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i-literally-cant-with-this · 2 months

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How They ...

A/N ::: I probably should have done these in different order (bedtime first) but oh well. I'm in a very HC headspace right now. I hope you guys enjoy. Horrific typos? lmk. Thanks!

C/W ::: Oral sex (nothing TOO graphic though - I think)

MDNI Under The Cut, Please

⊰ Go down on you

⊰ Draken ::: Is either slow and methodical or will devour you.

⊰ Mitsuya ::: Prefers to take his time and do it "correctly" (hint: "correctly" is how you taught him through your non-verbal cues. God help me, I'm so in love with him)

⊰ Mikey ::: For real, whatever, however, wherever, whenever he wants. But you always walk crawl away with newborn deer legs.

⊰ Baji ::: Sloppy. Sloppy sloppy sloppy and it's the most marvelous sound in the world, you think. It's so loud and wet and squelchy (shut up, it is a real word) that you don't know if you're getting off to the sensation of him rockin' your world, suckin' on your clit and tongue-fucking you or the lapping noises he's making.

⊰ Chifuyu ::: Prim and proper until you're about to cum. Then he has fun with it. Gets a little sloppy but that's only because Baji told him that you like it so much so he tries it out on his girl and "I'll be damned," he'll say to Baji, "she came all over my face, man!"

⊰ Hanma ::: Wild card. Sometimes the two of you will be laying in bed watching tv and he'll shimmy up over to you and push your shorts/panties aside and lazily finger and lick you. Sometimes he will throw your dress or skirt over your head and eat you like a man on death row. Sometimes he will eat you so thoroughly that you're sure you'll be sensitive for a week. But most of the time you can count on it being from behind. As I've said in the past, Hanma likes you face down, ass up.

⊰ Kisaki ::: Is surprisingly good at this. But he won't give you what you want right away. He likes to take his time with you; to tease you. On a few occasions he's gotten crazy with it (I'm talkin' glasses-fogging-up-and-crooked-on-his-pretty-face crazy). You're just so damn happy when he looks up at you and starts crawling backwards that you don't even care how he does it ... just that he does.

⊱ Get Ready for Bed With You

⊱ Draken ::: Makes sure you don't need anything else before he lowers his towering body down next to you and tells you "Yes, I made sure the doors are locked. But baby, I don't know why you're afraid. I'm here." He smiles at how you flipped the covers back for him and slinks down onto the mattress, scooting over as close to you as possible. He sleeps on his back mostly so you can rest your head on his chest, under the warmth and safety of his left arm.

⊱ Mistuya ::: Likes to brush his teeth at the same time you do and will use the other end of the towel you're using to dry his face off (at the same time). Follows you around to make sure things are locked up and turned off. Puts his hand on your lower back as you climb over the bed to your side and pull the covers back. Likes to sleep with his right arm and right leg draped over you in the winter (the extra heat and closeness never hurt anyone, right?). In the summer lays on his back, sprawled out, like he's in the beginning phases of making a snow angel.

⊱ Mikey ::: Likes to watch you do your routine before bed. He likes it even more when you're feeling playful and smear a little of your nighttime lotion on his face. He will joke about how he's really noticing a change in the elasticity and evenness of the skin on his face. You both have always kind of gone to bed at the same time/together, unless his boys are over. In which case he will come climbing into bed later and that's ok with you because baby boy is a bed/blanket/pillow hog. He 100% of the time always has to have his cheek pressed to your chest. Says he likes how soft and warm your boobs are and that the sound of your heartbeat is the most pretty lullaby he's ever heard. *Still shares his favorite blanket with you.*

⊱ Baji ::: Purposely waits for you to finish brushing your hair so he can start to brush his hair with your hairbrush. Then he will come pouting and stomping into the bedroom where you're already settled and comfy, whining about how his arms are tired from fighting and can you please brush his hair (you do it better anyway, something about less split ends). He has literally fallen asleep on top of you. And no, it's not like that. He just loves being super close to you and if that means behaving like a cat, so be it. Also really likes how it feels when you're sleeping on him (anywhere/any part of his body. his legs, his chest, his shoulder. He loves that you trust him enough to be unconscious around him - that's never happened with anyone before. I mean, you can't entirely blame them - no offense, Baji!)

⊱ Chifuyu ::: He will use the time that he's waiting for you to clear out of the bathroom to feed the cats that hang around your place (he knows you like to have a little time to yourself at the very end of the day to unwind in peace and quiet). But once that's out of the way, he likes to walk around with you and talk about your days/what you have planned for tomorrow. He will ask if you packed your lunch for work for the next day and if you haven't he will ask if you want him to help you or if you'd like him to bring you something when he closes the pet shop on his lunch break. "Maybe we can have lunch together?" His green eyes and sweet smile are so potent that you can never say no to him (you even offer to buy when you two meet up the next day at the place you both agree on - damn, he's good0). Once the two of you are all snuggled in bed, he will ultimately change his mind about how he is laying and roll over, throw his arm over your waist, kiss your shoulder and tell you he loves you and he hopes you have sweet dreams.

⊱ Hanma ::: He doesn't really have any routine at bedtime other than one more smoke, pissing and making sure you're coming in "sometime soon." He likes to hold you once you're both in bed but I think he likes to be held a lot, too. For all of his bravado, there's definitely a part of him that wants to be wanted for more than a pair of fists. When he's deep in sleep, he thrashes around like a drowning drunkard. Is a human furnace. Likes to have fanS (yes, plural) pointed at him from all different directions.

⊱ Kisaki ::: Has a more in depth bedtime routine than even you or your girlfriends combined. He showers every night. And don't count on or even try to join him unless he gives you "the look." He takes cold showers and is in and out in less than 5 minutes. It's just to wash the day off of him before climbing into bed - which we all know, is a sacred space - and such spaces should be kept tidy. He has a glass of water on his nightstand and a case for his glasses to rest in while he isn't wearing them. Prefers to keep to himself mostly unless he knows you're having a bad time of things or he just wants to cuddle with you. It's ok, though, because his hands and feet get freakishly cold (regardless of the season) and if he were to touch you in the night, it would startle the hell out of you.

@viburnt @darkstarlight82 @kazutora-kurokawa @arlerts-angel @southside-otaku @katkitkats

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parkerdoeswriting · 8 months

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I'll Crawl Home to You

(Spencer Reid x GN Reader)

part two:

category: angst and fluff oneshot

summary: reader gets held hostage by unsub, reader and spence both like each other

warnings: gun, being held hostage, a really creepy unsub, dead body, the word “pretty” being used to describe reader in a gender neutral way, bruising on temple, crying, paramedics, like a singular mention of “blood and gore” (not going into detail)

word count: 1.8k

A/N: this is my first ever fanfic so PLEASE don’t go hog wild on me, i also don't know how to really do warnings so I'm sorry if i miss anything!!

The BAU team had been out in Detroit on case for the past week trying to catch an unsub who’s been killing government agents. We got a tip about the unsub’s killing location in an old abandoned warehouse in the middle of nowhere. The team splits up alongside a few cops from the local police precinct as we search for the suspect, you and Spencer are paired together.

“Anyone got eyes?” you whisper quietly into your radio, my gun is drawn as Spencer looks behind him to check on me.

A murmur of quiet no’s fill your radio, Spencer shakes his head as he proceeds further into the warehouse. Quiet rustling can be heard from deeper into the building, both of your guns drawn tighter to the noise. You both head into an area that was almost pitch black, so dark you almost can’t see Spencer in front of you.

Shuffle Shuffle…

“Did you hear that?” you say quietly to Spencer, looking around.

Spencer nods, stalking more into the warehouse where he thinks the noise came from. You look over your shoulder, hearing soft footsteps behind you. The cock of a gun is heard, and then the feeling of cold medal on your temple is felt. You try to scream, why can't you scream? You can’t see Spencer, where is he? The person behind you drags you back, further away from Spencer as his dirty hands cover your mouth.

“You FBI?” A snakelike voice whispers in your ear, sending uncomfortable shivers up your spine.

You nod quickly as the unsub reaches for your gun, grabbing it and kicking it away.

“That’s unfortunate for you,” the unsub snickers, “How many other agents are with you?”.

You don’t respond, which causes him to become irritated, pressing the barrel of the gun harder into your skull.

“Give me your radio” he hisses in your ear.

You begrudgingly obey, passing him your radio so he doesn't shoot you. He takes it from your fingers, holding it close to his mouth before speaking into it.

“You guys really suck for looking after your own, here I am with such a pretty lil agent, and no one’s noticed they are gone.” he snickers into the radio, his hands still pressing you to him.

“REID” You try to scream against the unsubs hands, it only comes out as a muffle.

“Shush” the unsub whisper shouts in your ear, his hand roughly pushing against your mouth.

“FBI, hands up or we’ll shoot” I hear the all too familiar voice of my best friend, I look up and see him.

Spencer has his gun aimed at the unsubs head as he calls for backup. His eyes flicker from him to you, your eyes red and puffy from trying not to cry.

“How about- you drop your gun- and I won’t shoot this pretty lil agent right here in front of you” the unsub snickers sadistically, his gun pressing more into your skull.

You furiously shake your head at Spencer, silently begging him not to comply, your lip quivering as you do. You can almost see as Spencer almost considers dropping his gun, just to keep you safe for a while longer. But his gaze catches yours and he realizes that it’s not a good idea at all, his grip tightening on the gun instead.

“Step away” Spencer sternly commands, his face looking absolutely pissed at the situation.

“You know, you and I could be the next famous murderer couple, a real modern Bonnie and Clyde” the unsub snickers in your ear. “That is of course, if I wasn’t gonna kill you”

“Please, you don’t have to kill me” You stumble over your words, your brain losing its ability to think clearly as the seconds pass. You can feel your chest tightening, it's getting harder to breathe, you need to focus, calm down god damnit. Your eyes flick to Spencer, your only light in this dark situation.

“Please- just- let them go okay?” Spencer says, frustrated, his eyes tearing up as well.

“I don’t think so, they’re mine now” the unsub snarled, his grip once again tightening around me.

