her, but they couldn’t let their surprise rookie driver miss the debrief to do it. “Fred already said that you guys would pause the debrief to watch it live. Really, you're just lucky that my group is going last, otherwise you’d be paying fines for missing press.” “Be worth it.” He mutters.

It’s silent between them, only the sound of slightly staticky breathing being heard.

“Why did Carlos have to get an infection?” She snorts, hand going up to cover her mouth, nearly dropping her phone from surprise. “What?” “Well, if Carlos had never gotten that stupid infection, he would have been back in the car by Australia or Japan and I’d be able to see you in person.” “Alternatively, you could have not performed so well and then when Canada came around they would have given him the seat, instead of keeping you in it.” He fake gasps. “Are you saying I should have performed badly?” She nods even though he can’t see it. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. But, no you just had to show and prove that you were worthy of the Ferrari seat. What is it now that you have? Four podiums, one sprint win, two sprint podiums, oh and of course your 166 points.” It’s quiet for a moment. “I love you so much.” She giggles. “I keep track.” “So, do I.” he retorts. “you‘ve got,” he starts, but she cuts him off. “No. We are not doing that. We both need to sleep. I’ve got the Olympics and you have quali.” He sighs, “yeah. I’ll be watching when I can. And I’m sorry I won’t see you win.” Blood rushes to her face at his confidence in her. “It’s fine, baby. And I’ll try to watch what I can of FP3 and qualifying. You’re gonna do amazing. I’ll see you Sunday, yeah?” “Of course. I love you.” “I love you too.”

—

“Y/N Y/L/N wins her second Olympic gold medal!” She stands proudly with it around her neck, her country flag wrapped around her as she cries tears of joy, a beaming smile on her face. She can see Jain clapping their hands together so hard it must hurt, and that just makes her smile more.

Her eyes look around the whole venue filled with people, she looks at her fellow gold medalists, the silver and bronze. It was unbelievable just like the first time.

She listens closely as the ceremony comes to a close, and as soon as she can, she darts over to Jain, wrapping them in a hug as she cries in their chest. “We did it!” She cheers. “You did it, kid! Two gold medals!” Jain laughs, squeezing her tight before letting her go and spinning her around. She makes a confused noise, nearly falling over, but she’s caught. Caught by an all too familiar pair of arms.

“Ollie!” She gasps. He beams at her. “You won! I got to see you win!” “But, I mean, I thought,” He laughs, “I lied. Ferrari agreed as long as I did my debrief on the flight here, I just have to pay a fine for missing press.” “Oh my god.” She stares at him for a few more seconds before kissing him, his arms wrapping around her waist in the process and lifting her off her feet.

“I’m so proud of you, Y/N. You were amazing, just amazing.” He whispers, when they break apart for air. She smiles at him, tracing a line down his cheek. “I’m just happy you're here.”

@crashingwavesofeuphoria @gemofthenight @peachiicherries @lpab @hiireadstuff @iloveyou3000morgan @boiohboii @bibliosaurous @skepvids @elliegrey2803

#ollie bearman x reader #ollie bearman imagine #f2 imagine #f2 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #weird to use the f1 tags for ollie in 2024 but i am here for it

[the-travelling-witch]

𝐀 𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐘

summary: what do they do and how do they cope after you suddenly go where they can’t follow?

pairings: scaramouche/ wanderer :: venti :: kaveh :: zhongli x gn! reader

warnings: angst, reader dies/ has died, arson [scara], alcohol consumption [venti, kaveh]

genshin impact masterlist || a million miles away- belle

the loneliest [pt. 2 - xiao, kazuha, aether, childe]

𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇𝐄

“Come back to me, and stay by my side I feel my heart shake; come, ease this ache..."

Dull amethyst eyes watched in apathy as the golden flames swallowed the edge of the picture, slowly singeing away your smile, then the arm you had thrown around his shoulders and lastly his hand holding you close by the waist, until only small flakes of grey ashes remained and fluttered to your lover’s feet. 

The silence around him was too loud, pressing on his ears and threatening to crush his skull. Letting his gaze sweep through the space you’d once lived in together made his chest constrict like vines wrapping tighter around his ribcage the more details he took in. Every chair, every tea cup, every stray piece of paper brought back memories of you, together with the bitterness of knowing he’d never get to hold you in his arms again.

It was then that he realised, getting rid of all your possessions, every picture you’d taken and every gift you’d given him wouldn’t be enough. Your presence had long since invaded every corner, nook and cranny of this house, the space irreversibly intertwined with you. And now that your physical form had faded, your soul had come back to haunt his every waking moment and to even follow him into the depths of his dreams. 

Perhaps this was his divine punishment, the atonement for all the sins he had committed clinging to his newly taken form. Or perhaps it wasn’t you at all, only his mind mocking him for not living any and every moment with you to the fullest, not giving you all of him when he had the chance to.

Whatever it was, he couldn’t take it anymore. He’d have to cut all ties with this place in order to rid himself of the shackles he found himself bound by. Even if it meant reducing the centre of your shared happiness to cinders.

As he laid the fire, meticulously making sure no room of the house was spared, he wondered. How would a real human feel in a moment like this? Would they also feel nothing? Or was it just him, an artificial puppet, who’d only feel numbness at the death of his loved one? Were any of his feelings real in the first place? You’d have deserved someone who actually loved you and cherished your memories, not someone who destroyed the very place you’d called a home.

The flames singed the ends of his clothes the same colour as your photo as he stepped out into the evening breeze, which now carried smoke and the smell of burning wood with it. Even as he watched the roof cave in and the support of the house break away, he felt no sadness, yet the vines seemed to creep only deeper between his ribs, snaring around the place where a heart should beat.

Your lover looked around the area where your home once stood. And it felt like all air had been knocked out of his lungs.

There, between two trees, grew the flower you had loved so much. And was that your favourite dish he could smell? A flock of birds flew overhead, probably to escape the fire, reminding him of the ones you’d fed over winter, the ones he reprimanded you not to spoil.

To his horror, the more frantically he searched for something which wouldn’t bring back thoughts of you, the more images flooded his brain. The force of his realisation brought him to his knees as he stared at the damage he’d done with his mind clear for the first time in days. There was a pressure building behind his eyes and his throat tightened uncomfortably, constricting airways he didn’t need. Was this what happened when humans cried?

“I’m sorry.” It was barely there and completely broken at the same time. The weakness he’d so despised in others overwhelmed him as embers swirled high in the sky. 

He was a fool, a complete and utter fool, to think he could ever get rid of you, of his feelings for you. It had never been the house you were bound to. From the very start, your soul had been intricately intertwined with his, and it would continue to be, until he too faded from this world in the distant future. Hopefully, then, you would be reunited and you could forgive him.

𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈

"...I'm standing over here, reaching for you  A million miles away, come back and stay..."

Venti had no idea how much time had passed since that day. Not that he as an archon was very good at keeping track of time spans as short as days or weeks in the first place. It wasn’t like he avoided thinking about you, no. He did. A lot, actually.

Before his mind’s eye, the shine of your smile and the sparkle in your eyes as your joyful laughter rang through the air was as clear as day. The days spent lazing around in the grass with cider and apple tarts while Venti hummed a lazy tune filled him with more warmth than the sun. Yet, his smile at the memories didn’t quite reach his eyes, just how his brain never reached the point where he’d seen you last. And he never strained himself to remember it either.

All his actions felt heavy, like an invisible weight was holding him down. Venti was sure if he were to use a wind glider, he’d fall out of the sky like a stone. Thinking was akin to walking through mud, every step hardly leaving the ground and every fibre of his body screaming at him to stop and just lie down.

After your funeral was held, most of Mondstadt’s citizens reckonned they’d find the usually playful bard at the tavern even more often from now on. At first, that was true. Venti sat down at his usual table and ordered what he’d always ordered but the other patrons quickly caught on that he wasn’t doing okay at all. Normally the centre of attention and excitedly talking to anyone who’d listen, it was shocking to see the bard stare down on the contents of his glass in silence. 