“Spencer” I cry out softly, my salty tears dripping down my face.

By then, the rest of the team had finally found the three of you, gathering around the unsub. You can feel the unsub tense up, knowing he’s outnumbered and won’t get out of here alive and free. Your eyes shut, muttering silent words under your breath.

The unsub starts spiraling as he shouts irrational words at you and the team, the gun against your temple almost leaving bruises from the pressure he was putting on it. The barrel is shaking slightly alongside the unsub, who seems to be way more nervous then at the start.

BANG!

You can hear the loud bang of a gun go off in your ear, the loud noise causing ringing in your ear. You can feel as the arms around you become loose and the pressure in your temple almost disappears. More tears flow down as you hear muffled footsteps around you, confusion taking over your brain.

“Hey… hey, are you okay?” someone says, but you can’t quite put it to a face.

You can’t control yourself as you feel yourself fall to the ground, crawling away from whatever scene was behind you. Your body is tense as your tears fall to the dirty concrete floor below you, your head unable to even process what happened.

“Hey, open your eyes please? It’s me, it’s just me, Spencer” the voice comes into play again as he kneels in front of you, less muffled this time as you can finally put it to a face.

You breathe in heavily as your eyes open, you can see the rest of the BAU surrounding the dead body of the unsub, causing your head to get dizzy.

“Look at me, please” Spencer says, gently redirecting your focus to him instead of the gruesome sight of blood and gore. His hands rub your back reassuringly, trying to comfort you as you come to terms with what happened.

Your body lets out a strangled sob into the palms of your shaky hands, your shoulders tremble with each desperate cry. You can’t help it, your brain is just so overwhelmed with emotions and thoughts.

“Shh, you're gonna be okay, you’re safe now” he whispers, his arms wrapping me in a comforting embrace. He hugs you in a way you’ve never been hugged before, his arms emitting a cozy and protective barrier around you both.

Your body still wracked with sobs as you cling onto Spencer, you can hear Hotch call for medical backup and the coroner in the background.

“You were so brave” Spencer says, his arms bringing you up to your feet and supporting half your weight.

He helps you walk out of the warehouse, your face burying into his shoulder as you cross the death scene on the floor, you don’t want to look at it at all. You sit down in the open trunk of one of the BAU’s SUVs, waiting for medical to come and check you over. The whole time, your hand was held reassuringly by your best friend. You definitely needed him at this moment, here with you, comforting you.

Eventually an ambulance and the coroner's vehicle show up, taking the unsub’s body away in a bag as the paramedics check you over. They concluded that you didn’t have any serious physical injuries, just a bruise on your temple. You got up from the back of the ambo, heading back to where Spencer was watching.

“What did the paramedics say?” he says, meeting you halfway from where you were walking, his hand going against the small of your back.

“I’m good to go, just gonna have a killer headache” you say, burying your head into his chest.

You stay like this for a while, his hand rubbing your back gently as you press your face into his sweater vest. He smells nice, like vanilla and the light scent of wool.

“Alright everyone, let's head out” you can hear Hotch say as he gets us into the two SUV’s.

You get into the SUV with Spencer, Derek and Emily. Emily sits in the passenger side as Derek drives, you and Spencer in the back as you lay your head in his lap. You fall asleep rather fast, your hands clinging at the fabric of his pants as if he might slip through your fingers if you don't. His hand subconsciously going for your hair, his slim fingers playing with your hair.

“You really love them, don't you?” Derek speaks up after driving for a while, noticing your sleeping body in the rearview mirror.

Spencer stops playing with your hair as he hears Derek, his face heating up.

“Well- of course I care for them, they’re my best friend” Spencer mutters, moving a strand of your hair away from your face.

“Come on kid, they’ve been laying in your lap for the whole car ride.” Derek laughs “they like you too, you know, everyone on this team can see”

Spencer looks down at you as you rest, admiring your sleepy face as he ponders the possibility of you feeling the same.

“No.. no they don’t, they’re way out of my league” Spencer replies quietly, his eyes not leaving you.

“You think they don’t? Look at where they’re sleeping right now, they like you enough to sleep on top of you” Derek jokes, and Spencer can hear the quiet laughing of Emily in the passenger seat.

“You really think they like me?” Spencer smiles softly, his hands returning to your hair once again.

“If you ask them out, I don’t know why they wouldn’t say yes” Derek shrugs.

“Morgan, I’m a socially awkward genius who’s never been on a date before, I don’t even know where to start!” Spencer quips, fidgeting nervously with his shirt sleeve.

“Just tell them you like them and would like to get food with them. I’m sure whatever you do, they’ll like it, they even like the same nerdy things you do!” he teases Spencer.

A beat…

“I think I’m gonna ask them out” Spencer smiles, looking up at Derek as he drives.

“Good, because the team is sick of you both making goo goo eyes when you both aren't looking” Derek teases him.

“No we don’t” Spencer blushes, gently caressing your face as he thinks.

He can feel as your grip on his pants gets tighter, your head readjusting carefully in his lap.

“For a genius, you are quite stupid” Emily finally speaks up, Spencer’s eyes widening.

“Come on Spencer, how can you not see it?” she adds as her body twists, looking behind her.

“What do I do then? I don’t want to ask them out and then have things be weird between us!” he replies nervously, feeling like a love-sick teenager.

“Just be confident Reid” Emily smiles, giving him a thumbs up.

The team finally pulls into the hotel parking lot after a very long day. He looks back down at you, brushing your hair out of your face.

“Just be confident” he repeats in his head, sighing.

#spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid #spencer reid x you #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds oneshot

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chaoticbardlady99 · 4 months

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Repose, My Love, I Have Sinned Enough (Astarion x F! reader)

CW and just content- violence, brief description of gore, enemies to lovers, mutual pining, brief mentions of sexual shiznet

Synopsis- You are a cleric of Kelemvor- a God that detests the undead and resurrection due to it disrupting the natural process. However, the Pale Elf you met in the aftermath of the mind-flayer incident is important to the bigger picture.

You’ve defeated Cazador and Orin, but Bhaal Cultists are still at large and they are specifically looking to kill you.

Song for this particular one shot is Eternally Yours by Motionless in White. Title is derived from the song.

Author note- I can’t remember when I recently read a few concepts on tumblr that I integrated into this writing (I.e. a God did answer Astarion’s prayers- I put my own twist on it, used a line from the game in a different spot for plot reasons). If anyone wants me to write any spin offs about specific moments, please let me know cause I love these two and I lowkey want to write mutually consensual ‘Gods I cannot stand you’ sex.

Hope you enjoy!

Photo belongs to @cheekylittlepupp on Tumblr

You hated him.

Astarion Acunín was single-handedly the worst thing that could have happened to you.

And you had quite literally fell out of the fucking sky with a tadpole in your head.

“My apologies” your ass. The minute he held that knife to your throat should have been enough. He duped you and he duped you good.

Overtime, you thought that Astarion was a pompous ass and you hated him for his existence- everything your God, Kelemvor, rejected. In spite of it all, you still let the man drink from you when he needed blood.

Kelemvor heard your prayers and allowed you to work with Astarion with no retribution to you. Being a part of a Divine plan to save the world has ultimately saved the Spawn.

Oh and Astarion despised you just as much- maybe even more. You were a threat to his safety- only allowed to protect him because your God had allowed it. So what happened once you no longer had need of him?

The two of you fought like cats and dogs, but your actions towards each other were in direct opposition with every nasty word you flung at each other.

The second week into the journey had demolished your armor and destroyed your only camp clothes. You had been silently upset about the endeavor- knowing there won’t be anyone selling any lounge clothes until you get to Baldur’s Gate.

The armor was an easy replacement- people sell plenty of that shit apparently.

You had asked everyone in camp (minus Astarion) if they either knew how to sew, had an extra blanket or cape you could use that they didn’t need, or had an extra shirt. Everyone told you no, but they would keep an eye out.

You tried your best to stitch it up yourself, but the thing had been a damn mess. You were sitting in your bra and leather pants while successfully tangling your shirt with the string.

You had finally had it and screamed at the top of your lungs. You threw the shirt on the floor of your camp and walked off with your Mace. It took an hour of hitting a tree and two wild hog kills before you had calmed down enough to attempt to return to your work. It was almost evening when you left and now it was getting dark as you got back- still in only your (sports like Karlach’s armor btw) bra, leather pants, and your flimsy camp shoes.

Gale had been thrilled to have the fresh meat, but had made you feel horribly embarrassed because he was trying to not gawk.

You had been a good sport about it- ignoring it entirely- and then went back to your tent to try to have something resembling a shirt before dinner.

Except the heap of string and cloth that had been strewn everywhere was gone- your shirt was perfectly stitched up and folded. There was a note attached.

So Gale doesn’t die from a boner induced stroke- Astarion p.s. I still hate your guts.

You gave him the Necromancy of Thay as a thank you and with the condition that Gale never knows.

You’ve also surprised him a multitude of times. You knew the right thing to do was to give him over to Galendral. It was just you and Astarion. You could team up with the monster hunter and just tell the group it had been a sudden “oh shit now I’m allergic to fire” moment.

Instead you helped Astarion kill the man and oooed and aweed over his very nice crossbow together.

Or the time that Araj wouldn’t stop asking him to drink her blood. You got so fed up that you knocked her out cold, woke her up, asked if she got the message, she said yes, and then you knocked her out cold again. Just because it felt good at that point.

“A woman after my own heart.” Astarion teased.

Your companions would frequently yell at you to get a room and you’d both scream about how awful the other is before storming off.

However, the two of you were formidable in battle when you worked side by side. It was the only time the group had any reprieve from your bickering. He stayed close to you and refused to let you go anywhere without him. You finally confronted him on it when he complained for the millionth time about all the walking.

It ended up with you two fighting in front of a very knowing Karlach and Shadowheart, yelling at each other nonsensically, and then Astarion suddenly broke up the fight by saying, “it’s not my fault your God won’t let me resurrect you if you die doing something stupid- which is very possible knowing the nature of this group!”

He stormed off in a huff and you shut up pretty quickly after that.

A flip had switched in your relationship following the first major fight the group had engaged in.

While making your way through the Goblin Camp- you had been injured fatally while trying to protect Gale from Minthara. You had been laughing and borderline crying with the irony of it all- you were allowed to keep the Spawn alive and anyone could resurrect him- but you got to sit there and die. For the first time- you aren’t comforted by the fact that your God will be waiting for you. In fact, all you can think about is Astarion.

Shadowheart was helping kill Priestess Gut and Halsin was in the middle of trying not to be killed by Dro Ragzlin. It was only you, Gale, and Astarion fighting and you are completely out of magic to heal yourself. You swallowed against the lump in your throat and took one last conscious ragged breath. You had let the world start to fade to black and the last thing you saw was Astarion running towards you.

Then you woke up next to the fire hours later with Astarion sitting on the log next to you- his book casting a shadow over his face.

Shadowheart told you that Astarion had practically half dragged her to where you were as Gale was forcing your unconscious body to take healing potion after healing potion. She told him not to worry- they could always resurrect you. Shadowheart says she regrets even uttering those words.

“Are you that incredibly unobservant or are you that ignorant, Sharran?” Astarion snarled, “she’s a Cleric of Kelemvor- resurrecting her would quite literally ruin her life so you better have a better back up plan than that.”

Astarion had been a mess and when they tried to put you in your tent- he had gotten pissed at them even more.

“She sleeps next to the fire, you incompetent fools,” he scoffed, “you can’t honestly expect her to heal in the coldest fucking corner of camp in that shitty excuse of a tent.”

You didn’t know how it happened- let alone twice, but you and Astarion did end up sleeping together. Kelemvor disapproved greatly (making it known after you helped Astarion kill a devil for Raphael) and you pushed Astarion away when he asked you to try to be in a relationship with him.

When he asked why- you told the truth. You were always meant to be enemies- you had allowed this to go on for too long and you should never have indulged in feelings that were silly- foolish even. Astarion’s heart was broken and he has been bitter towards you ever since.

You are the only one who knows that every word you said felt like you were being given a thousand papercuts. You want him so desperately- in every sentimental way you can think of.

But you are nothing- basically powerless- without Kelemvor. You can’t protect Astarion if you have no magic or the ability to heal.

The only exception to his bitterness was the day you barely saved him in time from Cazador.

You had found a blood stain next to his bed when you went to check on him. You had a weird feeling that you needed to. Astarion told you he had to grab something from upstairs before joining you all for a drink.

You had never run so fast- shouting at your companions to get in their gear and meet you at the Crimson Palace. Your lungs hurt as you raced through Baldur’s Gate with angry, vengeful tears streaming down your face.

You had basically demolished every single creature and person who was in your way- your abilities against the Undead coming in handy. Cazador had barely started the ritual when you came in and began slaughtering all the creatures guarding him- your companions were on your heels and came just in time.

You were able to focus on killing Cazador and stopping the ritual. You succeeded. When you released Astarion from his bindings so he could finish Cazador once and for all- the first thing he did was pull you into him and he clung to you for dear life.

“I thought I’d never see you again.”

Astarion decided not to ascend by some miracle. He still hasn’t told you why.

He took you to his grave and asked if you would give your blessing for his new birthdate. You had been absolutely bewildered- saying that is for your God to say, not you.

“I don’t care about your God, Tav,” Astarion said with desperation, “I just want to know you acknowledge that I am living- that I’m worthy of this new beginning. If you don’t feel that way or you just can’t- I will never bother you again.

“But if you do feel that way… please,” he stared at you earnestly, “you are the only one I know worth worshipping- yours is the only blessing I want to have.”

Kelemvor had told you you were on thin ice in a dream that night- your blessing had meant the world to Astarion, but was a cardinal sin to your God.

Kelemvor didn’t have anything to worry about- Astarion went back to being bitter and hateful towards you two weeks later anyway. One day you went from being friends to him bringing partners to fuck in the private room on your floor. He was also back to arguing with you and being nasty as all get out.

You don’t know why the Wood Elf at the Carnival specifically sought the two of you out the other day. You both scoffed at the idea, went into it expecting it to be a disaster, and then promptly avoided each other in the aftermath.

She told you your love for each other is impenetrable.

Considering the current situation- you think it was all just a shitty carnival trick.

It’s moments like these, as you watch him flirt with a very beautiful woman across the room at Elfsong, where you cling to those moments of intimacy you had been able to experience with him.

You are always heartbroken when he brings someone to the private room. It’s close to your bed and you can hear everything.

You couldn’t bring yourself to pretend you are okay with it today. You couldn’t pretend to be ‘just fine’ or unfazed. A child had died under your watch and you had barely killed Orin- the battle was gruesome and you saved Lae’zel in time (Thank Gods).

It has been a hard day. You are incredibly tired and your tipsy brain is grieving the fact that you don’t get to curl up next to him at the end of the day anymore. You haven’t been sleeping well since you stopped sleeping next to him- your nightmares came back in full force.

Your heart is entirely crushed like your spirit. You are certain that it’s beginning to show on your face and it makes you feel gross. You try not to be too obvious with how much you want to leave, but your little walk- sprint is far too awkward and telling.

There are plenty of Taverns to drink from with plenty of people to talk to. It may only be an hour and a half before the sun rises, but tomorrow is a day off so who cares? Besides, Baldur’s Gate never sleeps.

You don’t see Astarion watching you leave, the woman in front of him storming off in envy.

You don’t know that Astarion saw how you looked his way when he got closer to the woman in front of him- let alone that interacting with another person this way instead of being with you makes him equally as heartbroken.

None of these encounters felt right nor did they feel good. He had declined to Ascend- taking it to heart when you said you want him to be a man he can be proud of. Not to mention, you had destroyed an entire palace (Godey was scattered all over the halls) to get to him when he had been sitting there begging Selune of all fucking people to alert Isobel, Dame Aylin, Shadowheart- literally anyone- that he needed to be saved. Then he threw Jergal out there as a “fuck it, let’s try it” and not even 30 minutes later- you were there. Your eyes were full of bloodlust, anger, and vengeance.

Enemies to Lovers to Friends to Enemies again. Both of you are evidently in love with one another and cannot be together because Kelemvor said “psych”. The bards in Faerun will have a field day when that information comes out.

Ever since your display of brutal vengeance, he silently begged for you to finally just be with him. The light touches, the flirty conversations, the yearning looks- just denounce Kelemvor already!

There are plenty of Gods! Jergal could be fucking hiring for all Astarion knows at this point. It’s not like the ancient God of the dead and scribes wasn’t in their camp. He gave Withers a very suspecting look when they got back to camp- the skeleton merely bowed his head in acknowledgment.

Astarion had waited for two weeks- hoping maybe you had a change of heart and just needed the time to come to peace with it.

Nope. Absolutely nothing but friendship so he went back to trying to make you jealous. He knows it’s childish. What were you supposed to do? Denounce your God? The same God that had been there for you when your mother died in your childhood? No- that was and is unfair of him. He doesn’t know what to do anymore.

Astarion just wants one last moment- a tryst even- before you have to become enemies again. His heart aches for you- he adores you and he even admires your dedication to your faith. You’re passionate about the work you do- helping families grieve, providing them assurance that their loved one is safe on the other side, and saving towns from Undead individuals who truly mean harm.

If only he had met you in a different time period- before he was a Vampire- maybe then he could have been with you without the consequences. He couldn’t live with the crushing guilt of making you turn away from your God for him. Astarion can’t ask that of you and he knows he needs to stop trying to manipulate you into it as well.

He leaves the bar and searches the street for you. Astarion is relieved you haven't gotten very far. Bhaal cultists are still on the rise and with their leader freshly dead by your hand- well, it’s safe to assume you made enemies of the cult very quickly.

On the other hand, you continue to be lost in your confusing daze of emotions. The battle against Orin is far from your mind right now and Bhaal cultists aren’t even a thought.

What do you do when the person you want is someone you can’t have because your God says no? People don’t write books or scrolls for this kind of stuff.

Do you run away? Do you let them figure out the Elderbrain on their own? Do you denounc-

No, you think sharply whilst pushing the thought out of your mind. You can’t just stop worshiping Kelemvor.

Or can you?

Your internal war has given you tunnel vision in your pursuit to find the nearest bar- so much so that you don’t see the Bhaal assassin begin his attempt at your life from the alleyway.

You wouldn’t have known you were mere seconds from dying if you hadn’t been roughly pushed to the ground, landing flat on your face.

You scramble to your feet and what you see horrified you. The Bhaal assassin is standing over Astarion- who is now well and truly dead- his throat slit to the bone and a massive wooden stake in his chest.

The scream that tears through you is animalistic- the Bhaal assassin’s eyes widen. You paralyze him and use telekinesis to fling him into the dark alley. You break his arms, his legs, his jaw- the man is gurgling out for help. You mutilate his entire body- avoiding his head. The man is barely clinging to life when you light his entire existence on fire with the Blood of Lathander. You watch as his face melts off and you relish in his fear until his eyes no longer exist.

You almost forget that Astarion is dead. Almost, but only because you refuse to believe it. You drag him into the alley behind some boxes to shield the scene from onlookers. You gently pull the wooden stake out and press on his sternum with your fist.

“Astarion,” you croak, “Astarion- my love- please wake up.”

You are in front of him and trying so hard to see if there is any possible sign of life- you are throwing all of your healing magic at him as you beg him to get up. He can’t be dead. If he’s dead you can’t resurrect him and if you can’t resurrect him…

Your head is spinning and you feel like you can’t breathe.

This is the way of life.

That is what the doctrine teaches. Astarion lived 200 years too long- this is what was always supposed to happen.

You try to walk away- several times actually, but your heart cries out every time in protest.

He’s alone- don’t leave him. He can’t be alone right now. He’s probably so scared and-, You think.

You inhale and exhale- looking at him. You had closed his eyes so that the emptiness no longer haunted you. Nothing about this rest looks peaceful. His lips are still contorted in pain.