So it came as quite the shock when after a few days, Venti didn’t show up to the Angel’s Share anymore. In fact, he was hardly spotted around the city at all. It was mostly the guards from the morning and night shift who saw him come and go. When he left, there were only two locations where one could find him. Either on the windy peak of Starsnatch Cliff or in the arms of the tree at Windrise. Both would do, as long as he was away from the pitiful glances people would throw him.

On that particular day, Venti was mindlessly strumming his lyre to the sound of the rustling leaves as he overlooked the planes of Mondstadt, not actually taking in any of the sights. His mind was here and there, not lingering on any one thought very long. Before coming here, he’d overheard people in town wonder about the wind which had recently picked up, how it tasted a lot saltier, as if coming from the sea, how unusually cold it was for this time of year and how it bit at the skin more. He supposed that was true.

In the beginning he’d brought a basket of apples when he came out here but they all tasted as if he’d taken a bite out of a handful of flour, so he stopped. All the cider tasted bitter and wine only added to the constant pressure building behind his temple. So Venti eventually gave up on trying to find something he could stomach. It wasn’t important to an archon anyway.

The melody his hands subconsciously called into existence snapped him back into the present. It was a song he had started writing with you as his muse, a song he’d not yet shown you, wanting to wait until it was finished, no matter how much you begged for him to show you already. 

Even to his own ears, his voice sounded foreign. As the patron god of Mondstadt’s bards, he’d always prided himself on his smooth and serene voice. But now it was nothing but a hoarse whisper, cracking as he tried to voice the words he’d engrained in his mind. His vocal cords felt raw and burnt after hardly talking to anyone longer than he had to. In the corner of his eyes, the statue depicting his image seemed to mock him; a bard who couldn’t sing, a god who couldn’t even protect a single person.

When he reached the part of the song where he left off faster than he’d like, his hands were trembling and he slumped against the tree bark in exhaustion. Yet, with your memory in mind, he willed himself to continue, to capture your spirit in his art at least, if he couldn’t hold onto you any other way. 

Despite his best effort, what started out as a lovestruck ballad quickly turned into a lament, no matter how he filled the lines with affection and joy. He tried and tried, with more vigour than he’d shown in the last weeks altogether, to right the verses, to do your image justice, but it was all in vain. Every version was more sorrowful than the last. When the moon peeked through the twigs, he resigned himself to his fate and cast his gaze to the far heavens above.

“My darling dove, can you hear me?” He whispered into the still night air. Only the distant call of an owl answered him. “I hope this song reaches you all the way up there. I really wanted to play it for you.”

Leaning his head back, Venti was suddenly overcome with a tiredness he hadn’t experienced for a very, very long time. Now was as good a time for a slumber as any, he supposed. Perhaps by the time he opened his eyes again, things would be different and his chest would feel light as air once again.

𝐊𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐇

"...No matter how far the memories may be When I close my eyes, you're all that I see..."

It was his fault.

The reason he’d never get to throw himself into your arms ever again was him, and him alone.

If he hadn’t answered your question whether he’d like you to get the materials he needed for his newest project from the Akademiya with a 'That’d be a big a help, my rose' he could still call you that nickname now and in the future. If he’d just gone and gotten them himself, you’d never been caught up in that horrible accident, an experiment gone astray, as the mahamatra had explained to him. If he hadn’t been so selfish, you’d still be alive.

Deep down, a reasonable part of him knew he wasn’t to blame. His friends had emphasised that as well, nobody could have expected something so gruesome to happen. Still, Kaveh couldn’t accept it. It didn’t feel right to excuse himself like that. You died because you wanted to help him, he deserved to carry this blame, this pain, this guilt. 

Despite Tighnari and Cyno showing up to console him, Kaveh turned them away without much hesitation. Grabbing a glass and a bottle of wine, the architect disappeared into his room, sparing his roommate not so much as a glance. This behaviour didn’t change much over the next few days, except for the fact that wine was swapped with coffee, thanks to Al-Haitham.

Speaking of the Grand Scribe, he’d normally be happy to have some peace and quiet, yet, seeing the normally talkative blond isolate himself for days on end made him genuinely worry for his old friend. Neither of them acknowledged the way plates of food would appear in Kaveh's room or how he would wake up with a blanket draped over him which hadn’t been there when he fell asleep. 

There was a single instance in which Kaveh spoke and it was only a single word. When Al-Haitham had been cleaning up around the house, he’d picked up a vase holding sumeru roses that had wilted beyond recognition. Just as he was about to discard the flowers, there was a low, muttered ‘Don’t’ that made him stop in his tracks. It wasn’t so much the word in itself as it was the way Kaveh said it. The roughness in his voice was so foreign from its usual melodic lilt, no emotion swinging in it at all.

Al-Haitham faintly remembered how you had brought the roses over one day when you two had gone on a date and wordlessly put them back on the table. 

In general, not many of Kaveh’s -and by extension your- possessions moved at all, collecting dust as they lay just like on the day of your passing. The only thing that changed was the growing pile of scrolls and papers littering the architect’s room. In order to get his mind off everything, Kaveh had buried himself in work. Yet, none of his sketches turned out to his liking and he grew more frustrated and irritable the more crumpled or ripped papers covered the floor. Never before had he broken this many pencils as a consequence of jabbing the coal onto his designs and pressing down harder than necessary.

Until he found himself staring down on a completely blank sheet with no idea whatsoever. All utensils were strewn about the space, discarded and never picked up as dreary and washed-out crimson eyes drooped without the mercy of sleep overcoming him. Every time he tried to rest, your face and voice would startle him awake again and he’d choke on the breath he tried to take.

With his hair unkempt, clothes rumpled and dark circles under his eyes, the “Light of Kshahrewar” was merely a shadow of his former self as he hunched over his messy desk. The first sobs tearing through him broke the dam on all the feelings he’d bottled up inside, burning his throat like acid as they tore free. The previously untouched scroll served as a canvas for all his regrets spilling over in the form of falling tears, drawing a portrait of his tumultuous state of mind.

Still, the sinking weight in his chest prevailed, the guilt a constant reminder of the loneliness he couldn’t shake.

𝐙𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐈

"...Come back to me A million miles away, come back and stay”

Zhongli had been setting the table for when you came home from work, two tea cups already waiting to be used as a kettle of water boiled on the stove. Soon the pleasant aroma of tea leaves and the cheery sound of your voice would fill your shared home, Zhongli plating two bowls of bamboo shoot soup as he waited for you to come home.

Right on time, there was a knock on the door and he quickly made his way over, elated to finally be in your presence again. A genuine smile graced his lips as he opened the door, a smile that fell abruptly when he came face to face with two millelith, their faces decidedly neutral. Still, the air felt ominously sombre. 

“Mr. Zhongli?” One of them confirmed before bowing his head as continued. “We are sorry to inform you that there has been an armed robbery. The person who is registered to live here with you has unfortunately not survived the violent encounter. Our deepest condolences.”

After handing him the bag you always carried with you, the soldiers departed, leaving the consultant alone with his thoughts. As in trance, he sat down and carefully opened the bag, almost as if a sudden movement could make it crumble in between his fingers.

Considering his incredibly long lifespan, this was hardly the first time Zhongli had lost someone he cared for deeply. That, however, didn’t mean it was any easier. Parting ways with loved ones was something any sentient being couldn’t get used to, especially if it happened so suddenly.

While his mind had already processed the information, it seemed his heart had a hard time keeping up with what was happening, his mind in a strange limbo between reality and thought as he unpacked your belongings. While turning each one over between his gloved fingers, Zhongli tried sorting out his emotions. Even the sweetness of shared moments replaying in his mind couldn’t sugarcoat the bitter sting of grief taking root in his very being.

The shrill screeching from the tea kettle drew his attention away from the items on the table occupying the space where you’d usually link your hands as you traded stories of what happened in your respective days.

For a few seconds that felt like aeons, Zhongli held the tea kettle in his hand before ultimately deciding to brew tea after all. Perhaps it would help him retain a sense of normality. Before he realised, he’d already filled your cup, an action he was so used to it apparently became routine at one point. With a sigh, he did the same on his site before taking a seat again and watching the ripples of water move across his cup.

When he awoke the next day, Zhongli couldn’t tell how long he had sat like that or when he’d gone to sleep, his motions automatic as if pulled by strings. Making breakfast, getting dressed, staring out of the window into the busy harbour… He was aware he was doing all of these things, yet he didn’t feel fully present, merely looking onto the scene.

Being with you had shown him so much of what mortal life had to offer, your perspective refreshingly different from his own, he couldn’t help but smile melancholically at the memory. In light of your brilliance, perhaps the old god had no chance but to fall in love. Enveloped in your affection, Zhongli had finally felt like he found his place among the people of Liyue but once more this connection had been severed. 

In the late afternoon, a knock sounded through the humble abode yet again. This time, however, it was not the millelith.

“Director Hu, what an honour,” Zhongli politely bowed. “Is there a matter in which you need my expertise?”

“No, no, nothing like that,” the young woman said, her crimson eyes seemingly looking straight into him. “I heard what happened, so I came to see how you’re doing.”

“Your concern flatters me, Director. Please do come in.” Stepping aside, he opened the door wider to allow Hu Tao entry.

Gliding right into his living room, she took a seat at his table, gaze sweeping through the room. It was then Zhongli noticed how there were still two cups sitting there, one empty and one untouched. 

���Ah, please pardon me. I was not expecting guests on this day.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine. I don’t mind,” she gave him an understanding smile. Naturally, in their line of work, both of them had seen many people suffering through the loss of a loved one and it was an understatement to say grief showed many different faces. “I won’t be taking much of your time anyway. 

“First of all, I’d like to offer my sincerest condolences. An incredible person like them will be deeply missed.” Despite the simplicity, her words were fully genuine. “Take as much time off work as you need, your healing is the most important thing right now. And while I hate to bring business into a personal situation like this, you should think about what kind of ceremony you’ll want to hold. When you have an answer, just tell me and I’ll handle the rest.”

“Thank you, that is very generous of you, Director.”

When the house was empty once again, Zhongli gently picked up both cups and poured out the cold tea inside. With the sinking sun dipping Liyue in liquid gold, its former archon commenced his evening ritual. Turning the cup that was supposed to be yours between his fingers, he chose two new ones and set them up with his usual care for details.

As the tea brewed, Zhongli went to retrieve a journal you had gifted him once but which he hadn’t found any use for yet. Taking his place at the now empty table, he dipped a quill in ink as he contemplated what to write.

In the end, he settled for describing his day, just how he would when you’d sit across from him, listening to his stories attentively. He could vividly picture your expression of awe before him, bringing a fond smile to his face. As more time passed, dried flowers or notes you had left him eventually found their way between the pages as well.

Naturally, your loss cut deeper than Zhongli ever could hope to understand. At times it made him feel empty, like the sun would never smile upon him again. And while mourning was an important part of coming to terms with devastating loss, he had learnt over time that wallowing in sorrow and getting swallowed by pain would not honour the life you had lived.

Instead, his priority lay on treasuring every moment where your paths intersected, to preserve a part of you which would remain untouched by corrosion, so you could continue to shine forever like gold in his memory.

© the-travelling-witch 2023 - do not repost, translate, copy or edit

if you like my content, reblogs, comments and asks are always much appreciated ♡

tag list: @mccnstruck @teyvattales @silentmoths @ainescribe @meimeimeirin @dustofthedailylife @nsojbbkkm

➺ send in an ask to be added or removed

#┊holly’s potions ೃ༄ #genshin impact #genshin impact angst #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin angst #genshin x reader #genshin x you #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #scaramouche angst #wanderer angst #scaramouche x you #wanderer x you #venti x reader #venti angst #venti x you #kaveh x reader #kaveh angst #kaveh x you #zhongli x reader #zhongli angst #zhongli x you #genshin impact scaramouche #genshin impact wanderer #genshin impact venti #genshin impact kaveh #genshin impact zhongli #genshin impact scenarios #genshin imagines

[andypantsx3]

TODOROKI SHOUTO : MASTERLIST

please be respectful! do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or otherwise share on other platforms. all my reader characters are fem + afab unless otherwise specified. please see individual fic posts for nsfw ratings and other warnings!

shouto writing tag | universal masterlist

MULTI-CHAPTER

ready or knot (est. 24K) : in progress

Todoroki Shouto is so unsettlingly beautiful, you’re certain he has to be an omega. That is, until a chance encounter with a pushy alpha reveals you were incredibly mistaken—and the surprises don’t stop there. Shouto's suddenly mystifying behavior adds another layer of complexity to an already confusing inter-agency investigation. It would be so much easier to figure things out—and suppress your growing feelings—if only Shouto would stop being so strangely attentive to you...

something in the water (est. 24K) : in progress

As a future marine biologist, you’ve scored big on your final internship: a summer in the tropics, researching the waters off the coast of a lush, sunny island. But what you thought would be all beach days and piña coladas turns out to be the revelation of a lifetime when you haul in a handsome merprince, and discover not everything in these waters is quite as it seems.

fingerprints (38K) : complete

When you’re outed as pro hero Shouto’s soulmate on national television, there are really only two sensible things for you to do: blame someone else and run.

vested interest (19.5K) : complete

You’d just thought Shouto was absent minded, accidentally leaving behind a jacket or a sweater or his vest. You didn’t realize this was a thing. (In which Todoroki Shouto—despite his quirk—has zero chill, and uses his clothes to ward off other men.)

if i could keep cool (20K) : complete

A villain attacks Shouto Todoroki’s apartment and kidnaps what he apparently believes to be Todoroki’s secret lover. The bad news—for both you and the villain in question—is that you’re just there to clean the place. That’s how it starts.

[smutty one shot follow on: say the word and you know i'll follow]

Deceiving the Duke (30K) : complete

When Camie Utsushimi elopes on the eve of her society debut, scandal threatens to destroy the family’s prospects. It’s up to you, a lady’s maid, to impersonate Camie throughout the Season, long enough that her elder sister can make a match. The only trouble? Lord Shouto Todoroki is also intent on making a match—and that match, quite impossibly, appears to involve you.

in cinders (25K) : complete

You’re just trying to fairy godmother your best friend into a happily ever after. If only the prince would stop hanging around and cooperate. (A Cinderella AU)

when i make you mine (24K) : complete In order to placate your anxious mother, you agree to return to your hometown to participate in a mating run—knowing full well that betas rarely get chased, never mind betas nearly old enough to age out of the practice. You’ve decided to treat it like a vacation, a chance to visit with your childhood friends, the mating run itself a nice relaxing hike. All in all it’s a solid plan—until alpha Todoroki Shouto, your best friend's little brother, steps in and blows it all to pieces.

conspire (13K) : complete

Shouto Todoroki had definitely only asked you out in order to ward off his horde of interested suitors. So why does he keep actually taking you out on suspiciously realistic dates?

subtle (4.5K) : complete

Someone leaves chocolates on your desk. You’re determined to track down the sender, certain it’s a mistake, and Shouto Todoroki makes himself as unhelpful as possible.

demon prince au (various): ongoing

Things seem to going well with the prince of hell you've accidentally taken home. Until a surprise visitor makes an appearance, and Shouto must take action to stake his claim on you.