I can bring him back- there’s no time for for our companions. Kelemvor will take his soul when the Sun has come completely over the horizon.

You peer out at the sky- the purple sky was already turning to pink. You need to make a decision now and the decision is clear to you. You dump out the contents of your smaller bag of holding and the reincarnation scroll Astarion insisted you keep after the Goblin Camp hits the ground.

You can lose your God. There are many others- maybe even one who will let you love who you want to. On the flip side, there’s only one cheeky vampire rogue that makes you happy though and you can’t let that go.

You open it- the parchment burning your hands and you can feel your power being ripped from you.

Kelemvor is quick- as soon as the incantation leaves your lips and Astarion jolts back to life- you feel all your magic leave your body.

You feel cold, but all you can do is stare at him and cry silently. He’s alive and that is worth far more than any God’s blessing.

Astarion is coughing- touching his chest and throat as he becomes reorientated to his surroundings. Then he looks at you- his eyes going wide when he sees the used Scroll of Revivify in your hands.

“You-“ he chokes on his words, he looks at you with tears in his eyes, “you brought me back.”

You nod back and your lip trembles- you want to wrap your arms around him. You want to feel him hold you back- you want to know he’s alive.

“Why?” Astarion huffs in disbelief, “Kelemvor-“

Really!? Now he cares what Kelemvor THINKS!?

“I could give a shit less what Kelemvor thinks! You- you!,” you snap and throw your arms in the air, “you prick! I want you! I chose you! If I knew you’d be ungra-“

You are pulled into his lap with lightning speed and his lips are pressed roughly against yours. You are flush against each other as if you mean to consume one another. The kiss is sloppy, needy, and full of want- you finally have to break the kiss and breathe.

When you open your eyes to look at him- you are almost rendered breathless immediately after you inhale.

The warm oranges and pinks make him look like an ethereal creature- something celestial instead of undead. Astarion’s smile is a thousand times more bewitching in this light. Astarion is your Heaven and he is your home.

“I’ve missed you,” you say heavily, “and I hate every weirdo you took to bed,” you sniff and wipe your tears on your sleeves “- not cool by the way.”

Astarion’s face is quickly swimming with guilt and he rubs soft circles into your hips with his thumbs. Stray tears are falling down his cheeks.

“I’m sorry Darling- I was being childish and I guess I thought I could… get you to be with me one last time if you were jealous enough.”

You squint at him through unamused, wet eyes and he chuckles nervously- his smile reflecting the “my bad” expression.

“You’re lucky I only had one resurrection scroll on me- otherwise I would kill you right now and bring you back again,” you say with a huff, “or maybe not. You are very beautiful.”

“Why thank you,” Astarion flashes a cheeky grin, “you could stand to mention it more, my Love.”

You roll your eyes at him and you cup his face with your hands- pulling his mouth up to yours to continue pressing soft kisses to his lips. You stay that way until your stomach growls and you flush in embarrassment.

You head back to Elfsong, hand in hand, undeath and Gods no longer keeping you apart.

“Wait,” Astarion stops abruptly and looks around, “what about the Bhaal Assassin? Did he get away?”

You chuckle awkwardly and scratch the back of your head, “I definitely didn’t fatally mutilate him and then burn him alive with the Blood of Lathander… if that’s what you are asking…”

Astarion blinks twice before he throws his head back in laughter, “how quickly did you start that endeavor?”

“Uh… maybe a second or two, give or take,” you frown, “why?”

Astarion rubs the worry from your brow with his thumb and places a chaste kiss on your lips. He smiles down at you cheekily.

“You couldn’t wait 10 seconds before being an absolute freak?”

You beam at him, “for you? Never.”

*************************************

How peculiar.

A die hard Kelemvor Cleric renouncing her faith and celebrating the rebirth of a creature with 200 more years than he was supposed to have under his belt, Withers thinks while striking Astarion’s name off the record, I have much to learn. Matters of the heart are tricky- or so it seems.

Withers had, in fact, responded to Astarion’s prayer. Hells- he answered multiple times about 28 years ago when you were brought into the world. It took a lot of generations to get to you, but it eventually happened within the last 200 years- did it not?

You and Astarion were either meant to collide in one of two ways because Astarion had prayed for two separate things on multiple occasions. One of those prayers was to let him die and the other was to be saved- to eventually be given the opportunity to have a happy life.

You would either kill him in the name of your God and eventually become Kelemvor’s Chosen or you would fall in love with each other and you would denounce Kelemvor- ultimately finding a new God in the chaos. One that doesn’t dictate your romantic relationships, but maybe is a little judgemental of them. Kelemvor and Withers left that to your own free will- Kelemvor testing you time and time again.

The future was leaning heavily towards you becoming Kelemvor’s chosen. It had surprised Withers and Kelemvor when the scales of fate had changed.

Withers watches with neutral eyes as you and Astarion sleep on Astarion’s bed- curled around each other for a post breakfast nap.

Astarion is an enigma to Withers. Vampire Spawn rarely think of others outside of the people they knew in their past. The man had approached him at camp during the early days and flat out asked him if he was Jergal. Withers declined to answer.

The boy is smart- Withers will give him that.

Both parties look content, peaceful, and happier than they had in the last several weeks. Withers returns to his list and his curious thoughts.

The girl has lost her powers- exchanging them for love and she sleeps like a babe.

How will she complete her destiny now, Withers ponders, already knowing the answer.

I could use a cleric or two again…

#baldurs gate 3 #astarion #astarion x reader #baldurs gate astarion #astarion x you #astarion romance #astarion x tav #bg3 spoilers #karlach #bg3 #astarion x f! reader #astarion x f!tav #astarion acunin #astarion x female reader #bg3 astarion

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witcher-and-henry-cavill-stuff · 4 months

Text

With Fire And With Blood.

Warning: violence, killing, blood, gore, Daemon being possessive.

Masterlist

Y/N stood frozen in fear as she watched her husband, Daemon Targaryen, approach her. He was covered in blood, his blond hair matted and his face splattered with the crimson liquid. His eyes were wild and filled with madness as he reached out to touch her face with his bloody hands.

“Lo nyke emagon naejot ossēnagon lī qilōni hog aōha undying jorrāelagon se attention syt issa pār sīr sagon ziry issa dāria,” he spoke in High Valyrian, his voice deep and almost inhuman.

Y/N didn't understand the words he spoke, but she could sense the intensity and desperation in his tone. She was afraid, not just for herself but for their unborn child as well. She had never seen her husband like this before, and it scared her.

She tried to back away, but he grabbed her gently, his touch surprisingly gentle despite being covered in blood. His dark eyes locked with hers, and she could see a glimmer of love and obsession in them.

Y/N felt tears welling up in her eyes as she tried to make sense of the situation. Daemon had always been possessive and protective of her, but this level of violence was something she never expected from him.

Looking down at her swollen stomach, she knew that she couldn't let anything happen to their baby. She wrapped her trembling hands around her belly and whispered words of protection, hoping that her husband would come back to his senses.

But instead, he leaned in closer to her, his lips brushing against her ear as he spoke again.

“I will do anything to keep your attention and love. I have killed thousands for you, and I am not afraid to kill more. You are mine, and no one else's. You belong to me,” he said, his voice low and almost begging.

Y/N could feel his hot breath against her skin, and her mind was racing with fear and confusion. She never thought that her husband could be capable of such violence and obsession.

But deep down, she knew that his love for her was genuine, even if it came with a darker side. She couldn't help but feel a strange sense of gratitude for his protectiveness and possessiveness, even if it had led to bloodshed.

“Daemon, please,” she pleaded, her voice trembling with emotion. “I love you too, but this is not the way. Killing for my attention and love will only push me away.”

Daemon's grip on her tightened, and for a moment, Y/N was afraid that he might harm her. But instead, he leaned in and pressed his bloody forehead against hers, his eyes closing.

“I will do better,” he whispered. “I will show you that my love for you is greater than my need for your attention. Just please, don't leave me.”

Y/N could see the genuine sincerity in his eyes, and she felt her heart soften. She knew that it wouldn't be easy, but she was willing to work things out with her husband.

As he pulled away, she saw the remorse and regret in his eyes as he looked at his blood-stained hands. He knew that he had crossed a line, and he was willing to make it right.

Y/N reached out and took his hand, pulling him towards her and leading him towards their bedroom. As they stepped inside, she could see the destruction and chaos that her husband had caused in his desperate attempt to win her love.

Instead of being angry, she felt a deep sense of sadness and fear. She knew that she needed to help him overcome his need for violence and obsession in the name of love.

As she lay down on their bed, Daemon joined her, his eyes never leaving hers. They lay there in silence, his hand gently resting on her stomach. For the first time in a long time, Y/N felt at peace, knowing that her husband truly loved her and was willing to make amends for his mistakes.

In the days and weeks that followed, Y/N worked tirelessly to help Daemon overcome his dark desires. She showed him love and affection, and slowly but surely, he began to let go of his need for violence and bloodshed.

Their love grew stronger, and as their child was born, Daemon promised to be a better husband and father. With Y/N's love and support, he was able to become the man that she had always believed he could be.

From then on, their love was stronger than ever before, and Y/N knew that no matter what challenges they faced, they would always overcome them together.

Translation

Lo nyke emagon naejot ossēnagon lī qilōni hog aōha undying jorrāelagon se attention syt issa pār sīr sagon ziry issa dāria - If I have to kill those who hog your undying love and attention from me then so be it my queen.