ONE SHOTS

mr. tokyo beat hottest hero (3.8K)

Shouto finds out he’s hot. He swiftly uses this knowledge against you.

on ice (2.6K)

Your pro hero boyfriend ices you to the counter and has his way with you.

pretty boy (4.1K)

You have strong feelings about Shouto’s scar. Shouto finds them…surprising.

slip (2.5K) - gn!reader

No one knows who the villain Shouto really is, or what he wants with Endeavor. All you know is that you never should have drawn his notice.

just my (blood) type (5.3K)

The real Halloween treat was how sinfully handsome Todoroki Shouto looked in his vampire costume. But that wouldn’t be enough to save him from the petty wrath of one drunk lobster. (In which you suffer deeply, wingwoman a friend, and pick a fight with the hottest boy at UA.)

home, safe, yours (2K) - gn!reader

After a rough day, you take care of your pro hero boyfriend.

happy edgings (1K)

Shouto discovers a new concept and quickly sets about mastering it. You either benefit or suffer, depending on how you look at it.

confetti confessions (2.3K)

A slight misunderstanding at Shouto’s birthday party achieves unexpected results. 

in any universe (1.7K) - gn!reader

Shouto is the prince of an alien species that mates for life—which surely has absolutely nothing to do with you, the little human cadet deployed with the treaty party to his planet.

damage (1.6K)

When you get hit by a quirk, Shouto gets protective. Idiocy ensues.

peony for your thoughts (2.1K) - gn!reader

Florist AU: You enter Shouto’s flower shop, and leave with a little bit more than you expected.

say the word and you know i’ll follow (3.3K)

While moving in with Shouto, you get caught up reliving the scene of his confession. Quite literally.

[a smutty one shot sequel to if i could keep cool]

DRABBLES + PROMPT FICLETS

a/b/o au (0.5K)

You think Todoroki Shouto is so pretty he has to be an omega. You quickly find out you are very, very wrong.

dragon au drabble series (various lengths)

You accidentally bring home a dragonling one day. He grows up...possessive.

seven minutes in heaven (1K)

Shouto is unfamiliar with a well-known game.

todobakureader domestic fluff (1K)

The sound of muffled arguing in the kitchen wakes you up on Saturday morning.

turn the heat up (0.7K)

On a lazy afternoon, your boyfriend Shouto is up to no good.

priceless (0.8K)

You get weird around all the expensive things in Shouto's apartment. Shouto shows you what's truly priceless to him.

wrong address (0.6K)

A mistake leads pro hero Shouto to your door. You promptly embarrass yourself.

attention (0.6K)

“You’re going to regret that, sweetheart.”

melt (1K)

“What? Does that feel good?”

drunk shouto (0.7K)

Shouto gets handsy when he's drunk.

pet names (0.3K)

Shouto figures out you like pet names and sets about abusing his newfound power.

marked up (0.7K)

Shouto goes little shit mode. You (and Class A) suffer.

#character: todoroki shouto #andie's writing

[neverchecking]

Welcome, Darlings~

˚ ✦ Why, hello there, Darling~

˚ ✦It's so lovely to see you! Have you been drinking your water? Eating your meals? I sure would hope so. My name is Cinder (She/they) and I'm the writer of this blog, writing for Linked Universe (Mostly Yandere).

˚ ✦I was born November 8th, making me nineteen years old as of right now.

˚ ✦ My first LoZ game was Twilight Princess and my most recent one has been Tears of the Kingdom and Hyrule Warriors. My favorite Link? Probably Wild or Legend. And Sage ;)

˚ ✦ (Sage is the name we here have decided to give TotK Link should we decided he is not in fact Wild.)

˚ ✦I hope you enjoy your stay here, my loves~

REQUEST STATUS: CLOSED

˚ ✦LINKS: ˚ ✦

˚ ✦My Rules

˚ ✦My Masterlist

˚ ✦My AU Navigation

My current anons!

🧶anon, 🐞anon, 💚 anon, 🐲 anon, 🧚anon, 🧜‍♀️ anon, 🐔 anon, 🐝anon, 🪷anon,🐇anon,🫐anon, 🪐anon,🍁anon, 👤anon, 🧪anon, 🍭anon, 🌙anon, curious anon, 🎃anon, 🐺anon, 🌕anon, ✨anon, 🌱anon, owl anon, 😈/cursed anon, 🐈‍⬛anon, 🥣anon

#Cinders nav #Cinders masterlist #I DID IT #YALL CAN STOP YELLING AT ME NOW :D #yandere lu twilight x reader #yandere link x reader #yandere linked universe #linked universe x reader #linkeduniverse #yandere linked universe x reader #linked universe #lu x reader

[mockerycrow]

okkk since my last ask went so Amazingly well (I have read it at least 7 to 20 times)

could you do reader with like almost constantly cold hands? like not extremely cold hands, but enough that it's noticeable? I'm just imagining reader (you could use the Cinder callsign again or whatever you feel works best) maybe patching up a wound and whoever (x gaz again??? again, whoever you feel like is best) is surprised by the sudden coldness

anyway no pressure to answer this, I can't wait for whatever you write next <33333 (also this is totally me projecting my cold hands if this feels super random)

Sweater Weather (Gaz x GN!Reader)

gaz masterlist - crow’s mega masterlist

So now, let me hold both your hands in the holes of my sweater.

A/N: YET ANOTHER BANGER PROMPT FROM YOU!!! AND ITS FOR GAZ I LOVE HIM SO MUCH!! I hope you get my song reference hehe. i’m also happy you enjoyed the last fic you requested <3 feel free to send in more requests! This is also lowkey a part 2 to your previous request, but it could be a standalone. Cinder is your callsign.

[WARNINGS: minor descriptions of minor injuries, medical inaccuracies, humor, fluff!]

By this point in time, you and Gaz were two peas in a pod. You were the latest person to join the task force, the last for now, but surely not the least. Everyone had their own set of gear and clothing, their own ways of getting into the right headspaces for missions, and everyone had their own things that they had with them at all times. Price always had his cigars, Ghost always had his mask, Soap always had his sketchbook, and Gaz always had a baseball cap with him. You? You always had gloves on. Not on your person, but always on your hands. The only times the team likely saw you without them is when you were exiting the bathroom, but then again, you were slipping them back on after you had washed your hands.

It perplexed Gaz. He understood everyone else’s reasons and items—Price is admittedly addicted to cigars, Ghost is just.. Ghost, Soap’s sketchbook helps him calm down and document things, his own hat was a comfort for him in the field.. But your gloves made no sense. To be fair, he didn’t notice right away. Many people wear gloves in the field to protect their hands, even on the hottest days, they’ll wear gloves and sweat in them until their fingertips prune from the moisture. You? You always, always wore them inside. On base. In your room… While eating— The point is, you always wore them. No matter the situation. It has him—and likely the others-wondering why exactly you do this. The few times they’ve seen your hands without gloves, none of them were close enough to see if you were, for some reason, hiding scars, perhaps hand tattoos, just something that would make sense.

Gaz ended up sporting himself a nasty split lip after an enemy managed to bash his head into a door frame, a wound that definitely needed stitches. It was the lower lip, off-center to the right with blood dribbling down his chin. Everyone was split up on the mission— You and Gaz were paired together, while Soap and Price were also paired. Ghost was operating alone for some stealth work. He’s sitting down on an old wooden chair in a house you two have held up in for the night. You open your duffel bag by the south wall, which is front of Gaz. You rummage around for the medical kit you began to bring everywhere after you fell through the floor a few months ago. “I don’t think we have too much further to go.” Gaz commented, glancing at the boarded up window to his left. There was a small sliver between the boards, allowing him to see that the sun is setting.

“Stop talking, you’ll agitate your lip.” You scold softly, grabbing the handle of the medical kit and you pull it out of the stuffed duffel bag. You glance over at him to see him quietly—yet playfully—mocking you under his breath. Sometimes you’re convinced he spends too much time with Soap, but then you always remember in the back of your mind, he’s more-so playful around you than anyone else. You walk over and place it on the table next to Gaz, opening the latches and pushing the top open. You look into the box and blink rapidly when you don’t see any disposable gloves. You then pick up packages of gauze, the small plastic container holding the medical thread, you practically rearrange everything and yet, it seems they were not packed. “Fuck.” You curse under your breath. You let out a sigh as Gaz asks you, “Cinder? What’s wrong?”

You tear the velcro off of the wrist part of your glove and slip it off, repeating the process with your other glove. “Whoever packaged this medical kit didn’t add disposable gloves, and my gloves are dirty as hell.” You mumble, even slightly pouting about it. Gaz raises an eyebrow at your attitude, a smile pulling at the corner of his lips. You grab a bottle of antiseptic and you put your finger up as without looking at him, you already know he’s about to say something snarky. “Open your mouth again and I’ll use this tourniquet on your damn neck.”

Gaz bursts out laughing, causing you to roll your eyes and smile yourself. You pop open and cap and pour the antiseptic onto your hands, the extra liquid splattering against the floor and onto your boots. You set the bottle down and grab a needle and take out some thread. Despite the calm mood between you two, Gaz is still on high alert. You can tell by his posture, the way his eyes flicker towards the boarded up windows, the barricaded door.. On one hand, you wish you could reassure him but you’re also still on high alert, especially after witnessing Gaz get his face bashed. You quietly thread the string through the needles hole, turning to Gaz completely. You grab his jaw to turn his head and this man physically flinches, muttering, “Bloody hell, your hands are cold.”

You laugh as you position his head for the best angle that you need, bringing the needle close to his lips. “Why do you think I’m wearing gloves all the time, Gaz?” Your eyebrows furrow inward slightly as you begin to concentrate, hoping to distract him from the pain of the needle piercing his skin. “Even in the hotter areas our missions were in, my hands would be sweating, yet they were cold.”

Gaz blinks in surprise, completely forgetting about the needle that is about to enter his skin. That’s why you wore gloves all the time? It wasn’t because of a big secret you were hiding? No scars? No tattoos?

You were cold?

Gaz stares at your scrunched face he begins to feel a bit stupid, as he never considered that as a possibility.

#call of duty #call of duty mwii #cod mw2 #mw2022 #mw2 2022 #mw2 fanfic #modern warfare ii #cod #gaz #kyle garrick #kyle gaz garrick #gaz x reader #kyle garrick x reader #gaz x you #kyle garrick x you #kyle gaz garrick x you #kyle gaz garrick x reader #cod mwii #cod gaz #gaz cod #gaz call of duty #gaz mw2 #gaz modern warfare #kyle gaz garrick cod #mwii #mw2 x reader #call of duty mw2 #call of duty modern warfare #modern warfare 2 #songfic

[leighsartworks216]

I Come With Knives Pt3

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Class is over and I am finally back home so I can post this chapter here now lmao

Warnings: trauma, blood, blood drinking, violence, fear, self-destructive coping mechanism, emotional abuse, physical abuse (grabbing, pulling)

I can add more just lemme know what I missed <3

Word Count: 1,050

Main Masterlist

First Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist - Second Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

I Come With Knives Masterlist

AO3

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She haunts you again tonight. You could feel her hands running over your body, tugging your head to one side as she dug her teeth into the mark on your neck. You see her ruby red eyes, dark with desire for your blood, stare at you as she drinks, deeper and deeper until you can’t feel anything. Her smile, lips painted red with gore, as she coos you to unconsciousness.

You refuse another attempt at sleep. Your lids are heavy, your bones feel like jelly, but you can’t bear to go through this song and dance every night. You didn’t have her here to remove all rational thought and send you off into dreamlessness. And while it pleases you endlessly to be away, you wish for just one night where you don’t see her. The only time that’s happened so far was after Astarion came to you, begging for something more substantial to eat. His eyes, the same shade but somehow softer than hers, as he kissed your hand.

The moon and stars offered you no solace tonight. The moon was new - a shadow against the already-dark sky. The stars were covered by clouds. Laying still, on your back, made you restless. You could almost picture Kir Parthene crawling over you, straddling you between her legs.

Astarion finds you after his hunt, tending to the fire. It'd been close to cinders when he left, but now it burnt as though it'd never gone out. You threw dry twigs onto it and stoked it with a longer branch. He sat down next to you.

"If you keep staying up like this, dear, you won't be able to fight." His tone was teasing, but his eyes betrayed his concern. "Is it her again?"

You shudder and tighten yourself into a ball, protecting yourself from the dangers of the world. "I can't stop dreaming about her," you whisper. Your voice shakes; you're terrified of the hold she has over you. "She's always just... there. Lingering. Waiting."

The light flickers against you both. It's pleasantly warm. The shadows it throws only accentuate your exhaustion, deepening the circles forming under your eyes. Even Astarion doesn't look as tired as you.

The tadpole squirms behind your eye, swishing back and forth. You can feel Astarion's reaching out. "You don't want to see it."

"No," he agrees. "But I want to know." You look at him from the corner of your eye. His face is set. Serious. "Show me."

The tadpole doesn't stop wriggling as you think. You dig your fingers into your pants, searching for any way to ground yourself here, now, in this camp, surrounded by allies and friends. And you let him in.

He's immediately thrown into a memory - or perhaps something stitched together from your dreams. He sees through your eyes. He's terrified. His heart is racing against his ribcage, pounding so hard he's breathless.

The door slams open. A woman, tall and beautiful and vicious, marches in. "On the bed," she commands. It's almost a shout. He can't scramble fast enough. She grabs him by the hair and tosses him in the center.

But he doesn't make a sound. He knows, somehow, that screaming would only make it worse. Any sign of pain - she would tear you apart.

There is nothing erotic or sensual in the way she mounts you, grabbing your arm to pull your shoulder down as she rips your head to one side. He's suddenly aware of his nudity. He's on display, showing everyone just who he belongs to.

She digs her teeth into his throat, biting so hard and deep he fears she may rip out his jugular. She drinks deeply, messily. Blood drips steadily onto the bed. He can hear her gasping and sucking and- too much. It's too much.

His head spins, but he can't say anything. He can't feel his fingers, or his body. He can't feel anything. His eyes fight to stay open as he stares at the ceiling - an intricate painting of angels and devils lining the dome-shaped structure. And he's praying. He can feel it - thoughts just at the back of his mind, whispered a million times before, begging for anyone to save him. To spare his life. To live another day. Another hour.

Kir Parthene pulls away, drawing the blood on her chin to her lips with the swipe of a finger. She smiles. Wicked. Pleased. He wants to whimper and back away as she leans down, caressing his cheek and kissing his forehead, but he can't. He can't, because if he does, he'll be punished.

"My good pet," she purrs. "Sleep. Sleep, my precious little thing."

His head hurts as he's shot back to his own mind. He winces around the ache as he turns to you.

You're no longer shuddering. No longer gripping tightly to your pants. You stare into the fire with glazed over eyes. You're numb. Seeing it all again surpassed your fear and hollowed you out. Gutted you until you're nothing but a shell.

Regret and guilt sit uneasy in his chest. He reaches out slowly, delicately touching your arm.

And you gasp. Tears fall from your eyes in an instant, fear and the need to protect yourself turning to upset and sorrow. You shut your eyes tightly, hands rubbing roughly at the scar on your neck, like you'll remember you weren't bitten tonight. But you're going to scratch it open, and he's even more terrified of how you'll react if you do.

He grabs your wrists and hold your hands away. You fight against him, but not because you have to get away. You just need to feel that she's not there. "It's alright, love. You're alright. She's not here. She won't get you." He's not even worried about waking the others up - all he can focus on is you.

Slowly, your strength dies. You sob. It's ugly and broken, and more emotion than you'd ever let show around your master. He hushes you and lets go of your wrists to hold your shoulders. You cover your face. Your whole body shakes, wracked with each heaving breath.

"You're okay," he whispers again. He can hear shuffling as the others are awoken. He can't even begin to explain your pain to them. "You're safe. I promise."