#x reader #one short #daemon targaryen #Daemon targaryen x reader #House of the dragon #HOTD #imagine #blood #gore #pregnant reader #possessive daemon targaryen

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phramboise · 2 months

Text

— risqué mistress of morbidity:: captainjohnpricexfemale!reader

In my tavern, my muse, leaves me longing, as he quiets my insanity's wild ruse.

tags and warnings: 18+, price and bartender!reader, reader is also smoking and drinking; he denies eye connection, both are madly alone, kissing, choking(?), vague smut, no aftercare, depictions of breakdown and depression, touch starved reader, touch starved price, implied cheating, death. one time thing with a stranger that visits for a drink.

read the dry salvages after to give this post another perspective, to see a happier closure (!), or his view.

wordcount: 4.1k

;;

A little city, or not quite, not even a town. Some place between other little places. The kind that keeps you in front of the radio, listening through channels to find one that works, or the kind that makes you wonder how people who live here spend their days with. Rarely a vehicle glides down the road, throwing pebbles around the one-line asphalt, and even rarer does one stop in front of this pub to walk in. Still, roads smell of dust, soot and grease; ground dry and deserted, feels like the sun stays right in the middle of the unsure sky the entire day. Not moving, not a cloud over it for it to blink ─always hazy, even indoors, even when it’s dark outside. A hit stench that sticks behind your neck, one that hogs your vision, one that feels like the breath you take needs to be a lot deeper for it to feel enough.

Slow, banal, monotonous; makes one think of one simple thing for days for there’s nothing else this place offers you to do, to think about. A stale life, one with no surprises. Where days feel long, years feel short. Hours are slow, and weeks are even slower, without one noticing, -but maybe with one noticing, noticing but not having the will in oneself for putting it to a stop- how the life, however fast or slow it might be, is still yours, and you are watching it away, for here leaves no wish, nor will.

Not to say that the man who now walks in the pub is simple -maybe his clothes, indigo rinse jeans, a fleece are- but even in such attire, he looks.. jarring, debonair, taking the air off the small tavern, suffocating -makes her take a big sigh before catching her breath. The place feels as it gets smaller as he makes his presence known, with a terrific aura oozing out of his frame, even glancing from the door his eyes are clear when looking inside. Dark blue landmines, the sea she always wished to see one day but never will, but she knows, if she were to see it, it would be of the colour of his eyes. The sweltering sun hits the sideline of his face for a sliver of a second as he steps in, the sun kisses his hair, bathes his brunette in golden rays, skin turning tan. She lifts her head off the counter, leaving the dry towel to her side to see who would step into this pub that has only her inside. And sees him. And meets his unavoidable mercy.

After that -after she looks away- there’s this haze in her head, an unease that dreads her, a cloud between thought and morals, and a ringing in her ears, vertigo, a pressure when having a long trip. She turns back to the counter, trying to avoid the impossible.

─that is, before he finds himself a seat next to the counter, slanting over it before asking for a whiskey, adding neat right after.

Glencairn winces in her hand as she places the glass in front of him, before giving the drink a firm twirl.

The goldenest burnished copper, a soothing sherry, a hint of warming smoke. Oloroso & oak. She even eyes the quaich on the glass shelves.

Lee Hazlewood in the background, the whiskey works his inhibitions away, it seems. His eyes linger longer on her with each sip, but each looks away after a moment on her body and never meets her eyes, as if such capable-looking man is afraid of simple connection, never suggestive. Maybe he’s looking at her only because nothing ever moves in this dead bar, but she prefers to think otherwise, and is free to dream. One hand dives in his hair, fingers graze on his forehead while the other holds a thick cigar, turning his head down as he takes drags of it between his thick fingers. He looks as if he finds comfort in smoke, and for his comfort in a smoke, she wants to take it to herself.

The cigar between his lips seems like a mockery of her own desire, knowing it can lovingly touch and feel between his lips and her lips just aren’t able.

Not one to fall into compulsions on his intuitions, he is. He shifts in his seat, stretching his leg out to take out his wallet. Windows open, so he tucks the paper under the tulip glass.

Five minutes, if not more. No talk, not a glance.

“I can have you another? On me?

This is ridiculous, needy, she thinks. A bartender asking to give a free drink, and the customer not attentive. He looks like he has nothing better to do anyway, he looks like he’s going to go somewhere unwanted after. Unwilled, to an infinite wrath, or an infinite despair. A silent man, he looks like he finds comfort in silence too. No defeat in silence, no rejection. A man who looks like he knows that it’s only the time that heals, and not the memory. Just a man, it’s what she sees, who looks like any other man, but not quite.

The quiet man does not object, and she fixes a drink with the sleight of her hand. “Forgive me, but you look rather… tense. Can I help you in a way?”

The fingers tapping on the wooden countertop miss their next beat, stop their steady pattern for a second. He doesn’t need to lift his head, look up to her to see that she’s speaking to her, he doesn’t bother anyway.

When there are two people who are strangers alone, only the one who wishes for a talk feels awkward. The other doesn’t notice, doesn’t want to talk. He looks down at his drink, the narrow-mouthed tulip, at the linted lifelines in the palm of his hand. Turning his palm against the counter, he looks at the cuts on his tanned skin. At some point he even reaches for his pocket, shifts in his barstool to take something out his pocket, and looking askance, she sees the split corner of the glossy paper, no wonder a polaroid. Only a second, before he secures it back in his pocket. Worn and irritated, it’s clear he had it with him for long enough. She can’t get a glimpse of the picture but has guesses on who that might be. The owner of the ring on his finger, perhaps? She curses the woman whom she never met, as if she’s to blame. She knows this man didn’t come here for the reason she has in mind, but she tries to deceive herself, reassure herself, make a consensus, a false one at that. It’s easy to justify, to blame her impurity on her id. Because who would come to a bar in the middle of nowhere at this time of the day? Only for a drink? Not likely if you ask her.

“This is enough.” He says, swirling the glass he lazily holds with a twirl of his wrist. It was on you, remember?

Rarely one comes here, but never once someone gives this answer to her question. Any other man, what she sees, and each time that other man looks like every other man, with trivial thoughts of every other man on their minds. Same minds dressed in different skins. This is another man.

Any other man thinks, she’s given me a drink, a sly smirk on his indifferent, indiscreet face. A young woman offering me of all men -as if there’s someone else around to compare- a drink? And she has plenty else to offer, no? This man, the another, looks like a man who is not in need of a proposal, looks satiated, even with the remorse of his sulken face. He looks like a man who has everything with nothing to lose. Like a man who seizes how transient she is, who wouldn’t be interested in her if she was a ghost of his wildest dreams.

Maybe that’s why, she doesn’t remember asking a question twice, she remembers when she hadn’t, when other men already had the proposal themselves, many of them she remembers rejecting. But never she remembers being rejected, never remembers simple defeat.

─So, she persists, dainty steps walk over, towards the customer side of the counter. Nervous, but slow enough to make it obscure, slow enough to notice her own breath, light as air as she walks next to him. I only want you to relax, no other reason.

She’s skeptic that he’d pull away, but alas, she’s also insistent, and he does not squirm nor he moves. Doesn’t tell her to stop, doesn’t tell her off. He doesn’t even grunt in efforts to mean something, to dismiss her. That’s her answer, she feels the tense muscles under her almost sweaty palms -nervous as she does -, gives a squeeze before daringly trying to snake her hands along his neck. Then gives another.

Then once more, and one more, until he slants back, until she hears a groan of relief out his hoarse throat, does she rubs his shoulders. Can I keep going?, mutters her, earning no yes, no no, but a little hum, it comes out as a withering moan out his lips, fainter than he planned to make it sound. Each rub inches her closer, until her breath kisses his nape, her front pressing right behind his back.

He looks capable, enough so, she wonders what kind of woman would leave him unsatisfied back home, she even wishes to be such lady, leaning over his shoulder slightly to not startle him away from compulsion, but enough to remind herself of the silver band on his finger, lambent in the midday sun. No reason to stop. Soon she leans her head down, down and her hair embraces his, as he tilts his head equally back, eyes closed. She clicks her tongue, rubbing it inside along her teeth as she looks down at him, and his short hair meets her skin through her v-neck.

A plea rolls out of his mouth, a growl, a promise of a whine, he tries to protest but is in the last sips of conviction. He puts his hand on her shoulder, he does, but he does not stop her. Only one way this goes, and now they both know it. One proposes quite openly, and the other subliminally accepts.

“I only want you to relax…”

With his head resting on her breasts and her supporting him, he only relaxes a little more on the stool, his breathing slowing and slowing. Heavier, bated. His eyes closed; his cheek feels against her breastbone.

This girl, undeniably smells like his lover. Talks like her too. Hearing the suggestive delivery of her voice, an immediate animal presence with incredible luring power, she whispers something simple, something she probably already said to many others who came here before his turn, but her voice, her fluid, languorous movement, just moves him in. Erotic and subliminal, but she’s not to blame. Him? He’s practically starving for some affection, and she’s warm. She feels like the warmth in a haze that holds you in bed early in the morning, an unhurried mist of comfort, all with terrifying seduction. Thus, he closes his eyes, to feel her but to see someone other.

He curses himself.

A little tug on his arm, and a brush of her lips along his jaw, is an overt invitation, for him to follow. And with a shaky breath, he does.

…

Through the water-stained mirror of the open lid of the locker, she watches his face as his hand wraps around her throat, rough fingers dragging along her supple skin, thumb searching for her life under its warm pad. Thumping harder and even palpitating with each beat, it’s ridiculous, she feels his warm breath as his lips inch closer right under her ear. His eyes trail along her hair, over the features of her face, every spot but her eyes as if she doesn’t have any, what she notices also is he doesn’t look at himself over the mirror too -as if he hates the sight, this charade that he plays. Then again, would a cherished person be in a staff room of a dusty bar? Only she sees the mirror, and only she feels what’s felt now. Him?.. Face indifferent, only his breath speaks.

She ignores it, just like she does with the fact that they don’t even know their names.

Palm leaves her throat, and she whines as his knuckles brush down her nape, taking her necklace off. It would be such romantic sight if he were to meet her eyes, she thinks. A kiss to her cheek, and a smile as he unclasps the chain. Some sweet whisper along her name. She even contemplates, would he let her if she were to snake her fingers towards his chin, lift it up to see his eyes that never see hers?

She does not risk it, for she feels like he’d pull away and leave her here. Behind.