---

Tag List:

@satelliteapotheosis @hypopxia @flsalazar @beverlybeav @angelofthorr @emiemiemiii @marina-and-the-memes @lynnlovesloki @aurasyn @furblrwurblr @cappsikle

#fanfic #fanfiction #astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #baldur's gate astarion #baldur's gate tav #baldurs gate astarion #baldurs gate tav #bg3 astarion #bg3 tav #gn reader #x gn reader #gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader #angst #hurt/comfort #i come with knives

[thefreakandthehair]

@eddiemonth prompt, oct 24th:  Drama | His Kiss the Riot - Anaïs Mitchell | Magnetic a/n: steddie, pining, mutual crushes, forced proximity, the universal theater kid horror of having to hug your crush on stage [click here for the AMAZING corresponding artwork by @artbean!] read on ao3 + masterpost | tumblr masterlist

Community theater isn’t a far leap for Eddie Munson. 

With high school finally far behind him, he’s free to fill his time how he pleases. There aren’t many things about those four cinder block walls that he’d say he misses, but the drama of Hellfire Club makes the short list. So no, it’s not a far leap for Eddie Munson to join the local Hawkins Community Theater. 

It is, however, a moon-landing sized leap to find Steve Harrington in the small auditorium when he shows up for Grease tryouts. Sure, Grease is a little kitsch, maybe a bit too on the nose for his first local community production, but that’s all forgotten when he ends up scoring the role of Kenickie and has to rehearse opposite of Steve’s Zuko. 

Because of course Steve gets cast as Danny Zuko. 

The monsters he’d dreamed up for Hellfire Club were intimidating, but nothing is more horrifying than having to hug the guy who’d been the leading man in most of his wet dreams throughout– and admittedly, even after– high school. 

Day after day, take after take, Eddie as Kenickie asks Steve as Zuko to be his second at Thunder Road, they hug, and then pull away to fix their hair and strut off screen for the set change. Eddie can’t speak for Steve, but the flush to his cheeks and awkward hair combing is not acting. 

Rehearsal has absolutely nothing on opening night, that first time Eddie finds himself shoved into a too-tight space behind the curtain with Steve. In their haste to get out of the way, Eddie stumbles and catches himself against a wall, turning to find Steve nose-to-nose, braced on one forearm against the same wall to the left of Eddie’s head. 

Eddie swallows, harsh and thick, and releases a shaky exhale. “You good, man?” 

Steve grins and nods. “Little tight back here, huh?” 

“Terrible conditions for the leading man, I have to say.” Eddie whispers.

“Eh,” Steve starts. “I don’t think they’re that bad.” 

Eddie’s sure that he’s hallucinated the way Steve’s eyes flicker down to his lips and back up. Wayne always says that Eddie has a knack for seeing what he wants to see, after all. 

“That’s your cue,” Steve moves and jerks his head to the stage. “See you back out there, Kenickie.” The motherfucker winks and Eddie’s head spins, his lines jumbled and his steps just a bit off. 

Hawkins Community Theater’s production of Grease is a two week commitment, six shows in total, and each one gets better and better. Eddie grows more and more confident with his performance during Greased Lightning, landing his marks with ease and actively avoiding the decidedly inappropriate thoughts about Steve kneeling in front of him on the hood of the car. His chemistry with Rizzo, played by none other than Nancy Wheeler, turns into an honest to God friendship that takes them both by surprise. Hell, he’s even gotten dinner with the cast a few times. 

It’s all going smoothly, except that Eddie’s sure he’s going to die before the end of this run. Night after night, Eddie finds himself shoved up against Steve Harrington who must have some sort of bet running to see if he can get Eddie to fold. If so, he’s definitely winning. 

In the show’s final weekend, he ends up crammed between a wall and Steve behind the curtain and really, he’s just a man. How much of this can he be expected to take without his head exploding? Or his– 

“Nice job out there, Munson. Had me convinced you were actually like, flustered or whatever.” Steve whispers, his lips too close to Eddie’s skin. 

He might have imagined it, but he’s fairly certain they actually grazed the reddening tip of his ear. “Oh, are we dropping out of character now? I thought that was strictly forbidden, Zuko.” 

Steve shakes his head and leans in closer, intentionally. It has to be intentional this time, right? “It’s our final show, I think we can just be Harrington and Munson now. Or, maybe just Steve and Eddie?” 

Steve and Eddie, Steve and Eddie, SteveandEddie. 

Eddie's head buzzes, swimming in the combinations of their names. They sound good together, and he can’t be misreading this, not when Steve leans closer still, his eyes glowing with the stage light creeping behind the curtain. Their lips nearly touch when Steve speaks again, close enough for Eddie to feel 

“That’s your cue. I’m gonna miss being stuck back here with you, so let me know after the show.” 

Eddie nearly chokes and purses his lips. “Are you doing this on purpose to throw me off, Harrington?” 

“Just can’t stay away. Munson.” Steve winks again and leans back, making space for Eddie to sneak around him to take his place for the audience. 

Eddie warms beneath the bright lights of the stage, but they have nothing on the scintillating radiance of Steve’s eyes on him backstage.

#steddie #steddie fic #steddie fanfic #steddie fanfiction #eddie munson #steve harrington #eddie month #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #myblurbs #eddie month prompts

[fanaticsnail]

When You Had The Chance

Masterlist Here.

Word Count: 3,830

Plot: Serving as first mate to the Buggy-Pirates, it was your job to keep your captain grounded and uplifted. When tempers flared, he decided to confront his childhood rival once and for all - pulling out all the stops to finally lay their feud to rest. Crew against crew, Captain against Captain, First-Mate against First-Mate - will you win, or lie at the mercy of the man you once loved. The man you will always love. 

Themes: Angst, pining, war, fighting, guns, blades, blood, unrequitted love, age-gap (19-37, 23-41, 32-50: Maths made me work today) f!reader, pet-name used, enemies to friends to enemies to lovers.

Song Suggestions: Let Me Down Slowly, She Used to be Mine

Tag List: @sordidmusings, @writingmysanity, @gingernut1314, @feral-artistry,

Destruction, chaos, blood and bones litter the splintered hull of the ship. The air was tinted with the scent of cinders, flint and ignited powders. Another cannon struck the top-mast, this time severing the link and reducing it to shredded planks. Everything was happening both too fast and too slow. Buggy was flying through the air, untameable as the sea and as chaotic as the storm rocking the ship against the thrashing waves. 

A clap of lightning cut the sky, the sound of rumbled beaten-drum thunder reverberated and shook against your rapidly reducing vessel. You shook your nerves away from your hands and leapt into the air, holding your breath as you propelled yourself onto the enemy vessel. 

You had no idea that a night of drinking and reminiscing with your captain and crew would lead you here. It started with ale, pale to start and ending with stout. Then you switched to ports and honey-mead to cleanse the palate and continue the merriment. Music, lividity, gaiety was where you started - singing heartily to the shanties of old. 

And then they brought out the ouzo. 

Ouzo, your one weakness, had memories spiraling and your heart swelling in love-stricken grief. It started with each of you recounting your places at the time of Gol D Rogers execution. Buggy could barely choke back his tears, almost coherent with words he left unspoken as he witnessed his heart stop as a fifteen year old. You confessed you were in a place you knew you shouldn't, a child of barely eight witnessing the death of someone you had adored from afar as king of your kind. 

From listening to the recounts of the crew, anger began to fester below the surface. Tales of how Captain Shanks ruined the life of your beloved clown had your heart beating heavier - swelling with the thinning blood infused with a high percentage of alcohol. You had only then begun to uproot the prior stifled feelings regarding the redheaded captain’s first mate. 

You thought you repressed them enough, compartmentalized enough. But the bile began to form behind your lips as your heart jumped into your throat as the memories found themselves within the forefront of your eyes. 

He had every right to turn you down. You respect him more for it now than you did back then, that was for certain. You were barely nineteen, making a name for yourself as one of the most nimble-footed, light fingered thieves in the east blue. “Get in, get on with it, get it done, and get out,” was your motto; and a motto you managed to execute with the highest amount of competency and skill. 

Stealing from a red-haired captain? An easy task you were commissioned to do. Having your heart stolen from your chest, lungs compressed of all its oxygen as your eyes met with the steel gaze of the first mate? Not something you had ever accounted for. But you fell first, and you fell hard. 

You disregarded your mission, bullied the captain immediately to take you under his wing aboard the red-force and served with them for little over four years. In those four years, your heart was longing, craving affection from the first mate. Yassop gave you hell for it. Lucky Roux attempted to join in on the teasing - only for you to teach them both a lesson by misplacing and claiming objects very near and dear to them. 

Each time you set to dock at port, you witnessed the love of your life take another to his bed. You drew attention yourself, and easily took a fling here and there. But in doing so, you were always longing to be the one chosen good enough - special enough - to warm the sheets beside Benn Beckman. To be the face he’d lie next to in the night, and the smile he awoke to in the morning. 

At twenty three, you confessed. A night not unlike the one here amongst the red-hair pirates had you singing, swaying and dancing to the fingerpicking of a guitar. Ouzo drove your words, an apprehensive and innocent smile dancing on your lips as the warm alcohol flushed your cheeks. You laid it all out for him; from the moment your eyes first met, to the way you altered your entire life for the opportunity to be by his side - you risked it all at the beachfront fireside with the crack of warm flames dancing in your eyes.

As you leant in to place a soft kiss against his lips: he turned away from you with his eyes tightly shut. His hand clapped over your shoulder, as he kept you an arms length away and reopened his eyes. 

“Darlin’, I’m flattered,” His voice drawled, brows furrowed in a deep frown as he held his eyes away from yours, “But I’m a little old for someone like you.” 

Someone like you. 

That phrase had all thoughts sour, all emotions and tempers running high as you hastily sprung to your feet and marched back towards the Red Force. Knowing now what you knew then, he had every right to turn you down as you confessed to him. You were young, a fool only in love; never unsound in mind. 

Was that how all of the crew thought of you? An infatuated, love-sick, and thieving child following blindly the orders of your captain, under the watchful eyes of a first mate you’d come to love? You gave up everything to be by his side; your career long since forgotten as you worked yourself to the bone for the chance to be on the receiving end of a small smile from him. 

You hastily packed your belongings, leaving no trace nor whisper you had ever served among this crew, and crept back into the shadows where you once more found yourself again. Thriving in the reignition of your skillset, you had managed to acquire a fair amount of wealth for yourself. Feeling in a celebratory mood after a successful solo heist, your eyes met with the hunched over figure of a sad clown.

Feeling content and pleased with yourself, you decided to buy him a drink. And then another. 

And then you decided to join him for one. 

When you met Buggy, you knew this was the crew you were always meant to serve with. Your skills as a thief had you perform in his circus as his prized assistant. His coy volunteer within the stands, his enchanting assistant showcasing his grandeur, his leading lady in the ring - his loyal First-Mate as he made a name for himself through fame and fortune. Never once did you feel the desire to romance the clown, keeping the need to express such feelings for another hidden well below the surface, but you loved him as one ever could love an older sibling who acted like the younger. 

After slamming down your upturned, empty shot glass for the umpteenth time; you lulled your head atop his shoulder and nonchalantly raised your voice in question.

“What if we just,” your speech slurred as you looked over the back of your nails, “killed him?”

“Killed who, Doll? Who we killing?” Your captain asked, looking over your head to nod in appreciation of your painted fingernails.

“Shanks. The Red-Hair pirates. All of them.”

Buggy leant down into your ear, holding his glazed over eyes and a rumbled growl of anxiety laden excitement purred against your skin.

“I love it when you talk dirty.”

And this is where your booze-filled suggestion had you. Rifles drawn, cutlasses brandished and fists meeting flesh as you tore each other into ribbons of littered and battered skin. Teeth gnashing, throats growling and brows furrowing; the tension was being cut with layers of destruction. Two crews you had served with, the former being on the winning side of the fight as the latter began to perish. Your current crew were being annihilated, only very few remaining now standing as the Big Top was slowly sinking beneath the icy-cold water. 

As another cannonball was fired from the end of an iron circlet, you fell to a crouched position and barely managed to cover your ears to stifle the ringing within. As you withdrew your ears and turned, you opened your eyes to a sight you never thought you would see again.

Facing down the barrel of a rifle, your eyes first met with the cold circlet of doom pointing at your head. You smelt the warm familiarity of tobacco first, your heart pounding harder than it ever did within the battle prior. 

Glancing up past the barrel, you met with the cold and calculated stare of the first-mate of the red hair pirates. His eyes were wide and wild, his lips curled back into a grimace with the grinding of teeth, before the cruel twist of fate had his eyes stagger under recognition.

The warm hot flush of angry tears began to sting at the corners of your eyes as they continued to bear into his - his own raw emotion being depicted on his own face. 

Beckman’s heart stopped, his breath hitched and cigarette fell from his parted lips as his jaw fell slack. Never once had you reached out. Not after all this time did he know you were even alive, let alone serving amongst the rival crew of the one you had come to know prior. He never should’ve let you leave - not like that. Not knowing how he truly felt for you and choosing to restrain himself from your alcohol-induced confession. 

He loved you. He loved you so desperately, he could not see his life complete without you. And when you severed from the crew and left no trace, Beckman became a shell of a man he once was. Faking smiles, forcing laughter, joining himself with pleasurable company no longer on his agenda as all he could picture was your face. Your eyes: filled with such sorrow at his rejection, that was all he came to see behind his closed eyes as he lay to sleep. 

"You gonna shoot me, Becks? Is that what it all comes down to?" Your taunt broke him away from his looping thoughts, his battletorn face alert to the woman he had come to long for. Your sinister and malicious smile was never something he ever foresaw being on the receiving end of, and it startled him. 

"I don't want to, Darlin'. But if it'll stop you from fightin’ us and leaving with the clown again, I'll see it done,” he responded, clicking back the ignition on his beloved pistol.

The roars of battle fleeing from the lips of your Captain, his malicious cackles of rage-filled laughter hurtling towards Red Haired Shanks. Echoes of taunts and insults hurled into the air regarding the betrayal of one captain against another, all of which were met by an uproar of apologies from your former captain as he blocked every assault thrown his way. 

Although you were a faithful first-mate, knowing it was your role to serve and protect your captain, you were struck down by your own swollen emotions within your heart. No longer filled with the taste and hindrance of alcohol, your once hidden thoughts and emotions began to swell of their own accord in front of the silver-haired first-mate.

You couldn't tear your eyes from Beckman’s, unable to break the spell of longing you felt for him. After all these years, he was still the man your heart cried for in the lonely hours of the night, as you lay in crew quarters aboard the enemy’s ship. The first man you ever loved. The man you would always love. The man who still held the pointed tip of a gun at your head as you scowled into his face, masking the pain his absence had drawn to you.

His eyes, his hair, his soul: all once held secret and safe with your adoration for him protected and refused to be spoken. Those words turned to broken mirrors, refracting light away from your eyes as they held firm against his own.

"You going to cut me down just like that? I thought you were a man far more dignified than all that," you huffed with a humorless laugh. His jaw clenched tightly shut, his eyes narrowing at you as you snarled at him beneath the barrel of his gun. 

"And I never thought I'd see you again, let alone blindly serving the enemy,” He growled, dragging his eyes over your war torn clothes and battleshaken face for any semblance of injury. 

Another cry from the clown in rage had your ears pricking at the sound, but eyes fixed on the expressions the man in front of you were holding. You saw the masking emotions slip, his eyes begin to glaze as your own mask dropped completely. 

After all this time, he was still the man you loved. You loved him so desperately, so deeply, that you almost forgot the reason you were here in the first place.