Distant eyes are no matter, for the hands are what she cherishes. Even when obligatory, even when it’s mandatory. Hands are hands, and they are warm, warm but not burning on her skin, not sickening and twisting in her head -easing some vertigo. Oh, how she wished to get sick so that someone would take care of her, even when out of pity, even fake, even without looking in her eyes. The envy when she sees a damsel in distress, with her company along her, a crave for a wound for someone to heal. They don’t see her when looking at her, they see someone else. Still… She can close hers, and pretend. How she wished for a brush, of a touch, a graze, a squeeze, a straddle even intended to hurt her... For so, she wouldn’t stop. This is another man, and this is not only touch.

Don't mind my desperation.

—Let me hold you, not just for vacation.

Until he notices, she’s under his mercy, one hand enough the grasp her supple neck, holding tight, a little too tight to enjoy -him the executioner, and she would lovingly be the sacrificial lamb- for she’d be something then. And she’d feel warm hands on her. Isn’t this the reason for every other man anyway?

Instinct and desire, his rough hands scrape towards her chest, thumb presses on the notch between her clavicles, forehead resting on her shoulder as she leans back, hand on his wrist as she leads his hesitant touch further, through the loose buttons of her linen shirt.

It’s torment to be this slow, a hiss leaves her as she turns back, pulling the collar of his jacket in a fist, her bare back meets the cold of the metal door of the locker, goosebumps on her skin as her lips find his jaw, pressing against him, unzipping as he leans against her with his forearm resting next to her head, trapping her between his broad physique and the door behind her. She’d usually hear whispers by now, promises to never keep, on how good it will feel for her, never teaching her things she doesn’t know- along with some praises and sometimes with fool words. Out filthy mouths, with a sharp tone, turning her off in how unnatural and forced they sound. Now she imagines how his voice she only heard when he was ordering his whiskey would be a perfect candidate, etching prayers into her skin, voice husky and deeper than usual, in desire, and the thought burns an image between her thighs. Between little groans, she tries to matchmake words.

His large hold gropes the back of her head as she kisses his chest through the black t-shirt he has on, sliding his arms off the jacket, leaving it on the floor as she walks him back, the zipper makes a sound on the tiles off the personnel room. Her nails graze his jaw, he turns his head away as she moves to his lips, pressing her head to his neck further. What’s sex without a taste? Can fulfilment ever feel as deep as a kiss? Vexed for attention, she begs his lips, rising on her feet, rubbing hers all over his face, nibbling his skin just under his ear, tongue tracing right after, a cool blow of her breath as he looks up at the ceiling, holding onto some sort of sanity, holding onto her. He only threads his arm along her nape, pulling her to his chest, his teeth graze the strap of her bra, tugging it down, his lips light on her shoulder, it’s a kiss —only if she accepts.

Forget about her already, you’ve been too far to compensate. Seal us with a kiss and forget about her, or don’t.

Don’t forget about her, just kiss me. Kiss me as you’d kiss her.

It’s raw and as clean as an almost abandoned pub could be, the back of his legs touch the couch as she pushes him onto it, and not him pulling her back with her, he watches her body as she undresses, putting on a needy show, spreads his legs as he shifts comfortable on his seat. She doesn’t ask for another kiss after, only moves towards him as he fiddles with his belt, unbuckling as she moves her lips, kissing him through his underwear, lips on his happy trail, moving upwards as her hand moves his t-shirt upwards, he helps her take it off, before pulling her on his lap with arms holding her to himself, close to him. Sweet girl. Hands on her knees move up, up to her thighs, hooking her underwear with his thumb on his way to her spine, palm open on her back as he buries his forehead on the side of her face, pressing his nose into her skin, his stubble burning on her core.

Nothing to know about one another, no explanation, no justification, but it keeps on. A mutual tension, a strange exhilaration, they’re both dancing around something with no name, something that gets her heart racing, stirring and swelling inside her. For a moment, she dares to dream, to think beyond the moment as she grinds her hips against his. Of something more, of this once more, somewhere else, a future of endless moments of this. An abyss of something… she wants more of. Strange, unsure, unknown. Not really recalling what she does, she just tries to feel more of his skin against hers.

She feels him move, his hand coming to her chin, thumb caressing her bottom lip, tugging it down with enough force as he tilts his head, finally about to seam the inches. The pulse on her throat quickens, she looks at him, but his eyes are already closed, so she mirrors, leans into his touch, parts her lips as she feels his, with a hum blooming on her chest to kiss his lips, he just lets it happen, leads it. The rush in her veins dulls the chill of the wedding band that brushes her back as he slides to a more comfortable position, pressing her chest to his. It’s a gentle kiss, patient, yet she feels the unshakeable core of stoicism behind too. He’s always in control, emotions controlled and calculated. Not the greediest, but he kisses like he knows when to let them take over, both of her and himself. And her, she holds him like she begged something above for him to kiss her, and the way she kisses him back, it’s clear she did.

In the moment, she fails to read the engravings of his initials on the dog tag around his neck as the chain goosebumps its way on her chest. Each kiss of his leaves an indentation of his lips in intensity on her body. Each kiss that travels her thighs, so does his tongue. Each kiss gets her ensnared, trapped, she feels as if he’s holding his voices back, but when he does not, when little muffled curses with letters moaned out —telling her to keep doing what she does, they fall into her ears, takes root in her soul, sprouts inside her stomach, she lets them grow. Voracious, alive, relentless in lustful abandon. He tastes her in an unbridled display of passion. Never met her, but he fucks her like he missed her.

…

Her figure follows his as he pulls back, a heavy warmth now leaving itself to the sun’s. The difference is the latter is sickening, and unwelcomed, yet he still is on his feet, hastily looking around for his clothes as she lays, reclined, pulling the sheet over her, watching his back, muscles moving in rhythmic fashion, before he covers it with his t-shirt. Not holding her anymore. But when he sits at the edge of the worn couch to tie his boots, she at least feels his weight through the sunken cushion. She could savour it.

“Would you visit again?”

I’d wait.

She blinks once, licking the taste of his skin on her lips. Hopeful, alas, she knows the answer already.

He moves onto the other boot, type that men in field work would wear. Not even sighs, as if she hadn’t asked him something, as if he’s alone at this personnel room with nothing to consider. As if she’s gone in the wind, used and thrown away. As if he’s leaving no one behind. A fantasy unwind in summer breeze. Gets on his feet, on his way to leave.

And as if not having his answer loud and clear, and having the audacity, she pleads. As if she just didn’t fuck with a married man. A married man whom she knows not the name of.

But she knows he belongs to someone else.

“Right, your wife!?” She wipes the passion off her lips on the back of her hand then. “You should’ve thought about her before you decided to fuck me!”

He stands a second, petrified, judging in his mind if she’s worth turning back to answer, and when he decides, he turns halfway before her, looking at her with a mocking squint of his eyes, which trail up and down on her, belittling her. Brows furrow, meeting his lashes before he speaks. Voice low, lower than a whisper, but still is assertive, only the tone of it enough to put her back in her place. Almost a threat, and as sure as the sun outside.

She sees his thumb playing with the band on his ring finger, mad in rage she spoke about his wife; she wishes she never asked, afraid he would just walk up to her and do something that wouldn’t give her a choice to object. She wonders of the times where she needed to speak up but didn’t, and when she needs to shut up she never is able.

It’s the only time, for a sliver of a second before he meets her eyes.

He mercies her an answer, nonetheless. Maybe for she'd eased some of his own distress, silenced some insanity.

“She’s dead.”

…

The vertigo he brought stays after his leave.

She bites and scrapes the polish off her bitten nails, until the skin around is red and throbbing and her teeth are frail, when there’s this familiar chemical taste down the pit of her stomach. She hates it.

She’s not sure how many minutes passed, but getting off the couch to speak back, to shout and break stuff, she finds the things back in their usual order, and even the seat she pulled him off from stands neatly tucked under the counter, the parking lot empty once more, the scent he brought with him gone. The only remnants are a stub and an empty glencairn, which keeps a banknote under its diligent tulip to keep it secure. Not a number, not a thing she gets to keep, no memoir. As if he’d never been in here, as if no one visited today either, and it was only a fragment of her tainted imagination. Only the ghost of his lips imprinted on the glass keeps his now gone presence real as she lifts it to her lips, before feeling the inside of the bar to grab her slim cigarettes to try what she saw him do.

Can I ever not think about you?

;

the dry salvages

#john price x reader #john price #cod x reader #captain john price #captain john price x reader #captain john price x you #john price smut #john price x you #john price cod #captain price #cod price #decided to edit this…#captain price x reader #price x reader #price cod #call of duty #cod mwii #cod mw2

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ssho197 · 7 months

Text

pt.1 showering with my fav genshin men

contents: gender neutral reader, slight nsfw, nudity, injury (xiao), slight public nudity (xiao), praise (kazuha), degradation (scaramouche), body shaming (scaramouche)

pt.1 xiao, kazuha, scaramouche

first post abt charas other than xiao ??? hope this does well (i’m actually roasting and burning to a crisp here it’s so hot augh)

xiao

starting off strong w my fav ofc,, so when you often to shower with him to help clean the blood off his wounds, he declined immediately since he didn’t want to trouble you with cleaning him but you insisted,,, also doesn’t have to be a shower it could be bathing in a lake,,

when you first took your clothes off to get into the shower/lake xiao turned away instantly and just refused to look at you so you turned his head towards yours and gave him a little kiss as confirmation or jus a sign of like “it’s ok xiao don’t worry”

his clothes were stained red in some parts so you also helped wash them after you two showered/bathed together,, you helped clean every inch of his body and you made sure not to put too much pressure on his wounds

as for how he acts while showering together,, he was pretty flustered but he does praise you or validate you if you’re insecure about your body,, he would also let you be under the shower head to ensure that you’d be warm he wouldn’t dare hog the water

kazuha

he’s one of my favs because he’s just so sweet!!!!! jdjcjsnsjdixa so he first offered to wash your hair after you had an extremely long and difficult day and of course you accept his offer,, after you settle down and put away your work/day/school stuff he’s already got candles going in the bathroom, he somehow dimmed the lights and got your comfy pajamas ready

just seeing your boyfriend treat you like royalty brought tears to your eyes,, you got into the bathroom with kazuha waiting for you patiently and he went in for a quick kiss to comfort you and he then brought you to the bathtub or shower and he offered to help you take off your clothes to which you agreed,, he’s super gentle with you and he makes sure he folds away the clothes he takes off you,, he also takes off his own clothes and then takes your hand and steps into the shower/bathtub with you going in first

bathtub ver: he lets you lay on his chest as he rubs the shampoo into your scalp while giving you a scalp massage,, it’s so comfortable and relaxing you could just fall asleep in your boyfriend’s arms as he washes your hair for you,,, he makes sure to wash your hair with both shampoo and conditioner, he tends to your scalp and tangles delicately, as if he were holding a butterfly.

shower ver: he lets you stand under the shower head and he holds you with one hand by the waist as the other washes your hair,, he makes sure to be careful while grabbing the next bottle as to not make you slip on the wet tiles

he’s not flustered or embarrassed at all, he loves you for who you are and praises your body all the time,, he kisses your scars or marks that make you insecure and tells you you’re beautiful, even when you’re as vulnerable as when you’re showering

scaramouche

oh boy. this is going to be a wild ride. you had to offer to shower with scaramouche first and after he thought about it for a week he finally agreed. he thought it was stupid and weird that you wanted to shower with him. “ugh you’re so fucking clingy. fine. i’ll do it. are you happy now?”

he finally got another haircut and you have to wash his hair to get rid of any stray hairs that might still be on his head,, you explain this to him and after a tiny passive aggressive argument, he agrees.

you drag him to the bathroom and take off your clothes, when you finish, you look at scaramouche who is still fully clothed, scowling at you and looking you up and down. “what?! what the fuck are you looking at? take your clothes off and hurry up scara” he finally does and god. his body left you stunned. his waist and chest were so nice to look at.. AHEM?? “now what are YOU looking at?

he hogs the hot water and you have to push him out of the way so you don’t freeze to death,, you take care of his scalp and make sure not to pull too hard on the minor tangles and knots in his hair as you rub the shampoo into his hair. he throws small insults at you, degrading you and your body,, “ugh.. you take up so much room…” or “why do you look like that… ugh..”

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somegrumpynerd · 19 days

Note

I'm actually super curious about Horror's over eating problem like, in the first two weeks? I'm kinda wondering how Nightmare helped with that!

In his defence, after what he went through pretty much any eating would have been too much.

Like Horror hadn't eaten in years, and suddenly he finds himself in a place where food just exists. Like it's just around and he can take it - he's encouraged to take it because after the other two Nightmare was making a point of saying you must eat to his henchmen when they joined.

So he did the only reasonable thing and went hog wild.

There was no problem as far as the others were concerned - Nightmare was honestly relieved to see he'd chosen a mortal who would feed himself, and hearing him rip into an entire loaf of bread dry like an animal was the right first impression to leave on Dust and Killer. (Not that either of them would kill a teammate for fun, but without any LV and no kills Horror was lacking the intimidation factor they had. It's amazing how after you watch a guy shovel dry pasta shapes into his mouth by hand like his life depends on it you want to give him a bit of space to settle in).

The problem really was that going from eating nothing for years to eating half a kitchen all at once is a terrible idea, and he ended up making himself pretty sick from it. But the next time he went to the kitchen he just did it again, because the fear of going back to starvation told him to just eat it all now so it couldn't disappear. This went on for days, to the point Nightmare was considering doing a tour of aus to find a doctor who could find out what was wrong (and not rat him out to Dream), until Dust came forward with the suggestion of building him up slowly.

It was rough having to limit him, Horror has never been as grumpy as he was in those first few weeks (it turns out he didn't need the pasta to match the others on intimidation, hunger mood swings work just fine.) But eventually he was able to keep food down, and by then Nightmare had made a schedule to make sure they weren't fed too much or too little which was useful for all three.

So he finally had all his henchmen eating properly! And it only took like 2 years c:

#Ask #Anon #UTDR #UTMV #Truce au #Record time if I do say so myself #Horror had a rough start all around #He also almost quit because he missed his brother #But he and Nightmare worked out in his deal that he could go back at least once a week to visit #Dust was looking into it because despite outward appearence he actually felt bad for this guy #And wanted to see him stop throwing up every couple hours #Thank you for giving me the chance to ramble!! I like thinking about the early days for these guys ^^

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awellboiledicicle · 1 year

Text

I feel like Penny comes out of her shell doing the equivalent of pokemon tiktoks of her eeveelutions. Not showing her face, but voicing the most monotone possible narration over antics.

Like one starts with a shot of her Jolteon and Umbreon looking ascanse at a large water bowl. “Some trainers have to worry about their pokemon fighting. Me? I have to worry about this.” She approaches the bowl and, in a swift motion, dives a hand in and lifts her vaporeon’s head out of the water with her fingers. The vaporeon squeaks before the video cuts out.

Her sylveon pointing at her trans pride flag and squeaking with the caption “dork thinks he has a flag”

Caption of “he looks forward to this all week” and its just leafeon going hog wild rolling in dirt and then flopping in the sun.

Her flareon sitting all polite next to a sandwich Arven dropped off for her before the camera clearly indicates Penny nearly dropping her phone bc she’s rushing to stop the mon from ‘helpfully’ toasting it... directly on top of her manga piled desk.

At least one vid is a very edited montage of several of them jumping into a starmobile with the caption “get in loser, we’re getting crepes”

Atticus may or may not have made little outfits for them in a fit of “They too are stars, my lady. Behold!” and at least one has a little hat that the pokemon is deeply attached to. Giacomo has deffo made short little songs based off the vids before they go live and the sounds he posts do numbers.

Just feel like she’d have fun and the members of team star would vibe

#shitposting #pokemon #pokemon scarlet and violet #pokemon penny #pokemon scarvi #team star

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acradelius · 1 year

Note

Could a request an NSFW fic of the junker boys reacting to the reader getting a tramp stamp of their names tattooed on them?

"Oo, A Tramp Stamp You Say?~"

Fandom: Overwatch / Overwatch 2

Pairings: Mako Rutledge (Roadhog) x Reader, Jamison Fawkes (Junkrat) x Reader

Rating: Lemon [🟡] (NSFW!)

Warnings/Mention Ofs: Tramp Stamps, Slight Possessiveness, Implied! Ownership Kink, Spanking, Doggy Style Position, Nickname Usage, Slight Aggressiveness, Cum On Body

Word Count: 1,131 Words

Author's Note: I have never wanted a tramp stamp till now

[ MAKO / ROADHOG ]

There are some things that need to be taken into consideration whenever thinking about getting something as permanent as a tattoo, especially when the theme revolves around Mako. First, how long has the relationship with Mako been going on for? If the relationship isn’t much of a serious one or hasn’t been going on for quite some time now, then he most likely would be against (Y/N) getting a tattoo that revolves around him on themself. Next, he would like to discuss the detailing of the tattoo that (Y/N) is wanting to get. He’ll admit that he’s not wanting to control what (Y/N) can or cannot get, it’s their body anyways, he just doesn’t want to cause harm to (Y/N) if someone was to recognize aspects of the tattoo that are related to him. If the detailing focuses more on his “Roadhog” persona, then he’s not as worried about it as the people know more of “Roadhog” and that he’s not an individual to be fucked around with. Yet, if the detailing focuses more on his own person, “Mako”, he’d be a bit more concerned as there’s still some individuals from his past that still have a grudge.

Whenever Mako finally comes home from his extended work mission, about two to three weeks after (Y/N) having gotten the tattoo, he’s quite curious as to what the tattoo might consist of seeing that (Y/N) would deny sending him pictures of it, stating that they would prefer to see his reaction. He’s able to catch a glimpse of color, raising an eyebrow at the placement of the tattoo, before walking towards (Y/N) who was bent over to draw themself a bath and rested his hands upon their hips. It’s then that he’s finally given permission to view the tattoo, chuckling as he gently tugs down their pants and lets them fall to the floor. Initially his first reaction is silence, thumb brushing across the tattoo as Mako takes the sight of it in. Observing the tattoo, the centerpiece of it is quite identical to the tattoo that he has upon his stomach, but instead of “Wild Hog Power” the wording had been replaced with “Mako’s Little Piggy”. On each side happens to be his scrap gun, along with his hook and chain being shot from the guns to complete the tattoo.

It’s not long after that he’s dragged (Y/N) into the bed, their ass up in the air all while their face is buried into the mattress to muffle the moans leaving their lips. Mako’s thrusts are painstakingly slow as he continues to look down at the tramp-stamp, thumb brushing across it as his intrusive thoughts begin to kick in. “You like everyone knowing who you belong to, Little Piggy?~ Letting everyone know that you’re Daddy Pig’s little whore?~ Walking around with his mark~” His thrusting pace increases, one hand gripping tightly onto (Y/N)’s hip all while the other one trails across the tattoo down to their asshole and then back again. He starts with spanking, chuckling and groaning at watching (Y/N) squirm and jolt at the impact, all while continuing to back themself against Mako’s cock. “Hmm~ How about we leave some more markings for everyone to see who you belong to?~ Let’s see how long it’ll take for all those Junkers to realize you belong to me forever now~”

[ JAMISON / JUNKRAT ]

While Jamison is an individual that’s somewhat familiar with getting and having tattoos, seeing that he’s got a various amount of them himself, he doesn’t really understand what a tramp stamp is till (Y/N) is able to explain it to him. When he finally processes the idea of a tramp stamp, and with you bending over to show him where exactly it would be placed at, he becomes all excited and bouncy. He spends the next couple of minutes with (Y/N) in front of a body length mirror, having them pose as he tries to imagine them with a tramp stamp. Yet, when it’s mentioned that (Y/N) wants to have the tramp stamp detailed around Jamison, this man almost cums in his shorts right then and there. Despite that Jamison isn’t the brightest person around he knows that getting something about another person, especially your significant other, is a major sign for a relationship. He doesn’t have a ring to propose to (Y/N) right then and there so he proposes the idea of the both of them going and getting tramp stamps together.