He dropped his gun from your head and fell to his knees in front of you, reaching down his left hand to seek out your chin and cradle it beneath his thumb and index finger. You keep your eyes fixed on his as you allow the luxury of a hot tear to roll down your cheek, gritting your teeth in wordlessly reprimanding yourself for such an action. 

“Benn,” the whisper of his name from your mouth had his body surge towards you, taking your lips beneath his in a long, bruising kiss. 

His left hand removed itself from your chin to take your cheek into it, his right hand circling your waist as he cradled you against himself. You whimpered against his lips, feeling everything you had once felt for him simmer and boil to the surface. 

You clenched your eyes tightly shut, brows furrowing as he reflected everything you had tangibly felt in yearning for him for all of these years. You felt the stubble of his chin scrape against yours, the taste of his final cigarette on his tongue as he deepened the oscillation. He growled as you finally gave in, hooking your right arm over his shoulder and placing your left hand atop his right cheek. You felt the etchings of his healed over scar dancing beneath your fingertips, an angry whisper of a tear leaking down to press against your thumb.

"Please don't leave with him. I couldn't bear the thought. Stop all of this,” he whispered against your lips, “Please stay,” he uttered, breaking the kiss to brace you against his body, “Stay with me on the Red Force. Serve Shanks once more. Please . I'll do anything-."

At that, you circled your chin around, breaking the embrace while rotating your hips away from him. You danced your body around his, placing a firm kick to the side of his head; successfully knocking the first-mate of the Red-Hair pirates to the ground and rising to your feet in one swift movement.

Benn was on his side, staring up at you with a mixture of shock, fury and pride. 

"Good bye, Benn. You should've shot me when you had the chance."

At that, you ran fast as your feet could carry you towards your blue-haired captain. You quickly sought him out as he lay punch after punch against the face and torso of red-haired Shanks, who looked to just be sitting there and taking them. He easily could defend himself and thwart the rage of the clown by pushing him backwards into the sea water, but he just stood and took everything Buggy was throwing at him.

Buggy, your beautiful captain, was crying. Hot and angry tears were pouring without any semblance of stopping, as fatigue from the fight slowed down his rage-filled hits. His white gloves were stained red with the blood of the man who betrayed him, a man who appeared to be whispering in a voice so low only Buggy could hear it. 

Your sprint drew you close, just off to the side as the punches slowed to a lull; Buggy’s shoulders shaking as he continued to sob. 

“It’s okay, Buggy,” Shanks whispered, allowing another hit to land against his chest, “It’s okay. Everything is okay.” Buggy’s head hung low, his knuckles pressed firmly against Shanks’ torso as he continued to cry into the air. 

Shanks hooked an arm over his shoulders, pressing Buggy’s sweat-smeared forehead against his own, as he embraced him with his battered remaining arm. Shanks’ eyes were closed and a whisper of a boyish smile was stuck to his face as Buggy’s sobs began to shake violently under his arm. 

“I’m sorry, Buggy. I’m so, so sorry,” Shanks whispered, nuzzling his head against Buggy’s as he drew his head into his chest. Buggy’s eyes continued to remain wide and unblinking as he stiffened in the embrace. 

You felt the presence of both the Red-Hair and the Buggy-Pirates at your side; battered, bruised and broken as they watched their captains embrace against one another. 

“You can keep hitting me if you want,” Shanks smiled, placing his chin atop the blue hair of the captain you serve, “But know I’ll never hate you. I’d rather die.”

You felt an overwhelming sense of both panic and relief as Buggy circled his arms around Shanks’ waist and buried his head into his chest. Sobs from the clown and laughter from the redhead began to echo against the deck of the ship, confusing all those surrounding. 

“Lay down your arms, boys,” Beckman’s voice rumbled from your side, prompting you to freeze in place. To your surprise, the Red-Hair pirates sheathed their swords and disarmed their pistols. Silence aside from the whimpers from your captain in the arms of your former were the only sounds gracing your ears, until they met with the flick of a lighter and a deep inhale of a cigarette. 

You looked over to the silver-haired man beside you, watching as he took the back of his hand and wiped the small trickle of blood from your prior kick from his lips. 

“And bring out some Ouzo, would you, Roux?” Beckman’s eyes upturned. You watched as that smile you so desperately craved began to draw up onto the lips of the man you loved, causing your heart to swell. 

“Me and this one got a lot to talk about,” he stooped down, resting his forehead against your own as his charming smile began to grow, “Don’t we, Darlin’?” 

The battle died down, your current and former captains sitting together in the middle of a table of the tavern as the Red-Force tethered and chaperoned the Big-Top into port. You were sitting at the bar, refusing to acknowledge any member of your former crew, nor your current. Cabaji and Yasopp were heavily engaged in a dart-throwing competition at the far end of the tavern; Roux and Mohji were talking about food in heavy detail, with Richie curled up at their feet. 

And Beckman was sitting atop the barstool beside you, patiently watching and waiting for you to engage him in conversation. You continued to sit in silence, sipping at the small glass of ouzo first before downing the liquid and signaling for another. 

“Someone like you,” you mocked him, tutting out a venomous reprimand before throwing back another shot of the burning, liquorice-flavored liquid as soon as it was placed in front of you, “Darlin’ this, Darlin’ that.”

“Is that what this was about?” Beckman chuckled, leaning his elbow on the bar as he took his cheek beneath his fist, “After all this time, you think-.”

“-You know what, Benn? Fuck you,” you spat, turning from him and signalling for the bartender to leave the remainder of the bottle, “Fuck you and your stupid ‘someone like you’, Benn. You should be so lucky, you arrogant prick-.” 

Your words were stifled by the firm grip pulling at the back of your hair, immediately molding his lips over your own in a long, passionate kiss. He circled his chin, parted his lips and claimed more of your heart with each brush-stroke of the portrait he painted against your mouth. He bullied you, bruised you with his intensity; cradling you against his body with each motion he made with his lips. 

Wolf-whistles and cat-calls were thrust into the air by the two pirate crews once sworn in hatred, now allies. Benn smiled against your lips, continuing to press more of himself into you before he broke away from claiming you against his mouth. 

“Someone like you,” Beckman whispered, his breath tickling your lips with the former memory, “Someone as young as you. Someone as stunning as you. Someone that could have any man they wanted fall on their knees and beg for you to send a single look their way.” Your breath hitched, eyes wide at his confession.

“Is that what you’re doing, Benn?” your eyes dropped to his lips, processing every word relayed onto you, “Begging?” 

“Pleading,” he confessed further before he claimed another kiss from your lips that ended as briefly as it began. You allowed the small break of a smile chip and whittle away against your prior stoic and aggressive demeanor. 

“Why didn’t you say so when you had the chance?” you asked him, shaking your head at him and drawing up your palm to cradle his cheek within its warmth. He closed his eyes, leaning into the small gesture and kissed your palm.

“I wanted you to have the chance to do better, Darlin’,” he uttered, placing his hand atop yours and withdrawing it from his face, “Better than me.” You sought out his meaning behind his gray orbs and clicked your tongue at him.

“Why would I ever have wanted anyone else?” you whispered, shaking your head at him. He chuckled, turning back and poured two glasses of the burning, translucent liquid into the shot glasses. 

“A guy like me doesn’t get someone like you,” he sighed, his smile still present as he downed his ouzo, “Someone like you goes for someone like Shanks.” He poured himself another and danced his glass rim against yours remaining unclaimed atop the bar. You took the hint and raised your glass within your hand, rolling your eyes at his comment. 

“Someone like me changed their life to follow someone like you,” you quipped in return, downing the liquid and placing your glass back atop the bar, prompting Benn to do the same. “I gave up everything I was for you, Benn. I wanted you,” you took the neck of the bottle and began pouring the liquid into both of the glasses, “And I still do.”

“After all that fighting?” he asked, nudging you with his shoulder, “You still want me, Darlin’?” You sighed, a smile dancing on your lips as the crew around continued their merriment and conversations. 

“Of course I do.”

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