Brainstorming and trying to visualize ideas ends up taking a vast majority of their downtime or free time whenever not being on work missions or having to deal with Junkers trying to steal their stuff. There’s a good amount of the time that Jamison will just go ahead and blurt out whatever idea decides to pop within his mind, seeing that if he doesn’t get it out into the open right then and there that he will most likely forget what he was thinking about. “Hey, Firecracker! How about I add that toothpaste that you use? Or! Or, how about that delicious sandwich you made for me for lunch some time ago!” It takes some time for (Y/N) to get him to realize that not everything about your partner needs to be on a tattoo, just some of the most important aspects.

He’s unable to focus his attention onto anything else whenever he catches sight of (Y/N)’s tramp stamp, a devious smirk forming on his face of how they have a mark of him now, a sign to show all those other Junkers that (Y/N) is his - no, belongs to him. Only ever will Jamison will be the one to view it within the positions that they’re both in: (Y/N) having their ass up in the air, swaying it from side to side, all while making sure to take Jamison’s cock like a good Firecracker they are~ His fingers trace the shapes around the rip tire that served as the centerpiece for the tramp stamp, then at the “Jamison Fawkes” that was circling around the rip tire itself. Just having seen his name now permanently on (Y/N) skin was enough to send shivers throughout his body, causing him to quicken the pace of his thrusts. His fingers would then trace the dotted lines showing the trajectory of his bombs, giggling softly as they had mini cartoony explosions behind them. It’s all enough to cause him to cum, but instead of cumming inside like he normally does, he proceeds to pull his cock out of (Y/N) and cum all over their tramp stamp, giggling like a mad man. “Mm, Firecracker~ It’s a good reminder of who you belong to~”

#jamison fawkes #overwatch junkrat #junkrat x reader #junkrat smut #mako rutledge #overwatch roadhog #roadhog x reader #roadhog smut #lemon rating #x reader #requests?! thank you<3

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triplesilverstar · 2 months

Text

One year

Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Pairing: Vash X F!Reader

CW: mentioned smut, sharing a bed, retrospective

Word count: 1.9K

A/N: Well it’s been one year since I started this series. If you told me a year ago when I first posted affirmation while drunk that it would prompt me to still be writing a year later I would have never believed you. So thank you to everyone that has been with me through this journey be it from the beginning or last week, every comment, every kudo, and well honestly every hit on the series has made my day. I still have a long way to go and thankfully the chaos is still brewing in my brain for these silly characters.

Laying there in bed as the low noises of the town rumbled in through the window that was opened a crack, it was the middle of the night and there were still a few souls out roaming around.

You were passed out for your part.

Tucked up against Vash who was wide awake watching you on his side. That hadn't been his plan. No his plan of turning in early and enjoying a long night of sensual touches and intercourse followed by falling asleep in each other's embrace. You’d hit three out of the four points. After the two of you had cleaned up the mess you made, you had slipped into slumber almost instantly, and Vash.

Well, the blond was finding sleep rather elusive. It reminded him of the nights before you had come along when he barely slept, tossing and turning with his nights plagued by memories and nightmares that made him dread the thought of slumber.

Those memories reminded him of other times as well as his flesh hand glided along your side after brushing a tuff of hair from across your forehead. It's been one year since the events in the crashed spaceship.

One year since you had learned what he was.

One year since he had been certain you were going to freak out and leave him.

One year since you told him you loved him.

He'd never been so happy to be so wrong.

You'd come into his life like a wild tomas, he never knew if you were going to throw him or sit on him. Chuckling to himself at the memory of waking up hog tied to a Tomas and you scowling down at him telling him to stop squirming so much. The first meeting at Jenoera Rock had been far better, he'd seen the ghost of the smile on your face with the look in your eyes telling him you knew far more than you let on sitting at the bar looking every bit the drifter he now knew you to be.

You were something else and thoughts of you faded away when he didn't see you after that brief meeting in the bar. Just another wander.

He thought it would be the end of your meetings after he tied you up and left you in the desert with your Tomas, wondering if you really were truly that bad with directions. Shaking his head at the memory as you shifted in your sleep drawing closer to his body.

You surprised him the second time. He was used to having to weasel his way out of conflicts in town by talking to a group or just running away. Sure people had gotten the drop on him lots of times in the past, but no one had literally gotten the drop on him. It had been refreshing to have someone to banter with as the two of you had your short tussle even if he couldn't remember the words to save his life. He did remember that he apologized for the way he left you and how it made his throat tight at the time.

“You really could get lost anywhere couldn't you.” Smiling as he whispered the words thinking of you leading him to the front of the bank instead of the sheriff's office. It had been after that little showdown with other bandits he found you more interesting than he first thought. Laying down on one of the rooftops as you paced around the building looking for him and speaking to anyone that had been nearby asking if they had seen him. While he couldn't see your expressions that well from the distance he could see from the way you moved about the space that you were putting the puzzle of how he escaped together. You were clever. So as you moved on he felt the briefest flicker in his chest as he wondered what your next interaction would be.

Over the next few months, he found himself growing worried. He hadn't seen or heard anything about you and the concern was gnawing at his gut. What if those bandits had escaped and followed through on the threats they had made against you? Were you buried in some shallow grave in the desert? Left as food for the worms? So he let the local kids bully him into playing with them, not that it took much convincing but he needed the distraction. Something to take his mind off of you because deep down he knew his concern wouldn't make a difference if you were gone. Another person he failed.

Only for you to land right in his lap during that firefight in the bar with the bandits that wanted that little girl to ransom back to her father on behalf of the dirty sheriff. He didn't know why you were there, just that his heart started thundering in his chest like mad and a blush started burning on his cheeks. Praying to every being he had ever heard of that you wouldn't notice the tightness he was starting to feel in his pants at the close contact.

As the the two of you talked about the situation he felt those brief flutters of his heartstrings die as you stated how five was better odds than against seven. His assumption about you being just like another bounty hunter rearing itself once more, only to be turned on an axis when you fired back a response about them learning from their mistakes, and for a brief moment he thought he could see Rem behind you.

You truly were full of surprises as you bantered with him back and forth and he watched the way your eyes crinkled as you thought and came up with a plan both of you could pull off. Vash really had thought thinking back you had him that time, only to see the mistake when you handed him off to your guide. They made the same mistake you had and he used his prosthetic to slip away once more and left you another note.

The gap between seeing you next was a lot smaller, watching you roll into town before he slipped away back into the restaurant. Watching you through the tiniest gap in the panel of that wall between the kitchen and dining area that the family had made for him a long time ago. The comment about his cooking had his stomach doing a funny little dance while he tried to keep his face neutral, even if it hadn't been said to him directly.

Looking back at those times Vash could see that in hindsight, there was a pull to you that he hadn't wanted to acknowledge. Leaning against his fist as you let out a soft snore when his fingers placed just a bit more pressure along your side. At the time he pretended it was an idle curiosity because of how different you were from other bounty hunters, and as the quick draw competition was quickly revealing itself to be a showdown between the two of you he had wanted to test you. Unaware that part of that test on his part had been to see if you were as clever as you let on, to see if the three days you had been in town had been enough to make you realize the owner of the restaurant needed help and what you would do.

On the surface, he told himself it was just to see if you were different like he thought, but now looking back he had to wonder if even then he wasn't starting to feel some sort of comrade with you. You were far more than just another bounty hunter and he knew that.

That night he did remember one thing clear in his mind. It was a lot harder to slip away than it should have been. Well and he needed to stop using the alias John. P. Smith if he wanted to avoid you. Chuckling to himself, that had been a brief interlude before the two of them started traveling as friends. Well, sort of. He was certainly ready to call you a friend while you kept trying to give him the slip with the tables turned.

Another sweep of his fingers through your hair as Vash stared at your sleeping face, he'd thought he’d almost lost you three times now. Two of them were far more serious and both had resulted in him taking you to see a doctor, one against your wishes and the other while you were unconscious. He understood your reasons for your dislike now and respected to it an extent. He would never tell you he was willing to face all the ire you could throw at him if it meant keeping you alive.

The ghost of his feelings that first time he almost lost you still made him sweat. It had surprised him. Taken him fully unaware when you disappeared from his sight in that decrepit building as parts began to fall away from the explosion that had rocked it down to its foundations.

A blind panic.

He should have taken the chance to run, but like so many times before his body moved before he knew what he was doing. His boots thundered over the unstable space and slid on his stomach to the gap above where he had last seen you. The way his heart was hammering he could feel his blood pumping through his vein with elation as his metal hand wrapped around your wrist. Seeing the strain on your face as you had tried to hold on with just the strength of your fingers.

It struck him then. He wanted to know you as more than the bounty hunter who was after him, he wanted to get to know the person under the gruff exterior that was the closest anyone had come in years to catching him.

Looking back he knew that was the moment when those first few flickers of affectioned started to smolder in his chest. An affection that grew with time that he didn’t regret.

A groan from you as you crack one of your eyes open when his hand brushes too close to your ear. “Vash?” Your voice is heavy with slumber as you peer up at him as if confused. “Why are you up?”

“Couldn’t sleep.” Truth ringing in the air before he smirked. “Too lost in the gem that came into my life, Mayfly.”

“I’m gonna hit you for that cheesy line later Sunshine.” Adjusting your body so you could run your hand along the edge of his chest. “Any reason you can’t sleep?”

Smiling down at you as Vash hears the concern lacing your voice for him, probably worried he was having nightmares again. “Just thinking of what’s important. Like how we’ve been together for a year.”

A slow blink as he watched a gentle smile grow on your face before your palm rested against his cheek. “A full year? Feels like yesterday when I told you I thought I loved you. I guess it’s true what they say.”

“Oh?”

“Time flies when you’re having fun.” A yawn from you before curling more into his body. “And you are oh so fun my Sunshine.”

Blushing a shade to match his coat it’s his turn to groan. “You’re ridiculous Mayfly. Good thing I love ridiculous.” Vash doesn’t fall asleep as quickly as you do again, but he does eventually follow you off to dreamland.

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#vash the stampede x reader #vash the stampede #trigun stampede #trigun #twink writes #Bullets Bandits Ghosts & Typhoons #tristamp #vash x reader #vash x you #one year later

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